This is totally out of her playbook.
I’m not upset with Uncle Dean. Not really.
I’m just mad at my parents for believing they can keep ruling my life.
And I’m angry at myself when I should’ve seen it coming. I’ve let Mother steer my ship forever, so what makes me think she’ll stop all of a sudden?
I need to draw a clear, unmistakable boundary she can read. I need to—
“Peach….maybe you should think about going back home.”
Goosebumps prick my skin as I turn and look at Quinn like he’s grown a second head.
What the crap?
“You…you want me back in Chicago?” I stammer.
I’m completely lost. I thought the last few weeks meant as much to him as they did me, but if he’s asking me to cut and run?
Maybe that’s one more fatal flaw in dreaming big.
You’re bound for disappointment.
“No, but maybe it would be best right now,” he says slowly.
“Best for who?”
“You.” He looks around as if he doesn’t want to make eye contact. “You miss dancing. You said you need the right equipment to get the exercise you need for your leg to heal.” He shrugs. “You’ll have all the best stuff there, plus therapists and sports doctors. Nothing like a two-bit studio I threw together with those silks—which I still haven’t gotten a damn net for.”
That can’t be it, this sudden, odd worry over my exercise routine.
There’s something he’s withholding, and I don’t get why.
Anger, hurt, and disbelief erupt in my belly like a dam crashing down.
“I have the right stuff here,” I throw back. “And actually, I think I’m going to take a break from this crap and put it to good use.”
I have to get away like yesterday.
Turning to Uncle Dean, I tell him, “Call my parents and tell them I won’t be on a plane until I want to be. Or don’t bother, Uncle Dean. I don’t care.”
Seriously.
With the cold shoulder I’m getting from Quinn, I’m tempted to hop on a jet to Madagascar and leave everyone behind.
After changing my clothes, I go out the back, not sure if Uncle Dean and Quinn are still on the front porch or not. I’m past caring.
In the barn, I hook my phone up to the sound system, choosing a playlist that should help me focus and find my zen. I have some feels to sweat out.
Like the fact that all I can think about is Quinn suggesting I go back to Chicago.
Ouch.
As the music starts, I go through a series of stretches, loosening my muscles and my mind, then I grasp a bright-yellow silk and work my way up.
Reaching for the second, a crimson one, I grasp it and let my body do its thing.
Clear my mind.
Work through the moves that loosen my muscles until I’m a burning mess of jelly and bone.
It’s so routine I don’t need to actively think about what I’m doing, which is kinda counterproductive to getting Quinn Faulkner and his stupid games out of my head.
If only it worked like that.
Nope.
Of course he’s all I can think about.
I don’t want to be a fling, a mistake, an outburst of passion, but after what he said…
Yeah, I wonder.
Trouble is, it doesn’t make sense, even if the outside possibility exists that he lured me into his bed to blow off some much-needed steam.
If that was all he wanted, he could’ve had it years ago.
Quinn always claimed I was too young, then, though. A young man who only wanted a few red-hot nights wouldn’t have let that get in the way.
And he wouldn’t have taken it slower than a burning candle this summer, after we reunited.
He wouldn’t have stopped with a single beautiful, heart-stabby kiss on the Ferris wheel.
He wouldn’t have been so torn, so conflicted, before we finally gave in and enjoyed the kind of sexy sex you only get in romance books and TV shows where the people are forever gorgeous.
God.
I know who Quinn is.
At least, I think I do.
He’s righteous, strong, reserved, and a tease.
He’s a natural protector, hauling around a heart so guarded I feel like I need a prowler’s kit just to make him crack, to steal the truth caged behind those lush green eyes.
With my mind wandering, I’m not paying attention.
I forget to catch the second silk after a single flip.
Unfazed, I do a double flip instead, barely catching the silk.
“Tory! Jesus. I thought you were gonna fall on your ass and break something!” Quinn has a hold of the silk in his fist, staring up at me. “Haven’t you done enough for one day, lady?”
I twist the silk tighter around one ankle, rolling my eyes.
“Why? So I can go hop in Uncle Dean’s truck and catch the flight home to misery? No thanks.”
He shakes his head, giving me a look that’s equal parts sexy and pissed with his eyes blazing jade glass.