Frog and Quinn: Chapter Seven (Patreon)

“Are you okay?” Joana asks as soon as she and Quinn find me in the bathroom. I told them where I disappeared after I sent the SOS group text. Magazine and paper cut-outs of Pedro Pascal are glued to the bathroom walls forming one big homage to the actor, and it’s making this whole situation far more calming. Because how can I internally freak when The Mandalorian is watching over me?

It’s at least something Luna would tell me.

Quinn’s arms are crossed as he waits for me to answer Joana. I honestly didn’t know if he’d come with her to check on me—but I kind of hoped he would. It’s why I sent the message to both of them.

“I’m okay-ish,” I admit. “The SOS text might have been dramatic. I just want to end the date, and I don’t know how. Like—what if he throws a beer at my face?”

Quinn holds up a hand. “Back up. Why do you want to end the date?”

“Yeah, you just got here,” Joana’s brows furrow. “Did he do something?”

“No, he didn’t really do anything,” I say into a tighter breath. “I just found out he’s interning at Cobalt Inc. this summer, and it feels a little too messy for my first time.”

Joana nods heartily in agreement. “Oh yeah. After you have sex, he could be a clinger and try to use your connections to the family.” She swings her head to her brother. “I thought you said you were helping vet these guys she’s dating?”

He told his sister that he’s helping me. That makes me smile. He’s obviously not ashamed or weirded out by being a part of my online dating life if he spilled this tidbit to Joana.

Quinn’s brows hike. “It’s a dating app, Jo. Not a resume. I know Fred likes to golf and walk his Beagle at Riverside Park. I don’t know his high school GPA or the classes he’s taking at MVU. I sure as hell didn’t know he’s interning at Cobalt Inc. this summer.”

“Quinn’s right,” I say. “Guys don’t have much info about their work life in their bios.”

Joana gives her brother an apologetic look. “Sorry. I didn’t know. I’m useless when it comes to dating apps.” She did tell me that she prefers meeting guys in bars or just naturally out-and-about. She’s gorgeous and an extrovert, which makes for zero issues in approaching guys or being approached.

I usually don’t like approaching them. I tend to ask too many questions out of the gate and scare them off quickly. When my high school boyfriend broke up with me, he said he was happy he’d never have to listen to me talk again. My voice was apparently the equivalent of a “whining cat,” and I just would not shut up. I get it—I talk a lot. I pry. I’m argumentative to the point of annoyance to some.

But if there’s anything I’ve learned by being Luna Hale’s bodyguard, it’s that I’m unwilling to change who I am just to expand my dating pool. Maybe my person is one-in-a-trillion. But I have to believe if Luna can find someone to match her weird, I can find someone who doesn’t see me as a confrontational pest.

Joana claps her hands like we’re starting a group huddle in a football game. “Lucky for you, Frog, I have zero experience with dating apps but all the experience ditching bad dates.”

Quinn’s eyes darken in brotherly protection. “Which dates?”

“We’ll talk later.” Joana waves him off. “We’ve got work to do.” She nods to me. “Text Fred that you’re not feeling well and that you want to end the date early. I’ll go out there and watch him. When he leaves, I’ll call you to come back out.”

I exhale a breath of relief and pull out my phone from my clutch. “Amazing. Brilliant. You are the literal best.”

She’s grinning and turns to her brother. “I’m the literal best.”

“And you said the Cobalts have egos?” Quinn nears a laugh.

Her face goes sour like she sucked on a lemon. “It’s humanly impossible to reach their level of arrogance.” She tilts her head to me and reminds me, “I’ll call you when he’s gone.” She gives her brother the middle finger, and he returns it in an oddly friendly way before she leaves.

When the door shuts, silence stretches for a short beat now that it’s just Quinn and me…and Pedro Pascal—but the themed bathroom has less of my attention. Especially when Quinn crosses his arms over his beige linen button-up shirt. His muscles flex, and I decide now that Quinn Oliveira might need to be studied in history books as a core curriculum on sex appeal because he exudes every drop of it.

Like clockwork, my internal reminder goes off: Don’t check him out, Frog.

Too late.

My eyes already descend to his legs that are sculpted in a pair of white shorts. He’s stylish and effortlessly cool, even when he’s just wearing a simple tee. But I’m aware there’s at least some effort behind it. Quinn is the kind of guy that takes his time picking out clothes—as accounted by me, a firsthand witness. He also never gets annoyed if I spend an hour in a store because he’s likely doing the same. He meticulously matches and will use his free time to flip through those catalogues you get in the mail. The kind most people automatically throw in the trash.

I don’t know why I’m lingering on him when I should be typing out a text. “You’re distracting me,” I tell him.

He makes a face. “How?”

