Page 15

15

WARREN

The pool’s shut down for cleaning, and the afternoon swim block is cancelled, which means we’re all on break for the time being. The lifeguards, the servers, even a few of the golf course attendants who wandered over all crammed into the break room for a fifteen-minute breather.

More importantly, there’s cake.

Zane turned twenty-one today, and Robbie brought in some shitty store-bought thing with way too much frosting. No one cares that it’s not good. It’s free, and it’s chocolate.

“Happy legal drinking age to you!” Robbie singsongs. “Hope you’re ready for the worst hangover of your life.”

Zane just shoves another bite of cake into his mouth. “You know I’ve been training for this moment.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Robbie says and slaps him on the back. “But you’re still on shift for another four hours, so no birthday beers until then.”

Zane groans, tossing his head back dramatically. “It’s like you want me to suffer.”

“Anything else would be a lie,” Robbie says.

There’s some scattered laughter, the kind that comes easy when you’re in the second half of your shift, when the worst of the heat has already passed and all you have to do is get through the final few hours.

The room starts to thin out after a few minutes. People trickle back toward their posts, some heading out for smoke breaks, others just trying to squeeze in a few minutes of quiet before the pool reopens.

I hang back. Not for any particular reason, just because it’s cooler in here. The AC cuts through the heat that’s been baked into my skin all afternoon.

Quinn hangs back, too. Coincidence, maybe. Or not. She lingers near the table, one hand wrapped around a paper plate, picking at the last bite of cake like she’s in no rush to leave.

Zane, still planted in his seat, tips his chair back and grins up at her. “So, Rose. Now that I’m officially legal, how about I take you out for a real drink?”

Quinn arches a brow. “Oh yeah? You think you can keep up with me?”

Zane smirks, tilting his head. “I know I can.”

She laughs. Not mean, not dismissive. Just humoring him.

My jaw tightens.

He isn’t touching her. He isn’t crowding her space. But he wants to. It’s obvious in the way his knee edges closer to hers, the way his voice dips low like he’s trying to carve out something private between them.

And she’s letting him. Maybe just for fun. Maybe because she knows I’m still here, leaning against the wall like I don’t care, watching them. Maybe because she wants to piss me off.

If that’s the case, she’s doing a damn good job.

Quinn tilts her head, studying Zane like she’s actually considering it. “What’s your drink of choice, birthday boy?”

Zane grins. “Rum and Coke.”

Quinn wrinkles her nose. “Figures.”

“Figures?”

“Yeah,” she says, smirking. “You seem like the type to order a drink with training wheels.”

Zane lifts his hands, flashing a lazy grin. “Hey, I like my alcohol masked by soda. Nothing wrong with that.”

“Mmm, sure,” Quinn says. “But if we’re going out, you’re drinking what I drink.”

“And what’s that?”

She leans back in her chair, all slow, deliberate confidence. “Whiskey, neat.”

I watch as Zane swallows, his bravado slipping just slightly. “Damn. Straight to the point, huh?”

Quinn smiles without showing her teeth. The kind of smile that dares you to underestimate her. Her skin glows under the harsh break room lighting, a sheen of sweat catching on her collarbones, on the curve of her neck where a stray curl sticks to her skin.

The ugly Sycamore polo does nothing to hide the slope of her waist, the way her hips rest easy in those cutoff shorts. She looks sun-drenched and unbothered, like heat itself, and I can’t stop looking at her.

“Only way worth drinking it,” she murmurs.

Zane clears his throat and recovers fast. I don’t know how he does it. Maybe he’s too stubborn to flinch, or maybe he just hasn’t figured out what kind of fire he’s playing with.

“Alright, fine. Whiskey neat it is,” he says. “But only if you promise to let me drive you home afterward.”

My teeth grind.

Of course he said that. Of course he’s trying to be charming, responsible, whatever. I know his type—boyish smiles and big talk with nothing solid under it.

Quinn’s fingers tap against the table, calm and easy. “Oh, you’d drive me home, too? That’s cute, Zane. But I don’t need anyone taking care of me.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Zane says, still grinning. “But you know. Just in case.”

I could leave. I should. This is getting ridiculous, and the heat under my skin is only getting worse.

But I stay planted, arms crossed, back against the wall. Watching her watch him. Because sooner or later, she’s going to look over here, and I’ll feel it like a spark to the spine.

That’s how it’s always been between Quinn and me. No matter the time, the silence, the distance we try to wedge between us, our eyes always find each other.

It was like that from the first day. Instant and reckless. Magnetic in the worst and best ways. And it hasn’t changed. If anything, it’s heavier now. More dangerous. Like a rip current under the surface—silent, surging, always threatening to pull us under the second we stop pretending we’re swimming away.

She doesn’t have to call attention to it. Doesn’t have to let it linger. Just a flicker, a glance, a fraction of a second where her eyes meet mine, and everything inside me tightens.

She shifts back to Zane, lifts her drink, hides a smirk behind the rim.

Zane, oblivious as ever, keeps talking. “I’m serious about tonight. One drink. Maybe two. I’ll even let you pick the place.”

Quinn tilts her head. “Oh, I don’t know. You seem a little young for me.”

Zane huffs. “Yeah, okay. Like you’re so ancient.”

“I’ve been twenty-one for a while, and you just got here. There’s a difference.”

“You’re six months older than me,” he grins. “That’s nothing.”

She taps a finger against her lip, feigning deep thought. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I should lower my standards.”

Zane laughs, low and easy, soaking in the attention like sunlight.

I don’t realize how tight my fists are until my nails dig into my palms.

It’s fine. It’s all just harmless flirting. It’s Quinn being Quinn. I know that look in her eye. I know the way she plays these games. It’s just enough to make someone want more, just enough to keep the ball in her court.

