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I’m looking for another one of those sweethumms, but she’s quiet. And I realize what that sounds like. “Or maybe we could hang out at your place. Watch some TV and order in.” For a crowd. Which is totally okay with me, so long as I actually get to see her. And kiss her, at least once.
She coughs, stuttering before starting over, the warmth and ease missing from her tone. “No. That’s umm… not… Hey, how about I hang with Nat and meet you there. Then Vaughn can go straight home and we can grab a Lyft or something back to your place?”
The breath I didn’t realize I was holding whooshes out, and I’m grinning again. My blood thumping through my veins. “That’s perfect.” Just then, the assistant coach peeks out the door and signals it’s time. “I gotta go.”
“Have a good game, and I’ll see you tonight.”
Fuck yeah.
Chapter 17
George
Idon’t want to admit it, but watching Quinn play this afternoon has me aching with a need to get him alonesoon.
I was completely worthless at the shop, watching in back on the shitty TV I’m pretty sure we got before Gary was born. Threatening my brothers’ lives when they kept interrupting me with the six million questions they definitely should have known the answers to themselves, but never do.
I was riveted.
Then in the second when Quinn juked out the opposition for a breakaway and scored with that shot so lightning fast I had to get an inch from the screen to actually see it on the replay… oh man. So hot. And I was ruined, because all I could think about was the fact that in so many hours, that man was going to be mine.
I couldn’t wait.
And apparently everyone could tell, which was a little bothersome, because—well, because they weren’t supposed to be able to tell. This thing with Quinn… it’s new. But even if it wasn’t, they wouldn’t understand.
After we close, I escape to my room for a shower and to clean up, paying attention to the little details in ways I normally don’t. Now I’m about as buffed and polished as a rough-around-the-edges girl like me can get. I’ve got a light coat of dark brown mascara and some tinted gloss that doesn’t taste like candy. I’m wearing a blue sweater Cammy was moaning over when she riffled through my closet last week. One I don’t normally wear because apparently it does something for my tits that make them impossible to ignore, but tonight, for Quinn?
Blue sweater, it is.
After all, if I’m stuck lusting over him all dang day, then he deserves a little lusting too.
My hair is pretty much my hair. There aren’t a lot of choices since I’m afraid I’ll burn it off if I try one of those straightener things, but I do put some of this squirty stuff in it my cousin gave me for Christmas last year. I’ve got to say it’s looking pretty good.
My phone pings and it’s Nat asking if I’m leaving soon because she’s jumping in the shower after practice with her girls. I step out of my room and stop dead finding the three stooges lined up in front of me, blocking my way.
“I fucking told you it was a guy.”
“Check the hair.”
“Is thatmakeup?”
“George, I’m only going to say this once.Changeyour fucking sweater.”
I draw a slow breath, and after giving them each a glower that has them taking a solid step back, I reply to Nat.
Me: Take your time.
Forty minutes later I’m on my way.
I don’t feel fantastic about what just went down—I mean the lying part, not the putting-my-brothers-in-their-place part. That never gets old.
But seriously, there was no getting around the guy thing. I don’t dress up a lot, and for as much as they’re a bunch of knuckleheads, they aren’t completely blind.
But there was no way in hell I was going to tell them about Quinn.
I mean, not yet.
So this is how it went…
