Chapter 39

The first sunlight leaks through the cabin windows, warm and too bright for my pounding headache. My head throbs, the kind of dull ache that says “too much partying, too much Quinn, too much fun.”

I groan, rolling over on the air mattress I woke up in, with Annabelle next to me. I reach for my water bottle, only to remember… Quinn is still sprawled across the other side of the room, hoodie half-off, hair messy, in the best way, lips slightly parted as she sleeps.

…and my stomach twists.

“…Shit,” I mutter to myself, sitting up and rubbing my face. “…How am I supposed to focus today?”

Annabelle groans next to me. “…Because last night, someone got absolutely wrecked, okay? You’re not the only one.”

“…Mm,” I mumble, already thinking about how Quinn’s grin, her hands, her lips—everything—was burned into my brain.

By breakfast, things are already tense. Quinn appears, hair messy, hoodie still hanging off one shoulder, eyes lighting up the moment she sees me.

“…Morning, hun,” she teases, smirk tugging at her lips. “…Feeling okay?”

“…Fine,” I say innocently, deliberately letting my voice drip with false calm. “…Head’s fine. Totally fine.”

“…Mm,” she hums, eyebrow raising. “…Sure about that. You don’t look fine.”

“…I’m fine,” I repeat, smirk tugging at my lips this time. “…Much more concerned about you, actually. You look… tired. Weak.”

Quinn freezes mid-step. “…Excuse me?”

I shrug, casual, taking a sip of my juice. “…Just saying. You’re acting like a little baby.”

…and that’s it. That small, casual jab.

Quinn freezes, cheeks flushing slightly. “…Oh, so now we’re doing that?” She steps closer, hand brushing mine ever so slightly on purpose. “…You’re gonna push me around now?”

“…Maybe,” I say sweetly, eyes glinting. “…Maybe I just like watching you squirm.”

Quinn groans, leaning back and muttering, “…God, you’re impossible.”

…and I know she means it in the best way possible.

The whole day turns into a game of flirtation and jealousy.

During prep activity periods for session 3, I linger just a little longer than necessary with other counselors—laughing, brushing hands casually, letting Quinn notice.

“…Kennedy,” she growls at one point while we’re helping campers with a ropes course, “…are you doing that on purpose?”

I shrug innocently. “…Doing what?”

“…Flirting. With everyone,” she hisses, eyes narrowing. “…Stop.”

“…I’m not,” I whisper, grin spreading. “…You just don’t like it when I do.”

…and she doesn’t stop.

Every glance is sharper. Every touch becomes slightly possessive. Hands linger just a second longer when she’s guiding counselors, voice just a little lower when she’s telling me to pay attention.

And I—god, I—keep pushing, smirking, teasing, flirting with other staff just enough to see the frustration spark in her eyes.

“…I swear,” Quinn mutters later while we’re washing dishes, “…if you keep doing that, I’m going to lose it.”

“…Lose it?” I whisper, leaning just a little closer, brushing my fingers lightly over hers, “…What are you gonna do? Prove it?”

Her grip tightens slightly on the sponge in her hand. “…Maybe I will.”

I bite my lip, stifling a laugh. “…Oh, please. You wouldn’t dare.”

“…Try me,” she mutters, eyes dark, smirk crooked. “…I will.”

By the end of the day, it’s an endless push and pull, teasing, laughter, tension, jealousy—all simmering under the surface.

And I know one thing for certain:

Neither of us will sleep peacefully tonight.