38
Quincey
“Quincey, honey. We need you on the line.”
Right.
I snapped back to reality and tried to stomp down the flush I knew was already starting. I’d been thinking about Nate, Nate’s body, how his body felt over mine, inside mine, how he intertwined our hands—and I was gone again.
“Quincey.”
That was Matthew, a hiss from him.
Shit.
We were in our last rehearsals with Patrice, and I wasn’t paying attention at all. I ducked my head down and went to my place. Matthew stepped behind me, his hand on my waist, and we both raised our hands up.
“What’s going on with you? Patrice has not been happy with your distraction. And gotta say, neither am I.” His hand squeezed my side for a bit.
Right.
I closed my eyes, but I didn’t have time for my usual waves of self-condemnation.
“I’ve ju
