Chapter 20
Quinn
December, Sophomore Year
The strangest thing, at least for Quinn, was that nothing much changed between her and Liv when they started sleeping together.
They still got along well. Maybe better, with at least part of the unspoken finally said aloud between them, and they still planned most of their free time around each other.
They existed almost entirely as they had before.
It was just, more nights than not, they ended up in bed together, bare skin rubbing against bare skin.
They weren’t dating. Categorically, nothing changed about their relationship. And Quinn was good with that. Things were great, actually. Quinn had never considered that this type of situation would work for her, but adding a physical element to her relationship with Liv was…easy?
She was continuing to enjoy her best friend, and the mind-blowing sex they’d added to their friendship.
They were extremely attracted to each other, and exploring that while maintaining the fun of their friendship—hanging out with Emma, movie nights, study groups, events on campus, even continuing their routine video calls with her sisters—felt right.
Not that they were talking about how any of it felt , of course. Because none of this had anything to do with feelings.
It was all just so normal .
And Quinn tried not to stress as the end of semester approached, as the holidays conspired to separate them. She tried not to think about anyone Liv might be sharing a zip code with for the holidays…
She tried not to worry that maybe things would change, that it might get weird or different between them once they were outside of their bubble.
So, if she went a little harder on the weekend before finals: if she took a little more time with Liv, mapping the contours of her body, exploring her peaks and valleys with her mouth; if she fucked her with her fingers, pressing deep inside her, until she moaned Quinn’s name far louder than was acceptable in the dorm; if she drew out their night together for as long as she possibly could…
So be it.
To be fair, though, it seemed like Liv was doing the same with her, nibbling and tonguing and sucking at Quinn’s neck while she gripped at her hips, Quinn’s body enthusiastically grinding into Liv’s, each working the other up until they found release.
They passed out together, twisted sheets and tangled limbs.
When Quinn’s alarm went off the next morning, Liv loudly groaned into her shoulder, snuggling in closer.
“It’s Sunday,” she whined.
Quinn chuckled. “I’m meeting Emma to work out.”
“It’s supposed to be your day off!”
“Training isn’t running the full week because of finals,” Quinn replied with a slight shrug. “It’s not a mandatory day off.”
“What is wrong with you weirdos,” Liv huffed, and Quinn chuckled again.
She climbed out of bed, Liv groaning again as the bed shook, and got dressed, throwing on a pair of sweatpants and a tank before donning a hoodie. She walked over to Liv’s mirror and was pulling up her hair when she let out a horrible gasp.
“You gave me a hickey,” Quinn exclaimed .
“I did not,” Liv replied, but when Quinn turned to show the mark blooming beside her throat, Liv didn’t look apologetic; she was positively smug . “Oops.”
“Oops? That’s all you have to say?” She had to admit that she was mostly charmed by the pride splashed across Liv’s face, although… “I’m supposed to meet Emma in the gym in like ten minutes.”
“Do you want me to help you cover it up?” Liv asked. She was sitting up in bed now, and Quinn wasn’t sure if Liv was trying to distract her with her chest, but it was working. She waited, allowing Quinn several moments to get her fill of the image. “Quinn?”
“Sorry,” Quinn replied. “Yes, please. Although I don’t know what I’m going to do tomorrow, when we’re back in the pool.”
Liv giggled, standing from Quinn’s bed and wrapping herself in a sheet. She made her way to her desk, pulling her makeup bag from the shelf over top of it, and then gestured for Quinn to sit before she pulled out several different vials.
Quinn tried not to be drawn in by the feel of Liv’s fingers pressing and rubbing at her neck, carefully applying creams, massaging some into her skin and dabbing others with a brush.
“It’s…not perfect,” Liv admitted, scrunching her face. She held the mirror up and Quinn saw that, though it was quite a bit less obvious than before, the coloring was definitely a little off.
It was Quinn’s turn to huff, and she pulled her hair out of the ponytail. “Hopefully, she doesn’t notice, because she will not let it go if she does.”
Liv shrugged. “I mean, if she figures it out, she figures it out.”
Quinn gawked at her. “Lady, you’re the one with the rules? You said you wanted to keep it in the room with us. ”
“To be fair, Emma is often in this room with us,” Liv replied simply. Quinn wiggled her eyebrows at that, silently calling out the suggestive note in what Liv had said, and Liv gasped, swatting at her arm. “Not like that!”
“I’m sorry, my brain glitched for just a second,” Quinn joked.