“You look like you stepped out of a Banana Republic ad.”

He rolls his eyes. “That’s because you saw the catalogue on our kitchen counter this morning.” He looks me over. “And that’s distracting how?”

“You’re hot,” I say simply.

He groans. “MyGod.”

“You asked,” I remind him and return to my phone. I do need to send this text. Joana’s probably eagle-eyeing my date back in the bar.

Quinn steps toward me. “Why don’t you just go out there and tell Fred the truth? I’m sure he’d understand this being a conflict of interest.” His gaze rolls over me with building skepticism. “Unless he said something that has put you on guard?”

My heart hammers at that sudden read. “Or maybe I’m perceptive and I get the vibe that he’d take rejection poorly.”

“I’m not saying you’re not perceptive, Kannika.”

Heat crawls up my neck—not just at how he’s saying my name but the concern pooling in his brown eyes. “What are you saying?” I ask.

“I’m saying that I don’t think you’d have much of a problem sleeping with someone who’s interning at Cobalt Inc. Messy? Yes. But you thrive in mess. So I think maybe he might’ve said something to make you run in here. Something that might make you feel more guarded. More nervous. Definitely more concerned you’ll get a—what’d you say—beer in the face?”

I did say that.

I chew on my bottom lip. Every time I try to open up to people, it bites me in the ass. I’m either rejected or I choose the wrong person to spill my feelings to. But Quinn is good people—it’s why I asked him to help me in the first place. I shouldn’t fear the worst with him.

I let the truth spill from my lips. “He told me he booked us a hotel room.”

Quinn’s jaw tightens and his eyes go murderous. “Within a minute of your first date?”

“It might have been the second or third minute but yeah.” I didn’t put DTF in my bio, and I never mentioned sex when I messaged Fred. Yes, it’s my end goal. But I don’t want my first time to be some sloppy experience with an asshole who only cares about getting off and wouldn’t give a shit about me. “It’s a red flag, right?” I ask Quinn.

“Yes,” he says heatedly. “Even if you were looking for a one-night stand or a no-strings attached flirtationship or whatever, bringing up booking a hotel room before the appetizer even appears is gross. Shitty behavior. You did the right thing.”

My phone buzzes. Oh no… I never sent Fred a text, but he must’ve grown concerned about me. As soon as my eyes glaze over his message, my gut drops to the floor.

Fred: Are you really standing me up right now?

Quinn comes to my side in one lengthy stride and reads the text over my shoulder.

“I didn’t text him anything,” I say.

“So he didn’t even ask if you were okay first?” Quinn lets out a low growl. “Jesus…” His voice tapers off as he watches me type out a reply.

“Frog, don’t—” He groans into his hands when he sees me hit send.

Frog: No. I’m sick. Would you like to come smell my puke to verify?

“You can’t antagonize him,” Quinn tells me, exasperated.

“You are very wrong, Quinn. I am fully capable of antagonization.”

“You’re a bodyguard,” he reminds me.

“So?”

His eyes grow big. “You are fucking trained to deescalate. Use your training to shut this shit down.”

My face wrinkles in disgust. “No. That’d let Fred get away with being an asshole.”

He has his hands on his head in distress. “And now I realize why you were worried he’d throw a beer in your face.”

I tilt my head in thought. “Valid.”

Quinn’s cell rings, and he answers quickly, so it’s no surprise when I hear his sister’s voice over the speakerphone.

“Fred the Fuckface is walking to the bathroom,” Joana says. “What’s going on? Should I intervene?”

Quinn rubs the back of his neck, his eyes slipping to me in a surprising amount of concern, considering I should be receiving an I told you so.

Oscar’s voice comes through the speaker. “Is he a problem?”

My stomach swirls, and now I might actually be sick. “No, it’s fine,” I say quickly to him. I don’t need Oscar involved. Oscar, who ranks above me at work. Oscar, who’s the eldest Oliveira sibling. Oscar, who definitely sees me as more of a baby than his twenty-one-year-old sister. “I’ve got this. It’s my mess. I need to clean it up.”

Quinn’s staring harder at me. “It’s my mess too,” he tells his siblings. “I helped pick Fred out on the dating app. I’ll take care of this.” “You have five minutes,” Joana says. “Then your backup is coming in.”

Quinn rolls his eyes. He doesn’t always love working with the “team” on security, so I get the sense he’s not loving being a team player now. He hangs up, and it’s hard not to appreciate him in this moment.

“Thanks,” I whisper just as a loud, aggressive knock pounds the door.

“Frog!” Fred shouts. “Are you okay in there?” His tone makes me feel like he’s way less concerned about my wellbeing and probably much more determined to catch me in a lie.

