Brody fucking Connors.
My jaw tightens, and I stop myself from jumping out the window to go find him right this second. I’m sixteen—that’s practically an adult. I should be responsible—find a way to make Quinn feel better.
I’m sure I can find a time to punch Brody Connors square in the face tomorrow.
“You’re right,” I say, my voice a tad too sharp. “Boys are stupid. You should just stop kissing them altogether.”
“Very funny,” she mutters and then curls in on herself. “But what if he’s right? What if I’m a terrible kisser?”
I grimace, unsure how to handle her worries.
“Brody Connors is an idiot, Quinnie. That dickwad wouldn’t know a good kiss if it knocked the braces off his teeth.”
That earns a snort-laugh, and I smile, even as my chest aches. I hate that anyone has made her feel this small.
“You wanna know what I think?”
She makes a face. “Notreally.”
“Tough, ‘cause I’m telling you anyway. Someday you’re gonna kiss a guy and it will completely blow him away. You’ll be his entire world, and he’ll want to scream about kissing you from the mountaintops.”
“You really think so?” she asks, peering at me with those wide blue eyes.
“I know so,” I say firmly. “You’re smart and sweet and have an enormous heart. One day, some guy’s gonna be lucky enough to be on the receiving end of one of your real kisses. Not that weak fairground shit. And he’ll have zero chill and won’t be able to shut up about how lucky he is he gets to kiss you.”
A smile tugs at her lips. “Thanks, Tripp.”
She tears open the pack of M&M’s and pops one into her mouth before holding it out to me. I pluck one from the bag and press a quick kiss to her forehead.
I start toward the window. “Anytime, Quinnie.”
Show Pony
Quinn
The conversation I had with Tripp in the barn last night runs through my head as I throw my hair into a messy bun. He’s always been able to find the right things to say, to make me believe I’m not lacking the way I sometimes feel I am. But when I’m alone again, those doubts creep back in, sharper in the quiet.
So, I tug on a sweatshirt and grab a few sad-looking vegetables from Pops’ fridge as a treat for Winston before I head into the brisk morning. He gives a snort, greeting me as I enter the barn, followed by happy little snuffles and tail wags when he realizes I’ve brought him some food. The way to that pig’s heart is definitely through his stomach.
“Hi, buddy. How's the cutestpiggy I've ever seen?”
He squeals impatiently, making it very clear I’m not moving fast enough. The shallow dish I left last night is already tipped over and shoved to the back of the stall.
“I’m getting it. Hold on.”
I push through the gate, blocking Winston’s escape attempt with my leg, and shut it behind me while juggling the feed bucket and sidestepping the worst of the muck. His squeals only get louder as I fumble with the bucket.
“You’re an impatient thing, aren’t you?”
He nudges me with his head and snorts at my feet.
“God damn. That thing has got to be the loudest animal I’ve ever had in this barn,” Wes says, making me jump.
With all the noise, I hadn’t heard him come in.
“He just wants his breakfast,” I say, flipping his dish back over.
Winston lunges at the empty dish. I sigh, grabbing a chunk of zucchini and tossing it into the corner. He follows, letting me finally fill his dish with feed and a few extra veggies as a treat.
