bins (even mine) without being asked.
Sings Beatles songs in the shower
sometimes (fave might be Rocky
Raccoon, voice not too bad).
Wears size 12 shoe (left pair of
boots in the hall to dry).
Wears size 32/34 jeans (left pair
of jeans in the dryer).
Posts selfies to IG once a day
(shirtless if inside, has perfected the
Flynn Ryder smolder)
Gradually a picture was emerging of
Quinn as a polite tenant, fitness buff,
good student, vainglorious photographer,
and generally happy, well-adjusted
person.
Who wasn’t interested in me.
“I don’t understand,” I complained to
Claire and Margot over martinis at our
weekly Wednesday GNO. “He was all
about me that first night he moved in, and
he’s ignored me ever since!”
“Wait a minute, you just said
you’ve
been trying to avoid
him
for the last ten days,” Claire said, sipping her Cosmo.
“How is that him ignoring you?”
“There have been plenty of nights
where he must have heard me come in.”
I refused to let him off the hook. “He
could have come up like he did the first
time.”
“Why would he? You told him you
weren’t attracted to him.” Margot
blinked at me. “You told him to keep his
hands to himself, did you not?”
“I said
maybe
I wasn’t attracted to
him,” I reminded her. “And that was only
to get him to kiss me.”
“You’re being ridiculous,” Claire
said, shaking her head. “And you never
get this way over a guy.”
She was right. If I wanted someone, I
went after him. If it was fun, maybe
we’d make it work for a little while.
But Quinn wasn’t playing fair!
“Tell me about it.” I tipped back my
dirty vodka martini. “Want to hear
something
insane
? I have this list of
things about him, stupid stuff that doesn’t
even matter and isn’t helping me get him
into bed. But I keep adding to it!”
“Oh my God, Jaime.” Claire rolled
her eyes. “Quit obsessing over getting
him into bed. Just go talk to him. Hang
out a little. You complained about him
playing games, but right now you’re just
as bad.”
I gaped at her. “Do you know me at
all, Claire French? I don’t want to
talk
to him. I’m not even sure I
like
him.”
That wasn’t exactly true…Quinn did sort
of amuse me, and I liked the way he’d
taken care of his mom. He just knew
how to push my buttons.
“Then forget him altogether,” said
Margot. “It’s not like you want a
relationship.”
“Ew. No.” I shuddered.
“OK, so go bang someone else if you
have to,” added Claire, “but maybe you
should let this one go.”
They were probably right, but I
couldn’t.
Once I get a craving like this, it has
to be satisfied.
THE NEXT DAY WAS THURSDAY,
and I took it off from work in order to
get some things done—a dentist
appointment, some shopping, monthly
lunch with my mother. She asked me
how my toast for Alex’s wedding was
coming along, and it stressed me out so
badly that I’d come home, put on some
pajamas, and uncorked the wine a little
earlier than usual. But I figured the buzz
might help the creative juices flow, so I
justified it by sitting down at my
computer with every intention of
working on the toast.
Instead I stalked Quinn online.
Half a bottle of Bordeaux later, I
was sneaking down the stairs with my
wine glass in my hand.
If I’m going to
stalk him, I might as well do it right.
His door wasn’t even locked.
It was like he wanted me to come in!
And besides, I wasn’t going to steal
anything—well, maybe some undies—I
was just curious. Quinn was never home
before nine on Thursdays, and I’d be in
and out of there in five minutes. Ten,
tops.
I don’t think I need to tell you, it
didn’t exactly go as planned.
SEVEN
QUINN
WHAT THE HELL? Had I left my door
open?
I’d overslept this morning, and I’d
heard we were going to get a ton of
snow today, so I’d left in a rush, hoping
to beat the bad weather. Maybe I’d
neglected to pull the door all the way
shut behind me.
Taking off my boots, I set them on the
hallway mat and glanced up the stairs
toward Jaime’s apartment, but didn’t see
or hear anything.
Then I walked into my living room,
and it hit me—the scent of her perfume.
In my apartment
.
It was unmistakable, and by now,
familiar. Sweet and fresh and floral. She
smelled like a perfect spring day in the
middle of winter, and it made me want
her even more every time I smelled it
lingering in the hall. But she was so
stubborn, rushing past me every time I
saw her, barely making eye contact,
saying nothing more than hello and
goodnight. If it weren’t for those telltale
blushes, I might think she’d been telling
the truth that first night, and she really
wasn’t attracted to me at all. Just today,
during my workout, I was thinking about
trying again with her. For fuck’s sake,
we weren’t kids anymore. Did we have
to play games? Life was too short not to
go for what you wanted, and I wanted
her.
Had she been in here today?
I closed the door behind me, set
down my bag, and walked back toward
my bedroom. That’s when I realized I
could
still
smell her. Then I heard a
noise coming from my room and walked
into it just in time to hear a small sound
of girlish terror and see the closet door
being pulled halfway shut from the
inside.
What the fuck was she doing in my
closet?
And was that a half-empty wine
glass on my nightstand? Had she snuck in
here to snoop around, thinking I’d be at
class? All classes had been canceled for
the rest of the night because of the
weather, so I was home early.
For a moment, I just stood there,
trying to decide if I was flattered or
irritated. I settled on mostly entertained,
especially seeing as she was fucking
trapped now.
(I know I said I was over the games,
but this was just too good.)
What’s the best way to play this?
She’d gone to all this trouble, so I
should give her a good show, right?
