In Every Universe | Quinn Hughes

19 | Lily

IT'S THE NIGHT BEFORE I'M SUPPOSED TO BE STAYING AT the lake house for the summer with my friends, Quinn included, and I'm mentally preparing by having an everything shower, lounging around in my apartment lounge room in my pyjamas with a tea and a smutty romance book in hand. I'm seconds away from diving head first into what could possibly be the best sex scene written, maybe ever, when there's a knock at the front door.

It was a Friday night, so to have anyone knock on the door in the first place was considerably strange. Both of my house mates were at parties, along with the rest of the Michigan student body, especially at this hour of the night.

So, being home alone and defenceless was the first alarm bell that goes off in my mind. The second is the very real possibility that the person knocking on my door could be Quinn, and that he's sort of tipsy and come for sex, which I'm terrified I'd give to him, even after telling him I didn't want that for now.

I mean, of course I wanted to be with Quinn, I loved being with Quinn, but I also didn't very much like feeling like I was purely here for his entertainment.

I shake off all feelings that the person behind the door could be Quinn or a serial killer, unsure which I'd prefer at this point, and just decided to find out for my damn self and stop being a pussy.

I'm mildly surprised at who I really find waiting behind my door at 10pm on a Friday night, hand perched up at in the air like he's about to knock again. He's got this deer in headlights look in his eyes as I yank the door open with mock confidence, tilting my own head to the side in confusion.

"Jack?" I ask, scrunching my nose at the idea that Jack Hughes was at my house, purely searching for me.

I realise something horrific, I'm wearing these tiny little baby pink shorts with lace around the trim and a matching cropped singlet. And no fucking bra. His eyes snap down to my chest faster than I think he can stop them, and his cheeks flare being pink, an exact match to mine.

But he's more confidant than I am, and instead of crumbling at the mere sight of me half naked in clothes I no doubt feel like he's tearing off in his mind, he leans against the doorframes, plasters a smirk on his lips and says: "Nice PJ's, doll."

My stomach flips, because now he's making it painfully obvious that he likes what he sees, and even though I was convinced I had feelings for Quinn, that didn't stop Jack from being equally as attractive. And for fuck sake I was moment away from reading maybe the hottest sex scene I'd ever read, I was not in the right mindset for this.

I frown deeply, sending Jack my deepest glare, because I don't know what else to do. "What do you want, Jack?"

"You, if I'm honest," he winks, but my glare doesn't falter. Just because he saved me from Brendan, doesn't mean I've forgiven him for fighting with Quinn over me. He sighs with defeat, dropping his smirk and his flirty act and rolls his eyes. "Fine, I'm sorry, okay? Can I come in now so we can hang out?"

"I'm sorry, what?" I ask, furrowing my eyebrows. Since when did Jack ever want to hang out?

He raises a single eyebrow at me. "You can put clothes on, if you must, but we made plans and I'm sticking to them."

"Wait, we what?" I ask, shaking my head incredulously. "When did we make plans?"

"After we . . ." He paused, cocking his head to the side. "You don't remember?"

I give him a look that tells him I most certainly don't, and I'm unsure why, but hurt flashes behind his eyes so fast that I almost miss it, but it's there.

"I-I'm sorry, Jack," I tell him softly, chewing on the inside of my cheek. "I drank a lot that night, I don't remember most of it."

"So you don't remembered, you know," he's avoiding my gaze, switching between which foot he puts his weight on. He's nervous. "What happened after I helped you with Brendan?"