I dragged the mouse symbol to the “send” button, and hesitated. A quick glance at Quinn’s blond tufts and clubbed ear nuzzled close to my side, and I added a P.S.
A soft chuckle came from Quinn, and the mattress bowed ashe shifted himself into a sitting position. “‘P.S. I’m gay?’” he read aloud.
I pressed send as I nodded, and then opened a fresh document for brainstorming. “Thought telling her might be appreciated.”
Quinn nudged my leg and I glanced at him as he picked at the seams of his bedcover. Slowly, he raised his head. “So, was I clear enough back there in the bathroom?”
My fingers stilled over the keyboard. “Yes, you want a relationship.”
“And?”
I clicked opened my calendar, and looked over the dates and appointments and deadlines. “Can I give you my thoughts after I’ve submitted my features article?”
“You don’t have thoughts right now?”
“Of course,” I said, resting my head back against the wood, “but they are... overwhelmed. I’d like to sort them first and find the right answer, and at the moment, I’m too distracted with this article I have to wow the chief with.”
Quinn twisted onto his knees, sheets falling to reveal his stunning nakedness. “Sometimes there is no logical answer. Sometimes it’s just a feeling. Stop thinking up here—and start thinkinghere.”
He touched my chest, and I frowned at his fingers, staring at the bitten-off nails a long moment before I spoke. “What if I will never be like you, Quinn? What if I don’t always yell and laugh and cry and cheer at things you or others might?”
He dropped his fingers to the edge of the pillow under me.
“Maybe,” I said, drawing the laptop closer and jotting in the date, “we shouldboththink about things.”
His nod was slow and measured.
“Do you want me to leave?” I asked, gesturing toward the bed and the door.
“No.” He planted a kiss on the side of my lips. “I still want youto sleep next to me. And would you think about something else if I asked?”
“Of course.”
“Would you come home with me, Shannon, and Hunter for Thanksgiving?”
Chapter Sixteen
Heavy. My limbs felt heavy as I made my way intoScribethat Friday. Each step toward the office felt like I had weights around my ankles. I chalked it up to a case of extreme nervousness, but that didn’t help the matter. Logically, I knew my articles were of the utmost quality and that I had to place in the top twenty-five of the BCA competition, but... but—
What?
There was no reason to allow this heavy feeling to consume me. I shook my head as if it would help lighten me, but it only sent a wriggly, tickly feeling to my stomach.
My pocket buzzed. A text from Hunter. He wanted to meet for coffee at Crazy Mocha Coffeethat afternoon.
Okay, I wrote back. By then I might be able to eat something. I couldn’t eat this morning—Quinn had pressed a spoon of oatmeal to my lips but they wouldn’t budge. Even the kiss he gave me afterward, licking away the smudge of mushed oats, left me empty of our usual thrills. All I’d wanted was to lean my head on his shoulder, for him to take the heavy feeling away.
I stepped out of the stairwell. In front of me were the frosted glass doors separating me from the buzzing, literary-charged atmosphere that encompassed most of my life—and the BCA results.
If I placed in the top ten, along with winning a feature article, surely the chief would be hard-pressed not to promote me to features editor? As soon as I had his word, I’d have a reason to mail my father again. He’d sit up and pay attention then—or at least keep me on his radar over the next couple years.
I pressed my clammy hand to the textured glass, rolled my shoulders back, and opened the door to the next stage in my life.
The board loomed at the back of the room, a halo of white notices around the navy-framed results.
One step in. To my right, in the corner of the room, Jack leaned back in his chair, swiveling as he chatted to a copper-haired girl I’d never seen before.
“So,” she said in a playful voice, “are you going to invite me to the cathedral party or not? It’s supposed to be the party of the year, and I couldreallymake it the party of your year.”
