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“Don’t,” I caution, pointing my finger at him, warning him not to go there.
With palms raised in surrender, Quinn smirks. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Although, you might.”
“Kill me now,” I groan, tossing my arm over my eyes.
Being cocooned in this tight space with Quinn has flashes of my dream taunting me with visual images I’m ashamed to be reliving. This has never happened to me before. I mean, I know boys have wet dreams, but do girls? Is that even possible? My achy flesh tells me it’sverypossible.
“Let me see those pretty eyes,” Quinn says softly, reaching for my wrist and sliding my arm off my face. “Better.”
I still don’t know what to say, as I have no doubt Quinn heard me panting out his name. There is no way of denying it, so I remain quiet.
“How are you feeling?”
Mortified, humiliated, my brain screams. But instead, I reply, “I’m okay.”
“Your hand all right?” he asks, softly reaching for my palm.
The limited light underneath the heavy mass of blankets means he can’t see the bandage is stained a bright red.
“I’m fine.”
“My tough girl,” he replies, the affection clear in his tone.
We remain quiet underneath the blankets, breathing in the same air. And it’s perfect.
“Did you still want to call Abi?”
“Yeah. Do you?”
I nod in response.
He surprises me by rolling gently on top of me, ensnaring my hands above my head so they peek out above the sheets.
“First, let’s get something to eat.” He kisses my neck delicately. “Then we’ll call her. Although…” He kisses a path from my neck, over my chin, to my eager lips, sucking my bottom lip in a long pull. “I could just eat you.”
I gasp, my body loving his suggestion.
But he shakes his head, his sleep-tousled hair falling over his brow. “But that could take all day.” He tosses the blanket off our heads, the sunlight blinding us both. “For now, I’ll settle for breakfast.”
My lips dip into an involuntary frown because my appetite only hungers for a big portion of Quinn, Quinn, and more Quinn.
Lost in those mouth-watering thoughts, Quinn nudges forward so we are nose to nose, and whispers, “Oh, Red. But make no mistake, I’ll be having you for dessert.” He kisses my parted lips, leaving me breathless.
“Glad you’re feeling better,” Justin says, interrupting me from daydreaming about Quinn’s kisses.
“Huh?”
Quinn chuckles to my left while digging into his pancakes, knowing exactly where my thoughts were thirty seconds ago.
“You just look better than yesterday,” Justin clarifies, sipping his coffee.
“Oh, right. Yeah, I am.”
I have a motive for inviting Justin to breakfast. After last night, I’m onto him. Something about him is not right, and I need to figure out what that is.
I have yet to tell Quinn that I overheard Justin’s weird phone conversation because I don’t need to add any fuel to that fire. Quinn hates him enough as it is. Telling Quinn I’m suspicious of Justin will only result in Quinn reaching over this table and happily slapping the truth out of him. And I don’t think that really qualifies as keeping a low profile.
As I grip my fork, I hiss out in pain, forgetting my injured palm.
