Then she pushed me until I was slouched against the couch and started running her fingers through my hair. Needless to say, I didn’t even make it through Bones and Booth’s first exchange of sexually charged witty banter before my eyes were closing.
I have no clue how long ago that was, but I suspect it’s been a few hours given that Hulu’s binge-shaming prompt is now blurrily displayed on the television. Where are my glasses?
Wanna know what else I’m clueless about? How I ended up with my face using Quinn’s stomach—her bare stomach—as my pillow.
Tilting my chin, I glance up at a slumbering Quinn. Unlike last night, she doesn’t have an ounce of makeup on, and her hair hangs in a messy ponytail dangling over the side of the pillow, but still, she’s achingly beautiful.
She likes me.
It hasn’t quite set in that she told me that, but there’s something about seeing her like this that makes me believe maybe, just maybe, I have a real shot with her. Her hands are tangled in my hair as if, even in sleep, she couldn’t resist toying with the strands, and I gotta admit, I like it.
“Hey,” Quinn says in this sexy as hell sleepy rasp when I lift my head, searching for my glasses.
My apology for falling asleep on top of her dies on my tongue the instant she starts to scratch my scalp with her nails.
“Hey,” I say instead, reaching for my glasses.
“You crashed hard.”
I nod, practically purring as she continues to rake her fingers through my hair, my glasses completely forgotten. “I didn’t sleep last night,” I admit, though that was probably obvious.
“Why not?” I feel her tense beneath me. Does she really think I went home with Kristy?
“First, it was because I couldn’t stop thinking about you leaving with Grady”—a flash of how she glanced back over her shoulder right before they rounded the end of the hall hits me—“or the sad look on your face as you did.”
I have to pause to clear the sudden lump from my throat when a mirroring expression crosses her face now. I doubt the rest of what I have to say will help ease it at all.
“Then sometime around three in the morning when it became evident you weren’t coming home…” I grip the back of my neck. “I started to imagine all the things you could be doing while not home and—”
“I get it.” She cuts me off.
Gliding her hands down the white undershirt I changed into earlier, she pushes on my chest. Then, with the aid of the leg hooked over my hip, she maneuvers us around until I’m once again sitting on the couch. She continues the movement, straddling me and settling in my lap. The blanket that was covering us is now a tangled mess, bunched uncomfortably under my ass, but I barely pay it any mind when her center lines up against me. Even through the material of her shorts and my sweatpants, I can feel how hot she is.
Her hands come up to frame my face, her fingers tracing over my eyebrows, then outlining my eyes, still unobstructed without my glasses. Her touch is soft, almost reverent as she explores my features until she slides her fingers back through my hair, resting her thumbs at my temples, her gaze boring into mine the entire time.
“I wasn’t in a good headspace when I first got home. And…when I saw you still dressed in the same clothes as last night…” Her throat moves with a swallow as her words trail off. “My mind instantly went to the same place…and…it…hurt.”
I don’t want to piss her off, but I got to know. “Why?”
“Did you forget how I told you I liked you a few hours ago?” She points over my shoulder at her bedroom.
My hands fall to her hips when she rocks into me, as if to reiterate her point.
“No. I remember it.” I give her a warning squeeze when she rolls her hips again. “I still have a hard time believing it, but I remember it quite well.”
She stills, freezing in my hold, before shifting back until the curve of her butt rests on my knees. She braces her hands at my collarbones, her fingers digging into my trapezius muscles.
“Why?” There’s an edge to her question.
I haven’t shared the details of what I went through in high school with anyone outside of the original trio who adopted me into the group. I’ve long since suspected Quinn has heard some of the details, but telling her is a lot harder than telling the others.
My high school experience is filled with more memories I’d rather forget than remember, but there is one I can tell her about that might help her understand.
“In my experience…” I have to pause to swallow again. “The only reason a girl who looks the way you do would talk to me was that she was trying to distract me while her star jock boyfriend and his friends either fucked with my locker or were waiting to ambush me in some way.”
“Those jackholes you went to high school with better pray to La Virgen María that they never run into me.” There’s zero hint of a tease in her tone. “I hate that because of them, you can’t see how amazing you truly are, CK.”
I start to fidget, focusing on the spandex band of Quinn’s bra top, toying with the material. She’s not the first person to say something of the sort to me, but coming from her? There’s a bit more weight to it.
Except…
“If you think I’m so great and like me so much”—I swallow and meet her gaze head-on—“why did you try to help me get with other girls? Why not keep me for yourself?”
#CHAPTER28
* * *
Oof. Look at CK coming in with the hard-hitting questions.
Now…
Do I deflect or admit the truth?
Ugh!
Heat crawls up the back of my neck, and I look away, no longer able to stare into his penetrating blue gaze.
My heart gives a mini cheer when CK pinches my chin in his fingers, my belly swooping at the uncharacteristic command of my attention.
“Tell me.”
Gah! When he talks in that deep, gravelly voice, I want to stand up and let him know I’ll tell him anything he wants to know.
“I was desperate.”
“Desperate?” he questions.
I nod, my ponytail slipping over my shoulder. “I’ve had a crush on you for so long, but it always seemed like you were purposely finding ways to keep a certain amount of distance from me that you didn’t keep from the others.”
Now he’s the one looking away because we both know what I said is true. Any time we’ve had a moment that remotely showed the connection we shared, he doubled downed on his avoidance techniques.
Yet…
I can’t seem to quit him.
Except for the two times he’s kissed me, everything about us has been entirely one-sided. It may not have been until recently that I’ve truly put my feelings, put myself on the line, but there’s always been this innate sense of vulnerability about CK that keeps drawing me in.
“I had hoped if you thought I was helping you with other women, you’d end up being less hesitant with me. And…then…maybe…you might fall for me instead.”
See what I mean? See that silver platter? Oh, yes, here, let me serve myself up on it.
“What?”
“I don’t just like you, Superman.” I shrug, bringing my hands to my chest. “I want to be the one you date.” I motion between us. “It killed me any time you went out on a date with one of those other women. It was completely irrational, and I know they’re probably better suited for you than me…but…ay dios mío!” I grip my skull with both hands, digging my nails into my scalp. “The night you went out with that puta who bailout called you, I was going out of my damn mind at The Barracks. I legit had to be talked down by a high school student.” It’s been weeks since that night, but still, that battery-acid bubble of crazy percolates inside me. “Me estaba volviendo loca,” I shout when I can’t swallow it down.