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jt

I ’m not entirely sure how it happened but the sky is dark outside Quinn’s bedroom window and we are still lying on his bed talking. I honestly hadn’t meant to get so personal with him about what had gone down between me and Chanel, but I also felt like if I didn’t say something I was going to explode.

I also really needed him to know that I hadn’t slept with Chanel or anything like that and I couldn’t quite explain why it mattered so much. Only that it did.

Trey and the rest of the guys all just went along with the story that Chanel and I hooked up even though I’d tried multiple times to correct them. I admittedly didn’t know a whole lot, but I would like to imagine that sex would go for a bit longer than the five minutes I was alone in that bedroom with Chanel.

Quinn is surprisingly open and he is so nice to talk to about everything. I’d all but admitted I had a malfunctioning dick, but he’d just talked to me about it so calmly and reasonably unlike the boys who would have teased me to death about it. I don’t know what it is about him, but I just feel like I can trust him.

Also, Quinn and Jace are apparently not a thing. I can’t help but wonder whether Jace actually knows this, because he seems very possessive of Quinn whenever I see them together. I really wanted to quiz Quinn a lot more on their relationship but he was quick to put an end to that topic so I had to let it slide.

Quinn has started yawning and his dark hair is sticking up from where he has run his hands through it, but it looks good on him. As does the rest of him laid out beside me on his bed where I have admittedly invited myself. He doesn’t seem too upset about me being here though.

Amy knocks on the door a moment later and I sit up straight, only now remembering her rule about doors being open. I’m all too aware I’m about to be caught lying on her son’s bed with him. Not that it’s my fault —Q uinn was the one who closed the door in the first place so I don’t think I can be held to blame. But instead of panicking, he just sends a lazy smile at his mum.

“Super hard working up here I see,” she comments, an upwards tilt to her lips.

“What’s the time?” I ask, reality crashing back in on me and this super nice afternoon I have spent here in this bedroom.

“Time for dinner,” Amy informs me.

“Shit,” I let out. “Oops, sorry.”

“That’s quite alright. We don’t take offence to much in this house,” Amy laughs. “Are you staying for dinner, JT?”

I’m a little stumped by her casual invitation, especially as I haven’t given her any earlier warning like I would have to do at home.

“Ah, no,” I say anyway. “I should probably get home.”

“I’ll take you,” Quinn offers, sitting up beside me and looking around for his shoes. I do the same, unaware I had kicked them off at some point as Amy leaves us to it, door now wide open.

“So, it’s probably safe to say we didn’t get a whole lot of our project done tonight,” I hedge, willing my face not to light up like it usually does.

Quinn just snorts as he ties his shoelaces and rises to his feet. He’s still in his grey school pants and I have to tear my eyes away from where they reliably go.

“It wasn’t exactly a success but I’m not complaining either,” he returns.

“I was worried you might think I’m holding you back.”

“That’s definitely not what I’m thinking, JT,” Quinn quirks back at me and I feel myself smiling. “But maybe we better reconvene on Thursday seeing as we still have to plan out our experiment. Is that okay with you?”

“Thursday works,” I agree, trying to be cool about it and not give away how hard my heart just started racing.

“Okay then,” Quinn says, eyes on me while I just stand there by his bed, not sure what to do. I finally collect myself and stuff my unopened laptop into my backpack. Quinn waits for me by the door and I follow him down the stairs, calling out a farewell to Amy as I go.

The drive home is quiet again, much like our drive to Quinn’s house earlier. But this time, I feel more at ease, less of the nervous energy that always seems to surface when he’s around. Quinn is still overwhelming in a way I can’t quite explain, but after spending the last few hours with him, I’m starting to settle into it.

Quinn pulls up out the front of my house and I glance in its direction, noting the glowing lights inside. That little part of me that I haven’t quite been able to shake tenses up at the thought of going inside.

Our house is not much to look at, just a simple cream brick bungalow built in the eighties with three and a half bedrooms, one bathroom, and a single living room. Luckily, I pulled firstborn privileges and claimed one of the full-sized bedrooms, unlike my poor little brother Benji, who got stuck with the glorified closet. But he’s only eight so he doesn’t mind too much. My twelve-year-old sister, Abbie, didn’t fare much better either.

