Page 108 of Good Graces

And I know I’ll still feel him tomorrow. Not just physically but in the way he’s worked his way under my skin. Threaded in deep, right where I’ve always kept him. He’s made sure of it.

33

WARREN

I wake before my alarm.

It’s barely 5:00 a.m., and Quinn probably shouldn’t have stayed the night. We both knew that when her eyes started drifting closed, but neither of us could bring ourselves to untangle.

My arm is numb beneath her weight, her hair fanned across my chest, warm breath curling against my skin. For a second, I let myself stay like this, breathing her in. The soft scent of her cherry almond shampoo, the warmth of her pressed against me. Like if I stay still enough, I can make the moment last a little longer.

But practice is in less than an hour, and I need to move. Carefully, I brush her hair back from her face, fingers skimming her cheek.

“Hey,” I whisper. “Gotta wake up.”

She stirs, mumbling something I can’t make out before shifting deeper into the blankets. I try again, fingers trailing down her arm this time.

“C’mon, Quinny. I’ve gotta go.”

Her eyes blink open slowly, still heavy with sleep. For a second, she just stares at me like she’s not sure where she is. Then her gaze sharpens, and she pushes herself upright, dragging the blankets up with her.

I grab my shirt from the floor, pull it on, and start gathering my bag for the pool. Quinn sits on the edge of the bed, tucking her legs under herself, watching me like she’s waiting for me to say something.

Finally, she does.

“Look, I think we should address the gap,” she says quietly. “Not let it linger.”

I stop at the foot of the bed, tossing my bag over my shoulder.

“The gap?”

“The dark period,” she clarifies, pulling her hair into a messy knot on top of her head. “Between our breakup and now?”

I snort. “Is that what we’re calling it?”

“I’m not naive, Warren.” Her voice is steady, but there’s something tight in her expression. “I know you didn’t just ... wait around for me. I wouldn’t have expected you to.”

I exhale hard, running a hand through my hair. “Yeah, there were some girls.”

There were a lot of girls, especially in the beginning. Hookups that felt more like distractions than anything else. I’d go out alone, drink too much, and find someone willing to let me burn off whatever I was trying not to feel. It never stuck. It never helped.

Eventually, I slowed down. I couldn’t keep pretending it didn’t leave me feeling worse afterward, emptier, like I was just proving to myself how much I didn’t care. Because deep down, I knew it wasn’t true.

I wouldn’t tell Quinn that. Just like I wouldn’t ask her for details about who she might have been with. Knowing would hurt—too much, too fast—and I don’t think I could sit still and listen to it.

She doesn’t flinch, but I see something flicker across her face, something sharp and quiet. She’s trying to swallow down the sting, but it’s there in her eyes anyway.

“Nothing serious,” I add. “No one I cared about.”

I barely remember their faces, their names. I couldn’t tell you what half of them even looked like. Because no matter how hard I tried, none of them ever came close. They were never her, and I was never fully present with them.

“Why not?” Her voice is small, like she’s not sure she even wants the answer.

I shrug, shifting my bag higher on my shoulder. “I didn’t know what I was feeling. I just knew I couldn’t ... feel likethatagain.”

She swallows hard, her fingers curling into the blankets. “I tried, too,” she says after a beat. “There was this one guy. Someone from one of my lit classes. But it felt wrong.” Her voice dips lower. “I kept waiting for it to feel like ...you. It never did.”

My chest tightens.

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