Chapter 8 Quentin
quentin
Last night was takeout in the nest, Milo arguing with Iris about whether pineapple belongs on pizza while I ate my food in peace and let them wear each other out.
We fell asleep watching something on her laptop that none of us made it to the end of, and I woke up at six with Iris's head on my shoulder and Milo's foot in my face, which is a sentence I never thought I'd think and one I'm choosing not to unpack.
The diagram of the brachial plexus clicks into place like it's been waiting for me to pay attention, and I've read four pages in the last twenty minutes. A week ago, I spent an hour on the same paragraph about the skeletal system and produced exactly two words of notes.
Three nights in Iris' nest will do that, apparently. My brain shuts off in that space in a way it doesn't anywhere else. I flip the page, mentally patting myself on the back as I reach page five only for my focus to be ruined by a chair across from me scraping against the floor.
Chad drops into it, his backpack hitting the table hard enough to rattle my highlighters. Kevin slides into the chair beside him a second later
"Q-man." Chad leans back, spreading his arms across the backs of the chairs on either side of him, taking up as much physical space as possible. "Studying hard?"
I look at him over the top of my textbook. "Yes."
"Cool, cool." He picks up one of my highlighters, turns it over in his fingers, and puts it back down in the wrong spot. "Must be nice to have all this free time. No girlfriend to worry about. No obligations."
Kevin snorts beside him, then tries to turn it into a cough.
I move the highlighter back to where it was. "Did you need something?"
"Just checking in, bro. Teammates look out for each other, right?" His eyes scan my face, searching for a crack he can pry open. "You seem different lately. Lighter. More relaxed. People are talking."
"People should find better hobbies." I hate that going to college only became highschool for adults. Still some of the stupid ass Alpha posturing and everyone trying to figure out what’s best for them while stepping on everyone else.
"It's just interesting, is all. You and your brother, spending a lot of time with the coach's daughter after that auction.
" He leans forward, lowering his voice like he's sharing a secret.
"Look, I'm not judging. But Iris is... she's a different league, you know?
She's an Alpha. A real Alpha. The kind that needs someone who can actually keep up. "
"And that's you." The words come out flat. I manage to swallow a laugh as I grab my pen and underline a random sentence.
Chad drops his hand to the table, harder than necessary as I look up to meet his gaze.
"I'm just saying, a Beta doesn't have the biology for it.
No offense. It's just science." He shrugs, palms turning up like he's delivering an unfortunate truth.
"Omegas are one thing, they've got the instinct to submit, it's natural.
But a Beta trying to match an Alpha? That's like bringing a bicycle to a drag race. "
Kevin laughs. "Good one, bro."
I close my textbook. The motion is slow, on purpose, and I take my time squaring my notes on top of it before folding my hands and giving Chad my full attention.
He mistakes this for engagement, his posture shifting forward, his smile widening.
I shouldn’t provoke the guy but I’m really tired of his bullshit.
"You've asked Iris out forty-seven times," I say.
His smile falters. "I don't think it's been that—"
"Forty-seven. She's said no to every single one. You even proposed with a protein shake." I hold his gaze. "You wrote 'Be My Gainz' on it. It was chocolate-flavored."
Kevin's mouth opens and closes. Chad's neck is starting to flush.
"She threw it away without opening it," I continue.
"You told the locker room she was 'considering it.
' She wasn't." My arms cross over my chest. "So when you talk about biology and leagues and keeping up, I want to make sure I'm understanding correctly.
You're the authority on what Iris wants.
You, specifically. The man she's rejected forty-something times. "
The flush spreads from Chad's neck to his face, a muscle jumping beneath his jaw as Kevin drops his gaze to the table.
"That's what I thought." I pick up my textbook and open it back to page 312. "Don’t let the door hit you on your way out."
Chad stands so fast his chair screeches against the floor. He grabs his backpack, knocking my highlighters out of alignment again, and stalks toward the exit. Kevin follows a few steps behind, glancing back at me once with an expression that's harder to read than Chad's.
They disappear around the stacks, my focus now shot. Fucking assholes. A few deep breaths doesn’t help regain my composure so I just start reorganizing my highlighters again. Knowing Chad and Kevin, they’re going to try some shit at a later point. I just hope it isn’t with Iris.
At some point, Milo drops into the chair Chad vacated, two coffees in hand, his hair still wet from a shower. "You’re still here? Library at nine p.m. on a Thursday. You really know how to live, Q."
