He frowned, trying to place it. Instead of turning to Niko and making a fool of himself by asking questions, he slipped his phone from his pocket and opened Google. Maybe if he looked up the name, something would slide into place. But before he could even lift the screen, his stalker turned abruptly, his elbow catching August’s hand and sending the phone tumbling.
It landed with a muted thud beneath the table.
“Shit, my bad,” the man muttered.
He was already kneeling, reaching under the table before August could react. August’s first instinct was annoyance—but then the man straightened, phone in hand, and looked up at him.
Time stuttered to a stop.
Green eyes, sharp and unguarded, caught his own. The light hit them just so, making them bright, unflinching, and impossibly familiar.
August’s breath faltered.
He saw the small furrow between the man’s brows, the tension in his mouth, that scowl that had always come right before a smile—or something else entirely.
And then it clicked.
He wasn’t just a stranger on his knees in front of him.
He was Quinn Harlow.
The same Quinn Harlow who had once looked up at him from this exact angle, but the air between them at that time had been heavier, charged with something unspoken and terrifying. For one dizzying second, August could almost feel that same heat ghosting through him again, the echo of a moment that had never really left him.
August’s pulse thundered in his ears. For a heartbeat, he couldn’t move. He stared down at Quinn while the rest of the room faded into a meaningless blur and hum.
Quinn’s scowl flickered, confusion rippling through it, and his lips parted as though he was about to say something, but he didn’t. He juststayed there, one hand braced against the floor, the other holding August’s phone out like an offering.
August took it automatically, his fingers brushing Quinn’s. The touch was brief and accidental, but it felt like grabbing a live wire. Every nerve ending lit up, hitting hard enough to make his vision go blurry.
Quinn stood in a small shift of motion, but August couldn’t stop staring at him. The eyes were the same, yes, but his Quinn had had black hair and piercings—and fuck, he’d been such a goth kid.
There was none of that now in the man he was looking at. He couldn’t remember seeing Quinn with brown hair, wearing no black eyeliner. It was as if reality had split apart, revealing a different version of the person he had locked away in his memories.
“You okay?” Quinn asked, his voice lower than August remembered.
August swallowed, his throat dry. “Yeah. Fine.”
The word came out too quickly, too roughly. He cleared his throat and forced himself to look away; to pretend his entire body hadn’t just reacted like it knew his damn stalker.
Niko said something, but August didn’t catch what. He was too aware of Quinn standing close, and the heat that hadn’t been in the room a moment ago now clinging to the air like static.
He had questions. A thousand of them. How long had Quinn been back? Why was he here? Was his sister—
Oh Christ, Quinn’ssister—
Quinn gave an awkward and short nod, then sat back down. “Didn’t mean to freak you out,” he said over his shoulder as he faced Callahan again.
August blinked at his phone; his eyes caught on the prints left behind by Quinn’s fingers. He set his thumb over the top of one of them, pressing hard against it until the screen lit up in alarm.
“Snow.” Niko shook him harder. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
August let out a laughing breath, ignoring the pain of his chest cracking open. “Yeah, you’re not wrong.”
Chapter 11
Quinn
The main event of the charity ball began after dinner, and although the food had been to die for, Quinn’s stomach continued to sour as the night went on.
