“Hmmm…okay, I’m going to start out easy. What’s your favorite food?”
I huffed. Really? My favorite food? “Easy,” I replied. “Steak and potatoes.”
She laughed. “How come that doesn’t surprise me at all?”
I shrugged, nodding in her general direction. “What? Let me guess, you like something like chips and salsa, tacos, and a marg with the girls?”
A gasp came from her, another light nudge to my shoulder. “Rude of you to assume!” Her voice was defensive, but also warm, happy. She couldn’t obviously be too offended. “But it's also true.”
I smirked, dipping my head in a nod and taking a sip of my whiskey. “I’m just gonna go ahead and drink for that.”
She laughed. “Alright, my turn again.” A pause, then… “What’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever done?”
My head fell back, a huff of laughter escaping me. “Ah, shit…the dumbest? I don’t know. It’s all pretty dumb. But I think the worst was when I was, like, thirteen, my friends and I tried ridin’ one of their dad's prize buckin’ bulls. Thing was a fuckin’ beast and had like an undefeated record. I lasted maybe a second before that sonova bitch bucked me into the fence. Shattered my arm and broke a couple ribs.” I ran my fingertips over the scar along the outside of my left forearm from one of the surgeries I’d had on it.
“Oh my God!” The disbelief in her tone brought a smirk to my lips. “That is…far wilder than anything I’ve done.”
Unsurprising, but I didn’t say anything. I didn’t need her to tell me what all dumb shit she’d done, I had questions of my own. “Alright, my turn… What do you look like?”
“Like, my hair color or—”
“All of it,” I replied. I wanted—no, needed to know. I had so many different potential versions of her swirling up in my head, but I wanted to have an image of her. Even if I’d never truly see her. Even if it was the wrong image, I needed to know.
“Hmm…okay, well, I’m short, like, really short. I’m barely five feet tall, and I guess you could say I have curves. Like, I’m not straight up and down. I have a heart shaped—no, circular shaped face. Actually, I don’t know, it might be a blend of both?” She let out a nervous laugh. “I have freckles on my nose and cheeks. When I was little, kids made fun of me for them, so my mom told me it was just left over fairy dust from the fairies who visited me in my dreams.”
A soft smile threatened my lips at the image that came to mind.
“My eyes are a blueish green, but they have a ring of gold in them. Some,stupidpeople mistake them for hazel, but they absolutelyaren’thazel.”
Her adamant tone made my smile crack across my lips. Between the sound of her voice, the image I was conjuring in my mind of her, and the effects of the whiskey, I was feeling pretty good.
“I believe you,” I chuckled. “What about your hair?”
She blew out a breath before a trill of laughter fell between us. Sounded like someone was feeling a bit tipsy. How was beyond me. She’d hardly drank anything. I was the one who should be buzzing. But that wasn’t entirely surprising if her wild, rebel story was staying out a couple hours late for prom. “So, if you were asking Whit, she’d probably tell you something like vanilla swirl with a dash of almond butter,” Quinn finally said, her words taking on a haughty tone.
“Sounds like you’re orderin’ a damn coffee,” I muttered.
More giggles bubbled out of her and I found myself smiling as the sound washed over me. I liked her laugh. I liked that itwasn’t one of those high-pitched fake ass laughs meant to sound sexy or cute. It reminded me of sunlight. And I wanted to hear more of it.
“It kinda does, doesn’t it? It’s blonde, though. But not like a golden blonde…more of like a pale blonde with warm lowlights. Does that make sense?”
I shrugged. “It’s blonde.”
She huffed a laugh. “Sure. Oh, and it’s long. Like, really, really long.”
“How long? Like down past your ass?”
“No! It brushes my hips when I walk. Here—” Her delicate hand clasped mine gently as she guided it forward. In the next instant, a soft lock of hair brushed against the inside of my palm. I ran my fingertips over it, feeling the length of it in its entirety, my fingers coming into contact with her body. Her hips.
There wasn’t anything overtly, or really even remotely for that matter, sexy about this moment, but it pumped adrenaline and desire through my veins, lending to the intoxicating rush that the whiskey gave me. I wanted to touch more of her. All of her.
Hold your roll, idiot.
I thought of all the things she’d told me about herself, conjuring an image in my mind like a painter painting a masterpiece. The final result was nothing short of perfection. “You sound gorgeous,” I blurted out.
More warm, heady laughter. “Thank you,” she said softly, timidly, like she didn’t quite believe it. I could envision her tucking a piece of hair behind her ear as she pursed her lips.
I ran my hand over her thigh once more and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “I mean it.”
