14. Quinn
CHAPTER 14
QUINN
T he ceiling has never been more interesting.
I say this because I’m currently laying in Slate’s bed, staring at the ceiling, and have been for the past four hours.
I’m avoiding the inevitable, which is seeing Knox again.
Another night of no sleep. I should be used to it by now, and where I’m normally all achy bones and gritty eyes, this morning is different. I’m wired—restless.
It’s not Knox’s fault that I hadn’t been able to sleep this time. Not intentionally, at least. He wasn’t blasting music on his side of the wall—which, Slate also shares, so he must be able to sleep through a zombie apocalypse if Knox’s loud metal playlist doesn’t bother him while he’s sleeping—but I couldn’t rest because he was just simply there, existing in the room next door.
My mind wouldn’t allow me to stop thinking about him over there. If he found it as difficult to fall asleep as I was. If the thought of what I was sleeping in was as vivid in his head as it was in mine.
Did he go to sleep in those sweatpants? His boxers? Or briefs? I’m not judging, just making an educated guess because of the boxers he gave me to wear for the night. Unless they’re Slate’s or Ace’s, but why would he give me one of their pairs without asking? That seems rude. They have to be his.
Jesus, Quinn, look at what you’ve become.
Anxiousness weighs heavily on my body as I slip from the bed, looking around the room with the sun peeking its head through the windows. Slate’s room is utterly Slate. His bed dons ocean colored bedding, matching comforter and all. I thought that he might have something a little quirkier, like cowboys or even a plaid pattern, but then I remember just how much Slate likes bringing ladies here, and I figure they wouldn’t want to have sex on bed sheets that scream Wild Wild West.
Whatever happened to saving a cowboy and all that?
He doesn’t have much in terms of furniture. There’s a tall dresser next to the door with clothes spilling out of the drawers as if he’s rifled through them in a rush like a raccoon through a garbage can. He has a desk but I don’t think the surface of it has seen the light of day in years with how much crap is piled on top of it. I don’t know how it’s possible that Slate has accumulated this many things in the matter of weeks since the semester started, or if he hasn’t cleaned it off in the entire time he’s lived here.
There’s a photo placed on the table beside the bed and I pick it up, admiring the three roommates, arms around each other. They’re dressed in their usual attire, Slate in his low-cut jeans, showing off the deep lines of muscle pointing straight to his crotch. In the photo, he’s wearing a jersey of some sort, cropped above his navel. The bottom of the number 15 is cut off and I think it might be a Terrapin’s rugby jersey, not that I know too much about the sport nor what they wear.
Ace is wearing a pair of slacks and a t-shirt tucked into the waistband of them. He looks like he’s just rolled out of a mob fight with his unruly blond hair. There’s a single strand that hangs down in front of his mischievous ocean eyes and I actually think he looks kind of cute here.
Go Rory.
Knox looks exactly the same as last night, with a little less muscle. It has me wondering how old this photograph is. Maybe they had taken it on their first day of college at Vulcan University. He’s dressed in all black, with the hood of his sweatshirt pulled up over his head as if he’s trying to hide from something. His cheeks are swept with pink and his hands are stuffed deeply into the pockets of his hoodie, but the white that peeks out from the bunched-up sleeves has me squinting, trying to get a closer look.
They’re bandages, I realize, wrapped tightly around his forearms and my stomach rolls.
This picture was taken around the time of whatever happened to his hands.
A noise from outside of the door startles me. It’s coming from the kitchen, and the sick feeling doesn’t lessen when I figure out that it’s probably Knox, and that he’s probably making noise because he wants me to get the fuck out of his apartment.
I find a mirror leaning against the wall behind the door and assess myself. I don’t look much different than I had last night. My hair is messy, but at least I don’t have mascara streaming down my face anymore. The tired lines of my features show, but there’s absolutely nothing I can do about that.
I’m sure Slate has a brush around here somewhere but I rake my fingers through my hair quickly before stepping out of the room.
Slate’s bedroom opens directly into the kitchen and once again, I’m met with a delicious smell. It’s sweet, like overloaded sugary breakfasts usually are. Knox stands, his back to me, at the stove as he flips a pancake.
He doesn’t even glance over his bare shoulder as he greets me. “Good morning.”
“Morning,” I echo, tentatively working my way into the room. My clothes are folded on one of the stools where I left them last night, and I really should just snatch them up and run the fuck right out of this apartment before I have to endure a truly awkward breakfast that screams ‘morning after’ despite the dislike we share for each other.
