His head swung around. “You what?”

“He’s looking forward to it. See?” She held up her phone.

A smiley face.

A smiley face? Nick had no idea what that meant. Was that casual happy? Excited happy? An obligatory response that didn’t mean anything? It wasn’t even a D smiley. It was one of the parenthesis ones.

God, he was trying to puzzle out the hidden meaning of the punctuation in a frigging emoticon.

“You look nervous,” said Quinn.

He shrugged.

She got down on her knees next to him in the grass. “Don’t be nervous,” she said quietly. “He really likes you, Nick.”

Nick knew that.

And that was the problem. He really liked him back.

Quinn thought Nick Merrick was the best boyfriend in the world.

He’d been pretty sweet before she found out he was g*y, but now . . . now she knew he liked her for her, when all the other guys she’d ever dated took every opportunity to get into her pants.

It seemed fitting that the best relationship in her life would be just as dysfunctional as all her other ones. Her alcoholic mother.

Her more-absent-than-not father. Her stoner older brother and her video game–obsessed younger brother. The cheerleaders who hated her, the dance team that didn’t want her—if a g*y boyfriend was the best she could do, she’d take it.

He worried he was using her—well, she worried she was using him. Hanging out with Nick gave her an opportunity to avoid her own family. And Becca, too, if you got right down to it.

Quinn didn’t resent losing her best friend to Chris Merrick.

Much.

“You’re quiet,” said Nick.

Quinn glanced over. He was driving the landscaping truck with one hand on the wheel, the other arm across the seat backs.

For one second, she regretted the whole g*y thing and wished she could curl up against him, let his arm wrap around her shoulder and make her feel wanted.

Then she told that moment of longing to shove it.

“I was thinking about Becca,” she said.

“She and Chris seem to be getting pretty serious.” He seemed amused.

She snorted. “Like a heart attack.”

He was silent for a moment. “You guys aren’t hanging out much lately?”

Nick could always see right through her. Quinn shrugged.

“It’s fine. I’m glad she’s happy.”

“And you sound so sincere about it.”

Quinn hit him on the arm. “No. I am. I just . . . miss her, you know? And I’m . . .”

Jealous. She was jealous.

But she couldn’t say that.

“It’s fine,” she said. “I shouldn’t have brought up Becca.

She’s just spending all this time with Chris, and I get it, but she doesn’t talk to me anymore. I don’t think she’s hiding something, but it’s almost like she’s got this new life that I’m not a part of. If that makes any sense.”

Nick sighed. “Yeah, Quinn, it actually makes a lot of sense.” He hit the turn signal for their street. “Did you tell Becca about me?”

“Of course not! God, what kind of friend do you think I am?”

He held up a hand. “I’m just saying—maybe you both have secrets.”

“Maybe.”

He dropped his arm to give her half a hug—totally platonic, and nothing she really wanted. But she took the comfort all the same.

“You’re a good friend,” he said. “That’s the kind I think you are.”

Quinn straightened and studied him. Nick really was a looker—all dark hair and blue eyes and broad shoulders. Muscled arms from all the landscaping. Just enough freckles sprin-kled across those high cheekbones to make him look boyish and charming.

Then again, his twin brother had those same freckles, and there was nothing boyish and charming about him.

“Actually,” Nick said slowly, “it’s probably time I should tell you another secret—” He broke off, his voice hardening to steel.

“Damn it.”

Quinn followed his gaze. They were turning up his driveway, and a blond guy was making his way down the walk from their house. The guy looked pissed.

“Who’s that?” she said.

“Tyler Morgan. He’s an ass**le.” Nick threw the truck into park and hesitated there, glaring at the guy as he walked toward them.

Tyler’s expression was full of fury. He said something, but Quinn couldn’t hear him over the diesel engine with the windows closed.

Then Nick killed the engine just as Tyler turned his gaze on Quinn.

“—with your stupid, white trash girlfriend,” he finished.

Quinn froze. Oh no, he did not.

“Wait here,” said Nick.

No way was she waiting here. Quinn threw herself out of the truck. This Tyler guy was a lot bigger than he’d looked when she was sitting in the cab of the pickup, but he could be fifty feet tall and she wouldn’t give a crap.

“What did you just call me?” she demanded.

Nick appeared at her side. “Quinn, go in the house.”

Tyler sneered down at her—a shame, because he might be kind of attractive if he weren’t trying so hard to look like a prick. “You heard me. I called you a stupid—”

Quinn punched him.

She shocked the hell out of him, too. He was probably one of those jerks who thought girls roamed the earth for nothing more than his pleasure. But she’d been holding her own for years, and the punch knocked him back. She knew how to swing, and she sure as hell wasn’t holding back with this tool.