I clap him on the back and walk out of the stable, ready to tell Quinn all the things I’ve been wanting to say since that first kiss in my hot tub.
Choices
Quinn
Ipound on the door again, a mixture of nerves and agitation winding through me. Between Denver and everything that went down with Wes, I knew he was upset—but he’s never shut me out before. And this conversation is long overdue.
My phone buzzes, and my heart leaps into my throat when I see Tripp’s face light up my screen.
"Hey," I say, my voice tight.
"Honey, open your window. Please?"
I blink. "What?"
"I've been tapping on your bedroom window for the last five minutes. I needed to talk to you."
Of course he climbed a damn tree to my second-story window instead of just calling. That wasso utterly Tripp.
I press a hand to my forehead, torn between exasperation and something dangerously close to laughter.
"Tripp, I can't."
"Come on, Quinnie. Please? We've always been able to talk."
"No, I mean I can't because I'm not there."
There’s a pause. I can practically hear his confusion crackle through the line.
"What? Where are you?"
"At your house. I came to talk to you."
A sharp curse slips through the speaker. "Don't move. I'm on my way."
The line goes dead before I can say another word, and I plop down on the porch step to wait. I wouldn't let Tripp push me away over some self-sacrificing bullshit. After all the weeks of denial, I know exactly what we have, and I’m not about to give it up for anything. He's mine now.
The sound of his truck tires rolling up the drive has me rising from the porch ten minutes later. The late spring air is perfect for sitting under the stars.
Tripp strolls toward me, a couple of blankets slung over his arm. It’s dark out, but I think I can make out a look of chagrin on his face. Or maybe I’m just imagining it.
“You didn’t have to wait outside for me,” he says. "The door's unlocked."
"It's a nice night," I say with a shrug.
He tilts his head toward the porch. "You wanna sit?"
I nod and watch him spread one of the blankets on the wooden planks. I sit down, my legs hanging off the edge of the porch.
“You know, one of these days you’re going to fall and break your leg trying to climb through my window.”
He chuckles, low and deep. The rumble of it makes my body come alive as he steps in between my legs and wraps the second blanket around me.
The contact is like a gasp of fresh air after being underwater too long. It’s life-giving, but it’s too brief because once the blanket settles on my shoulders, his hands are gone, and his warmth recedes.
His thigh presses against mine when he sits next to me, and I can finally breathe again—at least for a moment.
The silence stretches, heavy as the night air, and my pulse races with the weight of what I’m about to say. Still, this is Tripp. I’ve always been able to be honest with him.
