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Fate (Choices #2)

Page 9

by Lane, Sydney

I sit up and very slowly, very deliberately, lean closer to Jenna. Her eyes never leave my face as I say, "Not that it's any of your business, but I don't plan on hurting her." Who does this girl think she is?

  She tilts her head and studies my face. She's definitely tenacious. "Then what do you want with her? She's not like the other girls you have hanging around."

  "Don't you think I see that? That's exactly why I like her. She's... different." She doesn't immediately respond. Instead, she watches me, daring me to lie to her. I guess I pass the test.

  The smile that suddenly transforms her face is so bright it could light up a room. "So, you like her, huh?" Nudging me with her elbow, she has a mischievous glint in her eyes.

  "None of your business, Jenna." Her shoulders slump as if she's disappointed that I didn't say more.

  "Oh, alright. I'm just going to say that I haven't seen that girl smile like she does when she talks about you. Just be careful with her. She's had a rough life, and she doesn't need to be hurt again. I rest my case." I always knew there was more to Little Miss Perfect than meets the eye. I just can't imagine what it would be. She looks like she has it all. When Jenna gets up and starts clearing her tray, I put my hand out to stop her. Again, her eyebrows arch, clearly amused.

  "Yes?"

  "Could you give me Quincy's number?" Just when I think she's going to say no, she grabs my phone and programs it in. Then, she walks away, smiling for all of the world to see. Eric is going to have his hands full with this one, and I'm going to enjoy the show.

  I spend the rest of the evening studying in my room. I put my headphones on and try to distract myself. Every time someone walks by the door, my pulse quickens as I listen for Declan's door to open, signaling that he's home from his date with Quincy.

  It irritates the piss out of me to think about what they're doing together. I mean, what do they talk about? Is she smiling for him? Does she let him touch her the way I have touched her? I stop there. That's my breaking point. I just can't stomach the idea that he may be screwing her while I sit here, powerless, once again.

  When I finally do hear him open and close his door behind him, it is late. I know exactly what I'm going to do. I take a few calming breaths and pick up my phone. Scrolling through my contacts, I find her number and hit 'call' before I can talk myself out of it.

  Quincy answers on the first ring, a little breathless and unsure, "Hello?" Fuck me. That voice could bring a guy to his knees.

  "Hey, it's Brody. You got a minute?" She hesitates, and I wonder what she's thinking. Has she made a choice? Did she choose him?

  "Brody, what do you want? I think we said everything we needed to say earlier." Oh, so we're back to that, again? That, I can handle.

  "No, you said what you wanted to say. You didn’t even give me a chance to defend myself." She catches me off guard. I've never had to explain myself before. By now, most girls would be putty in my hand. I sigh. "Quince, I just wanted my voice to be the last one you heard before you go to sleep tonight. Sweet dreams, babe."

  All I want is for her to think about me. This girl is killing me. She went out with him, but she's going to dream about me. I know I'm fighting dirty.

  It's not fair to Declan that he's fighting a battle he doesn't even know he's in.

  Chapter 17

  I tried avoiding her. I tried being pissed at her. I even tried being nice to her. But look where all of that has gotten me. Fucking nowhere. Things, however, are changing. I’m taking control of this situation. Tonight.

  Giving myself a pep talk, I work behind the bar, the familiar smell of beer and smoke filling my lungs. It’s Friday night, and the crowd is just beginning to pick up. When Quincy walks in, it feels as if my breaths are forced from my chest, like somebody kicked me in the nuts.

  Our eyes meet, and it’s like two forces colliding. An explosion. My eyes are hungry, and I'm feeding them. This is no game of stare down. If she wants to challenge me, I will win. Devin stays out of my way, allowing me to get close to Quincy every time she approaches the bar. A few times, when he catches me searching the crowd for her, he smiles and shakes his head. I glare at him, but I can’t stay mad. This girl is kicking my ass, and he knows it. Hell, even I know it.

  The hair on my neck stands up, and that feeling of being watched, the one I never experienced until I met Quincy, creeps over me. It’s almost like I can sense where she is without seeing her. I can feel her when she's close, and I can feel her when she's across the room. But most of all, I can feel her eyes caress me as she watches me throughout the night, sending tingles radiating down my spine.

