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“You’re not doing it right!”
“If you don’t play properly, I swear to God…”
“Shut up, okay? It’s harder than it looks!”
Quinn muttered incoherently as I tried stretching my left foot over to the blue circle. Benjamin sat watching us, roaring with laughter every time Quinn opened his mouth to scold me for not ‘playing properly.’
“There!” I said, triumphant.
“I can still kick you from here –!”
Quinn gestured to Benjamin to spin the arrow.
“Right hand, green,” he instructed, still chuckling.
Quinn leaned over me. He was careful not to crush me with his weight, but the close contact still had my heart hammering a little too excitedly.
A knock at the door startled me, making me lose my balance and fall down, bringing Quinn with me. My breath left in a whoosh as he fell on me. His shirt had ridden up, just a little, exposing what looked suspiciously like deliciously nice abs.
“Look what you did, now!” he grumbled, frowning at me.
“S-sorry…” I giggled. The noise caught me off guard; since when did I giggle?
“It’s okay, I guess,” he said, still casting me angry looks. “You’ll just have to make up for it.”
“Oh, yeah?” I replied. “How?”
He was still leaning on me, but rolled off so we were lying next to each other on the Twister mat.
“I’ll get the door, shall I?” Benjamin muttered, somewhere in the distance. His voice broke me out of the little trance I’d been put under with Quinn. Was it awkward to see his roommate flirting so conspicuously?
I sat up as Benjamin walked away to get the door, running my fingers through my hair, to try and detangle it.
Quinn began humming to himself, tapping his stomach. He’d become much more energetic after his little nap, and insisted that playing Twister would help us overcome any uncomfortable thoughts still running through our minds (his logic: I couldn’t readily argue), which is how I found myself in the lounge, unwillingly tangling my limbs with Quinn’s, with Benjamin as audience.
Benjamin came back into view, Kyle trailing behind him, looking haughty and bored as ever.
“Hi, Kyle,” I greeted. He nodded in recognition, slapped Quinn’s shoulder and slouched over the couch.
“How’ve you been?”
“That’s – good,” I said. Quinn snorted at my struggled attempt with conversation. He got up, pulling me with him.
“You do know you just interrupted a very exciting game of Twister, don’t you?” he shot at Kyle. “I was about to win.”
“You weren’t ‘about to win’!” I argued.
“Yes, I was,” Quinn chipped. “In fact, because you fell over, I think I already did.”