Chapter 37

The house party is chaos. Music thumps through the cottage like it’s shaking the walls apart. Laughter and yelling bounce between the rooms. The smell of alcohol, sweat, and pine from outside sticks to the air.

I’m sitting on the edge of a couch with Annabelle and Emily, sipping my drink more for courage than anything else. My leg still aches from the hike, but I barely notice anymore. Because Quinn is there—of course she is, and I can feel it like electricity.

“…You’re staring again,” Annabelle murmurs, nudging me.

“…I am not,” I protest, though my eyes are glued to Quinn across the room. She’s leaning against the railing, oversized hoodie falling just right, tank top showing enough to make my stomach twist, smirking at someone else—but every few seconds, her eyes flick back to me.

“…Oh my god,” Emily whispers. “…She know’s how to make you go crazy.”

“…I’m fine,” I mutter, heart thudding in my chest.

I’m not fine.

At some point, someone turns up the music and everyone starts moving toward the deck. Quinn appears beside me as if by magic, slipping an arm around my waist—not heavy, just enough to remind me she exists.

“…You look tense,” she murmurs in my ear, breath warm. “…Relax. You’re at a party, not a survival hike.”

“…I am relaxed,” I lie, though my stomach is doing flips.

“…Sure you are,” she teases, tilting her head, smirk so obvious it’s cruel. “…Your leg’s shaking.”

“…Not—”

“…Yep,” she cuts me off, pressing a little closer. “…Shaking. Cute.”

Somehow, the crowd thins. Drinks spill, people scream at music, and suddenly it’s just us, in a hidden corner, out of sight. Deck lights swinging overhead, stars barely visible above the pines. Quinn leans in, hand still resting lightly at my waist, eyes locked on mine.

“…You’re mine tonight,” she murmurs, voice low, rough, teasing. “…You know that, right?”

“…You’re insane,” I whisper, trying to pull away slightly—but her grip tightens just enough that it’s impossible.

“…Mm,” she hums, moving even closer. “…And you like it. Don’t fight me.”

And then—

Her lips brush mine.

Just a touch. Light, testing, teasing.

And I freeze.

“…Say something,” Quinn whispers, lips barely brushing mine again, her hand moving to cup my jaw lightly. “…Or I’ll take it as consent.”

“…I—” I gasp, voice breaking. “…I—”

She smiles against my lips, and suddenly it’s not teasing anymore. It’s slower, heavier, her tongue tracing the corner of my mouth, teeth grazing mine in the tiniest, most dangerous way. My hands move of their own accord, resting on her chest, feeling the warmth under the hoodie, heart hammering like it wants to escape.

Every second stretches out. Long, slow, dragging. Her fingers in my hair, tugging gently, coaxing me closer. My breath comes in ragged gasps. I can feel the heat of her body through the fabric of her hoodie, the small, maddening pressure of her body against mine.

“…Kennedy,” she whispers, lips brushing mine again. “…God, you’re… perfect.”

“…Quinn…” I murmur, unable to finish.

Time collapses. Music blurs into background noise. Laughter and yelling from inside the cottage fade away. All I can feel is Quinn. All I can hear is her low breathing, my own quickened heartbeat, the faint scrape of our clothes as we shift closer.

Hands trace my back lightly, teasing, testing. My fingers press into her sides, brushing against skin that’s soft but firm, pulling her closer in response. Every small movement is fire. Every inhale is heat.

“…I could do this forever,” she murmurs, voice rough and low, pressing her forehead to mine for just a second. “…But maybe… maybe not.”

“…Quinn…” I breathe, chest rising and falling rapidly. “…Don’t stop.”

She grins against my lips, slow, teasing. “…Oh, I won’t.”

It’s messy, it’s slow, it’s teasing, it’s perfect. My world has narrowed to her lips, her hands, the weight of her body pressed just enough against mine to drive me insane.

Somewhere in the back of my head, I know this is the start of something. Something dangerous. Something consuming.

But I don’t care.

Not yet.

The kiss finally breaks—breathless, messy, lingering. Our foreheads rest together, eyes locked, and the world slowly creeps back into focus. The music, the laughter, the smell of alcohol and pine—all of it still around us, but nothing matters except this—except her.

“…You’re trouble,” I whisper, voice shaking.

“…And you.. love it,” Quinn replies, smirk teasing, eyes dark and mischievous. “…Now, come inside. The party isn’t over yet.”

I let her pull me back inside, heart hammering, mind spinning, knowing that nothing from this night—or this summer—will ever be simple again.