Page 9 of The (Maybe) Murderer Who Knocked Me Up

“I’m afraid that was just a shameless ploy to get you to talk to me,” I admit.

“Really?”

“Yeah, really. After all, you’re legal now,” I tease.

His face turns an adorable shade of pink.

We just sit there for a while, the light dimming all around us. Then Quin takes in a deep breath and squares his shoulders. “What about truth or dare?”

“What about it?” I ask.

“Would you play it? With me, that is. I mean, it’s okay if you don’t want to. I was just thinking that since we were here, and you mentioned a game. But you said you didn’t actually mean it, so I’m sorry?—”

“Yes,” I say, interrupting whatever endless ramble he got caught up in.

He hugs his knees to his chest. “Okay. Thanks.”

His quiet “thanks” makes me feel guilty. I’ve definitely avoided him the last few years. His brothers made it clear that they didn’t approve, and I didn’t want to cause any trouble. Maybe I hurt his feelings in the process. That was never my intention.

“I’ll go first,” he offers. “If you like.”

“Okay. Truth or dare.”

He hides his face between his knees. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him talk to someone besides his brothers, unless you count teachers. That’s not uncommon for raccoon shifter litters. From what I understand, the schools have to keep them in the same classes whenever possible. It’s a state mandate enforced by the raccoon shifter counsel. Quin hasn’t ever needed to make other friends.

“Truth,” he finally says.

“Why were you crying tonight?” I ask.

He turns his head, resting his cheek against his knee. “My brothers are moving away.”

“All of them?”

His eyes become glassy. “Yes.”

“That has to be hard,” I say. “I’m sorry.”

He buries his face between his knees again. I give him time to compose himself. After a few moments, he leans back and wipes away his tears. “Sorry. I don’t usually cry like this.”

“It’s okay.”

He turns to me. “Truth or dare.”

I shouldn’t have agreed to this game. So many things could go wrong. Quin and I aren’t junior high kids anymore. We can’t get away with doing stupid shit just to prove that we’re cool.

“Truth,” I say. Nothing too terrible can come from that.

“Do you really think I’m sexy?” God, the way he looks at me. He’s hanging on my every word like there isn’t anything more important than what I think of him.

“Of course I do.”

I expect him to blush or smile, but he narrows his eyes and says, “Why?”

“Why do I think you’re sexy?” I ask.

“Yeah. I’m not the sexy one. That’s Silver. Or Link, if you’re into jocks. Lots of omegas are, apparently. Even Coin has this goth, hipster thing going for him. But me…” he shrugs.

Quin can’t see himself. At least not without comparing himself to his brothers. He sits there, poised for my answer, but I don’t know how to tell him how special he is without revealing how much I like him.

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