( & * | quinton. )
WHAT HAD HE been thinking; q let this question run through his mind as his irritation set in further with each passing day. making his relationship, if it could be called that, with charlotte official had to have been the most brash decision he’d ever made. q wasn’t used to having someone else in his space, hadn’t really shared much of himself with her to begin with. during the plane ride to L.A. he’d stressed about the fact that she didn’t know what he did, she didn’t know about his family, his status as a person in the world, didn’t know jack shit about him other than he could keep her on edge for hours and carry her to bed after. now, though, he’d been living with the eighteen ( fucking eighteen ) year old for a almost a month and to say he was tense was an understatement.
‘ charlotte, if you’re going to live here,’ he started tersely, ‘we’re going to need to set some rules because i cannot fucking deal with this anymore. ’ to say he was a neat freak might have been an understatement. q was damn near obsessive with keeping things exactly as he wanted and making sure his home was spotless. teenage girls? they didn’t have the same concern.
& * | CHARLOTTE COULDN’T HONESTLY say whether she liked the man or not--save for the fact that she had blurted out that she did in some petty, jealousy-induced haze. She didn’t quite know him--not in a personal sense. She knew he talked filthy and could make her legs tremble with endless neediness. She knew he was closed-off, mature, and decidedly grown-up--unlike her. A point he often seemed to mull over a great deal to himself. But whatever the case was, the small, slight brunette found herself not just paired off with him, but living with him, too. The past month had been tense, the two trying to find their footing in the painstaking process of ‘settling in.’
But that didn’t stop Charlotte from laying sprawled out on the floor, three different fashion magazines strewn haphazardly on the ground before her--flipped to random pages here and there--while little white headphones were stuffed into her ears. She was bopping her head to the latest Halsey song, humming the lyrics softly under her breath as she switched her attention between the magazines and a bottle of baby-pink nail-polish. She was lost in her own world, content with carefully coloring in her nails when the muddled voice of the older male invaded her thoughts. Automatically, pink lips twisted in an annoyed scowl--followed by a petulant huff, no less--as Lottie carefully tugged one earbud out. “Um, what?” The brunette quipped, big brown eyes flicking up to rest on him--though the scowl didn’t falter. “Didn’t hear you. Were you saying something, or, like, whatever?”
