T H I R T E E N

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B R E N

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B R E N

The days were cyclical: class, study, work, repeat. Working at The Grounds was good for me, a way to escape campus and certain people there.

Nessa was the best coworker. Once we overcame any remaining awkwardness about the fact that my dick had been in her mouth, our similar dark humor and eclectic taste in music brought us together and erased the tension. An old turntable sat in the corner of the cafe, and we'd take turns bringing in vinyl for our shifts. She never asked why I usually picked to play the same five songs that reminded me of home. 

On particularly slow days, Nessa would strum on her ukulele, filling the space with cheerful, plucky sounds.

Madie came by frequently, distracting me in the best of ways. She kept me alert and alive. It was often after tutoring sessions that she'd follow me down to The Grounds to study in the corner while Nessa and I brewed and cleaned. I couldn't blame Madie for wanting to hang out there; Nessa always snuck her free shit.

There wasn't much else that I'd gotten out of her about Quinton. Sometimes when he was busy at practice, she'd ask me to head to the soccer fields with her, and those days were the best ones of the week. There was something about running next to her, watching her hair fly and her eyes light up. We'd alternate between playing and talking, but every time I tried to learn more about Quinton, she'd shut down the conversation. It seemed like enough of a red flag to me.

But then there came a day when I was working my usual afternoon shift, and the front door chimed, announcing Madie's entrance—and Quinton's.

I heard his voice first, low and grating on my senses. "Hey, Nessa," he said smoothly—too smoothly. Sidling up to the counter, Quinton's eyes perused his girlfriend's roommate in a way that made me bite my lip in irritation. And I wasn't the only one who seemed to notice. Madie stood off to the side, staring at her boyfriend, her features scrunched up in confusion.

But I wasn't confused. I knew exactly the kind of loser that this guy was.

"What do you want, Quinton?" Nessa snapped, and I failed to withhold a snort.

Quinton pinned me with a glower before returning his attention to Nessa, rattling off some fancy-ass drink that Beau would probably order.

"What about you, Mads?" he asked. A quick swivel of his head didn't allow him the opportunity to see Madie's disapproving expression. With a little frown, she stepped toward the counter, shoulder to shoulder with Quinton.

"Can I have a vanilla latte and a blueberry scone, Nessa?" she asked, her voice as sweet as always.

"A scone?" Quinton repeated, blinking as he looked over to Madie. "You don't need a scone. We just had lunch."

Madie threw her arms up. "Seriously, Quinton?"

"What?" Instant defensiveness tore across his features.

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