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“Nobody’s perfect,” she said, “not even me. But I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to.”

“See, there you go, putting words in my mouth.”

“I’m not, I’m just merely stating facts.”

“Because you’re a fact checker?”

“You know it.”

Quentin chuckled and reached out for her hand. Their fingers mixed, bringing their palms together. The door to his room opened, and Jordan walked inside. He looked from Quentin to Phoebe, then to the connection of their hands. Slowly, his eyes crept back over to Quentin.

“I guess you’re feeling better,” he said a bit frosty. “Phoebe, do you mind if I holla at my boy for a minute?”

Phoebe cut her eyes at Jordan. “As long as it has nothing to do with my business,” she said.

Jordan glanced from her to Quentin.

“Your business, huh?”

“Jordan…” Phoebe said, biting down on her teeth.

“Phoebe,” Quentin called. She looked at him with a frown. “Give us a minute.”

Phoebe hesitated, and she tensed. She was going to murder Jordan if he thought about mentioning them holding hands.

Without another word, she walked around the bed and left the room.

Jordan walked up on Quentin. “Have you lost your fucking mind?”

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