Page 48 of Digging Up Love
Alisha leaned into Quentin with a wicked smile. “Speaking of payback ...”
He straightened up like a kid caught passing notes in class. “Oh no. No, no, no.”
“Oh yes. Yes, yes, yes.” She sat up taller and waved her arm like a marooned Captain Jack Sparrow. “Yo, Gracie! Over here!” She pointed down at Quentin.
“Hey, guys, looks like we got our first victim. I mean, volunteer.” Gracie grinned, then dug into a jar of glowsticks on the bar and flung one toward them, Frisbee-style. Alisha hopped down and picked it up, cracking the stick back and forth to activate it.
“C’mere, sir.” She crooked a finger toward Quentin, and he slid down off the table with a beleaguered sigh, but his eyes were gleaming. She looped the glowstick around his neck, securing it with the clip. In the dim light, the faint pink glow illuminated the pulse at his throat, and her own heartbeat found a new rhythm, quick and light and heady. Her fingers lingered at his open collar. When she looked up, her gaze caught on his lips, parted and full.
Something collided into her butt and bounced back off, driving her forward into Quentin. His hands skimmed down her hips, steadying her, and the world fell away. His breath quickened against her temple. Nothing remained between his fingers and her skin except the pesky fabric of her dress. But still, she craved more of him.
If she stood on tiptoe ...
“You two need a minute?”
The heckling roused Alisha from the trance, and she pushed away from Quentin’s chest with a shaky hand. She glanced around to see what had hit her. An iridescent Hula-Hoop.
“Let’s see your moves, Harris.” Her voice came out low and throaty. What had gotten into her?
She passed him the Hula-Hoop, and he caught at her hand, thumb pressed into the center of her palm. A dart of exquisite longing arched through her. Holding her gaze, he slid the hoop over his head with a bad-boy grin that made her wonder just who was going to regret this.
Cheesy getup or not, Quentin swinging his hips in her vicinity was going to be a whole heck of a lot. And from the look on his face, he knew it.
So much for taking things slow.
CHAPTER 17
QUENTIN
Why hadn’t he gone for it?
Quentin trudged down the aisle of the gas station, past shelves of granola bars and cellophane-wrapped muffins, his sights set on caffeinated salvation. He yanked the largest-size cup out of the dispenser and shoved it under the toffee cappuccino spigot. Maybe he could soothe his runaway desire with sugar therapy, topped off with a healthy dose of artificial flavor and a dash of preservatives. Despite a date filled with the best kind of tension, he and Alisha had parted ways with an awkward half hug in front of the bar.
Why? Because there wasn’t a moment’s privacy in this godforsaken town. Two nights ago Alisha’s nearness had swept him away, but he’d plummeted back down to earth when Forrest and Dev cheered him on in the Hula-Hooping contest. How could he have forgotten they were headed to the bar? He couldn’t care less about their seeing his dance moves, but his students finding out about his interest in the woman who lived at the field site? Less okay.
Growling under his breath, he pressed the little square button, and the machine fizzed to life. Chalky liquid spurted into the cup, splattering against the sides. Despite his minor freak-out when the bartenderhad pointed them out, the guys were so caught up in the game that they’d never even glanced their way until he’d gone and pulled the attention of the whole bar because his brain was all hazy and haywire over Alisha. Stupid.
Just like the stupid grin still splashed across his face two days later. He really should’ve been more concerned about the dig, about gossip, but the memory of the simmering look she’d sent him from under those dark curly lashes almost made his lack of caution worth it. Almost made him think he’d do it again, in a heartbeat.
He’d spent the last day and a half mulling over how to reach out to Alisha, but their bond had morphed into something different and new, and every time he’d flipped to her contact, his fingers couldn’t find the right keys.
The machine whined and spat a last dose of frothy water into his cup, then subsided into silence. On his morning run, Quentin had passed the town’s tea shop, Kettle Down. Nestled between Honey and Hickory and a run-down resale shop, pink-and-white awnings brightened the front of the café, the swirly-lettered sign beaming out an invitation. But he’d needed something stronger and sweeter to soften the sting of unrequited passion.
The bell over the door dinged, and he jerked his cup out from under the spigot. Boiling liquid splashed all over his hand. What were the odds? Actually, in a town of eleven hundred, pretty good. The door clanged shut behind Alisha, and she met his eyes. A huge smile broke out on her face. She immediately toned it down, though, a crying shame.
“Morning, Quentin.” Her eyes fell on the cappuccino machine. “Pam doesn’t serve coffee at the motel?”
“I wouldn’t call what they serve at the motel ‘coffee.’ Caffeinated sludge is more like it.” Shaking off his hand, he lifted the side of his finger to his mouth to soothe the sting.
Alisha stepped over and handed him some napkins as he tried to recalibrate and chase down the unraveled threads of his recent thoughts, tricky with her so close. “I don’t doubt it. The Hawk’s Roost is certainly not the Plaza.”
He grinned. “At least we still have doors on our rooms.”
“For now. But we’ll see what happens if you keep trash-talking Pam’s brew. She’s pretty handy with power tools.” She winked, and a snicker came from behind the register. Alisha half turned and waved a hand. “Oh, hey, Ryan.”
The tips of Quentin’s ears burned. He pitched his next words for her ears only. “Do you knoweveryonehere?”
“Nope, they all know me.” She sparkled at him, and he would’ve given anything to keep that going.
