Finding Our Course (Finding our Way 3)

Quinn’s lips turn up in a knowing grin. “Bryce again?” she asks him.

“It was both our idea. This hotel has a complete restaurant and bar, full gym, and a pool. Tomorrow, you both have spa appointments, then we’ll go to dinner.”

“This seems a bit excessive,” I argue. “The other place was fine.”

“Fine is all it was. This is the best. You drove all the way here with no idea of the outcome to be with Quinn. That means a lot to me. Not to mention, Bryce suggested I repay you.”

Quinn throws back her head, laughing. “That’s putting it mildly. He’s a bull. A complete lovesick bull.”

“I see exactly where he’s coming from.” Dean nuzzles her neck, and the temperature rises again.

“I’m going to go get your bag and then leave y’all alone.” I turn quickly when they start kissing again.

My heart leaps in joy for my friend, but the bitter taste of jealousy returns. God, I miss Bryce.

Chapter 11

The drive back to Charlottesville is a typical road trip, except it seems to take forever. We’ve already gone through all our typical traditions—snacks, playlists, and games. We swapped drivers a few hours ago, and I worked on getting our project pictures cropped and inserted into our papers. There was one more week until the final versions were due, but ours were almost done.

After our trip to Atlanta, we perfected our diagrams and sent them for review. It only took two days before they were given approval. Since then, we worked a few hours each day preparing them. Tonight, they were going to Bill and Shana for last edits. This makes me more nervous than actually turning them in to Professor Grant.

“Have you spoken to Roxy?” Quinn asks, referring to the girl who stayed in our apartment this summer.

“Yes. The apartment’s clean, and my car is fine.”

“It feels like a lifetime since we left in May.”

“I know what you mean. So much has happened.”

“Have you figured out our plan yet?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re our planner, so I need to know what’s next.” She raises an eyebrow and realization hits.

It was me who relocated us to Virginia and begged for our re-admittance.

It was me who suggested we try out for cheer.

It was me who wanted an off-campus apartment.

It was me who researched the Summer Expo and insisted she apply, too.

And now, it’s me who is engaged. She’s right. We need a plan.

“Why don’t you jump in on this one? I’ve been pretty demanding.” I chuckle. “It’s your turn.”

“You’re the strategist in this relationship. I’m the better head-cracker.”

“Strategist, huh? Getting our college vocabulary ready?”

“Shut up, cadela, and plan the next step in our life. I need structure.”

“Seriously, Quinn, what do you want to do?”

“We techn

ically fall under the School of Media Studies now. The way I figure, there’s no reason to rush graduation since we can’t start the Master’s Program until next fall. That is, if we still want UVA and the traditional schooling.”