His cheeks bloomed the color of the leaves. “It wouldn’t be right. I shouldn’t.”
Wouldn’t be right? I could honestly say I didn’t know what that meant, let alone how to respond. “Can you explain?”
“I mean, I... I have no idea how to date a guy, let alone one in a wheelchair!”
“Yes. That’s a pickle.” Hunter had made a bad decision employingmeas his mole. How was I supposed to help when I barely knew how to date a girl, let alone a guy, let alone one in a wheelchair?
“It’s just, you know,” he said, “I question myself over everything. What if I say the wrong thing, like ‘let’s go for a walk’ or something stupid and I offend him?”
“Okay, stop right there,” I said, swiveling more in his direction. At least I could help on this point. “Granted I’ve only known Hunter a short while, but one thing I’m pretty sure about is that he’s not easily offended. Besides, ‘going for a walk’ is an expression. He’ll get that.”
“I’m scared. I’ll do something wrong.”
“And what if you do something right?”
That had him thinking, and a smallish smile bracketed his mouth. “I do want to see him again. It’s just—”
“Good. I’ll tell him you said so.”
“Along with everything else?” he asked, finally taking a proper bite of his sandwich.
“Yes.” I leaned back and stared at the lightly-clouded sky. Just maybe Hunter was right; I had to make my own luck.
And I would.
I’d make real friends.
I’d wow chief with the best feature article.
And I’d write the best party page columnScribehad ever seen.
Chapter Eight
Ihad a third tea. The chamomile and honey running down my throat soothed me, and it sparked just the right energy in me to concentrate on the essay I had to write on the most influential villains in literature.
I slurped up the last of the tea, catching the gooey honey on my tongue, and got up from the table.
Quinn, lying on the couch with his knees up, peered over his book,Muscular System. “Sneaking off to your room now?”
“That was the plan,” I said, setting my cup in the dishwasher. “Like every other evening.”
He lowered the book to his chest. “Exactly.Like every evening. Don’t you want to spend one evening in the living room with me?”
“Why? You’d just be a distraction.”
He grinned, and I was reminded of Bram Stoker’sDracula. “Oh would I?”
I wiped my hands on my jeans before picking up the laptop at the end of the table. “Yes, Quinn, you would. And I’d just distract you too.”
His gaze skipped down the length of my dark flannel pajamas. “Somehow I think I can handle it. C’mon.” He sat up and patted the spot in front of his feet. “Work here for a bit. Hard as it might be, I promise I’ll do my best not to distract you.”
I allowed a small smile at the waggle of his brows. Well now, I wanted real friends, didn’t I? This was the perfect opportunity to work on that.
I stepped around the table toward the Quinn-dominated couch. The air was thick with warmth and I had the tingly heat in my cheeks to prove it.
Darting to the air-conditioning unit for the first time since the end of August, I turned it on. Cooler. That was better.
When I returned to the couch, Quinn raised his brow gently, as if to ask about the sudden detour. I ignored it and planted myself at the end of the couch, far too close to his navy-socked feet to be entirely comfortable. But it was a small price to pay in the name of friendship.
