“Yeah, sure. I’ll do that.” I trip over my words, my brain is still stuck on what I think was sexual innuendo. I mean, I’ve been out of the game a long time, but that was an obvious hint at sex. Right?
I fucking hope so.
I think back to what Liv said before she left, and even though I waved her off, I have had a very, very long dry spell. Who better to break it than Quinton? We both like each other. He’s hot as fuck. And we’re grown. We can do what we want.
But on the other hand, he is Quinton Howard and he’s hot as fuck. I’m . . . well I’m me. Maybe I should work my way up to Quinton. Work on my flexibility or something before we go at it.
“Food will be here in forty.” Quinton sits down on the couch next to me, interrupting my sex thoughts. I hope he can’t read my mind! “Did you find something to watch?”
“Um, yeah.” I turn on Netflix and find my trusty Scandal. Shonda never does me wrong . . . except when she kills all my favorites. “Have you watched it before?”
He looks at the screen and his eyebrows scrunch together. “Not really. I’ve watched an episode or two.”
“Oh good!” I pick season one, episode one. “Then we can start from the beginning.”
I might not love scary movies, but even though there is way more murder than should ever be condoned on Scandal, I can’t say no to a forbidden romance.
“Olivia is a fuckin’ boss,” Quinton says a little over halfway through the show.
“Right? She might be fictional, but she’s totally my idol.” It’s hard for me not to tell him all the twists and turns that are coming, but I manage. “Shonda is a genius.”
“Shonda?” Quinton stands up and pauses the TV when the doorbell rings. “Are you guys friends?”
“How dare you? Of course she’s my friend.” I follow him to the door. “She just isn’t aware of it yet.”
He opens the door and hands the deliveryman a tip that makes his eyes go wide before a smile splits his face. Just add that to the growing list in my head of reasons why I should pick this relationship over Mahler.
“I know you have your Diet Coke, but do you want anything else?” he asks as he unpacks too many boxes for just the two of us to eat. “I think I have wine in the top of my pantry.”
I would normally be okay with just the Diet, but my shoulders are already starting to ache from that damn axe throwing, and a glass of wine sounds like a good idea.
“Wine actually sounds great, I’ll go check your pantry.”
I walk into his pantry and see the bottle shoved behind a cereal box on the top shelf.
“Where’s your bottle opener?” I ask him as I walk back into the kitchen just in time to see him piling food onto two plates. “You know I’m never going to be able to eat all of that, right?”
He looks up at me with mischief in his eyes. “Wanna bet?”
“No!” An unexpected giggle falls from the back of my throat. “I’m not doing any more bets with you today. Now wine opener, stat.”
—
ONE EMPTY BOTTLE of wine and what feels like twenty dumplings later, we’re back on the couch watching Olivia as she fixes everything with her gladiators.
“I think Huck’s my favorite,” Quinton says.
“Yeah, he’s pretty great.” I roll my neck to try and loosen it. The ache in my shoulders from axe throwing has extended to my neck and back.
This is why I stay away from physical activities.
“You alright?” Quinton puts his hand on my neck and lightly massages it.
I don’t know if it’s the wine, the food, or that his hands just work that well, but my body goes slack underneath his touch.
“Thank you.” I close my eyes and enjoy the way his strong fingers seem to find my pressure points without even trying. “I think two hours of axe throwing upset the muscles in my body that I’ve never used before.”
“Come here then.” He stands me up for a second before sitting me down between his legs. “Try to relax.”
I’ve never loved being touched. I’d rather spend my money on just about anything other than a stranger rubbing my body for an hour. I got a massage one time with Liv and was so tense during it that my back wasn’t right for a week afterwards. I actually broke up with a guy in college because he wanted to cuddle all the time and I couldn’t take it.
But for some reason, I don’t feel like that with Quinton. I already knew his hands were magic from when he helped my ankle, but this feels decadent.
My arms seem to go dead weight as they rest across the tops of my thighs. His hands make easy work of getting rid of the many knots I have in my back.
“Damn, girl,” he says as he pushes his palms down my spine. “How stressed have you been lately?”
“You have no idea.” I try to sound normal, but I accidentally moan out the last word when Quinton pushes his fingers into the spot just beneath my shoulder blade. “Why are you so good at this? Did your mom make you take massage lessons as a kid too?”
“Very funny.” His voice sounds off. He clears his throat and repositions himself behind me before he answers. “No, I guess my big hands are good for something besides throwing a football.”
“Thank you for that.” I unroll my back and stretch my arms into the air. But as I do it, I scoot back against him and feel the reason his voice sounded the way it did. But instead of scooting forward and giving him space, something comes over me and I rock back against him instead.
“Fuck, Elle.” His thick voice sounds strangled in his throat. His fingers clasp on to my hips,
