I told him how to get to the restaurant, and we spent the fifteen-minute ride there talking about our respective proms and other social events we remembered from high school.
“Did you have a serious boyfriend back then?” he asked me. “I don’t remember.”
“Not really.” I spent my junior year mooning after you, asshole. “My senior year I dated this one guy off and on, but we were headed to different schools, so we were never that serious. I did let him pop my cherry, though.” I said this with a sly sideways glance at him.
“Oh yeah?” He didn’t look at me, but I saw his hand tighten on the steering wheel. “And how was it?”
I shrugged. “It was fine. I wasn’t super crazy about him, I sort of just wanted to get my virginity out of the way. I knew the first time wasn’t going to be great for me. Seemed like it was for him, though.”
“I’m sure it was.” The hand in his lap balled into a fist.
I allowed myself a tiny smile of triumph. If you wanted to be my first, Quinn Rusek, you should have done it while you had the chance. “Too bad you rejected me back then. Maybe it could have been you.”
“Oh, it would have been me.”
“You sound awfully sure of yourself.”
He laughed confidently, and some of my self-satisfaction melted away. “Not only am I sure it would have been me, I’m sure you would have enjoyed it more.”
Now it was my hands curling into fists. Why the hell did I let him get to me? I practically spoon-fed him these opportunities! “Guess we’ll never know. The restaurant is over there. Park on this side of the street.”
He did as I instructed and turned off the car. “You’re not mad, are you? I was just being truthful. That is what you like, isn’t it? Laying everything out there up front?”
“Yes,” I said stiffly.
“Good. Now look at me.”
I did as he asked. “What?”
“I know I could have been your first. And we’d have had fun. But I also know that I wouldn’t trade the memory of finding you in my closet yesterday and everything that came afterward for anything. Jaime at seventeen was tempting. Jaime at twenty-seven is fucking torrid.”
I felt my cheeks getting warm, a smile tugging at my lips.
“And Quinn at eighteen was good,” he went on, “if a little fast, but Quinn at twenty-eight is a hell of a lot better.”
“I like it fast.”
“I know you do. You’re like a fucking cheetah.” He tapped my nose. “But one of these days, you’re going to let me take my time with you.”
Tilting my head, I gave him a coy smile. “I’ll trade you a date for a slow fuck.”
He shook his head. “Uh-uh. No way. I’m getting all three dates, plus the blowjob you offered me, and the slow fuck.”
“What am I, a goddamn buffet?” Irritated, I opened the door before he could play Boyfriend and come around to do it for me. “And by the way, I think this should count as two dates because you’re getting to meet my friends already.”
“Hmmm.” Quinn’s brow furrowed. “I’d consider that. On one condition.”
“What?”
“I get to tell your friends about the snooping.”
“No!”
“OK, then I get to be as romantic as I want tonight.”
“What do you mean, romantic?” I made a face. “Like, touchy-feely at the table?”
“If I’m so inclined. And you can’t squirm away or say anything about it. No blowing up the game.”
I chewed on the thumb tip of my glove and thought it over. “If I agree to play along, you can’t tell anyone about my snooping in your flat, ever.”
He sucked air through his teeth. “Wow, that’s harsh. I was really looking forward to telling that story, especially the part where I hit you in the face with my underwear.”
“That wasn’t your underwear, it was a shirt! Now do we have a deal or not? It’s cold out here.”
“That’s because you opened the door.”
“Quinn.”
“OK, fine. Deal.” He held out his hand and I put mine in it to shake, but instead he tenderly kissed the back of it.
“Ew, what are you doing?” I pulled my hand away.
He looked at me with that stupid phony smolder. “God, I love getting romantic with you.”
My eyelid twitched. “This is why. This is why I hate dating. All this sappy shit just drives me insane.”
“I know,” he said, laughing. “And I sort of care about your sanity, but it’s going to be really fun to fuck with you in front of your friends. Now stay there.”
I shook my head as he got out of the car, came around to my side, and opened the door all the way. “You are a sadist. I knew it.”
“Well, I might be, but let’s save that for later.” He smiled devilishly and reached for my hand. “Come on, love bug. Can I call you love bug? What am I saying—of course I can! I can do anything I want tonight.”
Oh my God.
I needed a cocktail.
Stat.
Thirteen
QUINN
I held onto her arm as we crossed the street.
“Seriously?” she said.
“Yes. It’s dark and icy, and I can’t have my love bug slipping and falling and hurting her precious little ass. I’ll do that myself.”
She sighed heavily. “Fine. Please just stop calling me love bug.”