Page 99 of Seven Lost Summers
And I know I’m totally fucked.
Theo nudges my shoulder, grinning. “You planning to make a move, Loverboy, or stand there and drool?”
I exhale hard, drag a hand through my hair, trying to shake the heat crawling up the back of my neck. He’s loving this shit, drinking it in as if it’s the best part of his morning.
“Come on,” I mutter, voice rougher than I intend. “Studio’s this way.”
She startles, barely, as though she forgot we were even here. After that she turns.
And fuck.
Her green eyes hit mine and everything stops. The breath I was pulling in never makes it past my throat. It dies there, trapped behind the sudden punch of her gaze, wide and bright and locked on me.
The impact runs through me everywhere.
I force my legs to move, stepping past her, ignoring the way Theo snickers behind us.
Prick’s enjoying this way too much.
The hallway’s dim, shadows clinging to the walls, the only light bleeding through the half-drawn curtains Ace never bothers with.
If Scarlet were here, it’d be a different story. Windows open. Sunlight pouring in. That sharp, clean smell of fresh air cutting through the thick, stale heat. But she’s off with her band, filming some music video I haven’t bothered to ask about.
Even with me leading, I sense Quinn right behind me.
Too fucking close.
Her footsteps are light, almost soundless, but I swear I catch the warmth of her body at my back, the hum of her breath filling the space between us.
I reach the studio and shove the door open.
The familiar hit of stale beer, sweat, and too many years spent chasing sound smacks me in the face. It’s the same as always, cluttered with cables and amps, the kind of place that carries more memory than a room. Every surface has a story.
Xander’s leaning against the far wall, arms crossed and unreadable.
Ace is slouched in one of the chairs, boots kicked out, expression caught somewhere between half-asleep and seconds from tearing someone a new one.
The second we step in, both of them look up.
I step aside, clearing the path as Quinn and Theo move in behind me.
“This is Quinn,” I say, keeping my voice steady, pretending this is another day. Another fucking introduction.
But when I glance at her, I see it.
The way her feet shift, uncertain. The twitch of her fingers against the camera strap, gripping it as if it’s the only steady thing in the room. Her eyes flicker, never landing, scanning the space as though she’s mapping every corner, every possible exit.
She’s nervous as fuck, and now that I’ve noticed, I can’t look away.
Xander pushes off the wall, his expression unreadable as he moves forward with that calm, controlled energy he always carries, the kind that makes it hard to tell if he’s sizing someone up or already three steps ahead.
Ace lets out a long breath as though we’ve ruined the sacred ritual of him doing absolutely fuck all. His eyes drag over Quinn before he finally stands. He stretches like he’s been asked to do something outrageously difficult, arms over his head, shirt riding up enough to flash the ink on his stomach.
“Hey, Quinn,” Xander says, stepping forward, smooth as ever. “Kit showed me some of your photos. Gotta say, I’m impressed.”
Quinn blinks, caught off guard for a second before her mouth curves. “Oh. Thanks,” she says, a little surprised, but there’s something proud tucked into her voice.
Theo claps a hand on Quinn’s shoulder, eyes gleaming, then throws an exaggerated gesture toward Ace as if he’s unveiling a statue in a museum.
