Midnight Muse

Blushing, I dip my head, but it’s too late, the damage has already been done.

“No need to be all shy, Quinnie. We’ve already seen each other naked. Want to feel them?” Slate asks, gesturing to the hard muscles of his abdomen. He flexes, then does the same with his pectorals.

If I had a drink in my mouth, I’d surely be spluttering it all over the counter right now.

“I was not naked!” My retort is pitched, because really, I wasn’t. All he saw was me in my bra and it wasn’t even my nice one.

Knox glances at me but I can’t make out the expression on his face. He turns away too quickly for me to catch.

Of course, Slate has a witty retort. “Want to fix that?” He winks. “Or—” his eyes trail down my shirt and the boxers I’m wearing and I wish the floor would open up and swallow me whole. “Did you already have your fill?”

“Fuck, man,” Ace almost growls. It’s a little mortifying, how far Slate’s taking his jokes this morning. “Cut it out.”

“She slept in your bed.” Knox’s voice sounds like gravel. He doesn’t turn around, even when Slate groans, loud and disappointed.

“The one time I don’t answer my phone.” He sighs, refocusing on the task of pouring breakfast shots when Ace brings over the plate of bacon he’d been manning. “I’m sorry, Quinn. Let me make it up to you.” Slate slides me a shot of whiskey, a glass filled with orange juice, and gestures to the plate of bacon. “I’ll let you have the first one, even.”

I relent, because I need this breakfast to be over as fast as possible and the best way to do that is by keeping my mouth shut. Taking the first shot means I have to make the toast and I’m much too tired to be dealing with all of this right now.

Even Knox accepts the drink Slate hands him, flipping the last pancake onto the stack and sliding the entire thing to the center of the counter.

Raising my glass, the others follow, but I’m unsure of what to say. As I look at each one of them, I kind of get the feeling that everyone would rather be split off, doing their own things. Knox doesn’t meet my gaze and I ignore the pang I feel in my chest. Rory looks weary as well, and Ace’s eyes are on her, whereas Slate is the only one that doesn’t balk away from me.

“To Slate, who gives me more headaches that I ever thought possible.” Glasses chink as they’re knocked together, cheers all around.

“Did I hear you say head?”

“When were you going to tell me about you and Ace?” I ask Rory sometime later. We’ve decided to get an early start to the weekend, skipping our classes for the rest of the day. As much as my Art History grade won’t thank me, grilling my best friend is much more important right now.

She winces, ducking into the fridge to pull out a container of strawberries and the bottle of whipped cream as I slide onto the barstool. “Never.”

“Never?! Rory Judith Wilson, what do you mean never?” I exclaim, watching her squirt some of the creamy substance onto a plump strawberry and bite into it. The whipped topping clings to her nose and she wipes it off with the end of her finger, sucking it into her mouth.

She rolls her eyes. “Ugh, I hate it when you call me that.”

“Don’t care, Ro. Best friend privileges. Spill. Now.”

I hook a finger around the rim of the bowl, tugging it towards the middle of the counter so I can reach better. The fruit is red and ripe, juicy when I bite into one of the berries before plucking out another, this time adding whip on top.

“I don’t know,” she huffs, rolling a strawberry between her fingers like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. She deflates a little, resting her hip against the counter. “We aren’t even dating. We were just…” Rory shrugs helplessly, muttering. “Hooking up.”

The way that she avoids my gaze tells me she’s keeping something from me.

“Rory,” I elongate her name with a whine, letting her know that I know there’s more to that truth.

She sighs, “Please don’t make me tell you.”

My brows pull tight in confusion. Why wouldn’t she want to tell me about this? We’ve been best friends since we were eight! We tell each other everything! I even told her about that mortifying hook up my second weekend of classes last year when I made out with the Vulcan U mascot. He had a wicked way with his tongue but the Perry the Pinto body wasn’t the sexiest or easiest thing to maneuver around.

Why would she want to keep this a secret from me? I understand if it’s because I’ve done little more than complain about the rude boys living next door, but we’ve come a long way since move-in day! I was even civil to Knox when we all hung out at Tipsy Canvas. That alone should have scored me points for trying.

“Why wouldn’t you want to tell me?” I ask, and I sound more hurt than I’m trying to.

Her bright eyes soften and she rounds the counter to sit beside me. “I—” Her voice catches and she peeks over at me. Her cheeks are pink with embarrassment and it makes the cerulean of her eyes pop. My heart stings at the way Rory’s acting. For the first time since I’ve known her, we’ve both been keeping secrets from each other.

I don’t like the feeling.

“I know you don’t like Ace.”