make you miss me • q. hughes

21

"What was that?" Quinn asks while I carefully get up and off the couch. Well, off of him while he's on the couch. My phone buzzes continuously. Texts.

I literally toss my phone on the floor to get it away from me. "Thought it was an alarm and it was a phone call."

"Now, what was that?" His voice. His voice. Oh, god. I've never slept and woken up with him and his voice is... Fuck.

"They're texting me."

"Probably 'cause you're doing things like throwing your phone."

"You're the reason I'm throwing my phone."

"What?"

"We don't like each other and answering a call while practically cuddling you is weird," I say.

He laughs quietly. "I like you."

My brain stops working. I, entirely, stop working. I don't even move. I'm not even sure I breathe.

"What's the saying? Absence makes the heart fonder or whatever." Whoever gave this man a shovel to keep digging is my worst enemy. Possibly my best friend too. "I think I hated you for a bit. I don't know. We went to New York to visit family and Jack and I were talking and he mentioned you and I realized I kind of missed being around you."

"Huh."

"Did you miss me?"

"I told you the last day at the lake," I say. If anyone knows about digging themself into a hole, it's me. "I don't miss flings."

"Right."

I'm looking at him for too long. He's looking at me for too long. So, I break the connection and go grab my phone. He watches me walk over, bend down, and take a seat back on the couch. Though, this time I choose an end seat. Where if you're going to be close to someone, you have to be sitting next to them. I don't even unlock my phone. I act like I'm reading it. It's the dumbest move I've ever made but I have to go through with it. Backing down would be even dumber.

"There wasn't even a single time you thought about me and wished I was around?"

I look up but don't turn my head toward him. "Uh..."

Of course, I did. The nail polish that I bought a bottle my first week moved in because it was a color I borrowed from Val. That stupid crewneck in my closet that I get compliments on every time I wear it out. Even though it's so simple. Lying and saying it's mine but secretly thinking maybe I look better in Quinn's clothes.  How there's that one song I remember watching him always smile when it came on during the summer. Putting it on my main playlist and starting the day reminded of him.

Don't even get me started on seeing anything Canucks related and thinking of how I wish I could swallow my pride and text him. That one happens a lot because this is the literal city the team's in.

"Shouldn't have to think that hard," Quinn says.

"Not even a single time."

"I can't remember but why'd you quit hockey?"

"What?" That makes me finally look at him. In pure confusion. It's like he's trying to throw me off. I shrug. "It got boring."

He's fully sat up now. Two cushions down and messing with that damn split lip of his. He shakes his head. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

"The fuck does that mean?"

"Come on, Scout."

"No. What?"

"All your stories including hobbies or interests or even guys end with you saying you got bored." His eyes meet mine. "You're the one who told me it was done. Even though we would be in the same city. 'Cause I got boring? Is that it?"

"Why do you care?" I ask. He shakes his head and I push. "Seriously why do you care? Obviously, you were bored with me since you got two other girls' numbers while we were sneaking around."

"I think I'm allowed to care if I was too boring for the girl I was sneaking around with."

"I wouldn't have done it if it was boring."

"So why the hell did you end it?" His voice raises slightly.

I match it. "Because I wanted to!"

"That's not a damn reason and you know it."

"You didn't get boring, happy?"

"Fuck you," he says.

"I think that's what got us in this mess."

He has to look away from me. Even goes as far as putting his face in his hands to try to not laugh at me. Honestly, this whole situation is so ridiculous, isn't it? I go from wanting him to stay away from me to jumping his bones, to realizing I want more than that, to wanting him to stay away from me, to inviting him over after seeing him once in passing. It's ridiculous.

I laugh and he looks over at me. "What are you laughing at?"

"This whole thing."

"Oh god," he mumbles. A laugh of his own following not too soon after. Any frustration melts out of us as we sit there and laugh together.

He checks his phone and lets out a particularly naughty word. "I have to go. I have plans with some of the guys."

"Oh. Okay."

Standing, he looks at me expectedly. "Shouldn't you walk me to the door?"

"It's right there. You gonna get lost?" I try to put up that front but it comes crashing down all too quickly and I stand up too.

When we get to the door that, as I said is right fucking there, there's a lull. A pause where neither of us wants to look away from the other. Neither of us wants to make a move to do anything either. He's tonguing at that damn cut again and I need him to stop so I stop wanting to kiss him. Although, he also does that thing where he glances at my lips and expects me not to notice. Or he wants me to notice?

My hand reaches up and lands on the back of his neck. In a split second, his hands are on my hips and he's pulling our bodies closer while I pull him down to meet me in the middle. His lip gives a coppery taste to the kiss. It's fast, only a few seconds, but it feels like an eternity. He pulls away and I, quite pathetically, try to chase after the kiss, leaning after him.

Quietly, he says, "I have to go."

"Right, yeah," I whisper back, hands falling away from him.

One of his hands does the same, grabbing the doorknob. He doesn't go through with it though, freezing there. I go to ask if he knows how to operate a door but never get the chance. His lips are back on mine. This kiss lasts longer. The way our mouths move together is slow, a contrast to what they usually do. It might be one of the best kisses I've had.

I pull away this time even though I really don't want to. "You have to go."

"Right, yeah," he breathes out. He opens the door and his other hand leaves my hip. He's gone. Leaving a jersey and an even messier situation behind.