Page 47 of Good Graces

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.

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