I’m about to tell him I’m sick and to go home, but Quinn’s already halfway to the door. “What are you doing?” My eyes go wide. “This is also the opposite of de-escalation, Nicolau.”

Quinn pauses with his hand on the doorknob. His brows furrowed as he look as me with a what the hell expression. Yeah, I’ve never referred to him by his middle name. But desperate times call for desperate measures. I don’t want him to get hurt because of me.

He doesn’t give me another chance to protest. He’s already opening the door, and when Fred sees him and glances over Quinn’s shoulder at me—it is not good.

Quinn uses his entire body to block the doorway, and the leftover gaps are filled with sheer intimidation. Angry Quinn is a scary Quinn, and I can imagine he might’ve made a lot of guys piss their pants during his pro boxing days. “She’s sick,” Quinn tells him in a deep, threatening voice.

Fred’s eyes flame and he takes a single step back. “And who the fuck are you?”

Quinn says, “Her friend. The one she called when she started puking. Sorry she wasn’t comfortable reaching out to a guy she met minutes ago.”

“And what? You were just in the area?” Fred frowns.

“I was at the bar,” Quinn snaps. “In case her date went poorly—which obviously…” He sizes him up. “Go home.”

Fred shakes his head. “Not until I talk to Frog.”

“You can go home,” I chime in from the depths of the bathroom. “I’m not interested in finishing the date.”

“You get that?” Quinn tilts his head. “She’s not interested.”

Fred takes a tight breath, then mutters something that I can’t hear. But Quinn, who’s closer, most definitely can. “Say that again, and your face will meet the fucking wall. My favorite sound is the crack of a nose breaking.”

Fred says more loudly, “Freak,” before hightailing it away.

As soon as he’s gone, I ask, “What’d he say?”

Quinn shakes his head, and by the look in his eyes, I see he’s not going to tell me.

But I know it must’ve been something about me.

Red flags. Green flags. Clearly, it’s hard to tell one from the other based on a hundred-word bio. I’m starting to wonder if online dating is truly the way to go when there are so many guys just using it for a quick lay. And I can’t really swipe right on the guys who are searching for long-term, committed relationships. That’d be shitty of me to lead them on.

I need the no-strings attached guys. The flirtationship, as Quinn put it. The ones who at least want to learn a little about me before bedding me.

I bring this up to Quinn when we go back to the apartment. We stopped at my favorite Thai restaurant on the way home since I never ate dinner. The Oliveira siblings were worried Fred might return to the pub, so they ended the night early.

I’m trying not to feel like a wrecking ball through their lives. Kannika Kitsuwon—also known as a burden to all who come into contact with her. My brain sends me this daily message that I have to actively thwart away.

The fragrant coconut curry hits me as soon as I pop open the to-go container of Massaman. Truly, heaven-sent.

“Online dating is a numbers game,” Quinn tells me, grabbing a premixed protein shake from the fridge. “I never thought you’d find the right guy on the first try.”

“So I have to go through more Freds?” I groan. “Maybe your sister has the better idea about picking up guys in bars.”

Quinn cringes as he unscrews the cap. “Please, spare me from the visual, Kannika. Now I feel like I need to go to the gym and punch something.”

“You mean crack a few noses?” I take a seat on the barstool, while Quinn leans back against the kitchen counter across from me. “Seeing as how your favorite sound is the crack of a nose?” It’s a fun fact I just learned tonight. My eyes go big. “Vicious, Quinn.”

“Yeah, that was a lie,” Quinn says casually. “That sound makes my skin crawl. Mostly because I associate it with pain. My pain. My nose has been broken about as much as I’ve broken other guys' noses.”

I can see the slight bump in the bridge, but it adds to his allure. Like he’s been through life. He has stories to tell, and I realize I might know some of them—but I don’t really know all.

He takes a sip from his shake as I dig into the Thai food. Dimmed, yellow lightning casts a soothing glow across our little apartment. It took months to get Gabe and Quinn to stop turning on the overhead lights back in Philly.

“You don’t understand,” I’d tell them. “The top light is unbearable. Please, use the lamps.”

“You’re right I don’t understand,” Quinn would reply.

Two months later, and Quinn entered our apartment with a pained grimace. “Gabe, man. The fucking big light is obliterating me.” He turned to my overzealous smile. “Don’t—”

“You finally understand,” I said into a bounce-hop.

Quinn is my favorite roommate.

Okay, he’s currently my only roommate in New York. But I’m aware that it could change at any minute. He could be transferred back to his former client or even a different client altogether.

I could be transferred.

Shake-ups happen quite often unless your client has a hardcore preference toward you, and as much as I love being Luna’s bodyguard, there’s no guarantees for the future.

“Are you having second thoughts then?” Quinn asks me.

