Chapter 1 #3
I called them a giant fucking inconvenience because they overwhelmed all of my senses until I could let go of all the feelings pent up inside me. But I’d learned to cope quietly and hold it in until I was alone—which, luckily, I was.
It only took a minute until I was calmer, but of course, Quinn had already texted again because leaving him on read was apparently a thing I was doing.
Quinn: Cool if you don’t want to. But I’m not a serial killer or anything.
Me: I live in a frat house. Probably a few future serial killers here. It’s fine. Give me a sec.
Me: I’m not a serial either killer by the way.
Really? Was that what I just said to him?
I sent the pin, then waited for him to tell me never mind, because why wouldn’t he? Instead, he sent me a thumbs-up, and I had to remind myself that he was older and thumbs-ups weren’t sarcasm to his generation. Just like the cry-laugh face wasn’t sarcasm.
He was not making fun of me.
“Knock knock.”
I glanced up, my heart hammering, and found Colton staring at me with a confused frown. “Hi. Hey. What’s up?”
He walked in and folded his arms over his chest. “You’re crying.”
“What? No, I—” Oh. I guess I was, kind of. I wasn’t crying crying. But I was definitely leaking.
He took another step closer. “I’m in the mood to hit someone. Who was it?”
“No,” I told him with a sigh. “I just got overwhelmed for a second. My routine is all off. It’s raining.
” I waved my hand uselessly at the window like he needed me to point out that water was falling from the sky.
That was a better excuse than the guy I’d been crushing on since the photoshoot wanted to hang out and I was still an awkward mess because in the six weeks since I’d decided to lose my virginity, I still hadn’t.
Which was going to make the hangout totally awkward. I was going to have, like, six inappropriate boners, and he would probably—definitely—notice.
Colton sighed and sank down next to me, pulling the half quail out of my lap. “What is it?”
“Button quail. With a hat and a Spanish guitar.”
He smiled. “Can I have it when you’re done?”
“Of course.” My heart had finally stopped pounding, and I could breathe again. “I think I’m going out.” Shit. Saying it out loud made it very, very real.
His brows flew up. “In the rain? You hate the rain.” It was sweet that he knew that.
“He’s picking me up.”
“He?” Colton leaned closer, grinning.
“Will you stop that,” I begged. I was already bursting to ask someone for help with my virginity problem, and when Colton was nice to me, it was even more difficult to keep my mouth shut.
He probably would have been a safe person to talk to too.
Except…he also had a fat mouth that would get drunk and tell everyone, so…
Yeah, no. That was a no go.
Holding up his hands in surrender, he leaned back out of my space, and I was able to breathe easier.
It was weird that the goddamn king of soccer—the guy everyone knew on campus with a not-so-nice reputation that followed him everywhere—was sitting on my bed, holding my half-done quail and trying to calm me down.
I didn’t mind it though. I liked Colton. He was nothing like my brothers, and maybe he would have been the dickhead who pushed me into a trash can in high school, but now he was the dickhead who would beat the absolute fuck out of anyone who looked at me sideways.
I cleared my throat. “It’s Quinn.”
“Am I supposed to know that name?”
Picking up my phone, I opened up the group chat and scrolled to the last time Quinn had said anything in the thread.
Colton cleared his throat. “That’s the dude with the cane, right? Ex-NHL guy.”
I nodded. It seemed unfair to reduce him down to ex-NHL guy with a cane, but it was accurate, considering I didn’t think Colton had said two words to him during the shoot.
He stroked his chin, then shrugged. “You could do worse. But here.” He stood up and dug into his pocket for a second, producing a three-pack of condoms. “Professional players might look well put together, but never trust where their dicks have been.”
I almost choked on my own tongue. He didn’t know about my whole virgin thing either. That was not something I was ever going to advertise in a damn frat house. “Um.”
He grinned and grabbed my wrist, slapping the condoms into my hand. “Remember to have fun, pick a safe word, and call me if anything goes sideways. I’m not scared of jail, Reddy. My dad has an amazing lawyer.”
Before I could say anything, he was gone, and I was left sitting on my bed with the condoms, the half quail, and no idea what to do with myself.
Bzzt! Bzzt!
I stared down, half-able to conjure a functional thought. It was him.
Quinn: I’m here. This place is a shithole. I hope they don’t charge you too much for it.
Scrambling to my feet, I rushed to the window, crushing the blinds as I stared out across the front lawn.
He was there, standing just outside of the driver’s door, his chest pressed against the car.
He looked like a fucking wet dream with the sun glinting off his silver strands and his aviators covering what I knew were soft, gorgeous brown eyes.
It had stopped raining for the moment, but I could see a few drops glinting off his bomber jacket.
Oh, I was so screwed. He was here to give me advice, and I was going to do nothing but half listen and lust. But I couldn’t back out now. He’d come all this way.
The least I could do was hear him out and maybe get some advice on how to handle my shit before I stepped foot into the world an injury had forced him to leave behind.