“Some things aren’t yours to know.” He takes a drink of his water. “And we don’t know everything about each other, no matter what you may think.”
Hayden’s mouth curves slightly, gaze dropping back to his plate. We all stare at him, all of us silent, until Dean speaks, bringing up the bachelor party again. And even though the conversation has shifted, Hayden’s comment sticks with me. He always feels controlled. Like there’s a door closed somewhere no one else can open. One that he has the only key to.
By late afternoon my shoulders burn. It’s a good day, a productive day. We finished another track and it might be theone we release as our first single off the new album, and that feels huge.
Still, the urge to go home hits harder than usual. I catch myself checking my phone between takes. No messages. I almost text her anyway. I tell myself to stop obsessing. What the hell has happened to me? The thought makes me laugh under my breath. When did going home start feeling like something I look forward to?
The smell hits me the second I open the door. Pizza. It’s warm, comforting, and an unfairly domestic touch I’m not used to walking in to. The TV glows softly in the living room. Quinn sits cross-legged on the couch, laptop open beside her, a pizza box on the coffee table.
She looks up when I walk in. “You’re late.”
I glance at the box. Still closed. Two plates waiting next to the box. “You didn’t eat?”
She shrugs like it’s nothing, closing the laptop halfway. “Figured I’d eat with you.”
My chest tightens before I can stop it. “You waited?”
A small nod. Casual. Like it doesn’t mean anything, but it does and that hits hard. I drop my bag and move toward the couch, shaking my head. “You know you didn’t have to do that.”
“I know.” She says it simply, placing a slice on a plate before handing it to me. Our fingers brush, and our eyes dart up, locking together at the contact. “I wanted to.”
“Thanks.” I mean it. More than I realize.
A movie plays quietly in the background; something old, familiar. It’s comfort noise. I sit beside her, knees bumping as I settle into the couch. We eat in easy silence, trading quiet commentary about the movie, stealing slices from the same side of the box without thinking.
It feels normal. Dangerously normal. Halfway through, she wipes sauce from the corner of her mouth with her thumb. Mygaze catches on the movement, and I can’t help but think I wish I could have licked that off her lip. She notices, her eyes staying locked on mine. Her lips twitch. “You okay?”
I take another bite instead of answering. She smiles to herself and turns back toward the screen. The quiet stretches again, warm and unforced. When the pizza’s gone, she tucks her legs up, shifting closer without thinking.
I reach automatically for her ankle, drawing her feet into my lap. She lets me. The movie keeps playing.
“How was the studio?”
“Long.”
A knowing smile. The warmth of her body sinks into my side. She smells like shampoo and whatever lotion she always uses. Something clean and floral that makes me want to lean closer. The movie keeps playing. Neither of us really watches. Her hand rests on the cushion between us.
“Oh, how was work today? Any problems today?” I glance sideways at her.
She exhales slowly, eyes on the TV. “Better than Friday.”
My thumb moves absently along her knee. Slow circles. She doesn’t pull away. “I kept thinking about what you said.” Her voice stays quiet. “About not carrying more than I should.”
I shrug slightly. “Still true.”
Silence settles again. Easy. The movie flickers across the room, casting shifting light over her face. She leans her head back against the couch, shoulder brushing mine more fully now. My heartbeat kicks a little harder. No pressure. No expectation. It’s just closeness, like she feels safe.
Her breathing slows. At some point her head tips sideways, resting lightly against my shoulder. I go still. Because this? This feels more serious than any kiss.
A few minutes later her breathing deepens and I know she’s asleep. I glance down at her. Strands of hair fall across hercheek. Her mouth relaxed. Completely unaware of how hard my chest tightens seeing her like this. She trusts me. Careful, I shift slightly, sliding my arm behind her shoulders. She instinctively curls closer, hand resting against my stomach.
I stare at the screen without really seeing it. The apartment feels warm. It’s quiet and safe. Outside, the city hums softly through the windows. I should move her. Wake her up. Tell her to go to bed. But, I don’t. I sit there instead, letting the weight of her settle against me. Minutes stretch. The movie ends. Credits roll. Still, I don’t move. Because right now, right here, feels like something fragile I don’t want to break.
And for the first time in a long time, I realize I’m not waiting for the next thrill. I’m just content. And the noise I usually crave, I’m not missing it at all.
Chapter Eighteen
Quinn