“I’m trying to be serious,” Liv told her, and Quinn steeled herself, holding Liv’s gaze. “If Emma were to find out, that would be okay with me.”
Quinn didn’t know what to say. Liv was so clear on what she wanted, on what her rules were—for them and their situation, sure, but also for herself, for her plan for her life.
But did it imply something that she’d be willing to share this with their friend?
And if so, what did they want it to signify?
Quinn stopped herself. Not everything had to mean something.
She pulled at her hair, running her fingers to flatten it, tugging it forward, trying to make sure that the spot was covered, before muttering, “Maybe she won’t notice.”
Not likely , Quinn admitted to herself, when the first thing Emma said when she walked into the gym was, “You’re wearing your hair down.”
She seemed suspicious, and Quinn realized that she was subconsciously reaching for her neck. She stopped herself, forcing her arm back to her side, and didn’t respond to what Emma had said.
“Good morning,” Quinn said simply.
“Morning,” Emma replied, her eyebrows raised. And maybe Quinn should have acknowledged the hair comment, because it was weirder, wasn’t it, to not say anything? “Rowing race today?”
“Sounds good,” Quinn said. This was a simple, regular workout of theirs on an easy day, when they didn’t need to be in the pool: just 8,000 meters of rowing, followed by at least thirty minutes of stretching .
There were five rowing machines in the gym, but it was such a regular part of their routine that they had their favorite machines.
But Quinn realized, as they walked over, that if she used the one she normally picked, Emma would be on the side she was trying to keep from her, much more likely to see the mark on Quinn’s neck.
“You’re on my rower,” Emma said when Quinn sat down.
“I want this one today,” Quinn replied, shrugging. She knew she was being weird but couldn’t think of a specific excuse.
“Is this because I beat you last time?” Emma asked teasingly. “I promise that’s not the machine. It’s just me and my superiority.”
Quinn appreciated the out she gave her. “Then you shouldn’t be concerned about switching?”
Emma rolled her eyes. “Eight K?”
Quinn nodded, and they began the race. Quinn loved to row, the mix of cardio and resistance strength training combined to provide an efficient exercise, working her core, arms, and legs all at once.
Plus, she had a significant height advantage over Emma, though she knew she couldn’t rely on that.
Her friend was stronger than she looked, and one of the most competitive people she’d ever met.
It didn’t matter that day, though, as Quinn pulled for 8,000 meters a full minute before Emma, slowing her rower to a stop and reaching to guzzle her water bottle.
“Maybe that machine is faster,” Emma grumbled, sounding exhausted, while Quinn gloated.
Emma sprayed and wiped down both of their machines as a penalty for losing their race before grabbing a towel for herself and tossing Quinn one. It wasn’t until they started wiping themselves down that Quinn realized her error, as she pulled the towel away to see it was no longer white.
“Are you wearing makeup?” Emma asked, sounding surprised .
This time, Quinn couldn’t stop her hand from slapping over her neck, and she had the pleasure, because of the floor to ceiling mirrors lining the room, to watch the blush creep from her chest, up her neck, to her face.
“Do you have a hickey?” Emma questioned, gasping. “Who have you been kissing, you dirty, dirty slut?”
“Are we shaming?” Quinn asked. But she knew Emma wasn’t. She figured she would even be a fan of this. Probably.
“Of course not,” Emma responded. “Please, I want you to live your best, sluttiest, gayest life and then, and this part is absolutely critical, I want you to tell me all about it.”
“Yeah, I’m definitely not doing that,” Quinn replied.
“Will you at least confirm that it wasn’t Scarlet?” Emma demanded.
Honestly, her ex-girlfriend hadn’t been on her mind at all, other than when she occasionally checked in with Liv to ensure that the two of them hadn’t had any more encounters.
Which, thankfully, Scarlet had kept her distance, and they only had the final exam before the class that they shared was over.
“Of course it wasn’t Scarlet,” Quinn scoffed.
“Very high and mighty over there for someone who let that relationship go on much longer than it needed to,” Emma replied. Which… fair .
“It wasn’t Scarlet,” Quinn said again, managing her tone this time.
“So, are you dating someone new?” Emma asked.
“I am not dating anyone,” Quinn answered automatically. “Maybe it’s not even a hickey, did you think of that?”
“You should have tried that at the beginning of this conversation, if you honestly thought it would work,” Emma told her, an incredulous expression on her face. “Is it someone else on the team?”