“Sleep well?”
Not at fucking all. “Yeah,” I lie, inching closer. Maybe, if I’m quiet enough, he won’t even notice my disappearance. I can return the clothes he’s let me borrow to Slate later.
If Knox feels me spiraling, he doesn’t show it. He’s busying himself with whisking a bowl full of eggs, adding a touch of water to make them fluffy.
Perhaps he’s ignoring me. Maybe I’ve misread the situation entirely, thinking that he’s making me breakfast. He could just be making it all for himself. He’s built, so it wouldn’t be a surprise, and I make it all the way to the door, about to reach for the lock when it turns from the other side. I startle backwards as the door swings open.
Ace and Rory freeze from behind the threshold and I’m staring at them all wide-eyed like I’ve just been caught robbing the place.
“Well, good morning to you, too,” Ace greets, ushering both Rory and myself back inside. I go reluctantly, shooting her a pleading look before slumping down at the counter and resting my chin on my pile of clothes. All of a sudden, I’m exhausted, and I contemplate how much of a fool I’d look like if I do decide to run out of the apartment right now.
Ace moves straight over to Knox, their conversation quiet as he begins assisting his friend.
Rory looks like she’s hesitant to take the seat next to me and she should be because I can hardly even look at her without replaying what I saw last night. Her legs pitched up above Ace’s shoulders as he—she’s my best friend for goodness’ sake but there are even some things I didn’t need to see.
I knew she was flirting with Ace, but I didn’t know how far it had gotten, fucking on the couch like bunnies.
I have so many questions for her but the betrayal in my gut and the tiredness stroking my back keep me from speaking. I wouldn’t interrogate her in front of the boys anyway, that would be cruel and mortifying for the both of us.
How long have they been fooling around? Why hasn’t she talked to me about anything more than saying he was attractive? Was it because of my own attitude towards Knox? Was I so volatile that she couldn’t even confide in me about her relationship with our neighbor?
“Hey,” she greets awkwardly, and her cheeks are rosy. I wonder if she thinks the unpleasant tension is because I’m upset about them having sex on the couch.
It’s so much more than that.
“Hi,” I answer with a weak smile. Rory looks like she wants to say more but the door is bursting open with an unruly Slate stumbling into the apartment. Half of his brunet hair has fallen from the bun he has it shoved into and his chocolate eyes are tired with sleep, but he perks right the hell up when he sees all of us in the kitchen.
His grin turns wolfish .
“So, everyone got laid last night? Fuck yeah! Where’s the whiskey, we all deserve a shot!”
Everyone seems to groan in unison and I’m the one that answers.
“Slate, it’s too early for all that.”
He scoffs in response, ripping open the cabinet as he searches for liquor. “Right, and? There are breakfast shots, Quinnie, very good ones too. Plus, it’s almost the weekend, so why the hell shouldn’t we have a little celly? I swear, you’ve got to start acting like the college student that you are.”
“Celly?” Knox grimaces. “Where the fuck did you learn that word?”
Slate shrugs, “Overheard some guys saying it at one of our parties. I kind of like it.” He finds the bottle and slams it down on the counter with a little too much force. It makes a dull throbbing between my eyes form and I watch wearily as he spins on his heel and dives into the refrigerator next. “If I give you some orange juice and a piece of bacon, will that be considered an appropriate morning time shot for you, Quinn?”
I huff. How everything always gets pinned on me is unreal. I should’ve just kept my damn mouth shut.
Rory snickers next to me and I cut her a look, trying my best to smother my amusement. She must see it sparkling in my eyes because her grin widens. “Yes, sir.”
“Ooh, I like it when you call me that,” Slate winks. “How’s the bacon coming along, Knox? We’re in dire need of alcohol over here!”
“I think that’s only you, Slate,” Rory laughs.
We watch as Slate places five mismatched shot glasses on the counter. That doesn’t seem to be enough because a clamber of five additional glasses joins the fray and he begins filling them with various liquids, cussing when he shakes the orange juice canister and the cap flies off, spraying all over his arm and shirt. Rory and I burst into laughter while Knox and Ace roll their eyes, shaking their heads at their roommate.
“Who didn’t put the lid back on the orange juice?” Slate whines, whisking off his shirt.
Hello, chest.
Knox tosses over his shoulder, “You, idiot.”
