Page 31 of Fragile

Sighing, I put down my pencil. “No, I’m sorry,” I admit, running my hands through my hair. “I’m just tired today.”

“Date go that well, huh?” Hudson asks as his eyebrows wiggle suggestively. “Did he play you like a violin?”

“Dude, he’s a cellist. How the hell is he meant to play her like violin?” Jay asks with a creased brow.

My body tenses at the mention of it because a part of me had forgotten about the date altogether. Too hung up on the fact that Miles kissed me and then disappeared. Does he even remember kissing me? Did he do it because he was drunk? Was it so bad that he couldn’t face me? So many what-ifs have plagued me all day. I almost canceled the scrapbook club so I could mope and bury myself in chocolate, but I hate letting people down.

“I don’t want to talk about last night,” I mumble, but not quietly enough, because Indie stands and marches her biker boot-loving self over to me, grabs my arm, and shouts over her shoulder. “Carry on scrapbooking, you two. No arguments or no more pens and tape. We’ll be back.”

As my best friend drags me into my brother’s room, I’m grateful Seb and Miles aren’t here.

She sits on the edge of his bed, crosses her legs, and looks at me pointedly. “Spill.”

I sigh, meandering over to the desk chair and sinking into it. “I don’t know where to start.”

“The date. Then tell me what’s made you sad, because I never see you like this.”

I tell her everything, the ‘nice’ date with Alex and how Miles ended up kissing me and pretending he was drunk. When I’m done, I could easily cry my heart out, because the more I think about it, the more I realize he kissed me and there’s a really good chance he might regret it.

“He kissed you?!” Indie yelps.

“Yup.”

Jaw slack, she finally closes her mouth. “Wait, he wasn’t drunk?”

“Nope.”

“Why did he do that?” She’s fuming at that knowledge, her arms flying around.

With a shrug, I sigh. “I don’t know.”

Her beady blue eyes narrow at me. “Why aren’t you madder?”

“Because…?” I don’t know why I pose it like a question. The issue is, why did he kiss me and then ghost me? I feel the pinch of anger ignite in my gut as I look helplessly at Indie.

“Get pissed at him, Quinn,” she demands, slapping the mattress. “He interrupted your date, he chased him away, kissed you, and then bailed.”

She’s right. He did do all of those things. I stand, suddenly feeling the adrenaline rushing into my body. “I am pissed.” I begin pacing the room. “He kissed me.”

“And sabotaged your date,” Indie adds.

I gesture to her with a ‘thank you’ look. “And I’ll never get that kiss back.”

She huffs. “Asshole.”

I storm over to the bed and sink down next to her, crossing my arms over my chest. “Complete asshole,” I mutter with less conviction.

“How dare he,” she says, hooking an arm over my shoulders. My irritation subsides just as fast as it came, though, because even if I wish I’d had my first kiss with Miles under different circumstances, getting pissed doesn’t help me much. It reminds me that we kissed and nothing else has happened. Indie must feel my mood shift because she asks, “Have you spoken to him?”

I shake my head. “But we go away tonight for the game, remember?”

“Ah, shit, I forgot I said I’d go to that. Why is football suddenly my life?” she groans.

I chuckle. “Because you’re in love with the quarterback. It’ll be fun though. You drive and we’ll have an epic playlist.” I fiddlewith a random thread coming from my sweater. “It’ll keep me from going insane thinking about Miles.”

“Sold.” Indie pauses for a second. “Anything else on your mind? You have that look.”

“I don’t have a look.”

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