We’ve been in the car for nearly two hours. The whole trip, Quinn has received the complete, undivided attention of his fans—Bridgette, Tonya, and Pippa—who have fawned over his accent, asked repeatedly what he likes doing, did his piercings hurt, does he have any unseen piercings, what’s his favorite food, who is his favorite Sesame Street character. The list goes on and on…and on.
Quinn is uncomfortable with their attention and only playing along, but I still hate it. However, deep down, I know that I’m jealous.
But Quinn isn’t mine, per se. We’ve fooled around and made out but haven’t spoken about where we stand. And who knows if we even stand anywhere. It was complicated enough before all this s**t happened, but now, I don’t even want to think about what this means for “us.”
Our kis