We used to live in a better house before we left Evergreen ten years ago. My parents sold it when we moved to Morlee and let me just say it is much harder coming back into a heated city real estate market after an absence of so many years. Still, you wouldn’t hear anybody dare complain because this house is a ‘ blessing ’ so I just grin and bear it. Even if that small, petty side of me wonders what we would have been living in had we been able to benefit from the city’s housing bubble.

“You okay?” Quinn asks, shaking me from my thoughts.

“Ah, yeah. Sorry,” I say, reaching for my backpack. I realise I have been sitting here in Quinn’s admittedly very comfortable front seat for far too long. I’m sure he thinks I’m weird by now.

“It’s okay,” he says, probably just trying to be nice. I look across at him, once again struck by just how very nice he is to look at. Those bright blue eyes with their long, thick lashes look back at me and something swoops low in my stomach. I swallow, trying to ignore the feeling as it sifts through me.

“Thanks for listening to me. And not being all judgy about … you know,” I say.

“Any time, JT.” He says it like he means it.

“I’ll see you at school tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Maybe I’ll come watch you play basketball again,” he replies, that crooked smile tipping up his lip. Damn he is beautiful.

“Hopefully I’ll stay on my feet for you,” I say, instantly wishing I could reel those words back in. Yes, I turn into a pathetic klutz whenever Quinn is around. No, he does not need to know he has that kind of power over me.

“Oh, you do just fine, JT,” he laughs, his tone husky and making something just below my stomach throb.

I just chuff a little laugh, hoping he has actually seen me do something good on court rather than all the fumbling and tripping.

“Well, see you then.”

“Yeah. Seeya, JT.”

I watch him for a few more weighted seconds, not wanting to leave his presence. But I force myself to move, stealing one last glance to find him still watching me. I head towards the front door, turning to wave. He waves back and a smile tugs at my lips as I step through the door, leaving him behind.

“What kind of hour to be coming home is this, Jethro Thomas?” are the first words I hear as I close the front door behind me. Four sets of eyes swivel in my direction from where dinner is being eaten at the dining table. Abbie and Benji are there, looking at me with big, worried eyes.

“I was working on a class science project,” I explain, dropping my bag and rushing towards the table. Dad really doesn’t like it when we’re not all here in time to say grace. Usually that means I’m rushing home from basketball practice, but Trey is good at making sure I’m home on time. I just lost track of it today.

“And who was that who drove you home?” Dad asks.

“Quinn. I’m doing my project with him.”

“Who is this Quinn? I haven’t heard of him before.”

“Quinn Dayton,” I clarify, internally rolling my eyes. How is he supposed to have heard of anyone in my school? I’ve only been there a month.

“Who else is in this group project?” Dad continues.

“Just me and Quinn.”

“Are there any girls in this group?” he asks, looking down his nose at me like he wants to catch me out on a lie.

“Nope. Just the two of us.”

“I don’t want to find out you’re spending time outside of school with girls, Jethro Thomas. Why aren’t you working on your project during class time?” he presses.

“Because the teacher told us we have to use our own time to work on it,” I say, trying to remain calm. “It’s worth thirty percent of our grade.”

“I see,” he says, using the break in the interrogation to take a bite of the spaghetti meatballs Mum has made. “What’s the name of the teacher who has made this supposed rule that impedes on family time?”

I can’t help the sigh that slips out, aware this will only aggravate my dad. “Mr Peters.”

“Penelope, can you call the school tomorrow to confirm this class project?” he says, turning his attention on my mum. “And if this is actually true, please have them note our displeasure at this imposition on family time.”

“Of course, David,” she says, always eager to placate him.

I slump down low in my seat, appetite gone missing. I can’t help but wonder if anyone else in my class is getting the third degree just for wanting a damn education.

But even as I sit there, just me, forcing strands of spaghetti into my mouth, that quiet inner part of me — the one who seems to be perking up a lot of late — is enjoying having the last laugh. Because that small, persistent part of me I’ve been trying so very hard to suppress is slowly starting to come to terms with the fact it’s not the girls in my class Dad needs to worry about.

Nope, Dad doesn’t need to worry about the girls at all.