10. Quinn
CHAPTER 10
QUINN
F or the first time this semester, I feel at ease.
Sitting in the middle of the commons on the lush grass, I’m leaning against one of the biggest oak trees on campus. The bark is rough where it presses through the fabric of my shirt; it’s like my own little acupuncture therapy while my head is buried deep in my sketchbook, the urge to draw lingering from the weekend.
I’m waiting for Rory to arrive so that we can spend our lunch hour together. She texted me saying she would bring sandwiches and snacks and meet me after my Art History class ended, so here I am.
That’s right, not even horrible Art History can wreck my mood today. The rest of the weekend had been good. Peep’s party was a success, especially when Rory and I caught her and Sam pressed up against the wall in the hall, making out. Yeah, it was a little gross watching my older brother with his tongue down Peep’s throat, but hey, if something happens between them and they end up together, Rory and I will be in-laws, so I’m rooting for them!
There was something about the party that stirred up this sudden inspiration. Through the bits that I can remember, I could always feel Knox’s eyes on me. When I was in the kitchen with Sam’s arm slung over my shoulder, when Rory and I went to dance in the living room, when she and I snuck off to the bathroom together because —hello?— power in numbers.
Slate dragged Ace and Knox into a tight circle with us at one point, and I remember laughing and laughing until the happy ache in my cheeks went numb with alcohol. I think it had been Slate’s goal to distract us with each other because I’m pretty sure he disappeared sometime shortly after that.
The intensity in which Knox had looked at me hadn’t been lost on me. It made me nervous, from his normal harsh glare to when he eased up the more he drank. I hadn’t been able to decipher his expression then, but it’s been stuck in my mind since.
Hence, the drawing.
I’m adding the finishing touches to those thick, dark lashes of his, so intently focused on the piece that I barely notice the sound of footsteps approaching before a sudden, “I’ll see you later,” startles me from my stupor.
Looking up, I scramble to snap my sketchbook shut when I see it’s Rory. She’s not alone, Ace, Slate, and Knox trail her, though the latter of the group looks betrayed as he glares at his roommates. My stomach falls with disappointment at his scowl. He clearly doesn’t want to be in my presence.
It’s a good thing he’s distracted because I can’t help but stare. Knox is in his usual garb, wearing a black long sleeve shirt, covering the beautiful tattoos that line his arms. I think he does this to hide the very things I’m interested in seeing. That scarred skin I’ve only seen a sliver of while he was working on his bike a few weeks ago has piqued my interest, even though I’m still irritated by his previous actions .
Knox turns, shoving his hands deeply in his pockets as if he can feel my lingering gaze, but Ace stops him with a firm hand on his arm, dragging him to a halt. I watch Knox’s body go still, his spine straightening as his entire demeanor changes.
I can’t hear what they’re murmuring to each other but Rory’s stepping forward to settle down across from me, her arms loaded with our lunchtime essentials.
I take the sandwich she offers me, murmuring a thanks. I wonder what Ace is whispering to Knox because he looks almost apologetic, carefully removing his hand from his friend’s arm. Knox rolls his broad shoulders and relaxes slightly, muttering something back to Ace before the three roommates join our circle.
To my utter surprise, Knox sits beside me. I think it’s because Ace flanks Rory’s other side and Slate takes up the space of two grown men, but he shoves himself down onto his ass nonetheless. Knox’s dark brows are furrowed deeply as he scowls at the grass. He looks about as enthusiastic to be joining us for lunch as a sculpture with its arms cut off.
I set my sketchbook aside even though this is the first burst of inspiration I’ve had in the handful of weeks since classes have started. I’ve missed that familiar feeling rushing through my veins, the one where I lose hours upon hours drawing, not wanting to break from my work until it’s done. It’s refreshing and long-awaited and I want to bask in it.
If only it hadn’t come from the boy sitting beside me.
Unwrapping my sandwich gives me something to do, something to look at instead of Knox, who’s making it clear by his silence that he’d rather be anywhere else but here. I wonder why he’s staying when he’s a grown man and has the ability to leave and sulk elsewhere.
Slate is the perfect distraction, with his buoyant attitude. He’s a good guy, one of the best I’ve ever met, and I’m thankful to have found it in myself to accept his apology when he extended it. I doubt Ace and Knox will ever grow up enough to admit their wrongs and apologize, though I do find myself avoiding Ace’s gaze as often as he tries to catch mine, but I can be civil when they are.
I peek at Knox from the corner of my eye, back to studying him. He’s pulled out his own sketchbook, his sandwich abandoned next to him, still wrapped tightly in its parchment. His head is bent close to the paper, black hair falling across his brow from the tilt of his chin.
There’s an arrogance even to his drawing form. No, not arrogance, but a confidence that I’m entirely envious of. He seems to know exactly what he’s sketching, utterly enthralled with whatever is being etched onto the page. He’s quick about it, as if the image in his mind will disappear at any moment if he doesn’t get it down on the paper.
