I don’t even realize I’ve drifted off until I feel the brush of lips against my forehead.
“Come on, Sleeping Beauty,” Tripp murmurs, his voice low. “Movie’s over. You should go, so you’re back before Pops wakes up.”
I’m hit with a wave of sadness, suddenly wishing I could stay and curl up with him in bed. But I’m a smart girl. And smart girls don’t lose their heads over cowboys who bring them tampons and chocolate chip cookies.
Life isn't a Disney Movie
Tripp
“It’s all wonky-donkey,” Allie says from several feet away. “It needs to be higher on your side to make it less crooked.”
I lift the edge of the banner. “Better?”
“Perfect!”
I tie it off and step down the ladder, peering up at my handiwork. The carnival banner that Allie made for the end-of-the-year celebration at the elementary school is loud and colorful, just like her.
“What’s next?” I ask, glancing at my phone and hoping to find a text from Quinn.
Even though we talked things over during our movie night last week, things still feel a little stilted between us—like we’re both walking on eggshells, trying to keep conversations light and superficial. We’ve never needed to be guarded with each other before, and it feels wrong.
I figure the best way forward is to get back to our usual rhythm—to pick up where we left off with her list. I’m eager to have her alone again, to remind her this can still be easy and fun. Casual, like she wanted. Even if it’s not for me.
I refuse to believe I ruined what we had just because I fell for her.
Keeping emotion out of sex with Quinn was like splitting hairs—impossible, no matter how many times I told myself otherwise.
I texted her a picture of the package I’d gotten in the mail yesterday, telling her I had a little surprise for her and that we should make a date whenever she had time.
I shouldn’t be disappointed she hasn’t messaged me back. I’ve been busy all morning helping Allie at the school, and Wes said Dr. Dillard asked her to assist with an on-site surgery, so I know she’s tied up too. Still, I can’t help checking my phone every few minutes for a response.
“We need to put together the Plinko board,” Allie says, leading the way to a stack of wood a parent had brought in.
I grunt and kneel on the grass and grab the drill.
“You’re quiet today,” she says, sifting through the woodpile to find the instructions.
“Am I?”
I hadn’t noticed. I’ve been lost in my thoughts—hoping that everything with Quinn could be salvaged.
“You’ve got a broody face,” she says, waving a hand vaguely. “Like you’re about to recite depressing poetry to a sad but distinguished goat.”
I snort at the ridiculous analogy. “Maybe I’m just tired of building carnival games for my little sister.”
She gives me a knowing look. “Or maybe you can’t stop thinking about a certain friendof mine.”
I glance over the instruction manual and search through the pile for two pieces that go together. “I try not to think about Sawyer more than necessary.”
“Uh huh. We both know that’s not the friend I’m talking about. Why don’t you—“
I press the button on the screw gun, drowning out whatever else she’s going to say.
She rolls her eyes. “Fine, we won’t talk about Quinn or the fact you couldn’t keep it in your pants, even though her brother is your best friendandyour boss.”
If she only knew how hard I tried to keep it in my pants.
“I can’t believe you’d risk your job and your friendship over a fling.”
