by L. M. Reid
“She what?” I laugh.
“I think she might be good for you, too.”
I slap him on the back. “Noted.” I take a sip of my beer. “Can we please talk about something besides Quinn?”
“Sure,” he replies. “How are Layla and Maddox doing?”
“You’re an asshole, you know that?” I say, but I still laugh. “Really trying to test that whole we’re ‘brothers no matter’ what line, huh?”
“Always pushing the envelope, it’s what I’m good at.” Mason tilts his head back and drains the bottle.
I look out to the dance floor where Quinn and Ivy seem to be having a good time. A couple men approach them and while I’m not typically that guy, every fiber of my being begins to ignite with a jealous rage. The guy places his hands on Quinn’s hips and sways to the music with her. She doesn’t seem to mind, and that right there, infuriates me even more.
“What are you doing?” Mason calls out to me as I stride over to the dance floor. If anyone is going to have their hands on Quinn, it’s damn well going to be me. I can hear the laughter in his voice.
“May I cut in?” I ask. Technically, I suppose I’m speaking to the guy, but my eyes are focused on Quinn who looks like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar.
“Oops,” she says. If I didn’t know better, I would think that she was trying to get a rise out of me.
The guy, much smaller in stature than me, releases her and steps away apologizing profusely.
I take a step forward, my hands replacing where his were and tug her against me.
“I wasn’t even thinking, I’m so sorry,” she says. While the apology sounds sincere, I’m not exactly sure what it is she’s apologizing for.
I don’t speak, just allow her words to sink in. After a moment, I realize what it is she’s referring to. The charade. Her dancing with another man wouldn’t look well for our “relationship.”
As we move to the music, I lower my head, my lips against her ear, “I just didn’t like him having his hands on you.”
Her body tenses under my touch, her eyes even more filled with surprise than the night we had sex. When the song ends, when I’ve made a good enough show so that no other guy will dare touch her, I leave and return to my stool next to Mason.
“Nope,” he says. “You don’t like her at all.”
“Fuck off,” I tell him. I pause for a moment and decide to take a page out of his book and push the envelope. “I like Quinn as much as you like Avery.”
Mason stiffens. His whole body tenses at the mere mention of his other best friend’s name and the insinuation that I just made.
“Avery?” he scoffs. “You’re crazy. There is nothing remotely romantic between me and Avery. We’re friends, that’s it. Besides, you know me. I need to focus on football. I don’t have time for relationships or commitment. I just want to…”
“Play the field,” we say in unison.
We both bust out laughing at his weak attempt at a play on words. The more we laugh, the more we drink and before I know it, I’m well past tipsy and, on my way, to being drunk. The last time I drank like this – I ended up in bed with Quinn.
My eyes scan to the dance floor, but she’s nowhere in sight. Fuck. I stand up on unsteady feet.
“Easy there, big guy,” Mason laughs.
“I have to go,” I tell him. I have to find Quinn and make sure she’s okay.
As I stagger out of the bar and into the hotel lobby, I can still hear Mason’s laughter. After checking a few locations, I end up at our room.
When I open the door, Quinn is sitting on the bed with her legs crossed, a book in her hands, and a pair of reading glasses settled on the bridge of her nose. She looks like a cross between a naughty librarian and the innocent girl next door. I stifle the groan that my body wants to make on instinct. Seeing her sitting there like that doing things to my body that no tight dress or skimpy bathing suit could ever do.
I want to ask her why she left. Why she didn’t tell me she was leaving. As I see her sitting there, looking seemingly relaxed, I already know the answer - she wanted to be alone.
“You wear glasses?” I ask.
“Only to read,” she says.
“They look good on you,” I tell her sincerely.
“Do they?”
I plop on the bed next to her. “Yep. And so, do those shorts.”
Fucking hell, me, and my big, drunk mouth.
“You must be pretty drunk. You’re doing that flirting thing again,” she laughs.
“I don’t have to be drunk to want to flirt with you,” I tell her. “The alcohol only helps me say what I’m already thinking.”
“Oh really?” She sets the book down between us. “So, what else are you thinking about, Hunter?”
“Truth?”
She nods.
“You. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since that night.”
She falls silent as she worries her bottom lip between her teeth. She doesn’t want me to see it, but she’s hiding the slightest hint of a smile. “You should get some sleep before you say, or do, something you’ll regret.”
She slides from the bed and walks toward the bathroom. “Hey, Quinn?”
“Hmm?”
“There are a lot of things I regret. Being with you isn’t one of them. In fact, I think I like you a little more than I should.”
Chapter 12
Quinn
I sit up in the oversized bed and look over at the hulking football player that is currently fast asleep in the most awkward position I have ever seen, on a couch that is half his size. He looks uncomfortable as hell as he lies there with his eyes closed and his body scrunched up. Yet, somehow, he still looks peaceful. Content.
I take the opportunity to study him while he sleeps. Truthfully, I just can’t seem to tear my eyes away from him. The more I look, the more I see, and the more I realize that I may have misjudged him.
Oh, hell, I definitely misjudged him.
