“We’ll figure it out.” Quinn kisses the underside of my jaw. “For now, I’m going to use us flying under the radar to my advantage.”
She’s smiling when she steps out of my hold, but there’s an edge to it that has me asking, “You’re sure you’re still okay with us keeping this”—I bounce a finger between us—“a secret?”
She ups the wattage of her smile, but…still, it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yeah.”
Why don’t I feel entirely convinced?
Quinn steps back to me, and I widen my stance so she can fit herself between my legs. “Plus, it’s kind of fun torturing Tessa with noncommittal answers.”
“Hmm. Now I understand the true reason your hair is red.” I tuck a wayward piece of it behind her ear.
“Why’s that?” Her eyes glitter like they do any time she can sense I’m gearing up to tease her.
“It’s because you’re really the devil.” I smooth my thumbs along her scalp. “Hmm, no horns.”
Quinn bursts out laughing, the musical sound wiping away any of my earlier worries. “Sorry to break it to you, Superman, but I get my hair from a box of dye, not the ruler of hell. Though…” She taps her chin. “If he were inclined to give me anything, I wouldn’t turn down tacos.”
My laughter echoes her own. “You are an absolute nut.” I kiss the tip of her nose. “Now…do you wanna tell me how you plan on using us being on the down low to your advantage? And does it have anything to do with me sweating just looking at you in all those clothes?”
“Why yes.” She steps back again, circling her arms around before propping her hands on her hips, presenting her comically bulky self. “You and I are going to play us some pool.” She taps the table as if that part of the plan wasn’t already obvious.
“And we couldn’t do that at the pool hall because…” I let my sentence trail off because she’s so much fun to bait.
“Because, Christopher…” See what I mean? “For every shot either of us makes, the other has to remove an article of clothing.”
“Ha! And you think making those the stakes when you’re so clearly stacking the odds against your own pending nudity”—I wave a hand up and down her bundled form—“is going to get me to help you learn how to play better?”
“No.” Quinn shakes her head. “This”—she fluffs the sweatshirt serving as her outermost layer—“is for today’s coaching lesson: delayed satisfaction.” She had to purr the last part, didn’t she? “Your incentive for getting all up close and personal for my lesson is that for any shot you help me make, it earns you a kiss to any place of your choosing.”
“Don’t go writing checks your mouth can’t cash,” I warn. I have imagined her mouth on every inch of my body.
“Please, CK.” She rolls her eyes. “Every day, I want to attack your mouth with my mouth. Do you really think I’m going to be sad having to kiss you anywhere else?”
Annnnd…playing pool with a boner should be interesting.
Quinn insists on breaking, beaming when she sinks a ball and I have to remove my Nerd? I prefer the term intellectual badass T-shirt. And yes, before you ask, it was a gift from Kay.
“This is categorically unfair,” I say, holding the shirt pinched between my fingers before dropping it. “I’m going to be naked in like”—I do some quick math—“four shots.”
“Socks and shoes count as two each,” Quinn says offhandedly as she scopes out her next shot, which, thankfully, she misses.
Looking at her, it’s impossible to determine how many layers she donned before issuing this challenge.
“So you’re saying you could potentially have me naked in one game, but I’ll have to risk playing in my birthday suit to even have a chance of getting you naked?”
“Delayed satisfaction, Superman.”
“I’ll give you delayed satisfaction,” I mutter and sink a striped ball in a side pocket. “Now strip, Red.”
She’s all Cheshire cat grinning as she slowly tugs the tab on the silver zipper holding her U of J Red Squad sweatshirt closed. Unlike me, she just shrugs out of it, letting it pool on the floor at her feet before kicking it away.
I mutter a curse at the unbuttoned flannel shirt and U of J Cheerleading T-shirt now on display. That’s a minimum of three layers—if you count her bra—before I get to see her boobs.
“Alright.” I suck in my teeth, eyeing her ensemble like it personally offends me. “I see how it’s gonna be.”
Cracking my neck to loosen up, I ignore the temptress taunting me and make quick work of sinking my next six shots without even pausing for her to strip until I’m eyeing which pocket would be best for the eight ball.
Without any fanfare, Quinn toes off both her shoes, her socks—because of course she wouldn’t be wearing her typical flip-flops—the flannel, and the T-shirt.
“Evil,” I singsong under my breath, narrowing my eyes at the white crop top she’s revealed as yet another layer.
Blowing out a breath, I use the sight near the foot string, call out my shot, and bank the eight ball off the cushion, sinking it into the corner pocket with a smooth roll.
“Off.” I snap for the shirt.
Quinn being Quinn only smirks and grabs the front of Grant’s snap-away warm-ups. Unfortunately, the pants don’t come off like they do for our friend before a game because she had to roll them over half a dozen times to not trip over them.
“Not a word,” she cautions with an extended finger.
“I know you said math is your bestie’s work—”
“My bestie?” Her face scrunches up before her jaw drops. “I’m going to start calling your punk ass Lucifer if you keep this devil shit up, mister.”
“What?” I shrug. “Just saying this”—I point to the pants she’s still struggling to remove—“is what happens when you’re a five-foot-two cheerleader and you borrow clothes from a six-foot-eight basketball star.”
“Look at the funny man with the jokes.” Quinn finally huffs in defeat, her hands slapping her thighs before she shimmies the pants down her legs. “God, I imagined that being way sexier than it was.”
I take a slow perusal up the long length of her toned legs, now bared to my view, with her clad in another pair of those plaid sleep shorts. “You’re sexy, Red.”
Color stains her cheeks, and she peers at me from beneath her lashes. “I like that you tell me what you think now.”
She never shies away from telling me how she feels.
“What?”
“Huh?” I scratch at my jaw.
“You made this…face.”
Her ability to read me as well as she does is a skill I wasn’t aware she had until we started spending so much time together. “I was just thinking how much I admire your ability to be so vulnerable with telling me how you feel.”
She licks her lips and dips her chin, hiding behind the shield of her hair. Witnessing a bashful Quinn Thompson is as rare as seeing a unicorn, and no less magical.
She recovers quickly, unabashedly watching my every movement as I collect and rerack the balls for our second game.