Page 51

If he says we should cancel the kissing, I’ll nod. If he doesn’t, I’m going to let him teach me the slow version, while trying not to think about his mouth on someone else last night. I can do that. I have to do it. It’s the best I have.

It’s another hour before Daniel grunts and throws his arm over his face. He lays there for a full three minutes before groaning again. And I hear him mutter, fuck, under his breath before he kicks his blanket off and swings his legs over the bed. He doesn’t look at me as he drops to the floor, heading for the bathroom.

I fidget with the book pages, before giving up and folding the book in my lap and picking at my nails.

Normal. Act normal, Quinn.

I force a smile on my face as the door opens. He comes out, carding his fingers through his hair, before he stretches, arms going high above his head and making his stomach and chest more defined. I try not to stare, averting my eyes a second before he looks my way.

“G’morning,” he mumbles.

My mouth wobbles over my own greeting. “Morning,” I say, and he winces like I shouted the greeting, one eye shutting, and turns away without waiting for me to say more to grab a shirt.

“Indoor voice,” he rasps, pulling on a hoodie. “Please. My head’s trying to crawl out of my skull.”

“Sorry.” I wasn’t even loud. I whisper it anyway.

He makes a wounded noise that might be thanks and opens the mini fridge, taking out a bottle of water and downing it while standing with the door still open.

He sighs. “I was an asshole last night,” he says to the open fridge. “I drank too much. Sorry.”

The apology is for yelling. I know that. It’s not for kissing someone else or lying about practice with Blue. Not that drinking is a good reason to be an asshole. If that’s the case, he should probably stay away from the stuff.

He looks at me, and I’m caught in his eyes. “I’m sorry I lied about practice,” he adds.

I swallow and nod. “I’m sorry I yelled at you, too.”

The corner of his mouth kicks up. “You’re fierce when you’re mad.”

“I don’t normally get mad.”

“Guess I’m lucky then.”

I don’t understand how luck plays into us yelling at each other. But I don’t say that.

I pick at the edge of the book. “Are we still…” I have to find a normal word. “On for later. The kissing lesson. This is tomorrow.”

Shit, does that sound too eager?

He watches me for a second, and I wait for him to cancel.

“Yeah,” he says. “After I stop dying.”

“Okay.”

I keep myself busy the rest of the day. Anticipation building by each passing hour. It’s not just the idea of kissing him again, it’s because I know that it means he’ll touch me. And maybe I can touch him.

When I get back to the room, I feel as if I’m going to vibrate out of my skin. Daniel’s already there. His hoodie is gone, and he’s in a soft green t-shirt that makes his eyes pop. He still looks a little hungover, but the color is back in his face at least.

He’s sitting on his bed, back against the wall, phone in his hands like he was scrolling social media before I appeared. He sets it face down on the bed as I shrug off my light jacket.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hi. Are you feeling better?”

“Yeah. I met Eli and Max for a late breakfast and had all the grease I could.”

I scrunch up my nose. “Grease?”