Page 50 of Seven Lost Summers
But not Quinn.
The next time I saw her, she just handed me a drink and sat down beside me, as if I hadn’t spilled my guts all over the floor a week earlier. No awkward glances. No pity. Just that same dry wit and fuck-you stare that is Quinn Thomas. And it was exactly what I needed. She never once treated me like I was broken. That’s when I knew she was solid. That I could trust her.
Every guy who walks past gives her that same fucking stare. Eyes dragging down her body as if they have some goddamn right to it. As though her ass is up for auction and all they need is a smirk and a line to win her over. They don’t get it. Quinn isn’t theirs to claim. She isn’t some easy lay waiting for validation from a guy who thinks confidence is enough. She’s fire and a thousand broken things stitched together just tight enough to keep breathing. She’s built walls no one’s getting through. Not them. Maybe not anyone.
As she closes in, her eyes lift to mine, and a slow, knowing smile spreads across her lips.
Nate holds out the cigarette.
I watch her lips close around the filter as she inhales, then hands it back to him and exhales a slow stream of smoke.
“Hey, Theo,” Quinn says.
“Hey. Where’s your camera?” I ask, my eyes flicking to her chest. It’s always there, part of her. Seeing her without it feels wrong.
“Eye piece was fucked,” she says. “Sold one of my shots online and used the cash to get it fixed.”
Nate frowns. “You actually make money off your photos?”
Quinn shrugs, nudging a rock with the toe of her boot. “Not really. Just a couple landscapes. One finally sold.”
Nate gives a small nod. “Still impressive.”
Before Quinn can answer, the air shifts.
I don’t need to look to know it’s Bianca. My pulse gives it away, hammering the second she steps closer.
Her long black hair is pulled into a slick ponytail, every strand in place as if she stepped straight out of a fucking movie. Sharp. Effortless. She doesn’t even have to try, and still she knocks the air out of me.
She smiles. Not big, not fake. Just a slow curve of her lips that lands dead center.
“Hey, girl,” Bianca says, sliding in beside Quinn. Their shoulders bump, and Quinn’s mouth twitches into a rare smile.
Bianca turns to us, eyes lit up. “Did you hear she sold one of her prints?” Her voice is full of pride, as if it’s her own win.
“Yeah,” Nate says with a nod. “We were just talking about that. Pretty solid.”
Bianca bumps Quinn’s shoulder again, grinning. “Told you it was a big deal.”
Quinn rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling, the kind that never comes easy.
I watch them, the ease between them undeniable. Best friends. No question.
“Hey, Theo,” Bianca murmurs, and before I can process it she rises onto her toes and presses a quick kiss to my lips. It’s soft, but my whole fucking body reacts. My heart flips, stumbling hard enough I swear it misses a beat.
Almost as fast, she turns to Nate and kisses him too. Unbothered as ever. No hesitation. No second-guessing. She doesn’t give a single fuck who’s watching. Let them talk, whisper, judge, stare.
Seconds later, she’s back in front of me, her eyes locking on mine, searching.
Her gaze lifts slowly, dragging over the hood pulled low across my head. The one I never take off here. It isn’t just clothing. It’s the only thing that lets me breathe when the world won’t stop staring, the thin barrier between me and everything I don’t want to face.
She lifts her hands, and before I can react her fingers hook the edge of the fabric. She eases it back, slow, as if she’s unwrapping something fragile and broken.
I stand there with my throat tight, heart hammering, every part of me screaming to yank it back up.
But I don’t. Because in her eyes, she sees every fucked-up piece of me and doesn’t even blink.
Her hands frame my face as she says, “You don’t need to hide behind anything, Theo. Let those assholes see how beautiful you really are.”
