Page 89 of Seven Lost Summers
The conversation slips back into an old rhythm.
Nate throws together a salad while Quinn and I watch, tossing out smart-ass comments between sips of beer. The banter comes easy, the kind of flow that used to be second nature.
Something in the air whispers we haven’t lost everything.
Time has moved on, but it hasn’t erased us.
When dinner’s ready, we carry the plates out to the patio. The sky stretches dark above, the air still warm and heavy from the day. We eat, drink too many beers, and talk about nothing that matters and everything that does.
For a little while, we are who we used to be.
Almost.
Because the girl who once anchored all of this—the one who made us more than we ever were on our own—isn’t here. Her absence is quiet, but it never fades. It lingers in the empty spaces, in the words left unsaid, in the way we sometimes fall silent at the exact same moment.
Still, we keep going.
We let the laughter last a little longer. We fill the gaps with stories and shared glances. Maybe this is what it means to keep living after someone you love is gone.
Maybe this is what healing really is.
Not forgetting. Not fixing.
Just finding each other again, even while knowing a piece of us will always be missing.
Chapter 16
Quinn
Mynervesareafucking mess.
I didn’t sleep. Not properly.
I must’ve closed my eyes a hundred times, but my brain wouldn’t shut up long enough to let it count. It kept circling. Over and over. This job, this chance. This one shot I can’t afford to mess up.
I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, running through camera settings in my head, reminding myself how to blend in, how to stay quiet, how to catch the real moments without disrupting the guys. I kept repeating that I need to focus and remember why I’m here.
But none of that stuck.
Because my head was somewhere else entirely.
Back on that patio. Back in the dark with a beer in my hand and two boys sitting beside me, their laughter curling around the night as if it had never left. And all I could think about was how easy it seemed.
And how much I wanted to be closer.
All I can fucking think about when I look at them, talk to them, laugh with them, sit beside them on that patio as if it’s another ordinary night, is how much I want them.
Both of them.
Pressed against me. One behind, one in front. Theo’s mouth rough and greedy against my throat while Nate’s hands slide up under my shirt, as though he already knows every place I need to be touched. Their bodies surrounding me, pinning me, their heat, their strength, their weight driving me right to the edge.
I imagine Theo gripping my hips, dragging my ass back against his cock while Nate palms my tits and sucks at my neck, whispering filthy things in that low, gravel voice that always makes me squirm. I imagine their fingers tangled in my hair, their hands pushing my thighs apart, forcing space for everything I’ve been trying so fucking hard not to crave.
I picture them taking turns. Or maybe not even bothering with turns—both of them at once. Their mouths on my skin, lips trailing down my chest, my stomach, my thighs. Nate muttering about how wet I am while Theo smirks against my inner thigh, eyes dark and starved, like he’s been waiting years to taste me.
The image alone sends a bolt of heat straight to my core. My thighs clench. My breath hitches. Suddenly, I’m not thinking about the job anymore. All I register is the throb between my legs, the ache in my chest, and the way my body is screaming to let go. To stop pretending. To let them ruin me. Beautiful, filthy, no-coming-back-from-this kind of destruction. And fuck, I’d welcome it.
When I finally crawled into bed last night, I gave myself a good, long talking to. Reminded myself why I was here and why this job matters. Kit took a chance on me. If I screw it up, I don’t get another shot. No do-overs. No second fucking chances.
