*Quinn's POV*
The days following that moment outside the venue, Wesley Trent Stromberg constantly haunted my thoughts and dreams.
Not that he hadn't before, or that I minded it.
Had things changed? Not really, other than an increased amount of shameless flirting. The boys noticed the slight change in us, to which they had reacted to by either obsessing over us (yes, apparently there's an "us" now) or making vomiting noises and disturbing jokes.
Now we were on the West coast on our break, and I really hoped they would tone it down a notch. It was December, but me being me, it really wasn't all that cold for me considering I was used to the Canadian winters.
"Begging for change to get home..." I sung along to the radio. Wes and I were cruising the streets in his car, a nice change from the tour bus. It was ridiculously early in the morning, and we, being the only two morning people had gone for a run an hour ago and after waiting for me to finish taking a shower had just grabbed breakfast at the first place we saw that was open at 6 in the morning. The sun wasn't up, and neither was anyone in the tour bus.
"Or even San Fransicoooo!" He belted. He stopped at the red light. "That's a good idea. Let's go to San Francisco today."
"Let's not. It'll take forever to get there." A flash went off in my perephrial vision. Then another. And another. I looked to my right, and saw a bunch of middle-aged guys with professional-looking cameras. Wes cursed under his breath, and shoved his leather jacket into my hands as he put the hood of his sweater up. "Don't let them see your reaction, ruin their shots. All those stalking assholes want are good pictures to sell." I slipped my bare arms into the armholes, and lifted the neckline of the oversized jacket to cover my face.
The tires squealed, and so did I, latching onto his arm as he suddenly changed lanes and made a left turn as the light turned green. "Wes, wrong turn!"
He took his hood off, and chuckled, putting an arm around me. "You bet it is." He kept driving in silence until he found a gas station, filled up the tank, and grinned at me.
"No. There is no way whatsoever that we're going to San Francisco. It's way too far!" He couldn't be going through with this, could he? Nope. There's a reason that we never take him seriously.
"That's why we're leaving right now, when the sun's barely up." As he paid for the gas, he took my phone out of his pocket along with his wallet. I stared incredulously at him. "How-"
"6:45. You left your phone on the table when you went to the washroom at the diner. When you get it back, you'll also have some limited edition selfies of me."
I'm guessing that I won't be getting my phone back anytime soon.
"I hacked into your Twitter and followed some fans, if you don't mind." He said, glancing at me before making a turn onto the highway. "No, I don't mind. Did you tweet anything?"
"Other than a tweet telling you never to leave your phone alone again, and that I was stealing you for the day, as well as some fan replies, nope."
"Wesley, you are just so infuriatingly adorable." I groaned, causing him to look at me again. "Does that mean I'm so adorable that it's infuriating, or that I'm still adorable when I'm being infuriating?" He asked, winking at me. "Maybe it's both, now keep your eyes on the road, Stromberg."
In my life, everything had to happen at a certain day, certain time, and a certain place. Nothing could be out of order-unless I wanted a lawsuit on my hands. Maybe this was the kind of risk and spontaniety that everyone told me that I needed in life. A normal trip, but considered the source of a thrill in my life of extreme organisation and busy schedules.