“About which part?” I stab a tender piece of chicken. “The online dating or the losing my virginity?”

“Either. Both.” He squeezes his protein shake a little tighter.

“No, I definitely still want to lose my virginity soon,” I say. “The online dating has me kind of worried, but I’m willing to stick with it. Like you said—it’s a numbers game.”

He nods slowly like he’s processing but his eyes are on the floor.

My bite of chicken goes down thick when I swallow.

Then he says, “Maybe…maybe if it’s worrying you then it’s not a good idea.”

“Or maybe we just need a better strategy,” I counter. “Because I think the part I’m hung up on is wanting my date to know exactly what I want out of it—but I can’t exactly say ‘hey, all I’m looking for is for you to deflower me but maybe can we go on three or four dates first, so I know you’re a decent human being.’”

Quinn’s nose flares—but he goes quieter.

An idea pops in my head. “Wait. I’ve got it.”

“What?”

“I’ll put that I’m a virgin in my bio. I won’t even have to mention it on the date.”

“No.” Quinn shakes his head. “Absolutely not. All you’ll get is guys wanting to fuck you like a trophy.” He looks me over. “But if you want a quick lay, I’m not sure why you want to go through three or four dates. Just take the one-night stand if he’s a halfway decent guy.”

My face twists. “Maybe I’m wrong, but I feel as if I need more experience to perform a one-night stand.”

He laughs into a brighter, slanted smile. “It’s not a performance, Kannika. You don’t need to practice for it.”

“Says the guy who’s probably had loads of one-night stands. But it makes me hot—and not in a pleasant way—thinking about looking like a fool who doesn’t know what I’m doing when one-night stands are reserved for experienced people.”

Quinn blinks. “You know what to do, though?”

“No.” I shake my head. “I’m a virgin, Quinn. We’ve been over this?”

Are we in a weird miscommunication territory right now?

His brows furrow. “But you’ve at least watched porn—not that it’s exactly like that.”

My cheeks heat. Oh. “No, I haven’t watched porn.”

“Never?”

“It’s not that I haven’t wanted to. But those sites look sketchy as fuck, and I’ve had a reoccurring nightmare that I start playing a video, then I contract malware on all my devices, which sends emails to everyone I know that says ‘Frog is watching porn.’”

He runs a hand across the back of his neck, his slanted smile returning. “So how have you learned about it?”

“About sex?” I shrug. “Books. Wikipedia.” It hits me. “Is that why I’m nervous about one-night stands? Because I haven’t seen it? Maybe if I watch porn, I won’t feel so inexperienced. Let’s use your phone.”

Quinn chokes on a sip of protein shake. “This is not a group activity.”

“Can you lend me your phone then?”

“No.”

I sigh heavily. “Quinn, I’m trying to solve problems.”

“You’re not watching porn on my phone.” He gives me a slow once-over. “And who told you your inexperience is a problem?”

“It’s a personal problem,” I clarify. “Obviously inexperience isn’t a bad thing, but I’m just tired of feeling it—and I’m obviously projecting it if Epsilon doesn’t respect me.” My shoulders slump as I return to my food. Here I thought I was getting to the source of all my problems. Because, if I think about, if I can get more confident and comfortable at the idea of a one-night stand it’d make online dating a whole hell of a lot easier. It’d rip this whole thing off more like a Band-Aid than the long-drawn out process I foresee.

Quinn lets out a heavy, resigned sigh as he watches me mope. “I’ll let you use my laptop.”

I’m seconds away from bursting into a grin. “Seriously?”

His jaw tenses. “Yeah, but let me pick the site. You’re making me fucking paranoid about malware now.”

He leaves for his bedroom to grab his laptop, and I realize I’m wearing my mini dress from my date tonight. Should I change into sweats? Pajamas? What does one wear when they watch porn?

Maybe Quinn will even reconsider and watch it with me.

Maybe I can convince him.

Maybe I’ll gain way more confidence about sex tonight.

I’m smiling so hard my cheeks hurt. Yeah, I’m going to need to change for this.

Thank you for reading this month's chapter for Frog and Quinn! We know you've been waiting for the continuation of their story. And we're so excited to focus in on all things Frog/Quinn. It's been a blast to write, and we've been nailing down their themes, arcs, and where the story is heading so we have LOTS of fun planned for these two 💗☀️

That's all the written content for April, but we'll be back in May with more Frog and Quinn! Thanks so much for sticking with us on Patreon! And two podcasts are still on the horizon for this month 🎧

xoxo Krista & Becca

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MUSIC: We listened to "The Song (Love Is All)" by Sadie Sink while writing this chapter.

“Frog and Quinn," Copyright © 2025 by K.B. Ritchie