Page 96 of The Late Hit
Truth or Dare.
This year I’m so thankful for the stupid game because, if it wasn’t for some girl from my past daring Quinton to kiss me, I don't know if we would have given in to our attraction. I’d like to think that we’d have eventually woken up on our own and seen it, but I don’t want to take that chance.
“You’re going to hurt yourself,” Quinton says from the driver’s side of my Mercedes, interrupting my thoughts.
Head snapping toward him, I find him staring straight ahead. I can’t help but admire how handsome he looks in his camel-colored sweater and dark-washed jeans.
“How so?”
Glancing my way, he takes his right hand and pulls my bottom lip from where I was worrying it between my teeth—I didn’t realize I was nibbling on it.
“From thinking so hard. Relax, babe. It’s going to be fine.”
“Easy for you to say,” I scoff, turning back toward the window, eyes watching the landscape pass by. “Your family doesn’t hate you.”
A long breath passes through his lips, his gaze burning holes in the side of my head.
“They don’t hate you, Brynn,” Quinton says, reaching his arm across the console and settling on my thigh.
He takes his thumb and rubs tiny circles on my exposed skin from where my skirt has ridden up.
“They might not hate me, but they certainly think I’m not good enough to breathe the same air as you.”
We both know the truth. His mom can’t stand me. She’s never gotten to know me, but she already assumes I’m not good enough for her son. I don’t know why Quinton tries to deny it when the words have actually come from her mouth. She’s written me off as a gold-digging ho—her words, not mine—even though I have my own trust fund. I don’t need Quinton’s money. I can easily support both of us if he ever decides that a career in the NFL isn’t what he wants.
My eyes slide down to where his thumb is rubbing tiny circles, the ones that always seem to calm me down. But instead of appreciating his touch, I’m questioning my outfit choice for the millionth time today.
An explosion in my room would have done less damage than what I did this morning. I think I changed my clothes twenty different times before I settled on a tweed skirt with an ivory and brown grid pattern, a golden-brown colored turtleneck, and my white Lucchese cowboy boots. When I sat down to do my makeup, I made sure to keep it very neutral, nothing too dark or too heavy, with a simple nude lip.
Quinton told me I looked beautiful when I finally emerged from the bedroom. He was waiting downstairs since he stayed over last night. Without planning, our outfits complimented each other, making us look like a cute matching couple.We’ll have to take a cute picture for Instagram.
But I don’t think it would matter what I picked out. Abigail Boyd will always find a fault, and I’m thinking that the skirt I picked out is too short. I forgot to check the length when I sat down. It looked fine standing, but now I’m sure it’ll garner some kind of comment once I’m seated.
Up ahead, I spot their property. Quinton navigates us through the gated, paved drive that leads to the beautiful, white colonial home. Where my parents’ home is warm and traditional, the Boyds’ is cool and modern. Bringing us to a stop, Quinton turns off the ignition before turning to face me.
Eyes searching my face, I know he can see all the worry lines and the missing lipstick from where I’ve worried my lips the whole drive. He brings my hand to his lips, kissing my fingers.
“You’re beautiful, Wilder. Don’t let my parents get to you. I don’t care what they think and neither should you. I love you, and that’s all that matters.”
Wait, what?! What did Quinton just say? Did he just drop the love bomb parked outside of his parents’ house?
“Wha-what did you just say?” My eyes search his face for any regret.
There’s none. Earnest eyes stare back at me, and a tiny smile spreads across his face. Gripping my face, he holds my head still while I stare at him.
“I said, ‘I love you and that’s all that matters.’ I love you, Brinley Wilder. I have since we first met. There was something about this spunky, wild girl that caught my eye, and I knew that I was going to fall in love with her.”
Before I can even process what I’m doing, I’m flinging myself toward him. My body slides up on the console in a very awkward, very uncomfortable position, but I don't care. I need his lips on mine. I need to feel his love.
Slowly, pulling away from his kiss—even though I didn’t want to—we both sit there, staring at each other, goofy grins painting our faces.
“I love you too,” I respond, Quinton’s smile growing even wider.
Our moment is interrupted when someone knocks on Quinton’s door. The two of us separate, and I reach down into my purse and pull out my lipstick. Reaching up, I pull down the visor, open the mirror, and reapply my freshly kissed lipstick. Quinton opens the door and steps out. Damien stands there, stepping back to make room for Quinton to stand up outside the car.
“Hey, Brynn.” Damien waves before turning to face Quinton. “You two done sucking face?”
“Shut the fuck up.”
