Ryan stood outside Quinn’s loft. He reminded himself they were hanging out as friends. She wasn’t ready to accept anything else from him, regardless of how hot their kiss was or the continued chemistry they shared. He rang the bell, but she didn’t answer. He rang again.
“Hello?” she questioned hesitantly.
“Hey, Quinn. It’s Ryan.”
She didn’t respond, but the buzzer sounded, allowing him entrance. He eyed the elevator and chose the stairs.
Her door was open, but she wasn’t standing in the doorway. It was an improvement over his last visit. Country music floated quietly from the kitchen. Quinn stood on a step stool wiping down the binding of each book on the shelf before setting it aside.
This is worse than I thought.
Without looking at him, Quinn asked, “Why are you here?”
“Indy calle
