Though I’ll admit, my gravest miscalculation lay in the order in which I chose my textees.
Like an Edgar Allan Poe novel, the text message threads taunt me from my phone despite having powered it off.
What did I do? Why did I do it?
Sonofabitch.
Want to know the real kick in the crotch? I can already picture how Quinn would throw one of her mini-celebrations if I told her what I did.
She’d squeal and clap her hands, maybe even throw herself at me to squeeze the life out of me in a hug, so proud of me for taking the initiative. She’d be all, “Oh, Superman, look at you being all confident with your bad self.”
Little does she know, the only reason I opened up the Greet Geek app last night and asked out the first person in my saved messages was because she accepted a date of her own.
Who does that? An asshole, that’s who.
But…
Wait for it…
My assholery doesn’t stop there.
Nope. That honor goes to how my thoughts have only spiraled more since I heard Quinn return home after her shift at The Barracks.
For the last thirty minutes or so, I’ve been forcing myself to remain in my gaming chair. If I get up, I’m liable to storm across the apartment and bang on her bedroom door.
Why would I do that? What would I say?
Don’t go out with Grady; go out with me instead.
Yeah, okay. She’d probably pull a muscle laughing at the suggestion.
And if she didn’t? There’s also the issue of how I now have my own date tomorrow night as well. The difference is, I would cancel mine in a heartbeat if I thought I had a shot with Quinn.
Like I said, you shouldn’t drink and text.
Why haven’t the developers at Apple created an app that requires you to pass a breathalyzer before it lets you use your iPhone? Maybe I should switch from game design to app development. I’d probably make a mint if I could pull that off.
Drumming my fingers on the surface of my desk, I stare at the lines of code on the monitor, the numbers blurring into one giant blob.
Fuck, I need a break.
Removing my glasses, I rub at my tired eyes before sliding them back on.
I have no idea what Quinn is up to. Hopefully, she’s in her room or outside, because I need something to drink, and if I see her, I don’t know if I’ll end up giving in to my chaotic musings.
The apartment is blissfully empty when I step out of my room. The loft-style vaulted ceilings and open concept make the absence of any sound besides the hum of the refrigerator almost eerie as I pad across the cold floor.
Light filters out beneath Quinn’s bedroom door, confirming she is still home but not anywhere in sight.
I don’t bother turning any lights on while I move through the kitchen. The ambient light from the moon streaming through the glass wall leading to the balcony is enough to guide my movements.
Hand gripping one of the vertical handles of the refrigerator, I down my first glass of water without bothering to move away.
A faint buzzing sound hits my ears as I’m filling my glass for the second time. Lifting the glass away from the door’s water dispenser, I pause, straining to hear better.
What the…? What is buzzing like that?
Setting the half-full glass on the counter, I follow the noise, trying to determine where it’s coming from so I can put a stop to it.
For some reason, I keep my focus on the ground as I walk, and it isn’t until I step into the swatch of light stretching toward the kitchen that I realize the source of the sound is Quinn’s bedroom. Of course she would pick the room closest to the kitchen—that room is her happy place.
Then it hits me.
Holy shit.
Tell me she’s not…
Tell me I’m hearing things and my earlier frustration is causing my imagination to run wild.
The buzzing continues, the tempo increasing along with the pounding beat of my heart.
I move closer to the door, the shell of my ear touching the grain of the wood just as a moan drifts out from inside.
Oh, fuck.
Quinn is masturbating.
I rear back from the door, my gaze locked on the unassuming panel detailing hiding Quinn from view. A masturbating Quinn. A masturbating Quinn I can hear as she works herself over with a vibrator.
The hairs on the back of my neck rise as the full weight of what I’m hearing settles over me.
I should move. Hell, I need to move. But I’m frozen in place.
I shouldn’t be hearing this. This is a private moment I have no right to encroach on. Yet…I can’t seem to tear myself away.
Another moan filters out, and I have to bite down on a knuckle to keep from responding with one of my own.
My dick and I may not have been on the best of terms lately, but I can’t fault him for pushing against the band of my boxer briefs.
I’ve just worked up the wherewithal to step away when the next moan has me rooted on the spot.
“CK…”
Holy fuck.
Did she just say my name?
It’s fainter than faint, but I swear I hear the rustle of her sheets. Flashes of her naked body writhing on them assault me with staggering intensity. Chest heaving, nipples pebbled tight, one hand clutching at the sheets while the other works the vibrator between her spread legs, the limbs bronzed and toned and—
What the fuck am I doing?
#CHAPTER22
* * *
Blowing out a breath, I pocket my phone and pull open one of the heavy oak doors at Jonah’s, a popular bar and grill not far from the U of J campus. My stomach rolls as soon as I step inside, though whether it’s from nerves, my conflicting feelings, or the delicious aroma of the burgers this place is famous for is a toss-up.
When Kristy suggested we come here for our date, I was hesitant. The last time I chose a sit-down type of activity, it didn’t end well for me. But Jonah’s isn’t your typical eatery.
There’s the main restaurant area when you first walk in, then sectioned off of that, thanks to the clever placement of the large square padded booths, is the bar to the right and a game area to the left.
There’s a couple battling it out over at the air hockey tables, a cluster of business types dressed in suits near the dartboards, and a group of friends gathered around the lone pool table.
The flat-screen TVs adorning the walls and above the bar showcase whatever sports are in season, leaving the volume turned up for whichever game Jonah’s decides to use as its “feature” game of the night. That alone is why this place is one of our main haunts to frequent when the U of J Hawks are playing on the road.
Scanning the not-as-crowded-as-during-the-school-year-but-still-packed space, I don’t know if I’m hoping to find Kristy waiting for me or dreading it.
I’m a few minutes early. I consider shooting her a text after I’m done with my pass over the dining area, then my gaze spots a familiar head of cherry-cola-red hair. And, yes, that’s the actual name of the color; I remember it from the countless times I’ve heard the girls talking about it and something about how reds fade.
Holy shit!
Quinn is here.
Quinn is on her date with Grady here.
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
How did I not know they were coming here?
Oh, maybe because now you’re the one avoiding her ever since you ran away from her door like some chickenshit reverse Beetlejuice after hearing her call out your name three times.