I feel weird for staring, but there’s something about him that’s drawing me in, now more so than ever. No one else seems to have noticed yet, so I take a bite of my sandwich as I watch. His tongue pokes out of the corner of his mouth in concentration and I ignore the way my heart thrums at the sight.
Finally, my gaze moves to his hands, squinting when I notice the scarring around some of his fingers, winding over the backs of his palms. It’s on his other hand too, the one propping his sketchbook up for a better angle. Across the top of his hand is a long patch of skin stretched so tightly I can see the muscles and bone structure as he works. I follow it upwards where it creeps under the long sleeves of his shirt. It’s still pink and irritated, and the bite of sandwich in my mouth turns sour.
Whatever happened to him, it must not have been good .
The conversations of our friends pull me back to reality before I blurt out something I shouldn’t, like questioning Knox on how he got those scars.
“Quinn, back me up here,” Slate exclaims, nudging me with his elbow.
“Ow,” I bite, because the fucker is sharp. He needs to pull his strength, too, because he probably punctured my lung. “What?”
“Ace said that painting is messier than sculpting, can you believe that? Asshole doesn’t even know what I go through to make such masterpieces,” Slate huffs dramatically. When I stare blankly, he continues with a scoff. “Yes, I know. Someone as glorious as me is multi-talented. I both sculpt and model. I’m really easy on the eyes and even better with my hands.”
I nearly choke on my lunch, swatting at Slate as he tries to sneak a grape from the bag I’m opening simultaneously.
Making that ashtray with him was messy as hell, but so much fun.
Swallowing, I answer, “Ew, Slate, I’m trying to eat!”
“Picturing me back in class, huh?” He responds cockily, wagging his eyebrows.
I shake my head in response. He wishes. “As if. You could only be so lucky to be in my thoughts. And I agree with you, sculpting is way messier than painting.”
Movement beside me draws my attention a little too easily. Knox is sitting back now, admiring his piece as he reaches for his sandwich. There’s a slight curve tugging at his lips that makes my mouth dry and all too aware of my own heartbeat. I wish I could see what he’s drawn, but form the angle of the pad, there’s no way I’m seeing shit unless I ask.
Which I refuse to do.
“I told you! ”
Ace says around a chip, with a smugness so thick, “Not the way I use it.”
“You fucking dog,” Slate howls with laughter. I bite back the amusement trying to thread my lips into a smile because Ace’s joke wasn’t funny. Instead, I stuff a bite of food into my mouth.
Slate’s chortling is so loud that it draws the attention not only of Knox, but half of the students in the courtyard as well. He doesn’t seem to care though, doesn’t give the slightest fuck about what anyone thinks about him, and I envy that. “That was a good one, Acey.”
Rory’s cheeks are rosy and my brows furrow when she avoids my questioning gaze. She seems much more interested in peeling the skin off of a ripe, purple grape.
Ace and Slate continue with their banter in a way that is brotherly and warm. A few times they try and goad Knox in as well, but he seems pretty content with watching and the sketchbook in his hands. I wonder if he ever joins in with them, lets loose enough to crack a joke every once in a while. I can’t imagine him acting so guy-like, but I suppose anything other than glaring and brooding would surprise me. I can’t seem to be able to separate him from the moody, irritating, monotonous neighbor I met him as.
“So, you’re picking me up tonight, right?” Slate asks with a lazy grin, stuffing another bite of sandwich into his mouth. It’s stacked so full of meats, cheeses, and veggies that it’s exploding from the bread, but Slate seems to have no trouble fitting it inside that big mouth of his.
“Slate, you’re the one that offered to call the Uber, shouldn’t you be the one picking us up?” I ask, pulling out my buzzing phone. Shit. I was supposed to call my parents between classes and debrief them on homecoming weekend. I might’ve accidentally let the beans spill about Sam showing up when I drunkenly sent them a picture of Rory and I forming a heart with our hands around our siblings who stood in the background. They were about two seconds away from kissing, but as far as my parents know, they were just talking really closely.
I send my mom to voicemail before shooting her a quick text, letting her know that I’ll call after my last class of the day.
Slate answers with a prissy tease. “Only if I’m ready first, which is unlikely, because I like to be fashionably late.”
No one mentions that he’s wearing jorts.
“You don’t need to be fashionable; we’re getting drunk and painting pottery. It’ll probably get messy.” His smirk widens and I shoot him a glare, tossing a grape at him. It hits his chest but he catches it on the recoil, popping it into his mouth. “Don’t. I know how it sounded.”
Slate’s only response is a wink.
My knock on the boy’s apartment door is answered by the one and only, my worst nightmare, Knox.
“Can I help you?” He grouses, and he doesn’t sound or look outright disgusted by my presence, but he doesn’t seem thrilled to see me at his door either. He’s wearing the same long sleeve from earlier, and it’s hard not to follow the stretch of the fabric as his muscles pop when he crosses his arms over his broad chest, staring me down with those bright jade eyes.
