Page 61 of Burnout
“I hope not.” But it can’t be a coincidence that two days in a row someone’s mentioned him hanging around town.
TWENTY-TWO
Colter’s birthdayfalls on Saturday night. The guys got back sometime this afternoon, according to Quinn.
When I walk into The Tipsy Rose, I already know Knox is here. Aside from seeing his truck outside, Quinn texted ten minutes ago to inform me my “hang out buddy” was here. She meant it as an excited warning, also probably trying to hurry me up.
Coach Weaver cleared me to work on vault yesterday, and I’m desperate to make up for lost time. I needed a long soak in the ice bath before I could function enough to get ready for a night out.
Nerves I don’t want to acknowledge swirl in my stomach. I’m excited to see him, but it’s more than that. I’m giddy. That make-out session the other night was…there are no words. We’ve been texting on and off since then, but mostly just gymnastics stuff or flirty, silly things.
I spot the birthday boy first. He’s sitting on a stool in front of the bar. Quinn is perched on his lap. I keep my eyes down to push through the crowd. This bar and one down the street are favorites with Valley U students, but tonight it’s a mixture of usand a slightly older crowd. I see people I recognize from school, but none I know well enough to approach.
A group of guys in riding jackets eye me as I angle my body to step past them.
Quinn slides off her boyfriend’s lap to greet me when she sees me approaching.
“You made it.” She throws her arms around my neck and squeezes me while leaning side to side.
“Hi,” I say, laughing a little. “Miss me?”
“Always,” she returns without missing a beat, then pulls back and guides me with a firm grip on my hand to the bar.
“Happy birthday,” I say to Colter.
“Thanks, Avery.”
Then I see him. He’s a few seats down, lifting a glass to his lips while talking to the bartender. Knox has already seen me, and it feels like I’ve given him the upper hand somehow. His gaze burns hot, and I feel a flush as he swallows and sets his drink down without ever taking his eyes off me.
“What do you want to drink?” Quinn asks me, dragging my attention away from Knox.
“Sprite, I guess.”
Colter orders it for me and before it’s arrived, Knox has made his way over.
“Princess,” he says by way of greeting.
I roll my eyes at the nickname that is apparently not going to die. Then say his name in the same mocking tone, “Knox.”
We smile at each other. I’d like to think his mind is back in that parking lot with his hand up my dress because that’s where mine is as I stare at the way his fingers wrap around the glass.
Someone jostles me from behind and I’m shoved toward him. Knox reaches forward and steadies me with his free hand. Those strong fingers I was just staring at wrap around my upper arm, and I narrowly avoid face-planting into his chest.
He smells good. He looks good too. Dark gray T-shirt, jeans, black boots.
Quinn squeals, breaking the spell I’m under. “A-babe, it’s our song!”
It takes a moment for the music to register, but by that time she’s already grabbed my hand and is pulling me to the other side of the bar where the band is playing a remixed version of “Good 4 U.”
It’s really her song. Don’t get me wrong, I like singing and dancing to it, but it’s Quinn who considers it her personal anthem. She loves Olivia Rodrigo.
“Don’t worry. He’s still staring,” she shouts.
“Who?”
“Knox. I knew pulling you away would drive him crazy.”
I shake my head at her. “I can’t decide if you’re a genius or evil.”
