Page 18 of Roommate's Guide to Love

“Holy shit,” Quinn says, her body once again collapsing onto the bed. Only this time, mine follows behind her.

“Yes indeed,” I say, kissing her shoulder as I roll to her side.

Neither of us say anything as we catch our breaths and come down from the highs. Normally, this would be the time we make idle chit chat and I eventually ask her to stay. But I know better than that tonight.

I slowly roll off the bed to go dispose of the condom. I quickly clean myself up and splash some water on my face, which doesn’t take me more than a few minutes. However, when I come back into my bedroom with a warm washcloth for her, I notice Quinn is still lying face down on the bed. When I approach, I hear the tiniest of snores coming from her lips.

“Get some sleep, Hurricane,” I say as I do my best to clean her up while not waking her. I toss the washcloth in the hamper before carefully climbing into my side of the bed. For starters, I don’t want to wake her. She has to be exhausted if she let herself fall asleep here. And two, it’s taking every ounce of willpower I still have to not throw an arm around her, bringing her into me so I can feel her against my chest.

But I’m not going to do either of those things. I know better than to press my luck.

So I’m going to enjoy this moment while it exists. I don’t know how long she’s going to sleep, or if she’ll be here when I wake up, but I’m going to sleep now, knowing Quinn Banks is in my bed.

And that I fucked her so hard that she forgot to leave.

guide to love rule #48

If you’re sneaking out for a hookup, always make sure to have your story straight and an extra pair of panties. You never know when either will come in handy.

6

quinn

I’m thirty-four years old.I’m paid—or rather, was paid—to mold the minds of the future. To teach them right and wrong and how to make good decisions.

Which is rich, because I don’t think I’ve made a good decision since, well…

Shit. If you can’t think of anything besides the day you decided to get a cat then you probably haven’t made many good decisions.

Though that one good decision was the best choice I made. I know I’m biased, but Turtle is a superior feline, and there will be no debates on that topic.

But other than that, every other decision? Trash.

Oh, and it’s usually a decision I made without thinking through things at all. Consequences of my actions? That’s future Quinn’s problem.

Take, for example, in high school, when I ran for class president. It wasn’t because I had this need for political service. Nope, I just didn’t like the girl who was running. We never got along, she was a horrible bully, and she ratted on a bunch of us who threw a party and didn’t invite her.

But being class president was her entire personality. So I ran against her solely for the plot.

Then I went and won. Which meant instead of cruising in my senior year, I was leading meetings, speaking at graduation, and now apparently in charge of class reunions for the rest of my life.

No one told me that part.

Then there’s how I ended up in Arizona. Now, not living in Rolling Hills was a definite—no one could’ve paid me to live in the town where the Emily Babcocks of the world and people who otherwise knew me as Hurricane still resided. But it’s the story ofhowI ended up on the other side of the country.

I threw a dart at a map, and that’s where it landed.

Fast forward thirteen years later and now I’m not sure if that was my best move.

Then there’s last night, where I did the stupidest thing I could ever think of doing—I spent the night with Porter.

After sex.

I don’t spend nights.

Ever.

I’m a hit it and quit it kind of gal. Get out of there before the sun comes up. No awkward conversations. No chance for anyone to say that they’ll call when they won’t. And most importantly? No cuddling.

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