Page 93 of Good Graces

He glances back, eyebrows raised.

“I won’t auto-respond to you again,” I say. “Even though Iwasbusy, and it’s way more convenient.”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, well, you know how I feel about being left in the dark. Not a good habit, Rose.”

I give him a mock salute, then, “Consider me reformed.”

29

WARREN

I’m halfwayto the training center when I spot Quinn sitting on the bench just outside the entrance. Her legs are crossed, her hair curled and twisted into two little buns. She’s scrolling her phone like she belongs there. Like she does this all the time.

I gulp. Then grin.

What the hell?

Before I can say anything, she looks up and smiles at me. It’s a small, easy sort of smile. The kind that tells me she’s been waiting for me for a while. That she was intentional about being here and even more intentional about letting me know I matter.

She’s not keeping me in the dark; she’s showing up.

“Thought I’d come say hi before practice,” she says, tucking her phone away. “I was in the neighborhood.”

I snort. “The neighborhood of my practice pool?”

“That’s right.”

I shake my head. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“Yeah?” She stands, stepping closer, her fingers curling around the chain at my neck. “I don’t know. Once upon a time, I remember you saying the opposite.”

I snort again. She’s half-amused, half-self-deprecating. The joke shouldn’t land like this. It’s too much, too soon. But it’s Quinn, so of course it does.

I dip my head, letting my mouth brush hers. “I’m not always right the first time.”

“Oh, no?” She kisses me this time—slow and sweet. When she pulls back, her eyes flicker with something sharp. “I cleared my schedule for tomorrow night, by the way. If you’re interested.”

“Interested?” I drag my thumb along her bottom lip. “Yeah, I might be into that.”

She gives a low laugh. “Might?”

“Depends. What’s in it for me?”

She rolls her eyes, steps back, and grabs her bag off the bench. “Guess you’ll have to find out.”

“Guess so.”

We hover there a moment, caught in the in-between, neither of us quite ready to leave. Her fingers graze mine before she turns, and I’m still grinning like a fool when I hear a sharp voice call out behind me.

“Jesus, Mercer,” Hawkins sneers. “You planning on skipping practice or just sucking face until Coach drags your ass inside?”

I bite back a sigh and reluctantly glance over.

Reed Hawkins leans against the wall with his arms crossed. He’s got that cocky, know-it-all energy that makes you want to wipe the smirk off his face with a kickboard.

“Relax,” I mutter. “I’ve got time.”

“Just wouldn’t want you distracted again.”

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