Page 62 of Fragile Heart

“That doesn’t mean anything,” I snap.

“Didn’t you love her?” she asks, like it’s normal to be talking about my ex-girlfriend over dinner.

“What?” I blink slowly.

“Didn’t you love her?”

“I don’t want to fucking talk about her anymore, ok?” I watch her visibly tense like I’ve slapped her with my words. But I don’t apologize. Instead, I raise my hand to get the server’s attention.

“We’ll take the check.”

“I’m still eating,” Quinn says.

“I don’t care. We’re leaving.” I see a sadness flash through her big brown eyes as I snap, but I force myself to look away.

Quinn pushes her plate away, and as soon as I pay, I grab her by the wrist and walk out of the restaurant, not bothering to hide my anger.

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