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“Are you here all by yourself, sweetheart?”
And my night just got a whole lot worse.
“Can I buy you a drink?” a man asks, his hot breath caressing my neck.
“Nope, all good. Thanks,” I reply, looking up at the huge jock standing too close for comfort.
He’s in a gold-and-blue varsity jacket with the number one printed on the front, right-hand side. I’m thinking that maybe he plays for the local football team. And from his size and overwhelming ego, I’d say he’s the quarterback. No doubt he’s accustomed to girls swooning over him, dropping their panties before he even says hello. But I’m not most girls.
“Aw, c’mon, darlin’. One drink ain’t gonna hurt,” he slurs, placing his beer on the table and reaching for a vacant stool to pull up next to me.
“I’m good, thanks,” I casually reply, trying to appear occupied while staring up at the stage.
Varsity Jacket moves closer to me while I shift away, repulsed by the smell of beer and his heavy-handed cologne. But his hand slaps onto my knee, stopping me from moving another inch.
My body recoils, and he’s about two seconds away from being headbutted in the stupid face if he doesn’t move his hand.
“She’s spoken for.”
I would know that voice anywhere. And in this instance, it’s music to my ears.
Raising my eyes, I meet Quinn’s heated gaze, and oh my God, how is it even possible that I have desperately missed him in such a short timeframe apart. He looks, as per usual, hotter than all hell, mixed with a dash of devilish rebellion. His lengthy hair is blanketing his large emerald eyes, but I can see they are dangerously narrowed, as they have dropped to where the asshole’s hand currently paws at my leg.
I move it away, but his hand is like a magnet and just goes with me.
“If you don’t move your hand,” Quinn snarls, still eyeballing it, “you and I will have a problem.”
But Varsity Jacket is obviously getting off on the exchange as he tightens his hand on my leg, shifting it higher up my thigh.
I’m just about to headbutt him, but Quinn gets there first as he reaches over the small table, yanks the lapels of his jacket, and connects with his face.
I gasp as the big brute drops to the ground with a thud. Tumbling onto his ass, he collapses into an ungracious heap on the floor. And he doesn’t get back up because Quinn has knocked him out cold.
My mouth hits the table, and my eyes cannot believe the swiftness and speed of Quinn’s attack. He’s like a ninja without the whole outfit.
“Move,” he snarls into my ear, reaching for my elbow and gesturing for me to get up.
I happily comply because we both need to get out of here before Varsity Jacket comes to and identifies us, drawing unwanted attention our way.
The smell of alcohol fans across my face as Quinn exhales angrily when I try to break out of his firm grip. He tightens his hold on my upper arm and guides me through the throng of people.
As we push outside, I try to jerk free, but Quinn stubbornly pulls tighter, not budging an inch. This is getting ridiculous. We’ve only been on the run fortwodays, and if the police or my dad and Phil don’t end up killing Quinn and me first, we will do the job for them.
I protest loudly, digging in my heels and cursing for him to let me go. But it all falls on deaf ears as Quinn just quickens his step, charging toward the hotel.
The moonlight highlights the hardened set of his jaw and the incensed look in his wild eyes. I know once we get into our room, World War 3 just may erupt.
As we round the corner and approach the bottom of the stairs to the hotel, I grab the railing and hold on for dear life. Quinn jolts forward as he ascends the first step because I won’t budge and stand my ground. I’m afraid I’ll be torn in two as he attempts to coax me into loosening my grip.
“Red…” he says through clenched teeth, his breath coming out heavily. “Let go, or I will throw you over my shoulder and carry you up every step, kicking and screaming.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” I stubbornly taunt, leaning back to gain better balance.
He rotates his body, turning to look at me, and because he is a step above me, he looks all the more menacing.
“Let. Go,” he spits, his hair shrouding his eyes.
“No,” I reply defiantly. “I dare you to try to—”
