Page 77 of Four More The Merrier

"See?" I say to the room. "We don't have to tear each other apart. We can share this - share her - if she wants us."

Quinn takes a shaky breath, her fingers twisting the hem of her shirt. "I... I need some time to process this."

"Quinn-" Jarron starts, but she holds up her hand.

"Please." Her voice trembles. "This is a lot. I mean, what you're suggesting..." She looks at each of us in turn, her hazel eyes swimming with uncertainty. "I need to think."

I run my hands through my hair, fighting the urge to reach for her. "Where are you going?"

"The hotel across from the venue." She grabs her purse from the counter. "I saw they had vacancies when we pulled in."

"Let me at least drive you," Beau offers, already reaching for his keys.

"No." Quinn's voice is firm now. "I need space. From all of you."

Lyle leans against the kitchenette counter. "We really fucked this up, didn't we?"

"No one fucked anything up." Quinn's shoulders straighten. "I just... I need to figure out what I want. What this means." She gestures between all of us. "I mean, is this even real? Or is it just tour fever or something?"

"It's real," I say, the words coming out rougher than intended. "At least for me."

"For all of us," Jarron adds quietly.

Quinn nods, but her eyes are distant. "I'll see you all at tomorrow's show."

The bus door closes behind her with a soft click. Through the window, I watch her walk away, her auburn hair catching thestreetlights. None of us move until she disappears into the hotel lobby.

"Well," Lyle breaks the silence, "that went about as well as could be expected."

"Shut up," Jarron and I say in unison again.

36

QUINN

My fingers drum against the front desk as I wait, each tap echoing my racing heartbeat. The concierge's fingers click away at her keyboard, the sound mixing with the soft jazz playing overhead.

"Miss Dupree?" She glances up, her perfectly manicured nails pausing over the keys. "Your room will be 332. Do you need assistance with your bags?"

"No, I—" My phone buzzes in my pocket. Again. Fourth time in ten minutes. I know it's them. "I've got it."

The key card slides across the polished marble counter. I grab it, along with my overnight bag, and practically sprint to the elevator.

"What kind of person considers..." I mutter to myself, stabbing the elevator button. "I mean, who actually..."

But the memory of four sets of hands, four different kisses, four unique ways they each make me feel... My cheeks flush hot enough to rival the overhead lights.

The elevator dings. Empty, thank god. I step in and lean against the wall, letting my head thump back against the mirror.

"This isn't some romance novel," I tell my reflection. "This is real life. Real consequences. Real hearts on the line."

My phone buzzes again. This time it's Beau: Please come back. We can talk about this.

Lyle: Whatever you're comfortable with. No pressure.

Jarron: Don't be such a prude, baby.

Austen: You know you want to. Let go.

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