  Maybe it’s all just a bunch of imaginary bullshit, but either way, I love feeling her inside of me. I love catching her watching me, her eyes following my movements. And I especially love it when her cheeks turn rosy pink right before she shyly looks away.

  There is a party at the house tonight. I don’t know if Quincy will come, but I can’t even entertain the possibility of getting close enough to talk to her. If things go the way they have been, she’ll show up with Jenna, stay stuck to Declan’s side all night, then leave without so much as a word. And I’ll futilely tell myself I don’t give a damn.

  When I walk out of Players’, I’m pumped for the party and have three new numbers in my pocket. I’m used to girls slipping me their number while I’m behind the bar, and it can go one of two ways. Either the girl is hot, and I get some use out of the number, or she isn’t, and I throw it away. Tonight, I keep all three.

  It’s Vegas night, and there are games and tables set up throughout the house. As predicted, I find Seth, Eric, and Declan in the basement. This is where the real game is. By that, I mean true Southern ass-kickin’ Texas Hold’em poker. I'm not much of a poker player, but I always get roped into playing a few hands. I'm one of those people who still thinks poker is a game of luck. And I got shit for luck.

  My back is to the stairs, but I know the minute Quincy arrives. Declan boisterously yells, "Quincy! Come over here! I'm losing my tail, and I'm hoping you'll bring me some luck." Yeah, you and me both, brother. You and me, both.

  A glutton for punishment, I turn and watch as she nervously looks around the room. She looks right past me, and I'm not sure if she didn't see me or if she did it on purpose. Either way, it makes me want to hit something.

  When she joins Declan's table, a huge smile spreads across her face, mimicking his. Anybody could see they would be good together. They have the same dark coloring and good looks. I mean, girls try to get me to introduce them to Declan all the time, so I assume he's got appeal. They laugh together, and their body language says they're comfortable with each other. They look like every other couple in the room. And, once again, I’m the asshole. The asshole who wants to get between them, to push them as far away from each other as I can. The asshole who is willing to lose a friend to do it.

  As if magically drawn to her, my eyes follow Quincy across the room to where she sits next to Declan. I linger too long, willing her to look at me, when her eyes rise to meet mine. Just like all the times I caught her watching me at work, I don’t look away. I refuse to give in. When I want something, I go for it. I’m just not used to having to work this hard to get it.

  Quincy’s eyes leave mine as she looks across the room, dawdling on the table where Eric is sitting with Jenna, then back to me. I’d swear that girl just sent me a subliminal message. She didn’t even speak, but I understood every word. Whispering in Declan’s ear, she stands up and slowly makes her way across the room to Eric’s table. There are two empty seats, and I know one is for me. I grab a beer and tell Seth I’m going to get in on a game. When his gaze follows mine, I feel him stiffen next to me.

  “Bad idea. Come on, man. Let’s go upstairs.”

  “No, Seth. I said I was going to play a hand of poker.” He lowers his head, knowing he can’t change my mind but wishing he could. I can feel him watching me as I take a long drink from my beer and make my way to the other side of the room. I know it’s crazy, but
I’m passed caring.

  Pulling out the chair next to Quincy, I sink into it. "I'm in. I'll even show Quince how to play a little." She looks up at me with those big, brown eyes. Again, I get the distinct impression she's a little bit afraid of me, but she's not running, even though I know she really should. She giggles, that same giggle that turns me on and makes me smile simultaneously.

  "I'm not a great partner, so if you lose, don't say I didn't warn you." I can’t help the grin that takes over my face. She just opened the door with that comment.

  I lean over, my leg brushing against hers, and whisper, "I bet you'd be a great partner." Her face is priceless as she jerks her leg away from mine, breaking contact with me. I get a kick out of the fact that I can affect her like she does me. At least it makes me feel less stalkerish.

  When the cards are dealt, I reach for them. It feels natural when Quincy leans into my shoulder to see my cards. I take my time explaining the game. It's not every day that I get to sit in public with Little Miss Perfect, acting like there is nothing to hide, and I'm going to take advantage of the situation. I could have so much fun with this girl if she'd let me.