“Thanks, fuckhead,” Slate retorts, balling up his shirt and tossing it towards the washing machine. It hits the wall with a soft thump, falling lamely to the ground. He turns that bright gaze back on me as I ogle his tattoos and his smirk grows. “Like what you see?”
Blushing, I dip my head, but it’s too late, the damage has already been done.
“No need to be all shy, Quinnie. We’ve already seen each other naked. Want to feel them?” Slate asks, gesturing to the hard muscles of his abdomen. He flexes, then does the same with his pectorals.
If I had a drink in my mouth, I’d surely be spluttering it all over the counter right now.
“I was not naked!” My retort is pitched, because really, I wasn’t. All he saw was me in my bra and it wasn’t even my nice one.
Knox glances at me but I can’t make out the expression on his face. He turns away too quickly for me to catch.
Of course, Slate has a witty retort. “Want to fix that?” He winks. “Or—” his eyes trail down my shirt and the boxers I’m wearing and I wish the floor would open up and swallow me whole. “Did you already have your fill?”
“Fuck, man,” Ace almost growls. It’s a little mortifying, how far Slate’s taking his jokes this morning. “Cut it out. ”
“She slept in your bed.” Knox’s voice sounds like gravel. He doesn’t turn around, even when Slate groans, loud and disappointed.
“The one time I don’t answer my phone.” He sighs, refocusing on the task of pouring breakfast shots when Ace brings over the plate of bacon he’d been manning. “I’m sorry, Quinn. Let me make it up to you.” Slate slides me a shot of whiskey, a glass filled with orange juice, and gestures to the plate of bacon. “I’ll let you have the first one, even.”
I relent, because I need this breakfast to be over as fast as possible and the best way to do that is by keeping my mouth shut. Taking the first shot means I have to make the toast and I’m much too tired to be dealing with all of this right now.
Even Knox accepts the drink Slate hands him, flipping the last pancake onto the stack and sliding the entire thing to the center of the counter.
Raising my glass, the others follow, but I’m unsure of what to say. As I look at each one of them, I kind of get the feeling that everyone would rather be split off, doing their own things. Knox doesn’t meet my gaze and I ignore the pang I feel in my chest. Rory looks weary as well, and Ace’s eyes are on her, whereas Slate is the only one that doesn’t balk away from me.
“To Slate, who gives me more headaches that I ever thought possible.” Glasses chink as they’re knocked together, cheers all around.
“Did I hear you say head?”
“When were you going to tell me about you and Ace?” I ask Rory sometime later. We’ve decided to get an early start to the weekend, skipping our classes for the rest of the day. As much as my Art History grade won’t thank me, grilling my best friend is much more important right now.
She winces, ducking into the fridge to pull out a container of strawberries and the bottle of whipped cream as I slide onto the barstool. “Never.”
“Never?! Rory Judith Wilson, what do you mean never?” I exclaim, watching her squirt some of the creamy substance onto a plump strawberry and bite into it. The whipped topping clings to her nose and she wipes it off with the end of her finger, sucking it into her mouth.
She rolls her eyes. “Ugh, I hate it when you call me that.”
“Don’t care, Ro. Best friend privileges. Spill. Now.”
I hook a finger around the rim of the bowl, tugging it towards the middle of the counter so I can reach better. The fruit is red and ripe, juicy when I bite into one of the berries before plucking out another, this time adding whip on top.
“I don’t know,” she huffs, rolling a strawberry between her fingers like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. She deflates a little, resting her hip against the counter. “We aren’t even dating. We were just…” Rory shrugs helplessly, muttering. “Hooking up.”
The way that she avoids my gaze tells me she’s keeping something from me.
“Rory,” I elongate her name with a whine, letting her know that I know there’s more to that truth.
She sighs, “Please don’t make me tell you.”
My brows pull tight in confusion. Why wouldn’t she want to tell me about this? We’ve been best friends since we were eight! We tell each other everything! I even told her about that mortifying hook up my second weekend of classes last year when I made out with the Vulcan U mascot. He had a wicked way with his tongue but the Perry the Pinto body wasn’t the sexiest or easiest thing to maneuver around.
Why would she want to keep this a secret from me? I understand if it’s because I’ve done little more than complain about the rude boys living next door, but we’ve come a long way since move-in day! I was even civil to Knox when we all hung out at Tipsy Canvas. That alone should have scored me points for trying.
“Why wouldn’t you want to tell me?” I ask, and I sound more hurt than I’m trying to.
