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“I’m surprised you can move your foot that much after the torture Peter put us through,” I say deflecting. He rolls his eyes.

“There’s a lot I can move,” he says, looking back at the first girl. “Unless someone else wants to do all the work.”

Her smile brightens, and I’m sure she is imagining Blue on his back and her in control. I don’t think he’s the type to give up control like that, though. No matter how tired he is.

“Pull up some chairs, sweetheart,” he says.

The girls, of course, do. And now we have an overcrowded table, while I can barely concentrate on anything but my roommate with some girl around the corner.

Is she a girlfriend? Or a friend? He said he wasn’t going to date…but then that was like minutes after meeting him, so he could just not be telling a virtual stranger his personal business.

Okay, I’m being ridiculous. I used him once to get off. That doesn’t mean I need to become obsessed with him. I can be normal.

And I have other things to focus on, like Chemistry. Which reminds me that I need to finish the chapters I didn’t before and read the next three. We’ll need them for our lab on Friday.

I steal a fry off Eli’s plate and try to listen to Blue flirt with the girls. It almost works. Then I hear Quinn laugh from around the corner, and my brain goes right back to him.

I’m so screwed.

Pulling out my phone, I type a reminder that I really don’t need.

Ch 4-6. Read them. Don’t be an idiot.

Too late for half of that.

Back in the room, I actually open the book. It’s a miracle. I make it through the chapters I fell asleep on the other day. And start chapter four, highlighter in my teeth, laying on my stomach.

But it’s the same noise as before, except now my brain keeps sliding toward his side of the room, mentally trying to make sure I put things back in the right place.

The door opens.

“Hi,” Quinn says, coming into the room and dropping his bag next to his desk. It’s super casual. Because he has no clue I jacked off to his face.

“Hey,” I say, after removing the highlighter from my mouth. It comes out normal. I have no idea how.

I watch him toe off his shoes. Then he goes to his nightstand and stops, his attention on the photo. My highlighter rolls off my fingers.

The frame is wrong.

My heart thuds painfully in my chest as he tips his head, then reaches out and fixes it. Two millimeters. Maybe three. His fingers brush the wood right where my come was, and he pauses, just for a second. Like it’s still wet or something.

I forget how to breathe.

His hand leaves the frame and hovers toward the pillow, and my heart stops. But he turns away before touching it. He grabs his books out of his backpack and sits at his desk. Opens a notebook and pulls out his pens, setting them in a line.

I release the air trapped in my lungs as quietly as I can.

“How was French?” I ask, because apparently I can’t handle silence.

“Fine.” He flips a page. His eyes shift to me. “How was your…day?”

“Good. Yeah. Peter, my captain, tried to kill me at practice. Then we went to Nana’s diner for a late lunch.”

I watch the side of his face. Will he tell me he went to Nana’s too?

“Christine and I went to Nana’s, too. She wanted pancakes,” he says.

Christine. That’s the girl in the picture. I could ask right now if she’s his girlfriend. Not that it matters.