“Your paper is ready to be sent in.” I stood up and passed the laptop to him, stretching my arms out to maintain a good distance.
A tired smile tugged at his lips.
Ding-dong!
Finally!
I rushed to the intercom and buzzed Hunter and Shannon in. Two minutes later, they were rolling out of the elevator and into our apartment.
“Thanks for coming,” I said, jamming myself against the wall to let them pass. “I have no clue what to do with him.”
Both sets of blue eyes skipped from me to Quinn. Hunter chuckled, “Looks like we have a case of the man-flu, Shan.”
Quinn raised an elegant middle finger.
Hunter rolled into the room, shoving his chair right up in front of Quinn—
“Travis!” Shannon grabbed his chair and pulled him back. “I don’t want you to get sick.”
Silence.
I was sure if I spoke, my voice would echo coldly like it did in the pre-Quinn days.
Trying not to get involved, I managed to slip and come to a crashing thump on the ground. I picked myself up. In the gap between Hunter and Shannon, Quinn quirked a brow my way.
“Sorry.” Shannon stepped back from Hunter’s chair abruptly.
Hunter didn’t reply, pivoting his chair. The calm way he rolled across the room was belied by the flicker of a muscle in his jaw. Coming past me, he said, “I’ll come back later. Keep doing whatever you are doing. Quinn will man-up soon enough.”
“Hey!” Quinn managed in an awkward attempt to lighten the heavy air.
Hunter left, and Shannon just stood there with blue streaks of hair hanging over her shoulder and curtaining her face from view.
Quinn tugged her hand. “He’ll be fine, Shan. He’ll get over it.”
“Yeah,” she said, as I wondered where to put myself. In the kitchen where I could overhear them? Perhaps just disappear into my room? Stay put and say something to break the tension?
“Why do I keep doing that?” A hiccup rose out of Shannon and she took a steadying breath, her hands fisted at her sides. “Excuse me.”
With long, steady strides, she marched to the front door and presumably chased after Hunter.
Lifting the blanket sunk onto his lap, Quinn covered his shoulders. “She finds it tough.”
I stopped clicking my pen and snapped my gaze to his.
“She thinks it’s her fault,” he continued.
I perched on the arm of the couch and crossed my ankle over my knee. “What’s her fault?”
Quinn gestured to the spot where Hunter had been. “She was supposed to pick him up from basketball practice that evening. She was late....” He shifted suddenly, pushing himself into a wobbly stand. “I need to piss and, since you haven’t offered, make myself some honey tea.”
I stood abruptly, edging around the coffee table and keeping my distance. “Okay. Just sit on the toilet. I don’t trust your aim in this state.”
Three days and a remarkably-improved-Quinn later,it was my turn.
I dragged myself out of bed and into the shower. No matter how hot I turned the dial, the water wasn’t hot enough.
With studded breaths, I hobbled back into my room and jerked on my linen pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt, the difference between a cat and a comma showcased on the front.