Suddenly I had an idea, and it made
me want to laugh so hard I had to back
out of the room. In the hallway, I
composed myself and then re-entered the
room, making more noise this time. A
hiccup and little thump against the closet
door told me I was right about her
location.
Suppressing the urge to just throw
open the door and expose her drunk,
snooping ass, I walked right by her into
the bathroom, unzipped my pants, and
drained the lizard for her listening
pleasure. I grinned as I imagined the
horrified look on her face.
Then I flushed, washed my hands,
and started the next act.
“So. How about a hot shower,
gorgeous?” I said loudly.
She hiccupped again. Then I heard
some rustling around in there, and I was
nervous she was going to expose herself
to me before I had a chance to expose
myself to her—and I mean
full exposure
.
I wasn’t shy in the least.
I whipped off my Henley and spoke
again. “Yeah, I think getting hot, naked,
and wet right now sounds like a good
plan for a cold afternoon.”
Out of the corner of my eye I saw the
top of her head start to poke out of the
closet, and I tossed my shirt her way.
She came out even farther.
“Fuck, this is gonna feel
good
,” I
said. Then I pulled off my T-shirt and
flung it in her direction, delighted when
it appeared to hit her in the face.
She darted backward into the closet
like a mouse.
I smiled.
Come on out and play,
little mouse.
And she did—just in time to see me
preening and posing in the mirror,
flexing my muscles, stretching my limbs.
I kissed each bicep just for show before
sliding a hand down the front of my
pants. My dick wasn’t hard, and I didn’t
necessarily want it to get that way—yet
—so instead of touching myself, I moved
behind the bathroom door to get ready
for the grand finale, wondering if she’d
use the opportunity to escape. Betting
she wouldn’t.
I pulled off my jeans and tossed them
out. Next, I yanked off my socks, but I
left those on the bathroom floor. Finally,
I took off my underwear and flung them
out, dying to know if she was still there.
I covered my junk with both hands
and kicked the door all the way open.
There she was. On her hands and
knees—
I knew I could get her there
—
mouth open, eyes wide.
She gasped.
“So,” I said, barely able to contain
my delight. “Now what?”
Her eyes raked over me from head to
toe. She licked her lips. “Umf,” she said.
“Use your words, sweet pea. What
are you doing in my bedroom?”
She scrambled to her feet, which
were bare. Her toenails were painted
candy apple red, which was also the
color of her cheeks. She wore black
yoga pants that clung to her scrumptious
legs and a long-sleeved, charcoal gray
sweatshirt that hung off one bare
shoulder and said NAMAST’AY IN
BED on the front.
“Uh, sorry,” she mumbled, fiddling
with her braid. “I was looking—I
thought I heard—nothing.” She dropped
her hands and exhaled. “Forget it. I’ll
leave.” She backed up a couple steps,
but I saw the way she couldn’t take her
eyes off my hands.
“Why are you leaving? Too chicken
to stay?”
Her head snapped up, and she gave
me a surprised look. “Chicken?”
“Well, yeah. You came down here to
see something, didn’t you?”
Her mouth fell open. Fuck, those
lips. That chin. I wanted to do such bad
things to her pretty face… My dick
started to swell behind my hands.
“See something?” she repeated.
“Yes. Isn’t that why you were spying
on me from my closet?”
She puffed out her chest in outrage.
“I wasn’t trying to
spy
on you!”
“Oh no?”
“No. I was just—curious.”
“Curious. I see. And does this satisfy
your curiosity?” I stood tall and gave her
my best selfie smolder, the one she
hated.
She parked her hands on her hips.
“OK. I’ll play this game. No, my
curiosity is not satisfied. I can see that
much of you any time I want. All I have
to do is get online.”
“Hmm.” I pretended to be vexed by
that. “You’re right. So now what?”
“Turn around,” she said imperiously,
like a queen ordering her jester to amuse
her.
I cocked a brow at her. Then I turned
to the side, which I really feel is the best
angle for my butt. “How’s that?”
She tipped her head to one side and
studied me critically. “It’s OK. But I’m
gonna need more.”
“More?”
“More.” She twirled a finger in the
air. “Could you turn to the back please?”
I faced away from her, feet apart,
and took the opportunity to grin while
she couldn’t see my expression. “How’s
that? Better?” When she didn’t answer, I
looked back over one shoulder.
Her lower lip was caught between
her teeth, and if I’m not mistaken, she
was swaying a little, almost like she was
woozy. Then she snapped out of it. “It’s
a pretty good ass. I’ll give you that.”
“Thank you.”
“But I’m still curious.”
“Oh no. Now it’s my turn.”
She looked surprised. “Your turn?”
“I’m curious too. Take off your
shirt.”
She laughed. “Not happening, my
friend. You had your chance to see my
bits and pieces. You turned me down.”
“That was ten years ago.”
“That was ten days ago in my
kitchen, and you know it. I dangled no-
strings sex, and you didn’t take the bait.”
“Maybe I don’t want no-strings sex.”
“Maybe I don’t want you to see me
naked.”
“Chicken.”
She gave me a dirty look. Then she
grabbed her sweatshirt by the hem and
whipped it over her head.
Oh, fuck.
I turned around and stared.
Her tits were just as perfect as I
remembered them in that red bikini—
maybe even more perfect. A little bigger,
a little rounder, with mouth-watering
caramel-colored nipples that begged to
be tasted.
“And?” she said, sticking her hands