Page 69 of The Late Hit
And with the interruption of our new table mate, the conversation turns toward her, making everyone forget about my trip to Professor Peters’s office.
Everyoneismeetingupat The Eagles’ Nest tonight, since the football team has a late afternoon home game tomorrow. I don’t normally pass up a Friday night out, but I’m just not feeling it.
Truthfully, my head is all over the place. Every time my thoughts drift off, I go back to Chicago and Quinton being dared to kiss me. How he didn’t hesitate and how it felt to kiss him. I thought for sure it’d feel awkward, but it didn’t. And I know we went so much further than kissing, but we never would’ve gotten to that point without that dare. The kiss just felt so monumental.
It felt good. Damn good. My body buzzed.
And then waking up with him in my bed this morning felt so natural. And then, as if I wasn’t already on edge, Professor Peters’s encounter was just off-putting.
Instead of going out and getting drunk, I told the girls I was meeting a guy. Which wasn’t a lie. It’s why I find myself standing in front of a black door outside of the Football House. It’s quiet, no loud music, and the lights are off. I don’t even know if anyone is home. Before I talk myself out of it, I ring the doorbell and wait. And wait some more. Just as I’m about to turn and walk away, the front door swings open.
Quinton is standing in front of me in a pair of athletic shorts, no shirt. And my eyes trail over every muscle. They gaze over the large eagle that is tattooed across his muscled chest and the large cross that is tattooed on his right rib cage before skimming over his abs and landing on the deep V that points down to his very impressiveasset. That sameassetI had in my hand this morning. My cheeks flush red, and I lick my lips before snapping my eyes up to Q’s. He’s already staring at me, waiting for me to finish my shameless perusal of his strong, dark, and athletic body.
“You done?” he asks with a smirk.
Heat spreads across my chest, and I can only manage a nod. Opening the door wider, he gestures for me to come in.
“What are you doing here, Brynn?”
Hearing my first name on his lips instead of my last name is a shock to the system.
“I thought we should talk.”
Closing the door behind me, Quinton just stares at me before turning and heading toward the staircase. This might be Quinton’s house, but we never hang out in the main living area unless there’s a party or a group of us hanging out. Quinton has always retreated to his room, and that’s where we head.
“Yeah, we should,” he tosses over his shoulder, leading us upstairs.
Following him, I take stock of the house. It’s super clean, which is surprising since there are five college men that live here. Quinton has the primary bedroom that’s on the left side of the house, while the other three bedrooms are on the right side. The third floor was turned into a fifth bedroom and another rec room. Quinton steps into his room first, and I’m not surprised to see his room is clean and organized. I've never met a guy as tidy as Quinton. He hates messes, which is why he’s constantly picking up my room. The only things out of place are the books on his desk. Looks like I was interrupting his homework time.
“Want anything to drink?” Quinton asks, grabbing a Gatorade out of his mini fridge.
Shaking my head, I answer him, “I’m good. Thanks. If I’m interrupting, I can come back later.”
He takes a drink of his lemon-lime drink and just stares at me. His eyes bore into me, and I feel exposed.
“No, we are talking. Everything is weird, and I can’t take it anymore.”
Making my way over to his bed, I kick off my tennis shoes and climb onto his bed. Realizing that I can’t cross my legs since I’m still in my skirt, I bend my legs to the side, placing a pillow in my lap, just in case.
“I’m not trying to be weird, Q. I just—I just don’t know how to be around you.”
Shock crosses his face and contorts into hurt.
“What the fuck does that mean?”
Quinton doesn’t join me on the bed like usual. Instead he leans against his desk, facing me.
His position mirrors that of Professor Peters. While Peters made me feel uncomfortable, all I want is for Quinton to shrink the space between us. I want to feel his hands caressing my skin while I watch his muscles flex with every movement.
“It means you kissed me. And I liked it,” I whisper, looking down at my lap.
He doesn’t say anything, and I refuse to look up. I can’t believe I just said that. Exposing my feelings isn’t something that I do. It’s raw and real and feels unnatural but also perfectly natural. The pause has gone on almost too long. I sneak a glance up and see him staring at me.
Pushing off the desk, Quinton takes two large strides before he’s erased the space between us. Following my gaze up to him, I see the darkness in his eyes. Before I have a chance to say anything, two large hands are grabbing the side of my face, forcing my head up to meet him. Our eyes bounce back and forth, soaking each other in, trying to guess what the other is thinking.
And then his lips are on me.
Soft, powerful lips are crushing mine. His tongue lashes out, running across my lower lip. Begging me to open for him. And I do. Our tongues meet and begin dueling with fervor. A moan slips from the back of my throat, but that only urges Quinton on more. He’s coaxing my body down onto his mattress, his hand sliding in between us, grabbing the pillow I had in my lap, tossing it aside. Once the pillow is out of our way, his hand is back on me, running down my body. My legs open and his large body fits perfectly in the open space. It feels like too much. It feels passionate. It feels like we’ve been fighting our feelings for way too damn long.