  It’s kind of hard to keep my head in the game with her sitting next to me, looking so hot, and smelling like a bit of heaven. When I hear her sigh, I feel that little breath all of the way to my bones. As I arrange the cards and explain my strategy, she leans closer, our heads almost touching. Her breath brushes my neck, and when I look at her, my willpower is exhausted. Face flushed, breathing shallow, and eyes hooded, a turned-on Quincy is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

  Lowering my voice, I warn her, “I might have to call your bluff. Baby, you don’t have a good poker face.” I’m diggin’ that look on her face, but I know it wouldn’t be good if anyone else saw it. This isn’t the time or place for it, and suddenly, my only thought is how I’m going to get this girl alone.

  For a second, I’m not sure she understands what I mean, but when she finally gets it, she bursts out laughing. Her laugh is like music, lighting a fire inside of me, breaking the wall of ice between us. This is the first time I’ve heard her laugh with abandon, not caring what anyone else thinks. Unlike the novelty of her candid laugh, I am again bombarded by the feeling there is more to Quincy Priest than she will ever allow me to see.

  Eric is oblivious to the foreplay going on right under his nose, but I don’t miss Jenna’s penetrating glare. She’s been watching us, and when my eyes meet hers, I swear she also sends me a subliminal message, and I hear it loud and clear. Don’t fuck with my friend. I will cut off your nuts. Man, that chick is badass. What she doesn’t understand is that the ball is in Quince’s court. If she’d just admit her attraction to me, be honest with Declan, and give me a chance, well… I hope I’d do the right thing.

  Jenna gives me one last lingering look before she stands and tells Quincy, “Hey, Eric and I are heading upstairs. Come find me when you’re done.”

  Uncertainty passes over Quincy’s face, and she makes a move to stand. I don’t like the idea of us sitting alone, this close together, exposed, but I don’t want her to leave just yet. Before I realize what I’m doing, I put my hand on her knee, holding her in place. “Don’t go.”

  Sounds like a pansy, but I'm not ready for this night to end. Relief flows through me when she falls back into her chair, but I already feel it. Her wall is back in place. Looking over her shoulder at Declan, she smiles nervously when he gives her a thumbs up. With Jenna and Eric gone, I know our time together is done. Everyone in the room knows she doesn’t belong with me.

  Movement from the corner of my eye grabs my attention. Seth joins our table, pulling his chair close to mine. I don’t really want to hear another lecture, and I sure as hell don’t want him to say anything to make her uncomfortable.

  I pretend to show Quincy my cards, and leaning close to her, I whisper, “Do you want to go somewhere else?” Slowly, she nods, her eyes never leaving mine. “Can you go to my room? I’ll be up there in a minute.”

  She makes me proud when she stands and announces, “I’m going to find Jenna. Thanks for the tutorial, Brody.” Her voice doesn’t waver, although she's staring at the floor. And when she walks across the room and turns the corner to the stairs, it takes everything I have not to follow her. She’s got on some kickass cowboy boots, and I can’t help but imagine them wrapped around my waist. The only thing is I couldn’t stand up now if I wanted to.

  Seth nudges me with his elbow, tearing my eyes away from Quincy. “Be careful, Bro.” He shrugs his shoulders, knowing I’m gonna do whatever I want to do anyway. “Wanna play a hand?” he asks, but he’s already dealing for a hand of traditional poker.

  I reach for my hand, ignoring his pointed looks. “You know I suck when it comes to poker, Seth. I have no luck.” I throw in five dollars for my bet.

  “It’s not about luck, Brody. It’s about making the right choices, predicting what will happen next. It’s a game of strategy.” He shows me just how true it is as he wins two hands in a row. He gets cocky and smirks, “It’s a game of odds.”

  “Well, obviously, I know nothing about predictions and odds.” I shrug, taking another long swig of my beer. My buzz is going pretty strong, but I don’t want to be drunk when I get up to go to my room. I can’t believe Quincy is in my room. Waiting for me.

  “Yeah? Well, I can tell you one thing for sure. If you keep doing what you’re doing, the odds are this shit’s gonna blow up in your face.” He’s no longer talking about cards, and even though I get it, I act like I don’t.

