Chapter 22
I’m Not with Stupid
One morning a week later, after Sarah had worked out in the gym with Quinn’s mom and helped her into the hot tub, she thrust a brightly wrapped package at him. “I got you something.”
His breath stuttered for an instant as surprise rocketed through his veins. A gooey feeling followed, settling in his chest as soft and sticky as warmed toffee. “Like, a present? What is it?” He pointed. “Is it going to explode?”
“Guess you’d better open it and find out.” A devilish gleam brightened her hazel eyes, making things in his southern hemisphere perk up like they seemed to whenever he was within eighty feet of her.
He gave her a devilish look of his own and inspected the flat box. It was neatly wrapped with a shiny blue bow. He shook the package next to his ear. “Is it sexy lingerie you’re going to model for me?”
She cinched her arms over her chest. “In your dreams, Sparky.”
Yeah, that scenario’s definitely in my dreams.
Presents weren’t something he was used to getting, and he hated to destroy such a pretty one. “Did you wrap this?”
She nodded.
“Wow. Another talent I didn’t know you had. Wonder what else you can do?” He scanned the package, trying to find the easiest, least destructive way in.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“As a matter of fact, yes, I would.” He was rewarded with the eye-roll he was after, accompanied by a loud snort. Were they doing this? Were they flirting? His hopes found a toehold somewhere above his head and climbed.
Gingerly, he unstuck the tape and was carefully peeling back the paper when she snatched at the gift. “Jeez, you’re slow!”
He yanked it from her grabby fingers. “Hey, hey, hey! This is my present.”
“Then open the da—darn thing!” She rolled her eyes—again. God, she did that a lot, but he had to admit he got a wicked kick out of pushing her buttons, especially when she rewarded him with a quirk of her pretty lips as she was doing now. Yeah, she thought it was funny too.
Slowly, deliberately, he opened the box and pulled out its tissue-wrapped contents. Nestled in the folds was a T-shirt, which he pulled out and held up. On its front were emblazoned the words, “Sorry, Girls, I Only Date Models.”
“Uh … thanks?”
A shit-eating grin split her face. “It’s a good one, huh?”
“You do realize this is for guys who actually don’t date models?” Too late, he realized how arrogant and ridiculous he sounded.
She swung her gaze toward the patio door. “Good. Your mom won’t hear this.” Her gaze swung back to him. “Oh. My. Fucking. God! You are so damn full of yourself!”
Can’t disagree there, but I do date models. Did date models. Wait. Why am I not dating models anymore? COVID-19. But is that the only reason? He stared at her. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Easy. Say, ‘Thank you, Sarah. You’re such a thoughtful person.’” She batted her eyelashes.
“Uh, thank you, Sarah. You’re such a thoughtful person.” He ran his eyes over her face. No malice. No evil lurking in her unmatched, mossy-green eyes. Just something like happiness dancing in them. Because she’d given him a present?
She was proud of this gift, and he was being an asshole. He should be telling her how much he appreciated the trouble she’d gone to, even if he wasn’t psyched about the gift itself.
“You didn’t have to do this, Sunshine.” He wrapped the T-shirt back up in the tissue and crammed it in the box.
Her face fell, disappointment etching her strangely delicate features.
Strange because he hadn’t thought them delicate when he’d first met her.
Had she always had that soft curve at the base of her neck?
The perfectly shaped eyebrows that accentuated her big eyes?
Smooth skin that reminded him of fresh cream?
The next words that came out of her mouth nearly undid him. “It was just my way of saying thanks for everything you’ve done. But you don’t like it, do you?”
Smoothing the hair at his nape, he said, “No, I love it. I can’t believe you did this for me. It’s just that …”
“Oh. Is it too small? I got you an extra-large tall.”
He tore his gaze from her. “No, I’m sure it’ll fit. I was just thinking it’d be nice if we could change the word ‘Models.’”
“To what? Porn stars?” she snickered.
He shook his head and looked her straight in the eye. “I was thinking ‘Engineers.’”
“Oh.” Hyperspeed calculations seemed to take place behind her eyes. “Oh!”
For such a badass, she was letting her emotions play all over her face.
Maybe because her walls were made of papier maché—a flimsy facade to disguise the fact that what she hid behind them was, in fact, pretty soft and vulnerable.
Right now he could see right through her, though it didn’t help him understand what he was seeing.
Was she pleased by what he’d just revealed? Terrified? Disgusted?