He slides one of the coffees toward me, then immediately tilts his head to look at my notebook. "What are you—" He stops. His eyebrows climb toward his hairline. "Are those drawings?"
My hand moves to cover the margin, but it's too late.
He's already seen the small, absent shapes I didn't realize I was making while I read.
The curve of a bead, repeated three times.
Something that might be a jawline. A pair of lines that could be braids or could be nothing, depending on how much credit you give my subconscious.
"It's nothing," I say.
"That's Iris' beads." He's grinning now, pulling the notebook toward him despite my attempt to hold onto it. "And that's — Q, is that my jaw? Did you draw my jaw?"
"I was taking notes."
"On my jaw?"
"Give me the notebook."
He holds it out of reach, his grin splitting his face. "Quentin Vark, secret artist. This is the greatest discovery of my life. I'm framing this. I'm getting it tattooed on my—"
"Milo."
"Okay, okay." He slides the notebook back, the grin not fading. He wraps both hands around his coffee, watching me over the rim. "Chad was here earlier, wasn't he? I can still smell him. Eau de Insecurity with a hint of hair gel."
I snort. Of course, Milo would pick that up. "He and Kevin stopped by." I don’t elaborate because I don’t want to get into it.
"And?"
"And they left."
Milo studies me, reading whatever my face is giving away. The grin softens into something more careful, his scent softening a little. I guess I have to remind him to take his blockers. Again. "Talk to me," he says.
"About Chad?"
"About whatever's making your scent do the thing."
My scent is doing a thing. I can feel it, the edges going sharper, pine and smoke deepening the way it does when I'm stressed.
I snatch the coffee my brother brought for me and take a swig and let the heat settle in my chest. "I don't know who I am without the walls.
" The honesty surprises me enough that I have to set the coffee down. Shit.
Milo waits. He doesn't push, fill the silence, or even try to make a joke.
"My whole life has been about control. Discipline.
Keeping everything measured and contained because that's how I function.
" My thumb presses against the rim of the cup.
"Nine days, Milo. Nine days and I'm drawing her beads in my notebook without realizing it.
I'm sleeping better in someone else's nest than I ever have in my own bed.
I'm losing arguments with Chad Mercer because I can't focus long enough to—"
"You didn't lose that argument."
"You weren’t even there. Fuck, that's not the point." My jaw tightens. "The point is that I'm losing control of things I've never lost control of, and I don't know what's underneath."
Milo turns his coffee cup slowly on the table, his thumbnail picking at the cardboard sleeve. "Maybe you don't have to know yet."
It's not advice. It's not a fix. It's just a door left open, and somehow that's exactly what I needed to hear. My phone buzzes against the table, stealing my attention. I huff out a sigh and pick it up to see a picture from Iris with no caption, my whole body tensing as I stare at it.
It’s a charcoal sketch. Two figures, one leaning into the other, their forms abstracted and loose but unmistakable if you know what you're looking at. The taller figure has sharper lines and the shorter one is all motion, pressed against the other's side like gravity put him there.
She drew us.
Milo leans over to look. He lets out a little gasp but doesn’t say anything. My thumb hovers over the keyboard. I type a response, delete it, type another, and delete that too. Three attempts that all fall short. I send three words: "I miss you."
I've never said that to anyone. My thumb hovers over the unsend option for three full seconds before her reply comes through.
"Come over."
Milo is already standing, coffee abandoned, scrambling to grab my highlighters.
I close my textbook, stack my notes, and open my bag for Milo to drop the rest in.
He watches me do this with visible impatience, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
When they don’t drop in perfectly, I start reorganizing them, mostly because I’m nervous. I don’t do nervous.
"Q. She said come over. The highlighters can be crooked for one night."
He tugs at my hand and I just sigh, but hasten my step just enough that I don’t seem over eager.
The door open when we get there, Iris yelling ‘it’s open’, Milo nearly busting inside a second later.
He pauses and then I do, both of us staring at the gorgeous Alpha leaning against the counter in her kitchen.
I swallow nervously, slowly shutting the door behind us.
Iris is only in an oversized sweatshirt, a mug in her hands, a sly smile on her face.
She’s clearly wearing nothing underneath, her braids pulled into a bun on top of her head.
The moment she tilts her head to the side and gives me that look, the one from the budget meeting three months ago, I’m a goner.
It takes four steps to close the distance between us as I remove the mug from her hands and pull her into a kiss. She smiles against my lips. “I’ve been waiting for that.”
And of course, Milo ruins the moment. “Save some of that for me!”