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Which means the look Quinn O’Brian is giving me right now isn’t part of some game or play or anything else.
It’s real.
And if this is real, then it’s possible that maybe some of the other things he’s been showing me these last few months are real too. And that’s something I’m not sure what to do with.
“Well, your kind should probably take his hand back before he loses it,” I say with less bite than I intend.
And there are those quick hockey reflexes in play. Along with another dark stain across his cheekbones as he turns and gathers the bags and cooler still on the floor beside me.
“Let’s get over to Nat and Vassar’s before they starve, yeah?”
I give him a small nod and follow him back to the car, wondering not for the first time since he butted back into my life, just how much of what he’s been giving me is actuallyreal.
* * *
Quinn
It takes everythingI’ve got to keep my eyes on the city streets and my foot on the gas instead of slamming the car into park and demanding to know what exactly George is thinking looking at me like she is on the ride over. Because this sure as hell isn’t the cold glare or mysteriously accusing glower I’ve become accustomed to.
This is more like a reluctant mix of curiosity and dismay. Which is wreaking havoc on my recent commitment to stop dissecting every stern look and nasty barb she throws my way.
Somehow we make it to Vassar’s in one piece, and then George is slipping out of the car and running over to greet Nat without a backward glance. And it’s party time.
For a guy widely considered to be the Slayers’ least likeable player last season, Vaughn Vassar has completely turned it around. Most of the team is scattered around his backyard, kicked back on cushy outdoor furniture, hanging with family and friends.
We’re all jacked about the season starting, talking about the off-season trades and teams we’re lined up to face.
I’ve been manning the grill for about a half hour when Diesel walks over, shaking his head. Great.Thisguy.
“Dude, how the hell do you get any chicks at all? You’ve got zero game and you burned both those turkey burgers.”
“What?” I ask, forcing my eyes away from the fiery redhead who’s been occupying way too much of my attention, and down to the grill where there are, in fact, two burgers that look eerily similar to the pucks I make my living shooting. “Ah, hell.”
I grab a whole-grain bun from the station beside the grill and slap both pucks down on it before shoving the whole mess into his chest.
Laughing, he holds the atrocity up like he’s toasting me with it. And then takes a big bite.
“So what’s the deal with this girl, anyway?” he says around the mouthful. “She doesn’t seem like your type. You know, with the brains and the personality. Not to mention her being so tight with Nat. This girl hasstrings.”
A part of me wants to be offended, mostly because there’s just something about Diesel that grates. He’s a badass d-man, and not a total dick as I understand it, but on a team filled with bloated egos, his tends to stand out.
“Doesn’t matter. She’s not into me.”
“No?” And I don’t miss the interest in his tone. “Wonder what shewouldbe into?”
And now he’s got my attention. “Hey, D, those all your real teeth?”
“They are.” He flashes me a mouth full of pearly whites, showing them off with pride.
I wave him closer, keeping my eyes on his so there’s no chance of missing my meaning. “You wanna keep ’em?”
Barking out a laugh, he steps back. “Yeah, man, I do.” Smoothing his burger-free hand over his styled hair, he whistles. “Message received, O’Brian.”
It fucking better be. George can go out with anyone she wants. Except him. Or Popov. Okay, anyone who’s not good enough for her.
My eyes narrow as I scan my teammates, eliminating one after the next until I finally land on her. And whatever bullshit territorial freak-out I was working up is gone.
Because she’s watching me. Again.
