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“Let me grab a shirt. I’ll be outside in a minute.”

“Do that,” Jonathon said.

Jonathon turned to leave; his heavy footsteps neared the front door before the screen bounced off its hinges from his exit. Quentin re-entered the bedroom to find a now clothed Phoebe scowling with her arm crossed.

Quentin moved closer to her and kept his voice low.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“I don’t think you are,” she said.

Quentin sighed. “What was I supposed to do?”

“Tell him to take a hike.” Phoebe rolled her eyes. “I have a feeling if I was the girl at the bar, you wouldn’t be so quick to leave.”

“Do you have to make this about us?”

“It is, isn’t it? Be honest with me, Quentin. If I were some random chick,” she paused. “A random virgin chick,” she added, “would you be so quick to leave?”

Quentin gritted his teeth. “You don’t understand.”

“That’s one thing you’ve got right,” she said, pushing past him to leave.

Quentin caught her arm. “Where are you going?”

“I’m leaving. It seems there’s a bonfire on the beach that everyone’s in a hurry to get to.”

She tried to shake him off, but he tightened his grip.

“If you walk out that door, you’ll run straight into your brother,” he said.

Phoebe shrugged. “I’m not the one scared of him,” she insisted.

Quentin narrowed his eyes and pulled her back, firmly, against his chest.

“This has nothing to do with me being scared of anyone, and you know it.”

“Whatever,” she said. “You better leave, or I will.” Phoebe folded her arms.

Quentin wavered, and she lifted a brow with her mouth tight and her attitude on ten.

“As you wish,” he said, walking around her to leave the room.

“No, as you wish,” she mumbled under breath. It would be the last time she ever gave Quentin Davidson the time of day.

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