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For the nexthowQuinn Faulkner’s hand

And not one of those drea a hot , crust, and skin so red with shame I wonder if it’ll stain me crimson for life

Sos me upstairs to the bathroo at my face

But it’s not a cruel, arrogant, look-at-what-a-klutz-you-are laugh

He’s too good for that

It’s kind, as if to say, no big deal Peach-flavored shit happens

I’rab the washcloth out of his hand and use it to blot at

“I…I’m sorry, Quinn I’ for you and—”

“And?” he echoes, snatching the daoo off ht that counts Don’t think I don’t appreciate it”

“But you sa clu

“I saw you practicing one hell of a talent act,” he whips back

For a second, I look down and glare at hireen eyes is there to soothe me Not taunt

He’s always been the older boy, but he’s also mature beyond his years

“Is this what you do when you go home to your fancy-sch in his voice turning me to butter

“You think I planned this?” Shaking my head, I smile anyway at how absurd it is “You think I wanted to look like a total ass in front of you and your grandpa?”

“I mean…it’s a step up fro back to the infao “And Gra up jars for his honey”

“Okay, but all that effort…I ot a chance to taste—”

I flinch as he runs his finger overa small dab of peach off my skin Then I watch in disbelief as he plucks it into his er

Oh my God

I pull my messy hair over my face like a shield

Bad idea, probably, when blushing this hard could set my face on fire

“Tastes like suy, and…oh, wait a minute”