Page 103 of Good Graces

Quinn snorts. “You’retoo tight.”

He chuckles, and I nearly roll my eyes hard enough to see stars. “Yeah? We might need to loosen up together.”

She snorts as she adjusts her stance. She’s not flirting back. Not really. But she’s not shutting him down, either, and that ... twists something inside me.

“Hey,” I call sharply.

Quinn’s head snaps up, her face breaking into a smile. “Warren, hi! What’re you doing here?”

I flick my gaze toward the tattooed man, who’s still got his hand on her waist. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t even acknowledge me at first. It’s like I’m not even standing here.

“Thought I’d pick you up,” I say, pointedly eyeing the guy’s hand.

He finally drops it, flashing me a tight, forced smile. I wish I could knock it off his face.

“Didn’t know you invited a friend,” he says.

“Yeah,” I mutter, eyes narrowing. “Not her friend.”

“This is Gage,” she says, like that explains anything. “He’s cool.”

“Yeah? Seems like it,” I say flatly.

She gives me a look, something between warning and exasperation. “Gage, this is Warren.”

He barely glances at me before flashing a wide grin at Quinn. “I’ll see you Tuesday?”

“Sure,” she says easily. “See ya.”

I wait for him to disappear around the corner before I turn back to her. I’m still wound tight, but she just lifts a brow, calm as ever.

“You didn’t have to come all the way here. I would’ve just popped over to your place when I was done.”

“Figured I’d save you the drive.”

“Well, thanks.” She smiles again—bright and warm, like she didn’t just spend the last hour sparring—and heads for the locker room. “Give me five?”

“Sure thing.”

She showers fast, hair still damp when we head back to my place. Quinn’s quiet at first, scrolling her phone and sipping the protein shake she grabbed on the way out, but her gaze flicks toward me more than once.

“You’re brooding,” she says finally. “Why?”

“I’m not.”

“Okay,” she drawls. “You’re simmering, then.”

I snort. “I’m fine.”

“Sure.” She sets her shake in the cup holder, turning in her seat to face me. “So . . . what’s up? Is this about your mock meet?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

I don’t answer right away, just pull into the driveway, kill the engine, and sit there a minute, fingers flexing on the wheel. I know I’m being annoying, but that doesn’t make it easier to shake. The knot’s still there, coiled tight in my chest.

Gage’s hand on her waist—the way he looked at her, talked to her—like he was just waiting for a green light.

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