And Then You (Until Book 2)

“Quinn,” he says, that rasp in his voice that makes me so fucking glad I have a bed where he can lie and say my name just like this.

I unwrap myself from around him and take his hand. Now that I know how it feels in mine, I find it hard to let it go even for a second.

And we talk.
About pointless things that become important when the person you’re talking to is important.

“I’m not going to bed,” he grumbles. “I’ve got stuff to do. I have an afternoon class in an hour.”
I nod. “That’s a great idea. I bet not a lot of people have seen a dead body in the water, so it’ll be a real teaching moment. And it’ll be memorable. Real life examples tend to be.”
The scowl deepens. “My lessons are memorable. Even without corpses.”
“That’s one way to advertise yourself.”

I watch him approach me. Messy hair. Shorts. A T-shirt with a large arrow in front that points downward and declares, “My eyes are down here.”
Wanting him makes so very little sense.
And still, I do.

“I want to get to know you,” he says.
This is hands down the unsexiest thing anybody has ever said to me.

In my head, I’m trying to catalog this moment. Make it make sense.
He kisses me like he was made to do it.
That’s all I have.
Because Quinn’s tongue slides over my lower lip, and then my tongue brushes his, and common sense loses the battle.

That all-knowing look of his really just invites shutting down with violence… Or kissing. I could violently kiss his face off.

“You’ve got your thinking face on,” Quinn says.
“I would never. Thinking causes wrinkles. It’s why I avoid it at all costs.”

Even as a tree and a bird, we’ll still be the same. Never the twain shall meet.”
Somehow, it doesn’t sound quite as appealing as I would’ve figured it would.