Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 71044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Quintin …
Images of his disarmingly sweet face and defiant eyes linger like playful ghosts in my mind. His smooth, caramel complexion. His strong, blunt nose that gave his otherwise unassuming appearance an unexpected note of confidence and strength. His messy dark brown hair, with short tufts at his sideburns and temples that barely curled at the tips.
He was cute and boyish. He was funny. He had zero awkwardness around me and no intention of fucking me that I could tell.
He’s the only person I’ve seen at this entire party who actually had a top on, showing very little of what he had.
And the second he hooks me on his line, I’m set loose.
None of that makes any goddamned sense.
After washing my hands, I push my way out of the quiet bathroom and back into the noise, feeling dizzy from that encounter. I gaze out at the crowd, wondering if he might still be here or if he really did leave.
I don’t see Quintin, but I do spot Finn and Theo. The lovebirds apparently found each other after all, and they’re dancing their asses off. I feel a bit bad for snapping at Finn the way I did earlier, considering how much he’s got on his plate. Between the responsibilities his dad keeps piling up on his back and the child of a boyfriend he has to chase around like a toddler who just snorted ten Pixy Stix, I can imagine Finn is a righteous ball of stress every day. When does the dude ever get to relax?
Am I really not Quintin’s type?
Maybe he was just saying that to taunt me. It could be a game to him, like sexy cat and mouse. He plays hard-to-get. Teases my ego. Keeps me on his figurative leash.
Is that what we’re doing here?
Or am I really not his type and this is all in my head?
Either way, I’m left confused, weirdly horny, and out of breath. Is there any fucking air in this room at all? I was just on my way out a moment ago before I’d realized the piss-quality beer I consumed with Finn had already run straight through me. Had I not come back in through the front and made a stop at the bathroom, I wouldn’t have run into that robe-stealing cutie.
A set of eyes catches mine through the crowd: the guy from earlier who was humping his dance partner in my honor. Now he’s at the snack table, and his eyes look like the snack he really wants isn’t anywhere on that table.
I avert my eyes. Shit, I have to get out of here.
I move through the crowd as gently as I can—barely dodging being elbowed right in the face by a particularly enthusiastic dancer—and make my way to the front door. The moment I close it behind me and stand on the silent front porch, I feel instant relief. This is what I needed.
Sweet, merciful relief.
Suddenly, it hits me: I forgot to ask Finn about my dad. “Damn it,” I hiss under my breath, annoyed at myself for letting that slip my mind so easily. I let everything get in the way of the one thing my mom asked me to do.
I guess I could head back inside, apologize to Finn for storming off, then casually squeeze in a question or two about why my dad’s in town. That sounds easy enough. I already left and went back inside once. I can do it again.
I turn, about to head back inside—when I realize I’m not alone out here. Sitting on the edge of the banister, facing out and appearing bored as hell, is Quintin, his legs dangling off. He stares into the distance, seeming entirely unaware of my presence.
I’m about to say hi when the front door opens and a face appears. “Are you cuttin’ out already?”
It’s the dude who kept eye-fucking me. He’s wearing nothing but a jockstrap, which I didn’t notice until now. From the loose, stretched look of the waistband, it seems it’s gotten more than its fair share of use.
“Yeah,” I answer the guy, “I was just about to—”
“Don’t go yet.” He steps out of the house completely and shuts the door at his back. “You haven’t even had a chance to talk to me yet, stud.”
I shuffle my feet uncomfortably, then sneak a glance at Quintin. He’s watching, apparently having noticed us.
“Don’t you want to get to know me at all?” The guy hooks a finger into my robe, then bites his lip. “My buddy and I were, ah … wondering … what you’re hiding under there. Is it as big as your muscles are …?”
Lord, this guy is thirsty. I unhook his finger from my robe and gently push it away. “Sorry, buddy, but I’m—”
“Don’t tell me you’re satisfied with just going home all by yourself,” he says less than patiently. This horny guy’s determination is clearly unending.