  Throwing my cards down on the table, I stand. “The odds are that if I sit here with you, I’m going to lose everything in my wallet.” I leave him staring at the table, like he has something else on his mind. I hear what he’s saying. I do. It’s just that I don’t want to hear what he’s saying.

  I calmly walk up the stairs, but I’d really like to jog up them two at a time. Is it really so bad that I just want to see if she really is waiting for me? That I wish she weren’t up there hiding in my room and that I could walk through the house with her on my arm?

  Stopping in the kitchen, I grab a shot of Jager and down it in one swallow. When I slam my shot glass on the counter, I turn to leave and run into Whitney. Like, literally, run into her. I put my hands around her to keep her from falling, and she takes advantage of the situation by pushing her body into mine. I apologize, “Sorry, Whit. You Ok?” I try to release her, but she holds onto me, her arms wrapped around my waist.

  “I’m fine.” She wiggles her hips, pressing against me. “Is that for me?” Shit. She can feel my erection, and I don’t want her getting any ideas.

  Shaking my head, I push her backwards. “Nah.” The smile on her face falters, and she suddenly looks disappointed. “I mean…. That’s not what I meant. I’m just going to bed. I’ve had too much to drink.”

  Her eyes sparkle as she seductively suggests, “I could come up and take care of you?” She arches her eyebrow, waiting for me to respond. Any other time, I might take her up on her offer, but tonight, I’m just anxious to get away from her.

  “Not tonight,” I reply, backing away. “I’ll give you call, K?” She nods, but her face falls. Oh, hell. I pat her on the shoulder before walking away. Yeah, it’s time to cut those strings.

  When I finally get to the stairs leading to my room, I take them two at a time. I feel like a teenager who has a girl in his room for the first time. I have no idea if she’s even in there, but I can’t wait to find out.

  Opening the door just enough to slide through, I quickly push it closed behind me. For a minute, all I can do is take her in. When she looks up at me, it does something crazy inside of me, something that makes me want to run from her but also holds me in place.

  “You really are here, in my room. Do you know how many times I’ve imagined this? How many times I’ve lain in my bed, thinking about you?” I realize, at that moment, just how true that is. I never gave it much thought, but every night when I
close my eyes, this is exactly what I imagine. Quince. Here. Like this. Well, like this, but without the clothes.

  “So, what am I doing here, Brody?” Her voice cracks, like she’s nervous or scared of me. “You confuse me. I’m not really sure what you want from me.” Well, that’s an easy one. Walking toward her, I hold out my hand.

  “Quince, it’s not about what I want from you. It’s about what I want with you.” She hesitates before reaching for my outstretched hand, and I pull her to stand in front of me. With her boots on, she's a little taller and a helluva lot sexier. I draw her close, her body perfectly aligning with mine. Indecision floods her eyes, warning me that I will scare her away if I move too fast. So instead, I begin to sway with the music that penetrates the walls. She moves with me, setting a slow, seductive rhythm, her hips gently swaying to the beat. And when she lays her head on my chest, I wonder if she can hear my heart, pounding inside.

  I feel her breath on my neck and her body flex as she rises to her toes, just before her lips touch the sensitive spot just under my ear. Breathing in deep, I tilt my head back, giving her control. Her lips part, and her tongue glides over my skin, blazing a path down my neck. My hands are suddenly in her hair, tangled in it, urging her on. “Fuck, Quince. You are driving me crazy,” I whisper. My voice is deep and hoarse. This is sweet torture.

  My words seem to ignite something in her, her hands finding the bottom of my shirt and tugging it up. Her movements grow more hurried, more needy, and her breath comes in short bursts. I think Little Miss Perfect likes dirty talk.

  When her hands touch my skin, a fire ignites deep inside me, burning more intensely with each brush of her fingers. I reach over my neck, pulling my shirt over my head. When I pull her back to me, I lower my lips to hers. Fuck. She tastes as good as she smells, and it feeds the growing inferno inside me. I claim her lips with mine, parting them with my tongue. Timid at first, her tongue meets mine, seeking, learning, until I can’t take anymore.

 

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