An unexpected meeting with her one night sparked an interest for Caden Whitlock, who'd never witnessed a woman using her guitar as a weapon.
The same unexpected meeting left Lennie St. James wondering who was really the man beneath the motorcycle h...
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"You what?" Hana blurts, edging forward on the sofa in our cramped living space.
For someone who's supposedly 'deathly hungover', she seems far too alive. Her long, pin-straight black hair flows like silk over her shoulders, golden skin radiant as always.
Quinn even seems intrigued from where she's spooning some Ben&Jerry's for breakfast, sharing the pot with Noah and slapping his wrist when he takes too much.
"I really have to explain this again? I interfered with an assault, got booted in the cheek, hit one of them with my case, some dude rocked up on a Harlequin, and then I got a ride to Hawstone." I groan, smoothing my hands down my face.
I'm purposely leaving the glock part out. Hana would have a mental breakdown on my behalf.
Quinn opens up the freezer and launches a bag of frozen peas in my direction. I catch it at the last second. Volleyball has clearly helped with my reaction time.
"Somehow your night was more interesting than ours." She remarks, combing a hand through her auburn curls before grunting at Noah, "Fuck off, dick. This is my breakfast." She snaps at him, and I snort.
"This is my breakfast!" Noah mimics her with a sly smirk. Out of everyone, I'd say he looks the most dishevelled. His blonde hair looks rugged enough, some strands stuck together from most likely a spilled drink.
I take a second to laugh at how different we actually look from our fake ID's.
"No wonder I couldn't get in touch with you, I was getting real worried." Hana sighs.
"So you eased the worry by fucking that one senior?" I cock an eyebrow with a sly grin, she quickly raises her hands in defence.
"Miles is actually nice! And he's on the hockey team. Speaking of, I've agreed for us to all go to his game tomorrow. First of the season, baby!" She hollers, the screeching noise earning a hungover hiss of disapproval from Quinn.
"Are we supposed to know what's going on? Rules and all?" I laugh, she rolls her shoulders.
"Probably, but I've already explained we're not exactly hockey fanatics. Pretty simple. It's like soccer, but on ice." She beams.
"And with blades instead of boots." Noah adds, shovelling a spoon of cookie dough into his mouth. Quinn rips the spoon right from his pursed lips, launching it into the sink.
She's not a fan of sharing her food, and after living together for freshman year, Noah should definitely know that.
