Page 48 of Top Shelf
I could manage two stairs. I could even manage six with help, but I wasn’t going to put my weight on him, considering his own leg.
When Quinn turned his car off, I opened the door and swung my legs out, grabbing my crutches from the back seat and nearly braining him as I pulled them across. He let out a little chuckle as he helped me get everything out, and before I could stand up all the way, he was there.
In front of me.
Like a ballast.
“Hello,” he said softly when I stepped up onto the curb. His hands reached out and touched my waist, and there was something about the way he didn’t look around to see who was watching that made me feel…
Hell, there wasn’t a word for it. Accepted was the closest thing I could think of. He wasn’t ashamed to be out here with me. Touching me. Leaning in.
Kissing me.
His lips were soft as they grazed mine, and he hummed against my skin as he smudged his mouth over the line of my jaw.
“Are you ready to come inside?” he asked.
I couldn’t speak, so instead, I curled one hand around his wrist, held tightly, then nodded. The way he smiled again, the way he stepped back but didn’t break my grip on him, told me that was answer enough.
His couch was comfortable.Not as comfortable as the one I never sat on in the frat house—but that one had been used by decades of students who came before me. The one at the apartment my mom was renting was stiff and smelled like that starch stuff that comes out of a can.
This…this was different. It wasn’t new. It had Quinn’s scent all over it and a spot that seemed to mold to him perfectly.
And he had a cat. I hadn’t realized it. I hadn’t given too much thought about Quinn living his life once he left me at my doorstep. But he did. He had a fish too. He had photos of people on his walls and three hockey pucks on his mantle with masking tape on the side—one for his first-ever goal, one for his first-ever hat trick, and the one from the final game he played before his accident.
He had his Sharks jersey framed on the wall in the entryway, and there was a closet door cracked open, and I saw skates and an old, battered hockey stick.
Quinn existed outside of my own mind, and something about that tipped me sideways. I was still struggling to put everything right when he brought me a glass of water, then sat so close to me our thighs were touching.
“You look nervous,” he said after a silence that had definitely become awkward.
I cleared my throat. “You…live here.”
Before he answered, the cat jumped up onto the sofa beside him and pressed against his leg. I thought maybe it was a good time to pet her, but he didn’t move his hands from his lap. “I do live here. I bought this house.”
“Are you going to pet your cat?”
“She’s not fond of being touched.”
“Hard relate,” I murmured.
He snorted and reached out, dragging two fingers firmly down the side of my neck. It sent shivers down my spine, and my soft dick felt a little plump when he pulled away. “I disagree. You like to be touched so long as someone knows how to do it the right way.”
I looked at him out of the corner of my eye. “How do you know?”
“You’re an easy study, sweetheart. If people don’t know, it’s because they’re too lazy or too narcissistic to pay attention. Does it bother you that I figured you out?”
“No. Yes.” I took a beat. “No. But I’m not used to being so…seen. It makes me feel a little weird.”
“Bad weird?”
I couldn’t really answer that. So I didn’t.
He took that in stride. He didn’t repeat himself. He just inched his hand closer again. “May I?”
I turned my palm up, and he pressed his down over it. His hands were softer than they had been when we first met. Maybe he’d gotten a manicure. I ran my thumb over his blunt nails. His touch was so familiar now. The sex, the shower, the two appointments—it shouldn’t have been enough, but it was.
“Do you want me?” I asked him.
