Chapter 23
Willow
Have you ever seriously questioned your friendship with someone? Like, really stopped and thought, this might be the moment I should've set boundaries?
Yeah.
That's me.
Right now.
I’m supposed to be at work—pulling espresso shots, smiling through clenched teeth at rude customers, and deciphering crazy coffee orders. Instead, I’m crouched in someone else's back garden, actively participating in a crime.
Specifically, helping Quinn break into her ex-girlfriend's house.
“Okay,” I say, arms crossed, staring up at her, “tell me why we’re here again?”
She shoots me an exasperated look from halfway up the drainpipe, clinging to it with her life.
I can't help the laugh that slips out; it's impossible not to. She looks ridiculous, even more so in that denim skirt that's riding up far higher than I ever needed to see.
Definitely not into girls.
“Don’t laugh at me,” she scolds, glaring at me over her shoulder. “I don't see you trying to climb this stupid thing.” She drops back down to the ground with a dramatic huff.
“No, you don't because I don't even want to be here.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “What would you rather be doing? Sitting at that meal with the queen bitch of all bitches?”
I huff. “No.” Not even a little. “But I don't really have a choice, and I’m not leaving Elijah alone with her.”
Quinn's face splits into a wicked grin. “Ohhh. Would you rather be riding Elijah's cock like one of them cowgirls?”
“Quinn,” I hiss, smacking her shoulder. She just cackles, swiping her hair out of her face.
“What? Do you not call it that?” she taps her chin, thinking far too hard. “Pogo stick? Tallywhacker? Twig and Berries? Throat tickler? Oh—oh! My personal favourite, the yoghurt slinger.”
I stare at her.
She's an absolute menace to society.
Although I would much rather be riding Elijah till I see stars.
“Do you hear yourself?”
She smirks. “You’re not denying it.”
The wind cuts through me, and I shiver, pulling my jacket tighter. “Can we please hurry this up? It's freezing, and it looks like it's about to rain. Plus, we are late.”
Quinn's eyes dip, then flick back up to my face, mischief dancing in her eyes. “Oh, I can tell. Your nipples are practically trying to take my eye out.”
I swear she just says these things to annoy me.
“Can you not look?”
“A bit hard not to,” she chirps.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Will you get a move on instead of looking at my nipples?”
A sense of unease washes over me, and I glance around, the distinct feeling that we are being watched settling heavily in the air.
I’m being paranoid.
“Alright, babe,” she claps. “I need you to climb up and go to her window. It's usually unlocked. You get in, grab the book, and get out.”
I blink at her. Once. Slowly. “Hang on. You want me to do it? All for a fucking book?”
She bounces on the balls of her feet, gripping my shoulders as she shakes me to emphasise her point. “You're all flexible and shit. And stronger. So yeah, I need you to do it. And yes, a book,” a playful smile spreads across her face. “I’ll even let you read it.”
That seals it. I am absolutely questioning this friendship.
I stay rooted to the spot. Quinn sighs dramatically, leans forward, and taps my nose. “I’ll give you a boost. Now move.”
I groan, loud and long, but shuffle toward the drainpipe anyway. She laces her fingers together and drops into a squat. I plant one foot in her hands, grab the cold metal pipe, and when she pushes up, I jump—muscles straining as I haul myself higher.
From below, she whistles. “You really do have a great ass.”
“Shut up,” I hiss, the wind snatching half the words away.
I haul myself higher, muscles burning as I inch toward the roof, arms shaking, stomach screaming in protest.
“Just motivating you, babe.”
“It's not motivating,” I grit back, teeth clenched as I adjust my grip.
“Sorry,” she calls. “Next time I’ll dangle Elijah's yoghurt slinger in front of you.”
I thunk my forehead lightly against the pipe in pure frustration.
Don't kill her, Willow. Orange is not your colour.
I grab the edge of the roof and swing my weight, my legs slipping free from the pipe so I’m left dangling for a few heart-stopping seconds.
“Alright, now pull yourself up. It's a bit cold down here.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and drag every ounce of strength out of my arms, hauling myself up and rolling onto the roof. Thank God this section is flat. I push to my feet quickly, staying hunched, and creep toward the window with the obnoxiously bright pink curtains.
Peeking inside, heart hammering at the thought of getting caught, scanning every shadow. It's empty. No movement. No ex-girlfriend to scream bloody murder.
Relief rushes through me.
“You in yet?” Quin shouts again, volume absolutely unnecessary, like I’m not trespassing.
“I’m going,” I mutter, already moving. I grip the latch and push the window up.
It slides open without resistance.
Unlocked.
I let out a slow breath.
Thank. Fucking. God.
I swing myself over the windowsill and land lightly on the floor. Bright pink. Every inch of it. The walls, the carpet, even the lights—like someone had dipped the entire room in bubblegum and glitter. Fairy lights hang lazily around the double bed on the right.