He’s not this spoiled, arrogant, rich kid who looks down on everyone beneath him. If anything, he’s the exact opposite. He’s kind and sweet, gentle when needed, tough when he has to be. And the way he looks at me? There’s no judgment there, not that I can see.
There was anger when he approached me on the dance floor, jealousy even. But the moment his hands were on me, the possessive hold on my hips, the anger dissipated.
And when he returned to the room drunk as hell, it wasn’t anger or contempt or even desire that I saw in his eyes. It was compassion, reverence. The look spoke volumes about the man he is, and the person he sees me as.
And if all of that wasn’t bad enough, his drunk ass told me that he likes me.
He likes, me?
Hearing him say those words stirred up emotions in me that are so foreign I don’t quite understand them or where they’re coming from. I’m not Layla. I’m not Hayley. I’m not the kind of girl that a man like Hunter ends up with. I’m the kind of girl he fucks in a hotel room and never speaks to again.
Except, that’s part of the problem. He does speak to me. In fact, he’s practically everywhere. That has to be it. It’s just the lack of distance. Once we get home, once things get back to normal…. I’m sure I’ll go back to hating him.
Do I want that, though? Because normal, really wasn’t all that great. Scratch that, normal sucked. And hating him, while easy, wasn’t quite as entertaining as laughing with him is.
Frustrated with him, with myself, and with everything these past few weeks, I pick up the pillow next to me and throw it at him. It lands with a thud on his head and jolts him awake.
“What the hell, Quinn?” He groans out the words. His eyes look like slits as he wakes, like they’re rejecting the sunlight streaming into the room.
“Comfy?” I ask him.
“As much as I can be on this thing they are trying to pass off as a couch.” He sits up and cracks his neck and stretches.
“Being a gentleman isn’t always
such a great idea after all, huh?” I laugh.
He throws the pillow back at me. My hands grip the rich fabric before it hits me. “It’s always a good idea, regardless of whether or not it works in my favor.”
“Do you really believe that?”
“Yes,” he replies.
“You could have slept in the bed,” I say feeling guilty about how uncomfortable he must have been.
“No. I couldn’t have.”
“The idea revolts you that much?” I say with a flippant laugh. I’m not sure if I’m looking or him to validate my statement or refute it.
“Quite the opposite,” he replies. I don’t know why his words surprise me. They shouldn’t, considering that we’ve had sex. He had been drunk that night. Just like he was last night when he said he liked me. “I moved to the couch because there was no way in hell if I shared a bed with you last night that I would have been able to control myself. I would much rather take my pain in the form of a stiff neck rather than a stiff….”
“Hunter!” I exclaim unable to believe the words I’m hearing fall from his lips.
“It’s the truth.”
“You also said you like me. Is that true then, too?”
“Thought I made that clear already?” A playful smile plays on his lips. Lips that I had been staring at and missing through our entire conversation.
“Why are you smiling like that?” I ask him suspiciously.
“A lot of reasons,” he replies.
“Such as?”
“Well, because I might like you, Quinn, but I sure as hell am not about to let you get the bathroom first.” Hunter bolts for the bathroom door.
The abrupt change in subject shocks me. It was as though he knew we were delving into something too deep. Something that I wasn’t ready or willing to deal with at the moment.
I scramble out of bed and reach the door just as he shuts it.
My hand pounds against the door. “Don’t think I won’t come in there.”
“Don’t think I would care if you did,” he laughs.
He wants to act tough. Let’s just see how tough Mr. Football player is. I jiggle the handle. It’s locked. “Don’t care huh? Then why did you lock the door?”
“It’s for your own good.”
“My own good?”
“I saw how you were looking at me while we were talking. There is no way you can handle watching me shower.”
He might just be right. The sight of him moments ago, bare torso, low slung shorts, it was enough to weaken even the strongest bone in me. As I move toward the mirror, I laugh at just how riled up the sight of him has me. Standing there, looking at my reflection, I contemplate how different I am from Layla. My dark wavy hair with streaks of blue is a far contrast to the pristine stick straight perfect blonde hair that Layla dons.
Is anyone really going to believe that Hunter would go from a woman that looks nothing short of being a cover model, to me?
Will anyone believe that we are a real couple when from the outside looking in, we look more like a match made in hell than anything. His boy scout to my rock-and-roll.
Hunter emerges from the bathroom with nothing more than a white bath towel wrapped around his waist. Now I know how he felt when he found me in the same state of undress at Mason’s. His hair is wet and all over the place in messy spikes. I stare at him unabashedly. How can I not? He’s tall, handsome, and well built. Those rippled abs, the lines on his arm outlining every inch of muscle, and that damn V that sinks into the towel. He has an infectious smile and his eyes. Those gorgeous blue eyes that are staring back at me and filled with questions. Questions probably along the lines of wondering why I am gawking at him like some pathetic high school girl.
“Sorry, I was in such a rush to beat you I forgot to grab my clothes.”
“It’s fine,” I tell him whipping my head in the opposite direction of where he’s heading. Despite the fact that he is no less dressed than he would be at the beach, the fact that it’s only at towel he’s wearing somehow makes the moment feel more intimate. Especially since with one false move that towel could fall to the ground and I would be in heaven.
