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“My stomach is kind of in knots still,” she says quietly, and I nod, moving to open her door as my car is parked out front.
“I’ll take you home.”
I help her into the car and then go around to the driver’s side, tipping the valet before I slide behind the wheel.
The drive back to Quinn’s place is silent, and I hate it. I wish that tonight wasn’t ending so soon. I don’t want to leave her, not while she’s upset, but it’s more than that. I like Quinn, really like her. I think she could be the one for me, and I’m afraid that she’s going to call this whole thing off. Maybe our fake relationship isn’t worth the fight or headache that she’s sure to get from her parents.
“What can I do to cheer you up?” I ask as we idle at a red light.
She takes a deep breath, mulling over the question, and I tighten my grip on the steering wheel as I wait for the light to turn green.
“I just want to forget about them and how disappointed we are with each other for a little bit,” she finally says, and I nod.
“I can do that.”
She turns in her seat, arching an eyebrow at me.
“Really? How?”
I just grin at her as I hit the gas.
EIGHT
Quinn
“So?”Rhett asks with a wide grin, and I laugh.
“Alright, this is a pretty good distraction,” I admit as I sink deeper into the sand.
The waves are crashing right in front of us, and I snuggle deeper into his suit coat as I lick my ice cream cone.
We’re currently sitting on the beach, eating ice cream even though it’s like fifty degrees out. Rhett insisted that ice cream could cure everything, and I had gone along with his crazy plan because I didn’t want the night to end on such a sour note. Actually, I didn’t want the night to end at all.
“Beach or mountains?” I ask him, and he hums as he licks his own ice cream cone.
I had gotten cookies and cream, but Rhett’s mint chocolate chip is looking better and better with every lick. My mouth waters as I watch his tongue swipe up more ice cream.
God, I wish that I was that cone.
“Beach, I think. The mountains in Afghanistan were pretty, but I don’t have the best memories tied to them,” he admits, and I nod.
“I think I’d choose the beach too.”
“Is that where you’re going to go first for your travel blog? Some beach somewhere?”
“Maybe. It would be cool to see the pink sand beaches in the Bahamas or the black sand beach in Iceland.”
“You could get a little jar of sand from each place you go to,” he suggests, and I smile.
“That would be cool.”
“I have one from Afghanistan and Iraq,” he says, and I smile.
“Really?”
“Yeah, it started as a joke with my unit, but I still have them.”
He shrugs, and I study him. He hasn’t really told me all that much about his time in the military, and I hate to pry, but it seems like he’s opening up a bit tonight. I wonder if he’s just doing that to distract me and make me feel better. It fits with who he is.
