Page 83 of Seven Lost Summers
“You sure this thing’s safe to be out in public?” he asks, shutting the lid.
“No,” I say. “But I’m hoping it doesn’t flash anyone else today.”
Theo swings my camera bag off his shoulder. “What a shame. I was looking forward to Act Two: The Panty Parade.”
“Keep dreaming,” I mutter.
He opens the passenger door with a flourish. “Your throne, my lady.”
I raise a brow. “What are you doing?”
“Multi-tasking,” he says, giving me a wink.
I climb in and mutter something about idiots and dignity.
He shuts the door behind me with far too much enthusiasm before climbing into the backseat as if we’re chauffeuring him to a red carpet.
Nate slides behind the wheel and starts the engine.
Theo sprawls out behind me, one arm slung over the headrest like he’s in the middle of a moody rockstar promo shoot.
“So, Quinn,” he says, voice smooth as fucking silk, “you ever been to LA before?”
I catch his dark eyes glinting in the rearview mirror.
“No,” I answer, shifting in my seat. “Not really.”
Theo tilts his head. “Not really? What does that mean? You drove past it once and waved?”
“I watched Clueless on repeat. Pretty much a local now.”
Nate snorts as he pulls out of the lot. “Hope LA’s ready.”
I roll my eyes and stare out the windshield as the skyline sharpens ahead.
Day one, and they’re already pushing every fucking button I’ve got.
This is going to be hell.
Chapter 15
Theo
She’sstunning.Alwaysfuckinghas been.
But now she’s more. Something that hits harder, knocking me sideways in ways I never saw coming.
That wild hair, still a mess of chaos and don’t-give-a-shit attitude. Those green eyes, sharper than I remember, deeper too. They’ve witnessed more. Endured more. Lived through hell and come out the other side stronger for it. She’s always carried herself as if the world didn’t get a say in who she was, but now a stillness sits beneath the fire, a steadiness that shows she’s survived more than she ever let on.
This isn’t only the Quinn I grew up with. This is the woman time carved out of her, the one life shaped through every scar and quiet moments she never talked about.
And fuck, I want to know all of it. Every second that built her into this beautiful woman. Every ache she never shared.
I saw how nervous she was when we walked up to her. The way she tried to keep her shit together, holding her head high the way she always does, but her fingers gave her away. Gripping the handle of that beat-to-shit suitcase, knuckles white, jaw locked.
So I did the only thing I know how to do.
I played it cool. Tossed in a smirk. Dropped a line. Tried to take the edge off, distract her from whatever the fuck was running through her head.
