Page 91 of Psychopath

That door didn’t close, but Quinn hadn’t expected it to.

“Are you going to stand there the whole time?” Zane smirked.

“It seems safer that way.”

“You didn’t come down here to feel safe, did you?”

Quinn glanced over his shoulder. David had sat down at his desk and picked up a file. He was frowning as he flicked through, still mumbling out a song Quinn didn’t know.

“Zane…this is a bad idea.”

Zane clacked his tongue. “You knew that before you came down here, but you still came.”

And it was true. There was no denying it wasn’t. He knew what might happen inside the cell, more than that, his stomach flipped at the thought of it, his pulse fluttered and his blood surged in his veins, leaving him dizzy at times and overly aware at others.

“You want this…”

Quinn shook his head. “I don’t even know what this is.”

“Must we play games?”

“I don’t know. Must we?”

Quinn had hated his new interview room and the partition between him and his participants. He hated the distance, he hated their voices slightly distorted by the microphone, and the reflection on the glass sometimes hiding their expressions. But not with Zane. The new room had been a blessing with Zane because if it hadn’t been there, if they’d still been in the room together with the blind spot…Quinn didn’t know if he would’ve been able to stay professional.

Zane stood up, and Quinn tensed. He didn’t pull Quinn further into the cell, but he took the folder Quinn was holding from him with ease and returned to the bed.

“So what are we doing today, Doctor Quinn?”

Zane opened up the folder and frowned at the questionnaire. “Surprise, surprise.” He glanced over. “Have you got a pencil?”

Quinn snapped into action, pulling it from the top pocket of his shirt. He moved to the bed and sat down, leaving a healthy distance between them.

Zane snorted as he eyed the space between their thighs. “You could park a bus in that.”

“It’s a clear line,” Quinn said. “Makes it easier that way. Nothing inappropriate can happen if we stick to our sides of the bed.”

“That sounds like a challenge.”

“Zane…”

“Why did you come down here, Quinn?”

Quinn gestured to the folder Zane held. “The study.”

Zane grinned. “The study,” he echoed, then began filling out the questions.

Quinn tried not to watch Zane, but it had been over a month since he’d seen him up close, no reflection of lights on his face, no barrier to hide his scent. Quinn could even hear his soft inhalation and exhalation and the scratch of his nails on his facial hair when he itched his cheek.

Zane kept catching Quinn in the act of admiring him and would glance up or smile.

“Is it difficult?” Zane asked.

“What?”

“Being this close to something you want and knowing you shouldn’t have it?”

Quinn didn’t answer.

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