Page 80 of Under Pressure

“Well, don’t leave me hanging. Do you get a drink?” she asks as we pull up behind a black SUV.

“Obviously, Quinny. Should I pick you up some tickets for next month so you can try it for yourself?”

“You’re not just going to tell me what it is?”

“And ruin the surprise? Not a chance.”

“Fine. But only because I want to try it.”

My chest is probably puffing out like a total Neanderthal as I approach the window and pay for our food. I don’t give a shit how prideful I look, though. Not when I’ve just gotten Quinn to agree to come to a Havoc game next month. If this isn’t the perfect time to be a smug motherfucker, then I don’t know when is.

A few minutes pass before I’m pulling into an empty spot at the back of an empty parking lot and handing Quinn her food. She takes her fries with an arched brow but doesn’t comment on the fact that I didn’t drive back to my place.

Maybe I’m being a bit cautious. If I take her home and she changes her mind about tonight, I already know I’ll spend hours kicking myself in the ass. This moment feels different, and I don’t want to lose it.

“When is bingo?” I ask around a bite of burger.

Chewing, I turn down the music and crank the AC.

“Six. Unless you wanted to go earlier.”

“Do you want to go earlier? We can head over now.”

She presses a fry to her bottom lip, hesitating before biting it in half. “No. It’s only four thirty.”

“Mm.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” I drawl, taking a sip of my drink. “You’re just willingly spending time alone with me.”

“As if that’s something new.”

“It kind of is, gorgeous. The last time we were alone like this, you begged me to eat you out.”

She sucks in a breath. “What?Ibeggedyou?”

“Soloud, too. ‘Please, Beck! Yes, just like that! Don’t ever stop!’” I mock dramatically, letting my voice droop until I’m all but whimpering.

Her hand flies at me, and I lean into the weak hit, absorbing it. When she goes for a second, I bundle her fingers up and press them to my sternum.

“You’re such an asshole,” she mutters, trying to tug free of my grip.

I link our fingers, squeezing. “You can’t deny you were avoiding me, though, can you?”

“What does it matter if I was?”

“I don’t like not having your attention.”

She blinks. “You can’t always have what you want.”

“Are you upset by what happened?” I try to keep my tone even, calm, despite my nerves.

When our eyes catch and hold, I stroke her knuckles, pushing them harder against my chest. If she’s bothered by that, she doesn’t show it. The soft breath that escapes the tiny gap in her lips is so similar to the one that I heard yesterday when I was on my knees before her.

Goosebumps crawl up my spine, then outward, covering me from head to toe. I keep her hand on my chest, hoping she can feel how wild my heart is beating as I cup her cheek, drawing her closer. She follows without hesitation, those soft lashes of hers fluttering when her eyes dip to my mouth.

“Answer me, Quinny,” I urge softly.