On the left, a mirrored wardrobe glares back at me, reflecting the room's madness, and beside it, a desk buried under an avalanche of photographs. Pictures of Quinn, smiling and laughing, some posed, some clearly candid. And then… more intimate pictures.
Oh. My. God. She's obsessed. Like, full-blown shrine-level obsessed.
I take a cautious step forward, scanning again, and realise—I didn't even ask which book I need to steal.
Perfect. Why is this my life right now?
My phone vibrates violently in my pocket. I jump, nearly knocking the chair over at the desk, and fumble it out. Elijah's name flashes across the screen.
Shit. I’m so screwed.
I can't answer if someone is downstairs. And they really need to teach their daughter a lesson in locked windows. And the pictures I just saw? Boundary issues on a global scale.
The call stops, and of course, it rings again. I bite my lip and answer, whispering, “Hello?” My eyes scan the room, searching for books, but there's nothing.
“Where are you?” Elijah's voice is sharp, just the slightest irritation threading through it.
I scratch the back of my head and tiptoe over to her drawers, trying not to knock anything over. “I’m… at Quinns.”
Where the hell do you hide a smutty book?
“I’m stuck here with Rose, so I need you here in five minutes.”
“I’m working on it.” I move towards the fluffy bed.
“What are you even doing?”
Yeah… I can't tell him the truth. He’d probably spank me for it. Not that I’m completely opposed to the idea.
“Erm… nothing illegal,” I blurt, slapping my hand over my mouth the second the words leave me.
Smooth Willow.
“Willow,” he warns, that deep, velvet voice I can't seem to resist.
I grab the pillows and yank them aside—and there it is: a black and silver book staring back at me, etched with cobwebs and spiders, as if it belonged in a horror film. I don’t hesitate. I snatch it up. At this point, I couldn't care less if it's the wrong one; I just need to get out.
“You got the book.”
Quinn's voice startles me. I whirl around and nearly inhale my own tongue. She's standing inside the room, the door hanging open behind her. I stare at her, mouth open and closing, lungs scrambling for air—right as Elijah calls my name again through the phone.
Quinn waves her fingers in front of my face and calmly lifts the book from my hands.
“What—how—” the words jam in my throat.
How is she even here without climbing through the window?
“Willow?” Elijah presses, impatience creeping in.
I end the call without warning. I’ll deal with the delicious consequences later. Right now, irritation tightens hot and sharp in my chest as I round in on her.
“How the hell did you get up here?”
She shrugs, maddeningly relaxed. “I remembered they hid a spare key under one of the garden rocks. It’s a typical hiding place, if you ask me.
They might as well have a sign out front saying, ‘Welcome in, our home is yours,’” she continues, oblivious to my annoyance.
Then she notices my very irritated expression. “You look like you’re plotting murder.”
As much as I want to chew her out for making me climb up here and break in to steal her book back, I shove my phone back into my pocket. “Wait, did you lock the door?”
Quin tightens her grip on the book, and I don't miss the flicker of horror that passes over her face—the realisation that she didn't actually lock the door.
“Are you serious?” I hiss, watching her dig the key out of her pocket.
“I’ll go lock it now; calm your tits.”
Before she can even make a move, the door downstairs is heard, followed by voices drifting up the stairs.
We just gawk at each other.
She quickly closes the door.
That's it. We are definitely going to jail, where some crazy person will try to stab me with a plastic spoon.
“You can panic now.”
Thanks for the permission.
I grab her hand and sprint for the window, but the rain is hammering down, soaking the roof and turning it into a death trap. One slip and we will most likely break multiple bones.
Not ideal.
Giggling drifts up from outside the room, and there's more than one voice. They are too close now.
Quinn mutters something under her breath, then yanks us low and pushes us under the massive bed. We shove ourselves toward the centre, pressing together as the bedroom door opens.
“Are you sure nobody is home?”
Two pairs of feet come inside the room, very close together.
“Positive, my mum must have forgotten to lock the door.”
Or your ex-girlfriend was upset that you took her book, and then the said ex made her best friend break into your room, even though the key to the house had been under the rock all this time.
They giggle again.
“Okay slut, get on the bed and spread those legs for me.”
“Yes, mummy.”
No. No. No. No.
Quinn's face turns to look at me, eyes wide. She mimes gagging, fingers shoved dramatically into her mouth, shoulders shaking with silent laughter.
The mattress dips hard above us.
Moans spill into the room, soft at first, then louder, mixed with the slick sounds of mouths colliding. The bed rocks, the frame groaning in protest, and I squeeze my eyes shut, every muscle in my body locking tight.
This cannot be real.
This cannot be my life.
Yet here I am, underneath Quinn's ex-girlfriend's bed, being forced to listen to her have sex and call each other slut and mummy.
I’m going to have to burn my ears after this and kill Quinn for getting me into this situation.