Her eyes shuttered. “There’s something I should tell you.” She gusted out a breath. “I’m … I have a date tonight.”
WTF? “Excuse me?”
“I have a date.”
She’s kidding, right? “You said that. When?”
“I said that too. Tonight.”
“With who?” he snapped.
“Whom.”
“Damn it! With whom?” His insides were curling in on themselves, his world spinning off-axis.
“You sound like my brother, you know that?”
“I don’t care who—whom—I sound like. How the hell can you go on a date? Wait. Time-out. Tell me you’re going to get dressed up, sit in your room, and do a virtual date on your computer. That’s it, right?” That still sucks.
She shook her head. “No. I’m out of quarantine now—it’s been over two weeks since I got sick. In fact, you can be out too, I think, so if you wanted to date some of your models …”
Why did it bother the shit out of him that she was okay with him dating anyone?
Shaken to the core, nothing made sense to him right now, and he didn’t have the time or temperance to unravel it.
Eyes closed, he shook his head. “Wait, wait, wait. Hold up a minute. Where are you gonna go? No restaurants are open.”
“Um, he’s cooking dinner. Or ordering takeout. I’m not sure which.”
His eyes flew open and fixed on hers. “You’re not kidding, are you?”
She seemed to size him up warily. Slowly, she shook her head.
He cinched his arms across his chest and tried to puff it up a few sizes. “Who is this guy? How did you meet him?” he blurted, unable to stop himself. Holy crap, was he really going there? Yeah, because he had first dibs. She was his.
Goddamn.
When had he started thinking of her as his?
And was this ownership of the she’s-my-sister variety?
Or was it of the caveman she’s-my-woman variety?
While he didn’t know that he had a right to the first scenario, he sure as hell didn’t have a right to the second one, and the buzzing in his brain wouldn’t help him sort it out anytime soon.
This was brand new territory for him, and he didn’t like being here.
He wanted back on familiar ground where he didn’t give a shit what a woman he was lusting after did in her spare time.
He vaguely registered that when it came to Sarah, though, this whatever-it-was went way beyond lust.
Sarah casually brushed at her sleeve. “I met him online.”
Now the buzzing in Quinn’s head erupted, shooting his blood pressure into the stratosphere. Control slipped from his grasp. “What? Don’t tell me you used a dating app!”
Amused eyes pierced his. Clearly she was enjoying herself. “Okay. I won’t tell you I used a dating app.”
Fucking fuck!
He mustered his best authoritative voice. “Sarah. This is not a good idea.”
In a move that totally flustered him, she patted his cheek.
“Don’t worry, Sparky. He’s Natalie’s brother, Drew, and it’s a blind double date.
Well, my part—and his too, I suppose—is blind, but not the double date part.
Natalie and T.J. will be there.” She beamed at him, looking entirely too pleased with herself.
This just got better and better. Goddamn Shanstrom was still pissed about the press conference, wasn’t he? And this was his jacked-up way of getting even.
Quinn narrowed his eyes. “I thought you said you met him online?”
“I did. Natalie introduced us, we had a FaceTime session, and I decided, what the hell? Voila! Blind double date.” When he didn’t respond, she smirked. “Voila is French for ‘ta-dah!’”
As he watched her sashay away, it occurred to him that she’d been right.
He’d been totally full of himself, deluded by the ease with which he’d picked up random women in bars for far too long.
Because when it came to this particular woman, not only did “pick up” sound far too crass, but he had absolutely no clue how to move the puck to the goal line.
Sarah smudged smoky eyeliner under her lower lashes and stood back from the bathroom mirror.
“Meh,” she said to her reflection before she applied lipstick.
While she wasn’t going for knock-’em-dead, it was sort of fun to get dressed up after spending months in sweats, workout togs, and T-shirts.
The dress-up clothes made her feel pretty, feminine, sexy, and she’d make the most of tonight.
Drew seemed like a nice guy, but the date wouldn’t go anywhere.
Tonight would simply be a welcome diversion.
She’d get away from Quinn Asshat Hadley, the cocky bastard. So damn full of himself.
“This T-shirt is made for guys who actually don’t date models,” she told her reflection in a snippy voice. “Well, good for you, Romeo!”
Maybe she’d picked the wrong slogan, but jeez! He didn’t have to be such a jerk about it. At least show a little appreciation. And what was with that “Let’s change ‘models’ to ‘engineers’” quip? Nothing like taking an extra dig at her.
Asshole.