Midnight Muse

“It is that big of a deal! What did he say?”

He almost explodes, and I feel bad about keeping this from them. I hadn’t meant to, but nothing is confirmed and I thought he’d leave me alone after I refused to scope out the town for him. After that text a few days ago…well, we’ve all been so caught up with our own lives that I haven’t worked up the nerve to tell them. I haven’t even told Quinn yet, and my stomach clenches at the thought of that alone. I’ve had so many chances to talk to her about it since I received the text on Sunday morning and although my father’s purchase of the building is not yet confirmed, it’s only a matter of time before the deal is sealed. I can’t make her upset with me so soon after I just got her to like me. I’m a selfish prick, and I know it.

Rhonda swings around to check in on the three of us and senses the tension immediately. I can see it in the way her eyes narrow and the wrinkles around her mouth deepen. I offer an apologetic look for all of the commotion.

“Are you boys doing all right over here?” She asks, brushing a strand of graying chestnut hair behind her ear. She stands closer to my side of the booth, a protective wall should I need her.

My chest warms at the sentiment.

Ace’s heavy gaze hasn’t left mine and Slate is occupied with something behind the counter, craning his neck around Rhonda to see.

“I need to put in an order for blueberry waffles,” Ace says, “To go, please.”

I deflate in my seat when Rhonda nods, walking away.

“What did he say?” Ace asks, voice low. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

My chest twists at the way that he says it. I don’t know how to tell them this. They’re my best friends for fuck’s sake and here I am, sitting in the booth across from them, twiddling my fucking thumbs because I’m too much of a coward to tell them that the rest of our college experience is going to be fucked because of my fucking father.

I decide that ripping the Band-Aid right off of might be my best move. “He’s thinking about buying our apartment building.”

At their utter silence, I’m starting to think that maybe that wasn’t the right way to do this.

Surprisingly, it’s Slate who takes hold of the conversation. “When those waffles come out, we’re going to the store and getting ice cream, and then we’re going home to talk about everything we’ve missed,” he says, and I finally look up. They ordered waffles for me? Ace remembered? When I told him that my ultimate comfort food was blueberry waffles and ice cream when we’d gotten that misdemeanor for spray painting one of the buildings on the outskirts of town. We’d only gotten a fine and an escort back into the city, but it had spooked all three of us enough that our reign of spray painting started and ended all in one night. I thought my father would kill me when he was informed, and we found ourselves right in this very booth with enough waffles and ice cream to feed a small army. It turns out that Ace had called his father and pulled some strings so that mine never had to find out, and the incident was scrubbed from our records. “We’re sorry you had to deal with that, Knox.”

“I’m sorry, too,” I admit. “For not telling you.”

CHAPTER 25

QUINN

“Hey, dork,” Sam huffs, and a second later there’s a tiny basketball bouncing off of my head. I whip my chin up, glaring at my older brother who has already turned away, pretending like he didn’t just throw something at me as he dramatically makes a shot from the line in the carpet we deemed three points when we were younger. The bright orange ball hits the rim of the mini basketball net hung above the basement closet door and he frowns as it bounces off and rolls away. “Why are you grinning at your phone like that?”

My cheeks burn and I duck my head again. Knox and I have been texting almost non-stop since Thanksgiving break started, and the conversation has somehow moved onto what I have his name saved as before we started sleeping together.

As if I’ve changed it at all yet. I quite like the contact name douchewaffle for him. It suits him well.

Douchewaffle:

C’mon, Princess. Tell me.

I don’t think you want to know.

Douchewaffle:

Is it really that bad?

I’ll be honest, it’s not nice.

Douchewaffle:

Is it something you need to be punished over?

I clench my thighs together where I sit on the couch, thankful that Sam’s currently distracted by chasing the ball down so he doesn’t see how red my cheeks are. I didn’t know that Knox had this kind of mouth on him, but I am very much enjoying it.

“Oh, just something Rory said,” I bluff. Sam sees right through it, narrowing his eyes at me. He looks like he’s about to toss the ball at me again but if he does, I won’t be so nice about it this time around, so he better watch it. I’m not above kicking his ass at Basement Basketball.

He hums in response, “I’m sure. And do her texts always make you look like a tomato?”