There’s a fifty percent chance I’m about to have the door slammed in my face again.
I tilt my chin up, as intimidating as it is to stand my ground, it’s just as much to look up at his towering form. “Are Slate and Ace here?” I ask, attempting to be civil. The half glass of wine I’ve already had churns in my stomach.
Knox doesn’t say a word. His gaze dips, trailing the length of my body and it makes me want to cross my own arms over my chest as goosebumps break out across my skin. I don’t like that I can’t tell what he’s thinking: if I’m revolting to him or maybe he’s just doing this to spite me.
Before I can call him out for his wandering eyes, he steps aside, holding the door open and allowing me into their apartment with a sarcastic sweep of his hand.
So much for the civility we had going at lunch, but at least Knox keeps his mouth shut.
I shiver as my arm brushes his, the warmth of his body zipping beneath my skin, jolting my heart rate like a set of jumper cables. I want to jerk away but instead I lengthen my strides into their home.
Their apartment is similar to mine, worn hardwood floors that are stained with the alcohol of a hundred parties. The black granite counters suits them, and someone’s painted the cabinets to match. It pulls the light of the room in like a void, whereas mine and Rory’s apartment has white cabinetry, reflecting the light—or lack thereof since the sun set hours ago—and makes the room feel bigger.
Their couch looks much comfier than the cheap one Rory and I found online. It seems like the perfect place to hunker down for a movie marathon, and I don’t even notice any odd stains on the dark fabric. Of course, their TV is colossal sized, and I think I’ll have to convince Slate to host a movie marathon sometime.
“They’ll be right out.” Knox’s voice startles me and I jump, unaware that he’d been standing so close. I peer up at him over my shoulder and it’s only now that I realize just how tall he is, nearly a whole head above than me.
I nod because my breath is caught in my throat.
I watch him move back to his seat at the counter where he must have been before I knocked on the door. Spread out across the dark stone are large pieces of drawing paper and an entire box of charcoal. They must be assignments that he’s putting the finishing touches on.
I bet being up all night surely helps him stay ahead of his coursework.
I stand dumbly, halfway between their kitchen and living room. I want to move closer, look over Knox’s shoulder to finally catch a glimpse of his artwork, but I don’t want him biting my head off about it, either.
“What are you doing with Ace and Slate?” Knox asks, and I’m shocked because it’s not said rudely. I didn’t know he had another tone besides annoying, or that he would ever deign to ask me of all people what my plans are for tonight.
“We’re all going to Tipsy Canvas,” I answer bluntly, because it’s more of an answer than he deserves. Knox seems content in his refusal to apologize to me, and that’s fine, but I can’t help the pang of remorse I feel, knowing that Rory and I are taking his friends out and he’ll be left alone tonight. I tack on, softer at the sudden guilt I feel, “You can join if you’d like.”
He looks up from his artwork, settling those beautiful eyes on me once more. Their coloring rivals that of a grassy knoll, waist-high strands that I could see myself frolicking in.
Although he doesn’t know it, Slate comes to my rescue, sliding out of his room while he tugs a shirt over his head. I allow myself to be distracted by the muscles of his abdomen that are sadly being covered up .
I’m sure he’d be more than happy to take his shirt back off if I asked.
Slate shakes his wet hair out like a dog and Knox grimaces when a droplet hits him in the face. I smother my smirk, tucking my lip between my teeth.
“Oh, time for Tipsy Canvas already? Please tell me there are going to be naked ladies.”
I roll my eyes because he already knows exactly what happens at Tipsy Canvas and that nude models are a no. But Slate truly loves nothing more than a naked body. “I don’t think they’d like it if you got naked at Tipsy Canvas, Slate.”
Ace emerges from the single door on the left side of the apartment. It must be his room, and even without having seen Slate enter from his own, I would know who the last room belongs to. The loud ass music that I share a wall with. It’s surprising, actually, how Knox isn’t in there right now with the noise amped up to astronomical.
“Wrong,” Slate answers flippantly, flicking me on the nose as he passes, making his way towards the door for his shoes. Knox frowns. “Everyone would love that, don’t kid yourself, Quinnie. Although, you already know what I’m working with. You can put in a good word for me if I see any pretty girls, right?” He bats his eyelashes at me. “Present company excluded, of course.”
Before I can snark back, Slate’s plucking his keys from the bowl by the door and sauntering out of the apartment. I hear him barge through my door a second later, shouting for Rory.
I take a breath to steady myself. I can feel eyes glued to the back of my head and I know that it’s Knox because Ace is following Slates steps and grabbing his wallet from the counter. I don’t want to be left alone with either of them, so I crane my neck over my shoulder, making direct eye contact with Knox. “You in?”
Ace’s steps falter as if he’s surprised that I’m extending the invitation. It makes me wonder what exactly Knox told his roommates about me that night we met.
He doesn’t break my gaze as he contemplates, and after a moment, he nods, standing from his chair and following Ace and I out the door.
I can’t help but feel like we’re moving a step in the right direction.