Her bright eyes soften and she rounds the counter to sit beside me. “I—” Her voice catches and she peeks over at me. Her cheeks are pink with embarrassment and it makes the cerulean of her eyes pop. My heart stings at the way Rory’s acting. For the first time since I’ve known her, we’ve both been keeping secrets from each other.
I don’t like the feeling.
“I know you don’t like Ace.”
I sigh, trying not to let the frustration I’m feeling lace my words. The last thing I want to be arguing with my best friend about is the boys next door. Make that boys, period. I fumble with the lid of the strawberries, pulling it closer so I have something to focus on instead.
“He’s growing on me,” I admit, and Rory scoffs. “What? I’m trying! We didn’t start out on the best foot with any of them and I’ve only just found out that the two of you have been fucking—” Her nose scrunches in distaste and I have to bite my tongue at the audacity of that. “For who knows how long. But we’ve talked and hung out and I think Ace and I might finally be on the same page.”
“Okay, that might be true, but what about Knox?”
I stare at her incredulously. “What does Knox have to do with this? ”
She shoots me the same look back. One that I duck away from.
Fuck.
“Quinn. You hate the guy.”
“Not true,” I say a little too quickly for my liking. I did hate Knox when I first met him, and he’s still not my particular cup of tea, but I’m beginning to think there’s more to him than I once thought. He’s not all dark tattoos and sharp attitude anymore. And, I’ve always found him attractive, if that counts for anything. “If I hated him, I wouldn’t have spent the night at their place last night.”
“Really?”
Double fuck.
I turn the conversation back on Rory because I don’t feel like talking about Knox anymore. What’s going on between us is for us to figure out. That doesn’t mean I can’t be happy and supportive of my best friend. “Ace was just a dick to me at the time and I really didn’t want to like him,” I admit. “And now, walking in on what I did the other night, I feel like shit because my best friend couldn’t even tell me that she was hooking up with our hot neighbor.”
Rory’s answering smile is contagious. I bump her shoulder and she nudges mine back as we burst into giggles, throwing our arms around each other for a tight hug.
“You think he’s hot?”
I roll my eyes, pulling away. “They’re all pretty hot, Ro. I can’t lie about that, even if I wanted to.”
“They are,” she huffs wistfully, handing over the can of whip to me. “It’s not even fair. What are they drinking over there?” She asks and that’s what I’ve been saying! There’s no way they all look that perfect without drinking something. We share a look because we know the liquid on constant flow in the apartment next door is alcohol .
Grinning at each other, I shove a berry into my mouth. “I cannot believe we’ve seen Slate’s dick.”
“I can’t believe he’s built like a fucking statue,” Rory sighs dramatically, spraying a dot of whipped cream on the tip of her finger before licking it off. “Like, he’s literally cut from marble! He’s a Bernini sculpture come to life!”
She needs to stop before I start choking. I’m laughing too hard for it to be safe, but everything she’s saying is true. Slate’s form is impeccable.
I’m happy to have had this conversation with Rory and not let the awkwardness build between us. Arguing over boys is something that I don’t ever want for our relationship. We didn’t even do such silly things when we were in high school.
Rory’s eyes soften. “I’m sorry for not telling you, you know.”
I offer her a strawberry that she accepts with a smile. “I know.”
“So,” she starts with a feisty grin and I’m sure I’m not going to like where this is going. “I’m pretty sure I just heard you say that you think all of our neighbors are hot. Does that mean you think Knox is?—”
A knock on the door interrupts and I’ve never been more grateful. I’m not expecting anyone and from the look on Rory’s face, she’s not either.
Sliding from the stool, I make my way to the door. As far as I know, Knox, Ace, and Slate had all gone to class after the breakfast they made us. I guess it wouldn’t be unusual for Slate to change his mind and come calling the second he gets bored, though.
Pulling the door open, my face falls when I’m met with four sets of stern eyes.
My parents and the Wilson’s stand in the doorway, frowning at me like I’ve been caught with my hand in the cookie jar before dinner.
“Mom, dad, hi,” I laugh nervously. Thankfully, I’ve changed out of Knox’s clothes from last night. That would’ve made this situation much worse. “You’re here.”
I’d forgotten this weekend is parent’s weekend, but they’re way early. I expected them to arrive at least mid-day tomorrow.
My father gives me his famous unimpressed look and I have the feeling I’m going to be grounded. “Why aren’t you in class, young lady?”