Page 60 of Playboy For Hire

She hung up the phone before I could respond. Maybe that was a good thing, because how the hell was I supposed to respond to that? Every sentence from her was some kind of barb, designed to cut or hurt. But I couldn’t ever complain, because thenI’dbe hurtingher.

Everything with my folks was a mess, and I had no idea what to do about it.

“Everything alright?”

I jumped at the sound of a voice at my bedroom door, and turned to see Quinn standing at the threshold to the room, looking concerned.

“How long have you been standing there?”

“Not long.” He smiled. “Your housemate let me in.”

I nodded, still frustrated from the phone call, and a little flustered by Quinn’s sudden presence. “Cool. Yeah. Let me get my jacket and we can head out.”

Quinn gave me a doubtful look. “You don’t sound too excited. We don’t have to go out, you know. We can reschedule.”

“No, it’s not you. And I don’t want to reschedule. I want something to take my mind off things.” I laughed helplessly. “But somehow I don’t have the energy to walk the two blocks to the bar.”

Quinn snorted. “You do spend a lot of time at the gym. Maybe you’re overworked.”

“Yeah, but today was arm day. My legs should be fine.”

He rolled his eyes. “I was joking about the gym. Do you seriously go every day?”

“No, it’s important to have rest days too. Your muscles need to recover.” An idea occurred to me. “How do you feel about room temperature vodka?”

“I don’t think about it enough to have an opinion. Why?”

“Because I have some of that under my bed, which means we don’t have to walk any blocks if we drink that.”

I dropped my phone on my nightstand, then bent down to retrieve the bottle. It was jammed between an old pair of running shoes and two textbooks from last year that I hadn’t gotten around to returning.

When I straightened up, I caught Quinn staring at me. He flushed and looked down at the stickers on my laptop when he saw that I’d noticed.

“Enjoying the view?” I said with a grin. I shook my ass a little.

His scrutiny of the stickers intensified. “I was just wondering why you had vodka in your bedroom.”

“Relax, I don’t mind being ogled. And to answer your question, I have vodka up here because last year, Raf got really into infusing liquor with different flavors, and he decided to do a whole Thanksgiving-themed set. He wanted to put green bean casserole in the bottle I’d just gotten for the house. I had to hide it up here to keep it safe.”

“Where it’s spent the last year soaking upeau de gym shoesinstead?”

“I still think that’s better than beans.” I unscrewed the cap and sniffed. “Smells like vodka to me.”

I took a swig, then handed the bottle to Quinn and sat down on my bed. Quinn sat in my desk chair and looked at the bottle dubiously. “Drinking warm vodka straight from the bottle. I feel like I’m back in college.”

“I mean, Iamin college, so if you need that as an excuse…”

“You might be, but I’m not.” He made a face.

I tried not to take it personally. I knew Quinn was older than I was—older, and smarter. I was sure he only kept fancy vodka in a glass bottle in his freezer, or in a bar cart with dedicated martini glasses and expensive liqueurs.

“Think of it as anthropology.” I grinned. “When in Rome…”

“Drink warm vodka?” He smiled wryly. “Bottoms up, I guess.” He brought the bottle to his lips and swallowed, then winced. “Oh, wow. I don’t think I’ve had plain vodka without a mixer in a long time.”

I looked around the room, my eyes falling on a half-drunk bottle of blue Gatorade. “Want some of that?”

“I think I’ll pass.” Quinn tilted his head to the side. “I’ve never asked. Why do you live all the way out here instead of on campus? Wouldn’t it be easier to live closer to where your classes are?”

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