Ugh!
Now is not the time to think about what I heard last night or the fact that I listened to what I did for far longer than I should have. I may not be any good at this dating thing, but I know enough to know a person should not fantasize about their roommate rubbing one out to thoughts of them while they are out on a date. Especially when their date is not that roommate.
Quinn’s back is to me, but Grady is smiling like he’s endorsing toothpaste, his perfectly straight pearly whites on full display. Aren’t hockey players supposed to have smiles that resemble a jack-o'-lantern?
A hand touches my back, and I jump before I realize it belongs to Kristy.
“Chris?” I nod as her gaze bounces over the features of my face.
I reach up to adjust my glasses, forgetting I didn’t wear them. What? I was feeling rebellious as the person who yelled at me for not wearing them the last time is now on a date with another man.
“Uh, yeah, sorry. Hi Kristy.” I lean in like I’m going to hug her, but pull back at the last second, not sure if a hug is too personal at the beginning of the date. Then I reach out like I’m going to shake her hand, but that feels too formal, so I settle for this weird half-wave thing.
“Oh, good.” Relief washes over her pretty features before she does this cute little nose scrunch. “It was hard to tell from the back, and then you turned around and you didn’t have glasses on, so I wasn’t sure.”
She reaches up to adjust her own glasses. Looks like I’m not the only one nervous today, but her stammering is a whole lot more adorable and less awkward than mine.
Thankfully the hostess comes by then and shows us to a small booth. Being the gentleman my parents raised me to be, I hold out an arm for Kristy to go first. Unfortunately, my good manners bite me in the ass when she takes the bench seat facing the bar, because once I slide into the spot across from Kristy, I need to smother a curse.
Guess who has an optimal sightline to Quinn and her date with Mr. Perfect? Oh, wait, I apologize, that’s Mr. Charming McHot Pants.
Hmm…
I wonder if Quinn told him of the little nickname she gave him. Lord knows I heard it a lot the other night. Quinn is talkative on a good day. Quinn with alcohol in her system? Watch out. Though…I can almost promise you would be highly entertained, making the trade-off worth it.
“Chris?” Kristy lays a hand on my forearm, and it isn’t until she runs her thumb along the pronounced vein beneath my skin that I realize I, one, zoned out again, and two, am tense as hell. “Are you okay?” She shifts around in her seat, following my line of sight. “Do you know them or something?”
I use her question as an opportunity to study Quinn and Grady without it coming across as stalker-y weirdness.
Grady has his chin propped on his upturned fist, leaning in to listen as Quinn speaks. I can’t see his expression given that his back is to me, but I imagine he’s smiling because Quinn is most likely regaling him with a plethora of random facts. I’ve never wished I could read lips like Emma until this very moment, because Quinn’s randomness has quickly become one of my favorite things about her.
Except…
I tilt my head, noting her arms aren’t gesticulating like one of those wacky wavy arm guy things. Wonder what’s up with that?
“Oh…umm…yeah, Quinn’s one of my roommates,” I finally answer as Kristy turns back around.
“How’d you get paired with an athlete? I thought the school typically kept all the jock types together.”
How does she know Quinn is a jock? And why is the athlete part the thing that sticks out and not the more obvious fact that Quinn’s female?
Unless…
“Oh, no, Quinn is the redhead,” I explain. “But she cheers for the Red Squad, so your jock assessment is correct.” As was your assumption about me not being one.
Kristy’s eyes go as wide as the dinner rolls our server must have dropped off at some point during me being a bad date. “You live with a girl?”
I nod and hold up three fingers. “Three of them.”
Kristy’s jaw drops before she rests her elbows on the table, leaning in much the same way as Grady is with Quinn. “Like Three’s Company, or I guess in your case, it’s a four’s company-type thing?”
Looks like Quinn isn’t the only person with an appreciation for TV Land.
Shit!
You’re doing it again. Stop thinking about Quinn when you’re on a date with somebody else.
I feel like this time, it’s not my fault. I mean…she’s sitting right fucking there.
I chuckle as another one of my roommates comes to mind. “If we’re going to go with a TV reference, a reboot of The Real World is probably more accurate.” Thanks for the comparison, Trav. “There are nine of us total that share our place.”
We’re well aware of the unconventional nature of our living arrangement. I’m still in shock Mason was even able to find a place that could house us all.
“Nine?” I can’t fault Kristy for the almost screeched way she responds, except now we’ve garnered the attention from our fellow diners. More specifically, the two diners I’ve utterly failed to pretend I haven’t been well aware of since I entered the building.
“CK, dude,” Grady calls out with a chin jerk while Quinn looks like someone just told her they don’t like tacos.
“CK?” Kristy asks as I give Grady a wave. A part of me really fucking hates that the guy isn’t an asshat.
“My one friend—well, she’s more like family—has a thing for calling those she’s closest to by a letter name.”
“What does the K stand for?”
Ah, the impersonality of dating apps.
“Kent.”
Kristy’s brows knit together. “Aren’t you from Kansas?” I nod. “And your last name is Kent?” I nod again, knowing exactly where this is going. “Huh.” She falls back against the cushion of the booth. “Too bad your first name isn’t Clark.”
“I’ve heard that before.” My eyes flit over her shoulder, a jolt coursing down my spine when I find Quinn’s still staring this way.
“I bet.” Kristy circles a finger in front of my face. “You definitely have that Superman’s-alter-ego vibe when you have your glasses on.”
Again, my gaze tracks to Quinn at the memory of how her Superman nickname had Grady thinking we were a couple.
It’s ridiculous. Ludicrous even.
Still…
That doesn’t stop the ache that’s been pulsing inside me since I denied the claim from intensifying.
It isn’t until their server arrives with their meals that Quinn finally pulls her attention off my date and onto her own.
Or so I thought until both my phone and Apple watch vibrate from an incoming text.
RED: Why didn’t you tell me you had a date tonight?
When did she change her contact name in my phone? Better question, why am I surprised by this?
RED: She’s pretty. *thumbs-up emoji*
Did she really just hit me with a thumbs-up? It’s like she’s telling me good job.
Thankfully, our server swings by to take our orders before any more texts can come through, and Kristy and I pick our conversation up from where it left off. Things are less stilted than they were with Julia, but still, my thoughts drift. Except it’s worse because the object of my distraction is sitting three tables away and won’t stop texting me. Isn’t she supposed to be on her own date? What is she doing with all the commentary on mine?