Page 17 of Fast Break
“Thursday works,” I agree, trying to be cool about it and not give away how hard my heart just started racing.
“Okay then,” Quinn says, eyes on me while I just stand there by his bed, not sure what to do. I finally collect myself and stuff my unopened laptop into my backpack. Quinn waits for me by the door and I follow him down the stairs, calling out a farewell to Amy as I go.
The drive home is quiet again, much like our drive to Quinn’s house earlier. But this time, I feel more at ease, less of the nervous energy that always seems to surface when he’s around. Quinn is still overwhelming in a way I can’t quite explain, but after spending the last few hours with him, I’m starting to settle into it.
Quinn pulls up out the front of my house and I glance in its direction, noting the glowing lights inside. That little part of me that I haven’t quite been able to shake tenses up at the thought of going inside.
Our house is not much to look at, just a simple cream brick bungalow built in the eighties with three and a half bedrooms, one bathroom, and a single living room. Luckily, I pulled firstborn privileges and claimed one of the full-sized bedrooms, unlike my poor little brother Benji, who got stuck with the glorified closet. But he’s only eight so he doesn’t mind too much. My twelve-year-old sister, Abbie, didn’t fare much better either.
We used to live in a better house before we left Evergreen ten years ago. My parents sold it when we moved to Morlee and let me just say it is much harder coming back into a heated city real estate market after an absence of so many years. Still, you wouldn’t hear anybody dare complain because this house is a ‘blessing’ so I just grin and bear it. Even if that small, petty side of me wonders what we would have been living in had we been able to benefit from the city’s housing bubble.
“You okay?” Quinn asks, shaking me from my thoughts.
“Ah, yeah. Sorry,” I say, reaching for my backpack. I realise I have been sitting here in Quinn’s admittedly very comfortable front seat for far too long. I’m sure he thinks I’m weird by now.
“It’s okay,” he says, probably just trying to be nice. I look across at him, once again struck by just how very nice he is to look at. Those bright blue eyes with their long, thick lashes look back at me and something swoops low in my stomach. I swallow, trying to ignore the feeling as it sifts through me.
“Thanks for listening to me. And not being all judgy about … you know,” I say.
“Any time, JT.” He says it like he means it.
“I’ll see you at school tomorrow?”
“Yeah. Maybe I’ll come watch you play basketball again,” he replies, that crooked smile tipping up his lip. Damn he is beautiful.
“Hopefully I’ll stay on my feet for you,” I say, instantly wishing I could reel those words back in. Yes, I turn into a pathetic klutz whenever Quinn is around. No, he does not need to know he has that kind of power over me.
“Oh, you do just fine, JT,” he laughs, his tone husky and making something just below my stomach throb.
I just chuff a little laugh, hoping he has actually seen me do something good on court rather than all the fumbling and tripping.
“Well, see you then.”
“Yeah. Seeya, JT.”
I watch him for a few more weighted seconds, not wanting to leave his presence. But I force myself to move, stealing one last glance to find him still watching me. I head towards the front door, turning to wave. He waves back and a smile tugs at my lips as I step through the door, leaving him behind.
“What kind of hour to be coming home is this, Jethro Thomas?” are the first words I hear as I close the front door behind me. Four sets of eyes swivel in my direction from where dinner is being eaten at the dining table. Abbie and Benji are there, looking at me with big, worried eyes.
“I was working on a class science project,” I explain, dropping my bag and rushing towards the table. Dad really doesn’t like it when we’re not all here in time to say grace. Usually that means I’m rushing home from basketball practice, but Trey is good at making sure I’m home on time. I just lost track of it today.
“And who was that who drove you home?” Dad asks.
“Quinn. I’m doing my project with him.”
“Who is this Quinn? I haven’t heard of him before.”
“Quinn Dayton,” I clarify, internally rolling my eyes. How is he supposed to have heard of anyone in my school? I’ve only been there a month.
“Who else is in this group project?” Dad continues.
“Just me and Quinn.”
“Are there any girls in this group?” he asks, looking down his nose at me like he wants to catch me out on a lie.
“Nope. Just the two of us.”
“I don’t want to find out you’re spending time outside of school with girls, Jethro Thomas. Why aren’t you working on your project during class time?” he presses.
