Page 19 of Waiting For You

“Heading outside,” I mutter and push the door open, a warm breeze hitting my skin.

I hear Quinn following behind me and then feel his presence beside me. God, I wanted space, but fuck, it’s nice to have someone close. Someone who seems towantto be close to me at all times. I haven’t had that in…well, I’ve never had that.

“I love the smell of petrichor,” he says, his shoulder brushing against mine.

“Me too.”

Silence, just the sound of the wind rustling the trees. I feel calm, my heart rate slowing as I just take it in. For the first time, I’m with someone who isn’t making me talk, who isn’t upset with my reticence—who isn’t prattling on and on about something, trying to fill the silence.

Looking back, I realize Quinn has always been this way, comfortable in the quiet. The few times we were alone, he would just sit with me, never forcing me to say a word. And whenever I did speak, he’d listen so attentively, as if he hung on every word.

I suddenly realize that I’m glad I’m not on this trip alone. I’m glad Quinn wriggled his way into joining…even if my mind is conjuring up filthy things it shouldn’t.

“Did you sleep well?” I ask, and Quinn steps a little closer to me.

“Yeah, but I think I’d sleep better next to someone. I’ve always hated sleeping alone.”

I eye him, sipping at my coffee, the bitter, warm liquid moving down my dry throat.

“I get that,” I reply. It’s been so long since I’ve held someone or had someone hold me. Things with Kevin were over long ago, our sex life petering out months before we broke up, but he was never overly affectionate to begin with.

“If you ever want to just…you know, sleep in the same bed, I would be cool with that,” he says with a shrug. “It’s no big deal.”

“Don’t think that’s a good idea,” I reply. The beds in the trailer are small. For the two of us to fit on one, we’d need to practically be on top of each other.

“Yeah, well, don’t write me off so fast, Grey. Just think about it,” he replies and then turns his gaze forward, and I just stare at him. For a little too long. His hair is pulled back in a messy, low ponytail again, the end short and frayed. His cheeks are a little rosy from sleep, a crease cutting down the middle of one from his pillow.

My eyes slide down to his bare chest, and I feel that stirring inside of me again. My cock twitches between my legs, and I force my gaze away. I cannot. I really can’t.

But maybe you can.

“Heya!” a voice calls out and my head swivels toward the sound. Fuck, that voice, I know it from somewhere. Where do I know that voice from?

“Who’s that?” Quinn asks, leaning further into me. And for some reason, my hand moves to his side, my fingers curling into his bare hip.

He lets out a stuttered breath and presses fully against me.

“Greyson Hart!” a deep voice booms. “Is that you?”

“Oh, you’re shitting me,” I mutter, seeing a familiar face in the distance. I mean, seriously, what are the goddamn chances?

This stuff only happens to me, I swear it.

A loud squawk has me flinching. I forgot about the dreaded parrot.

For fuck’s sake.

“Who’s that?” Quinn asks, looking up at me. I should let go of him because right now, the way he’s pressed up against me makes it seem like we’re a couple, but still, I hold on. “And is that a parrot?”

“That’s Robert,” I mutter.

“Do you know him?”

“Yeah,” I reply.

“Like…know him orknowhim.”

I arch an eyebrow at him in confusion, and he lets out a small laugh. “God, have you fucked him, Grey?”

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