She’s doing it for fun. Maybe even for sport. But part of me wonders if she’s doing it for me. Just to see if I’ll react. Just to see if I care.

I shouldn’t.

I do.

She used to flirt like that with me. Incessantly. Flagrantly. For sport, sure, but also for real. And it was always real between us. Hot, heavy, soft, sweet—somehow all of it at once. Everything. Until it wasn’t. Until it was nothing. And I’d gotten used to that. Learned to be content with that.

But now, watching her do it with someone else? Even if it’s fake, even if it’s just for fun?

Zane opens his mouth again, but before he can make another move, Robbie leans his head in through the door, one brow raised in exaggerated exasperation. “Evans. You done embarrassing yourself yet?”

Zane startles, twisting toward him. “What? No. Not yet.”

Robbie sighs. “Wrap it up and get back to work.”

A few people chuckle. Zane groans but stands, stretching theatrically. “Don’t think this over, Quinn,” he says with a wink. “I’m not giving up that easy.”

She lifts her glass in a mock salute. “I’d expect nothing less.”

He disappears through the door, and now it’s just us. That’s not an accident.

I could’ve left before him, let the moment pass. Let her drift back into the version of my life I’ve spent two years trying to keep her in—distant, irrelevant, done. But I didn’t.

I’ve been doing this for weeks now. Letting myself fall back into her gravity. Letting convenience masquerade as coincidence. Watching her when I think she won’t notice. Waiting around like some part of me is hoping for something I’m not allowed to want.

I pretend it’s just how things happen.

It’s not.

Because here we are. Again.

Quinn leans back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other, dragging a fingertip through the condensation on her glass like she’s drawing circles around the moment. “Something you want to say to me?”

I exhale through my nose, push off the wall. “Not really.”

“Good,” she says, smirking. “Because if I wanted a lecture, I’d go call my mom.”

I arch a brow. “Wasn’t planning on giving you one.”

She scoffs. “You sure looked like you wanted to.”

I fold my arms and tip my chin. “You really gonna go out with him?”

“Maybe.”

Bullshit. I shake my head, turn toward the door, and let the word slip, low and clipped. “Whatever.”

“Aw.” Her voice shifts, all honeyed edges and barbed sweetness. “Are you jealous, Warren?”

I stop. For a long, stretched-out second, I don’t move. Just stare straight ahead, pulse pulsing in my throat, jaw tight. I don’t have to look to know she’s still watching me. Still locked in. Not blinking. Not wavering. And she doesn’t give me a chance to answer—not that I would.

She keeps going, voice soft enough to graze my skin. “I mean, it would be cute if you were.”

Now, I look.

She’s propped on her elbow, chin in her palm, eyes dark and gleaming. Amused, maybe. Satisfied. Daring me to bite.

I should walk away. Let her have the last word. Let her think she’s got the upper hand. But I don’t. I step back toward her.

She doesn’t move. Just watches. So, I take my time with it. Let the silence settle, stretch. Let the tension bloom into something thick and restless.

Finally, I say it. “You like getting under my skin, don’t you?”

She smiles, slow and smug. “What was it you said to me, once upon a time? You’re fun to mess with?”

I shake my head, huffing out something that isn’t quite a laugh. “Try someone less likely to bite back.”

“Oh?” she says, tilting her head. “And you think you can handle teeth?”

I lean in, just enough for my breath to stir against her cheek. “I know Zane Evans can’t.”

Her lips part slightly, just for a second. Just enough for me to see the way her breath catches. And then she pulls back. Just a fraction. Just enough to put space between us.

“Yeah, well,” she murmurs, voice light, almost airy. “Not everyone’s got your ego, Mercer.”

The moment breaks. The heat, the tension, the way she was watching me like she was waiting for me to do something—it all splinters like a thread pulled too tight.

I should be relieved. Instead, I just feel irritated.

She watches me, something unreadable flickering behind her eyes. Then she exhales, shaking her head. “For the record, you don’t have to be worried anymore.”

I arch a brow.

She shrugs. “Beckett’s dropping the whole tire thing.”

I tilt my head. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

I let that settle. Let her think I’m unbothered. Let her think this whole conversation is nothing. Because the truth is, I wasn’t worried. Not about myself, at least. Only about her.

There are no cameras in the back lot. No witnesses. No real proof. Just a clean slash to an expensive tire and a guy with too many enemies to know where to point fingers.

Nothing will come of it. There were never going to be any real consequences—unless Beckett made some ridiculous accusation against Quinn. And even if he did ... well. I have a feeling the rest of the club would take her side.

Still, I nod. “Good to know.”

She exhales, eyes flicking down to her drink, then back up. Her lashes are thick and dark, framing amber eyes. Her pupils are blown just slightly, lips parted, a hint of color high on her cheeks. She looks flushed. Warm. The same way she used to look after hours tangled up in my sheets, breathless and wrecked, her hands in my hair.

I feel it like a muscle twitch. Like instinct. Like remembering something I haven’t let myself think about in too long.

She tilts her head, watching me in that way she does when she’s trying to stay in control. When she’s waiting to see if I’ll cave first.

“You gonna keep standing there,” she murmurs, “or are you gonna go be useful somewhere?”

I lean in and knock my knuckles against the table. Slow. Deliberate. Close enough to catch the shift in her breath. Close enough to watch her throat move when she swallows.

“Careful, Rose.”

She blinks. Feigns innocence. “Of what?”

I let my gaze drag over her. Let the silence stretch. Let her feel it.

“You keep looking at me like that, I might start thinking you want something from me.”

Quinn scoffs, rolls her eyes, but the flush at her ears is impossible to miss.

I push away from the table and step back, finally walking out of the break room. I don’t look back, but I don’t need to.

I already know she’s watching me go.