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“Go fuck yourself,” she says.
“That’s what I’m trying to do,” he teases.
“You only encourage him telling him that,” I say.
She ignores us. “Do I know Griffin’s friend?”
“Yeah.” Dean nods. “She was at his birthday party.”
“Oh. Her. She was cool. Way too cool for you,” Chloe says.
Griffin nods obviously. “And you’re too good for Dean but look where we are.”
“Maybe she has a thing for cock piercings,” I say.
“Maybe you should shut up,” she says.
“Definitely.” Dean turns to us. “What do you say? The six of us go to Vegas together. I know a guy with a minivan.”
“Who?” I ask.
“My secret,” Dean says.
“It’s supposed to be special,” I say.
“You want to deflower your virgin in private?” Dean asks.
“You haven’t done it yet?” Griffin shakes his head sad.
Jesus Christ, this is why it’s a bad idea.
“Why don’t you ask her?” Chloe suggests. “Let her decide.”
That’s fair.
“Maybe… maybe she’d actually enjoying hanging with these idiots?” She motions to Dean then to Griffin. “You too, Griff. Invite Juliette. If Wes and Quinn say no, it can be the four of us.”
“When did I invite you?” Griffin asks.
Dean chuckles. “Ice cold.”
“Suit yourself.” Chloe shrugs.
I turn to my best friend. “You don’t want her coming?”
“No, I do. I just don’t want her assuming,” he says.
“You’re an asshole,” I say.
He shrugs obviously.
It’s a smart idea inviting people. Makes it seem more like a fun trip with friends rather than a getaway that screams I’m in love with you. Isn’t that a lot of pressure?
Even if he is.
And it is.
Maybe that’s what Quinn wants too.
Or maybe…
Maybe this will convince her she wants to stay.
If it’s not just me, but a whole fucking army of people who want her around.
I’ll take all the help I can get.
Chapter Forty
Wes
After work, I head to the gym with Griffin. It’s not our usual routine, and I’m desperate to be at Quinn’s place, but, fuck, I’m worried about him.
I pry through a dozen sets, but he doesn’t offer much intel.
He keeps insisting he and Juliette are only friends. That he’s only worried as a friend. That he only wants to help her as a friend.
He wears out the word friend.
Turns it back to me and Quinn and what the hell I’m doing about her leaving.
I don’t know.
Not yet.
But I’m going to figure it out.
Eight days.
I have eight more days with her.
Or eight days to ask her to be mine.
“Six people?” Quinn’s eyes go wide. She pulls her long red cardigan over her shoulders. Covers her sheer white nightgown.
“Yeah.” It’s a crazy idea, I know, but it’s perfect too. “You know Juliette?”
She nods of course. “How is she?”
“Just called off her engagement.”
“Oh.” Quinn’s expression fills with sympathy. She doesn’t know Juliette well—they met at one of my parties a year or so ago—but she still cares. She’s a good person. Empathetic. Caring. Sweet. “I should call her. Say… something.”
“Yeah.” After we nail this down. “If you think it will help.”
She bites her lip. “I don’t know. We’re not really friends. I mean, I like her, but I don’t know her.”
I get that. And I’m sympathetic. Hell, I like Juliette. Yeah, she finds me obnoxious, but so does everyone else at the shop. “You can always text.”
“Yeah.” She nods. “Maybe just like ‘I heard about your engagement. I’m sorry.'”
“Or ‘I hear we’re heading to Vegas together next week.'”
Quinn shifts her weight to her other foot. “Maybe.”
“It’s up to you, angel.” I scoop stir fry onto her plate—we’ve been making dinner for the last half an hour. Fuck, it feels good being with her like this. Doing nothing. “I didn’t invite Griff.”
“He invited himself?”
“It was more Dean inviting everyone.”
“Dean?”
Fuck, she doesn’t know Dean. How the hell do I explain his incredibly annoying personality? “Guy at the shop. He’s kinda obnoxious?”
“The same way you are?”
“Watch it, angel.”
Her laugh is soft. “Sorry. You know what I mean. You’re kinda…”
“Involved?”
She nods. Scoops rice and stir fry onto her plate. Grabs chopsticks. Moves to the table. “This looks so good.”
“‘Cause it is.”
She shoots me a you’re ridiculous look as she slides into her seat. She folds one leg over the other. Scoops food with her chopsticks. Brings it to her mouth.
Her eyelids flutter together.
A sigh falls off her lips.
“Fuck, Wes—”
My balls tighten. That’s music. It really is.
“You’re too good at this,” she says.
“I’ve heard that before.”
She swallows. Then shakes her head. “I’m sure you have, but—”
But I should stop teasing her. Get to the point.
We only have eight days.
I want to soak up every minute.
“It was a joint effort, angel,” I say.
Her gaze shifts to the counter. To the cutting board filled with bits and pieces of chopped vegetables.
“You helped. Trust me.”
Her eyes find mine. “Why does that sound like a line?”
“Would I lie to you?”
“No. I don’t think so. Not on purpose.” She takes another bite. Chews. Swallows. Sighs. “Can you pour me a red?”
