33

JAX

“Hey stranger,” Quinn greets, closing her car door with a hip and flashing me a bright smile. “Where are you off to?”

I slow to a stop in front of her little blue car, twirling my truck keys around a finger and trailing my eyes down her body appreciatively. “Back home to Westfield. Sunday dinner with the fam.”

“Ah, how exciting.” She props an elbow on the roof of her car, leaning against it. “Does your family do that every week or something?”

“Oh yeah,” I chuckle. “Their way of checking in with me, I guess.”

“That’s nice,” Quinn says, and it’s not in a sarcastic way- there’s an earnestness in the way she says it, almost like she’s envious of my family’s weekly ritual. “Well, have fun.” She gives me a little wave, turning to head for the complex.

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