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She cocks her head to the side, smiling back.
“I don’t mind.”
My heart thunders in my chest as I walk around the front of the car, letting my hand trail over the hood of the vehicle. I draw closer to her, sure in my bones that coming here is the best decision I’ve made in over a decade. Quinn’s eyes drop, raking me from head to toe, heating me faster than the car’s luxury seat warmers or a twelve-mile run. I want to drop to my knees and take a bite out of the curve where her thigh meets her ass. I want to grab handfuls of her and boost her up onto the hood of my brother’s overpriced car. I want to quit my job, sell my condo, and see her every day. I can’t, of course, but it’s a nice thought.
She has on a pair of stretchy leggings with crisscrossing black and white lines. They showcase the length of her legs and I try not to stare. A white turtleneck covered by a green chunky knit sweater falls over the width of her hips. Her black puffer coat is unzipped, and she has on a pair of fuzzy gray earmuffs and matching knit gloves. She’s covered from head to toe, and she still gets me going.
This is the first time I’ve seen her in clothes she picked out with me in mind. Wearing team gear to a sporting event doesn’t count—everyone wears something in team colors or with the team logo—and at the hospital she’d been covered in paint from her day at school. This is what Quinn chose for herself. For a date with me. This is her, and she looks lush and warm and adorable and my pulse is threatening to tattoo its way out of my skin.
She’s in a fucking turtleneck and I’m about to lose my mind.
“How casual are we keeping this date, Quinn?”
My body sways toward hers as if she’s a statue made of nickel, and I’m filled to the brim with magnets. She furrows her brows at me, her nose crinkling just the tiniest bit, and I want to shake her and tug her into the wall of my chest. I need to know where her head is at because I want to kiss the fuck out of her right now. Because I remember the way she tastes and what she sounds like when she comes. Because I keep forgetting that this isn’t the first of many.
“Last time we both got a little burned when things got too intense. I don’t want to hurt either of us again.” On Sunday. When I leave.
Startled green eyes slam into mine and a flush paints her cheeks. I know for a fact that flush goes a lot further down her throat and across her chest. I try to suck a breath in through my nose without sounding like I’ve hit the mile twenty wall during a marathon.
“Sorry.” She shakes her head, blinking at me. “Can you repeat the question? I was distracted by your mouth.”
Quinn Cooper is going to be the death of me.
The only thing that stops me from kissing her is the fact that once I start, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop. Normally, that wouldn’t bother me, but we have places to be. We are going on this date. We deserve this date.
“Don’t worry about it.” If she lets me, I’m going to kiss her later. I can follow her cues. Casual might protect both of us, but I’ve fallen too far into my infatuation to not take anything she offers.
I open the passenger door of the car and hand her into the seat.
“Buckle up.” I’m pretty sure that if I try to do it myself, I’ll end up with my mouth on hers and at least one hand under her sweater. Maybe both.
Fuck. I sound like a damn pervert.
“Yes, sir,” she says, and I pull back fast enough to thwack my head against the door frame.
“Quinn.”
Her name comes out a growl, and she laughs, cheeks streaked red, as she buckles her seatbelt. I make sure her limbs are in the vehicle before closing the door. I need a moment to get myself under control. I can still see her through Vic’s tinted windows. The minx. She’s laughing, small lines crinkling around the corners of her eyes. I might need two minutes.
The drive to downtown Quarry Creek is short and uneventful. This is because I kept us on the road by refusing to look at Quinn’s thighs or breasts or face. I also recite the team names and numbers on the men’s Team USA Hockey team from the 1980 Winter Olympics. That keeps my brain off the way she’s singing along with the radio—its adorable even if she can’t hold a tune—and off what’s coming.
I park along the street, feed the meter for several hours, and steel my resolve. I can, in theory, just take her for a walk through the little park behind city hall. Lights hang from the trees, and while the snow on the ground isn’t fresh, it adds to the ambiance. I could hold her hand and buy her a hot chocolate from the tiny red cart and pretend this is the whole reason we’re here. Or I can bundle her back into Vic’s car and drive her somewhere we can get naked. But given that I’ve already fed the meter, she’ll notice that wasn’t the original plan.
No. We’re doing this. One, because Quinn is one of the few people I can trust to not judge or pity me if it doesn’t go right, and two, because I always assumed—years and years ago—that a date like this would be in my future. This was part of the reason I’d fought so hard for amputation even after my oncologist considered my limb salvage surgery a success. I’ve learned to do almost everything with one leg I could with two, even some things I’d never tried. I run marathons now. I talk about my feelings every fucking week with my therapist. I can handle this one thing.
“What are we doing?” Quinn asks, lacing her hands with mine. Her gloves are soft against my skin.
I pull open the backseat and reach into the dark cavern of the car. I loop the laces over Quinn’s shoulder, gripping the blades of my pair in a solid fist. Hopefully, she can’t see the white knuckled grip I have on the metal.
“We’re going skating,” I banish the worry and doubt from my mind. I have one-hundred-and-eighty-two tabs open on my computer browser, assuring me that this is possible. I won’t have the same range of movement I’m used to, but I can do this. I will do this. I want to. With Quinn. “You said you’ve never been before and I wanted…” I wanted this to be something I did for her. Something that will always remind her of me, even years from now, when she’s with some other lucky bastard.
“Erik,” she breathes my name as she squeezes my fingers and I wait. I wait for her to ask if I’m sure. Ask if I can handle it. Reference my leg. Ask any number of questions that I had googled into the dark hours of the morning. But she doesn’t.
“This is a perfect date,” she says and everything inside me loosens as I take a breath.
It’s going to be, Quinn. I promise.
The rink is just a circle of ice surrounded by plywood boards. It sits smack in the center of the tiny park, lights twinkling even in the afternoon sunlight. I assume the rink gets packed leading up to Christmas and New Year, the fun part of winter when everyone is happy and festive. Probably on the weekends, too. I’d hoped it would be quiet today. It’s a beautiful day, the sun shining on the snow, but it’s still cold. Our breath makes little puffs of mist every time we breathe. Only the brave are venturing outside more than necessary.
