Page 82

He’s wrecked. His face has that look he gets when our lab experiment works and he doesn’t trust the data yet.

“Hey.” My voice is shot. “Stay here. With me.”

He blinks like he’s coming back from somewhere far off. “I’m here.”

I drag his jeans and underwear up enough that he isn’t hanging out in the middle of our room, and I stand on knees that don’t want to. We’re close. He leans against his desk, the pens and notebook skewed behind him. I don’t crowd him this time. I just keep my hands on his waist so he doesn’t bolt.

“I meant what I said before,” I say. “Not the speech I practiced. The other part, I like you. I have for a while. I used my no-dating rule like a shield because I was scared of wanting something I wasn’t sure I could do right. That was shitty. I’m sorry.”

Quinn’s throat works. He looks at my mouth, then my eyes, then the door. My fingers tighten on his hips.

“You said you couldn’t do serious.”

“I know what I said.”

“You were gone all night. And you smell like…not you.”

I almost laugh, and it comes out wrong. “I slept in a hospital chair. Luke went down at the game. I should’ve texted you, but I was scared. I didn’t because I’m an idiot, and you thought⁠—”

“I thought you were in someone’s bed,” he says. He swallows, and I release his waist to brush the pain away from his face. “I told myself I didn’t care.”

“Quinn.”

“I cared.”

I feel that tiny sentence in my ribs. And I make a split second decision. I’m not going home. My mom will understand if I tell her it’s because I can’t leave him alone. Not that she knows what he means to me. But she has always said that I need to treat any relationship in my life right. And this is the right thing to do.

“I wasn’t with someone else, at least not in the way you think. My friend got hurt at the football game. I was at the hospital.”

He searches my face for a lie, but I know he won’t find one because it’s not a lie. He must settle on the same conclusion because he dips his chin down in acceptance.

“I’m not going to go home for break. I’m going to stay here.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

I smile. “Yeah, I know. I want to.”

“And what about…the D word?”

“The D word?” My brow furrows as I look at him. Running through the D words I know and none of them feel like they fit. Dick. Dumb. Demisexual. Degree. Disaster. “You’re going to have to be more specific. My blood is still in my pants.”

His eyes dip to my crotch, and pink stains his cheeks. He swipes his tongue over his lips and looks at the wall over my shoulder.

“Dating,” he says. “You said you don’t. You were very clear. Multiple times. I’m pretty sure a blow job doesn’t change that for you.”

“Oh.” I let out a breath. “That D word.”

He’s right. I want to give him all the time I have, but⁠—

“If you’re staying because you feel guilty about sucking my dick—” He stops, and I blink at him using that D word. “That’s not a good enough reason.”

I open my mouth to respond before shutting it again. That’s not the reason I want to stay. And I’m not positive if dating is a good idea either. But if that’s the only way he’s going to let me get close to him…I can try.

“I didn’t decide to stay because I felt guilty, brain. I don’t think I could ever feel guilty about giving you a blow job. Unless of course it wasn’t mutual…that would make me feel pretty shitty.” I swallow. “I don’t want to fuck this up, too. And it’s true…I am more of a love-'em-and-leave-em’ sort, but maybe I can change that—for you.”

He blinks at me, looking like an owl behind his glasses. I can’t tell what he’s thinking.

“No.”