End Game
she says softly, turning her head up to kiss me.
“I wish you didn’t have to.” There’s so much unsaid right now, and bringing it up might sour our otherwise passionate departure. She shouldn’t have to leave. We kiss again, and I walk her farther into the airport. We’re at a smaller one, full of private jets owned by rich businessmen. Quinn, wearing pink leggings, an oversized t-shirt, and pulling a Chewbacca suitcase, looks out of place, but she’s every bit as smart, successful, and well-off as anyone in here.