Page 125 of Saving Sparrow
“I can’t believe you drove all the way back here in the middle of the night,” Elliott said, settling onto his side. Quentin spread out in front of him—my usual position when we all slept together. I snuggled in behind Elliott again, slipping my arm across his chest, holding his heart the way Quentin normally did.
“Five hours, pretty girl. I drove fivelongfucking hours to get back to you.” And he’d driven five hours to get there super early this morning, plus he’d done all the things required once there.
“I’m sorry. We should’ve gone with you.” Elliott sighed.
“Don’t be sorry, pretty girl. Just don’t let it happen again—if you can help it,” he added, surely for my benefit.
Things would be a little different when we got to Wembly. College and high school schedules didn’t work the same. Elliott and I both enrolled as English majors, so we could sync our schedules, but aside from some gen-ed courses, Quentin would be schooling it on his own. Plus, his football schedule would be more demanding, and we wouldn’t be allowed to watch him practice. We’d already spoken about it, and while Quentin pretended to understand, I knew he didn’t want to.
“Promise,” Elliott said.
I still hadn’t turned the lamp off, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t moving from this position again unless I had a gun to my head. Quentin reached across Elliott to slide a hand along my ribcage.
“I want you, Guelly.”
I chuckled, laughing harder when Quentin’s harsh touch turned into a tickle. “You always want me, Q.”
“Q for quarterback,” he whispered. “I still want you.”
Elliott shook with laughter.
“It’s after midnight. Get some sleep,” I said, knowing the order would do nothing if he was intent on having me. “And stop laughing,” I said to Elliott, poking him in his side. “You won’t get any sleep either if he does what he’s threatening to do.”
“Hey, I made no threats,” Quentin said. “Just stating facts.” We all laughed, then quieted.
A weird charge took over the room then, causing me to sit up and stare down at them.
Elliott and Quentin gazed at each other, Quentin appearing nervous—which was new for him. Elliott curled his fingers around Quentin’s shaggy hair. His eyes flared at Elliott’s touch as if it felt different this time. His gaze bounced over to me.
“Miguel,” Elliott whispered.
“Yeah,” I replied, holding Quentin’s stare.
“Is it okay now?”
“Yeah, Ellie. It’s okay.”
Elliott hesitated for only a split second before inching forward and kissing Quentin.
Quentin pulled back, mouth parted, expression confused. “What the…”
He glanced at me again, then back to Elliott, then back to me. “Guelly? What the fuck is going on?”
“We talked, and we all want the same thing.”
Quentin’s eyes bugged out. “Is this you making the first move, pretty girl?”
“Yeah,” Elliott breathed, reaching a hand back for me. I took it as Quentin assaulted him with a kiss that sent him flying onto his back.
I would’ve ranted at him for being so rough if seeing them go at it wasn’t so hot. Elliott let go of my hand to hold on to Quentin’s shoulders as Quentin crawled partway onto his chest. I inched back to give them some room.
I checked in with myself, searching for signs of jealousy or hurt and anger. All I found was love, a feeling of being alive, of being happy we had each other. This felt meant to be.
Elliott tried to keep up but couldn’t. He’d learn not to even try when it came to Quentin.
Quentin ripped himself away, leaving Elliott panting and flushed. Getting to his knees, he reached over Elliott to pull me to him, then kissed me the same way. “Fuck, I love you both,” he breathed, squeezing my nape. Elliott still lay on his back, our knees digging into his sides as we leaned over him, kissing like we hadn’t kissed each other in weeks.
“Do you feel it?” Quentin asked me, eyes fluttering over my face.
