Page 66 of Kitty Season
Hoping Noah and Lotte are out for lunch like Shane said, I jump on, then off the Green Line and wander through Boston’s streets. Before I’m mentally ready to be, I’m standing on their doorstep, ringing the fancy old-fashioned door bell with an excuse still formulating. Telling Quinn I want out isn’t so much the problem. She would never want me to do something I’m not into. It’s how to do it without insulting the worst person alive, that she, for some reason, likes. A lot.
Alienating her is not the plan, because if I can’t have her the way I want her, I need to at least keep her as a friend.
Gut-wrenching nerves that could take down the Hulk almost cripple me as I wait to hear Quinn’s footsteps. There’s no noise coming from inside, but there’s plenty from my stomach. I haven’t eaten since this morning and it’s after midday now. Maybe I could nick to the In’Out around the corner, grab a couple of burgers, then come back.
I do always think better on a full stomach.
I’m on the last of three stairs leading me back to the pavement, when I hear the door open behind me. Turning, I see the door barely cracked open, a few strands of Quinn’s dark locks, and a smidge of what I think is her temple. My heart skips a beat or ten, ‘cause I’m such a simp for her, a possible temple sighting causes arrhythmia. “Brady! Wait! I’m here! I was in the shower, don’t go.”
Picturing Quinn’s naked, dripping wet curves works wonders, fueling me up more than a Double-Double ever could. “No I was just … cleaning my shoe.” In case she needs a visual,I bound back up the stairs, pointing to my feet ‘cause I’m a dick. “Dog turd.”
Well done Mr. Seduction.
“Oh, it’s probably the pug next door. The owner never picks up after her. Just leave your shoes by the door and come in.” She’s still talking through the tiny slit, and my hand is on the lever when it clicks as to why that may be.
Shit.
A shudder, even stronger than saying dog turd evoked, rolls through me. “Quinn. Are you naked?”
“No, of course not. As if I’d answer the door naked.” Stepping back, she swings open the door, I bend to slip off my shoes, step inside, straighten up, and yep. She’s not naked. But she is in the smallest towel I’ve ever seen. It may be a bath mat. Or a face washer.
“Quinn!” I slap my hands over my eyes and turn my back. “You said you were dressed.”
“No, I said I wasn’t naked.” Pure evil lines her laugh as she grabs my arm and tugs me in, slamming the door to prevent my escape. “Stop being such a baby. Need I remind you why you’re here?”
“No. No reminders necessary. Actually, I wanted to know if we could talk before Troye rocked up.”
“Sure, we can talk … if you open your eyes.”
“They are open.”
“They most definitely are not. You look like Lotte when she’s trying to put her contacts in.”
I huff and open my eyes. “Fine. There. Better?”
“You tell me. How many fingers am I holding up?”
“Three.”
“Wrong. None. Now open.”
Socked feet slide on the parquetry as I shift from foot to foot, willing my eyelid muscles to respond to her command. Bit by bitfractured chunks of light eat away the darkness, and the reasons why hooking up with almost naked Quinn, and dickwad was such a monumentally bad idea, vanish along with it.
With the sunlight shining directly in her eyes, they seem hazel, not their usual brown they’re almost black. Her cheeks are flushed, skin bare, and makeup free.Obviously, I tell myself. A clear attempt has been made to sweep her hair into a towel atop her head, but determined chunks have slipped free, and water droplets cascade over her collarbone, disappearing in the swell of her breasts.
I want to seek out each one with my tongue.
“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, Quinn”
Exhaling, Quinn looks at me the way she did Troye. The way that curdled my blood with jealousy. Her lashes flutter, her smile grows.
“Couldn’t agree more, Skip.”
Oh, right. Of course. Not smiling because of me.
Troye has slottedhimself behind me in what feels like sweats and a hoodie and pushed, or rather thrusted me, inside the house with his groin.
Quinn is pressed into my front in a fucking wash cloth.
