For close to a year, all I wanted was to have CK near me, to have him not run away any time it was only the two of us in a room.
Now?
Now for the sake of my heart and my sanity, I need him to go away.
#CHAPTER19
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Okay…who is this woman, and what did she do with the vivacious Quinn I’m used to living with?
Shielding my eyes, I glance toward the sky, searching for UFOs. I never thought there’d be a day I’d wish for a creepy, wrinkly, E.T.-type alien to appear in my life, but Quinn’s behavior? Yeah, it’s so off I’m starting to worry we’ve fallen into a real-life Invasion of the Body Snatchers situation. Being taken over by pod people is the only explanation I can come up with for the sudden shift in her personality.
I don’t have the faintest idea what’s up with her, but it ends now.
Spinning on my heel, I stalk toward the sliding door that leads to my bedroom.
The center drawer to my desk almost goes flying off its track when I yank it open. It’s a clutter-filled mess as I sort through the contents.
Then, there, amongst the paper clips, highlighters, and too many pens to count, I spot the hint of yellow I knew would be hidden under the debris.
My Post-its may be the standard yellow and not the fluorescent shades Quinn seems to favor, but it’ll do for what I have in mind.
My introverted nature typically makes it difficult for me to open up to others. It’s a facet of my personality that contributes exponentially to my difficulty level when using Greet Geek. But with Quinn and her outrageous notes? Answering them has started to feel…natural.
Now it’s my turn to ask the question.
Hmm…
Pad and pen in hand, I start to pace. What could I ask that will help break my friend out of this weird funk she’s fallen into?
My gaze snags on the wall my bedroom shares with the living room, as if I can see past both and into the laundry room on the opposite side of the penthouse.
That freaking almost kiss.
Sonofabitch. That’s when everything changed, and it sure as shit wasn’t for the better.
No matter how many times I’ve imagined what it would be like to kiss Quinn, I’ve always known that’s all it would ever be—a fantasy. If I had any delusions of them becoming a reality, those were put to rest the other night when she ran into the counter trying to get away from me.
“Would…you…teach me?”
What the hell was I thinking asking Quinn that? As if enlisting her help wasn’t bad enough, then I went and asked her to be my freaking love coach.
“Well…yeah…you know…you’ve sorta been doing that already, but I thought maybe we can integrate a more practical approach…do a few mock date activities and stuff.”
It’s like I offered myself up on a silver platter for the universe to fuck with me.
Oh, damn. Forget the universe. I blurred the damn lines myself.
What a goddamn mess.
Where the hell are those Lysol wipes Kay jokes with Trav about when you need them?
I’m not saying Quinn and I need to revert back to how things were before the summer started, but we need a way to wash away the awkward lingering from the other night. If we don’t, I fear it’ll fester, eventually turning the dynamic in the house septic until the only solution would be for one of us to move out. And we all know Quinn wouldn’t be the one asked to pack her bags if it came to that.
Welp, that took a depressing turn for a Wednesday afternoon.
I’m dealing with enough as is; there’s no need to go looking for trouble.
Back to my note.
Whatever I write on this paper needs to create an opportunity for us to challenge each other. Nothing sparks Quinn’s feisty side quite like telling her she can’t beat me at something.
What can I use?
Dr. Mario is out. We’ve done that already. And I’m certainly not going to suggest bowling.
Hmm…
Ugh!
I need coffee. When I saw Quinn outside in all her matching baby pink leggings and sports bra glory earlier, I forgot to make myself a cup.
Leaning against the counter as the machine percolates, my gaze snags on the pool table Mason had delivered shortly after we all moved in.
That’s it. There’s a pool hall not far from campus we can go to. Anywhere is better than here. We need to put some distance between us and the scene of the crime.
I send another glare toward the laundry room, then quickly scrawl the words: I’ll buy the first round if you can beat me at a game of pool.
Steamy mug of coffee in one hand, two-by-two piece of paper in the other, I make my way back outside.
Quinn’s still doing her yoga thing, her workout having her in some weird backbend pose that has her resting on her forearms and lifted onto her toes. This should be a safer position than the face-down-ass-up-dog, whatever you call it she was doing the first time I interrupted her workout, but it isn’t. Whereas the one from earlier showed off her spectacular ass, this one demonstrates the extreme flexibility I’ve witnessed her display on the sidelines at all the guys’ football and basketball games.
Jesus.
Chicks think they have it rough with their periods and stuff, but at least they can hide if they’re attracted to a person. They have no idea how hard—pun unintentionally intended—it can get being a dude, to constantly have the risk of your spot being blown up by an appendage that dangles between your legs—or worse, when that same body part tries to override your common sense.
Seriously, bro, didn’t we just spend the last fifteen minutes coaching ourselves away from these kinds of imbecilic fantasies you’re championing for? Quinn doesn’t want us like that. Get. The. Memo.
And now I’m having conversations with my dick. Awesome.
Discretely adjusting myself inside my shorts, I pad across the warmed, bordering on hot-as-burning-coals Trex planks.
Without giving me a chance to second-guess myself, I place the Post-it on the bared strip of Quinn’s toned stomach, pressing down on the adhesive to make sure it really sticks.
“Wha—” Quinn startles but doesn’t fall. Instead, she draws her feet impossibly closer to her body, then rolls through the position until she can straighten onto her knees.
Oh my god.
What is she doing?
Does she have any idea what seeing her in that position does to me? Hell…maybe she does, and she’s trying to put an end to our now awkward living arrangement by killing me off. That could be it if it were possible for a person to die of acute lust overload brought on by an influx of X-rated fantasies.
The instructor continues to call out moves from the iPad, but unlike before, Quinn stops following them as she stares up at me instead.
Neither of us speaks.
I’m honestly incapable of speech at the moment, my mind too busy to formulate words thanks to the onslaught of naughty images flashing through it.
Quinn glances from the paper to me and back again. Her brow furrows, a light sheen of sweat clinging to the bunched skin. Her lips start to move as she reads. I remember discovering that adorable quirk studying for finals during the fall semester.
Her eyes blaze hotter than the sun above when she lifts them back to me once she’s done, the Post-it pinched tight between her fingers. “I think I’m going to have to start rethinking your nickname, Christopher.”