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Yes, I was meeting someone.
No, they were not going to meet him.
Yes, I’d known him a while.
No, Pop wasn’t meeting him either.
Yes, I knew what I was doing.
No, I hadn’t talked to Pop about him. Or Aunt JoAnn. Or cousin Carol.
Yes, I was sure this guy wasn’t just some asshole out for one thing.
No, I wouldn’t be back tonight. And no, they didn’t need to call Pop about it.
All that was true. But it was probably better for everyone involved to let them think I’d be spending the night with a loan officer from the local branch of our bank, a guy I’ve known since junior year of college who happens to be friends with several of my friends… instead of sharing that I’m back in bed with the guy who broke my heart and humiliated me in Mexico.
It’s a little lie. And it’s not forever.
The Lyft drops me outside Nat’s place, and I come up through the seldom-used front way. It’s chilly, but at mid-October we easily have another month or two before we need to worry about snow. Still, I’m rubbing my arms beneath the glow of the front light as Nat opens the door in a rush.
Her hair’s damp, falling around her shoulders in dark spirals that soften up into pretty waves when they dry. She’s a kindred spirit when it comes to maintenance.
“Hey, come in! Vaughn texted that they landed and cleared customs. They ought to be here pretty soon.”
“Quinn texted me too,” I say with a smile. Being in the know with firsthand information about him instead of catching the details from someone else’s account is different. Heck, being able to admit to myself that I want that information is different too. And also filed under “different”… “Is it weird wearing Vaughn’s number?”
Peering down at her Slayers jersey, Nat smiles. “Maybe a little at first. I mean when I went to Greg’s games, I’d wear his, but you know.”
I laugh. “Yeah, neither one of us was ever wearing some guy’s number on our back in college—we were wearing our own.” I look between us and bite my lip. “You think he’ll care that I don’t have his number on?”
She rolls her eyes. “The only thing he’s going to care about is the fact that you’re here. Besides, that sweater. Damn.”
“Right?” I say, running my hands down the sides. “I have no idea what makes this thing magic, but it is.”
She bites her lip, staring in concentration. “We should get Julia or Cammy to explain.”
“They’d totally know.”
“Yeah, but not tonight. Quinn’s going to take one look at you and drag you out that door inside thirty seconds. Guaranteed.”
Ten minutes later, we’re standing in the kitchen dissecting today’s game when the back door opens and the guys come in. Vaughn’s got Natalie caught up against him in a heartbeat, calling her “Allie” the way he does every now and then, giving her this smile I’ve never seen him break out for anyone else. She’s giggling, her feet off the floor, but I’m more interested in the man standing off to the side behind his buddy.
Quinn’s still wearing his suit from after the game, but his slate tie is loose at his collar. He’s got his jacket hanging over one arm and his overnight bag slung over his shoulder. His shock of dark blond hair looks like he’s had his hands through it about sixty times… but it’s his eyes that have my attention.
“Hey, Georgeous.”
“Hey, Quinn.”
For once, he doesn’t look like he’s sizing up the play, trying to figure me out. He looks happy. Like a guy who knows where this is going.
Which is good, because suddenly I don’t. I just know I want to find out.
Coming around Vaughn, he starts over to me and then stops dead. Those warm, welcoming eyes that have been locked with mine track over me in slow motion. They get to the vicinity of my chest and his mouth drops open to a satisfying gape.
The sweater.
And then he’s moving again. Intensity coming off him in waves, the look he’s giving me making wet heat pool between my legs.