I can feel the heat of his body behind me.
“You okay?” he asks, his breath tickling my skin.
“Yep, all good.” I move and grab a few things from my bag then head into the bathroom and lock the door behind me. My heart is racing, pounding in my ears from the sight of him. “All good.”
Chapter 13
Hunter
I fought the smile that wanted to break through this morning when Quinn was most definitely checking me out. But now, walking through the resort with her, her hand in mine, my smile is full blown. And it’s not an act. Not part of the charade that were supposed to be putting on. It’s because of the woman whose hand I’m holding.
Yes, this is Quinn, and she is hell on wheels on a good day and a total train wreck on a bad one. She hates me for no good reason other than I exist. Underneath all of that though, there is something about her. This hidden vulnerability that makes me like her more and more as I get to know her.
Not that getting to know her is an easy feat. The woman is about as tight lipped as they get. Every now and then she gives me a glimpse. When she does, I latch onto it. Trying to figure her out is both nice and frustrating. The best part of relationships is getting to know someone. The fun of exploring and learning. With Quinn, somehow, I don’t think I will ever fully understand her.
Not that this is a relationship or ever will be. Despite Mason’s blessing and my cock’s desire to live solely inside of Quinn, the idea of the two of us is preposterous. If for no other reason than the fact that Quinn won’t let me in. I don’t think it’s anything personal, despite the fact that she repeatedly has told me she hates me. I think that whatever happened to her as a kid, affected her more than she lets on. She’s afraid to open up, afraid to really let someone in. Even Mason.
As we near the entrance to the restaurant, I glance at Quinn. She looks nervous. Before we head in there, before we make take this charade public, I need to make sure she’s okay. I look down at her and ask, “Are you ready for this?”
This brunch will be our first official appearance as Hunter and Quinn “the couple.” Everyone from my parents, to the bridal party, including Layla, will be here. It would be intimidating to anyone. I can only imagine how the woman who prides herself on not fitting in will feel.
Rather than answer my question, she responds with one of her own. “The question is, are you?”
When I look at her, I expect a smile, something bordering laughter, but she’s serious. “Yeah, of course. All we have to do…”
“I’m not talking about us. I’m talking about Layla. Seeing her, spending time in the same vicinity as her and Maddox. That’s not going to be easy.” There’s concern in her voice that I wouldn’t expect to find there.
“I’ll be fine. Besides, that’s why you’re here. Nothing like having a beautiful woman on your arm to keep you distracted.”
“Why do you keep saying things like that?”
“Like what?” I ask.
“Like I’m beautiful?”
I’m a little confused by the question. A woman who seemingly exudes self-confidence based not only on the way she dresses, but the way she carries herself sure seems to have a hard time taking a compliment.
“Because you are? I’m sorry, Quinn, I don’t get the question here. Do you have a problem with me thinking that you’re beautiful? Or believing that I mean it?”
“Not now,” she tells me, nodding her head to the side.
Out of the corner of my eye I catch a glimpse of Layla watching us.
“Yes, now,” I tell her refusing to just drop this conversation. “Which is it?”
“Both, okay? Happy? Now, can we get…”
My hands grab her waist to stop her from walking away from me. This is too important.
“I’m far from happy,” I tell her. “And it’s not because of Lay
la. Do you really not believe that? Do you really not see how beautiful you are?”
“Beautiful isn’t a word that most guys use when referring to me,” she admits.
“Then they’re idiots.” I lean into her and press my lips to her cheek. “Because you are beautiful, Quinn. Stunning. And whoever says otherwise, doesn’t deserve you.” I step back and smile at her. “Now, I’m ready.”
Placing my hand on the small of her back I give her a slight push to get her moving. Apparently, my compliment rendered her unable to walk. I guide her straight past Layla and onto the patio.
“Wow.” It’s all she says as we step out onto the beautifully decorated patio. The scene before us is beyond extravagant.
“Hayley really went all out,” I say in agreement.
“If this is just brunch, I can’t wait to see what the wedding is going to look like,” she says.
The amazement in her voice, the stars in her eyes. It dawns on me that while I’m used to all of this, the extravagance, the pomp, and circumstance, she isn’t. Despite Mason having more than enough money, neither of them has really been extravagant. Not the way my family is. Or Hayley’s for that matter. So, when her body tenses next to mine, it doesn’t surprise me.
I pull her in and press a kiss to her temple.
“You’re going be amazing,” I tell her.
“At least one of us thinks so.”
My mom is sitting at a table off to the side waving us over. “Ready?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
We head over to the table where my parents, Mason, Hudson, Hayley, and Hayley’s parents are already seated. “Sorry we’re late,” I say. “Mom, Dad, you remember Quinn.”
My mom stands and pulls Quinn in for a hug. “Of course. It’s so good to see you dear.”
“You too, Mrs. Adams,” Quinn replies, her voice quivering with an unexpected nervousness.
I make a quick introduction of Quinn to everyone else at the table.
“Sit down so we can eat already,” Hudson says.
