29. Quinn
CHAPTER 29
QUINN
R honda’s is… bustling for a Friday night.
Okay, so I’ve never had the pleasure of actually dropping into the restaurant before, but from the looks of the outside, neon lights busted or dead, a parking lot that is in desperate need of new asphalt, chipping graffiti tags on the side of the building, it’s not one that I’ve ever really considered stopping at.
But, according to Knox and Slate, they have the best breakfast in town.
There are four other tables filled with rowdy college students just like ourselves, except we’re not that loud.
They must be grabbing dinner before darting off to the row of clubs lining the next block over because it’s still early enough that Rhonda’s kitchen is open, and no one wants to be the first ones at the bars—that just screams lame.
I slide into the booth, my jeans gliding over the pleather seat as Knox follows me in. He presses our thighs together once he settles, handing me one of the menus stacked in the middle of the table .
I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to this nice, touchy Knox, but I love it.
Slate takes up the other side of the booth, peering around the diner. I can hear the group of jocks in the corner as they joke about some of their classes that they have no intention of trying in. They seem to think that they’ll be able to pass just by the graces of their athleticism, and I pray that they’re wrong.
Two older men sit at the bar, chatting quietly. They’re drinking milkshakes and sharing an order of fries and it makes my heart melt when their heads tip back laughing when the song on the jukebox switches from something the jocks must have put on to a classic.
The soothing melody along with the feeling of Knox’s thigh against mine is settling, driving away some of the frustration I’d felt back at school where I’d been working on my drawing project. There’s still that anxious feeling in the pit of my stomach, and I’m not sure how much food I’ll be able to get down with the boulder of nerves taking up the space, but I’m willing to try.
The lights in the diner are low and I have to squint to see the menu. Rhonda’s reminds me of the kind of place the locals love, and I suppose that everyone who walks in these doors already knows what they want anyway, so they don’t need to be able to read the small print on the overstuffed pamphlet.
A disco ball spins in the center of the ceiling, casting colorful blocks of light across the words. I try to use it to my advantage, tilting the menu into the streaks for a better view.
It doesn’t help.
“What are you getting?” I ask, leaning into Knox and peering down at his menu. It’s the exact same as mine, but I have a feeling he’s only pretending to look at it for my sake. I’m sure that he and Slate have already known what they wanted since they found me in the drawing room.
“Blueberry waffles and a vanilla shake,” he answers, and I carefully fold my lips between my teeth as I’m reminded of his contact name in my phone.
I should really change that one of these days.
Knox’s green eyes firm with a knowing look. “What are you trying not to grin about, Princess?”
I shrug nonchalantly, straightening myself and hiding my smug smile behind my menu. “Nothing.”
Knox hums like he doesn’t believe me, nudging me with his shoulder. “Tell me.”
“No,” I almost squeal. I can’t contain my grin now, shoving him back. “It’s too embarrassing.”
“More embarrassing than the way Slate is going to be panting over the waitress when she comes over here?” Knox asks, and I immediately turn my attention towards the counter, scouring the restaurant for whoever he’s talking about. I’ve never known Slate to pant after any woman. They usually fall into his lap without complaint.
“Shut up, dick,” Slate bites, eyes widening in warning. His body goes rigid, and he transforms from sitting tall, shoulders straight and broad, to shrinking in on himself, ducking his head and slouching in tight.
There’s a waitress behind the bar, but she’s looks older. Much older than us. She’s chatting with the two men at the bar and it looks as if the three of them have been friends for ages. It’s a little too dark to make out her features, but her dark hair is pinned at the back of her head, pencil jammed in the twist to keep it from falling.
“That one?” I question, nodding my head to show the direction of the woman I’m talking about. After all of these months of enduring Slate’s teasing, it’s finally time to take my shot. “I didn’t know you liked them older, Slate.”
He rolls his eyes, but Slate’s always been better at dishing out jabs. The tension eases from his shoulders as he jibes, “I love them older, Quinnie.” He winks and I wrinkle my nose in distaste.
I’m about to retort with some lame comment, but Ace and Rory are greeting us and I’m being guided further into the circular booth by Knox’s hand at the small of my back to make room for the two of them.
When everyone’s settled, I smile. It’s a snug fit for the five of us, but the proximity to my friends helps draw me completely away from the feelings of undeniable imposter syndrome I was experiencing earlier. Looking around the table at each one of them, I feel warm, I feel whole.
Ace and Slate easily pick up conversation while Rory looks over her menu. Knox leans back into me, his voice gravelly and low. “Why were you laughing at my waffles?”
I huff a chuckle at him that chokes off into something more like a hum of pleasure when his large hand settles on my thigh, squeezing gently. His hand isn’t just anywhere on my thigh, though, the tips of his fingers are curling into the soft skin between them, his pinky brushing the seam where the fabric of my pants is cinched over my crotch.
Warmth pools between my legs as if he’s Pavloved my pussy into thinking that the simplest touch from him means an orgasm. I swallow hard, shooting him a look that he chooses to ignore in favor of tapping he menu on the table like he’s deciding between two items. We’re trapped in the middle of the bench seat, our friends flanking our sides. If Knox takes this too far, there’s nowhere for me to go. I’ll have to endure his torturous touches until someone lets me up .
Clamping my hand over his doesn’t stop Knox from brushing his fingers across my leg. I press them tightly together, but all it does is trap Knox’s hand there. I don’t even have to look at him to know that my boyfriend is smirking.
Douchewaffle.
“Your name in my phone might have something to do with waffles,” I say, and my voice sounds breathy. Luckily, Ace and Slate are fully engrossed in explaining all of the best items on the menu to Rory. “I thought it was funny.”
Knox’s brows furrow. “What’s my name in your phone?”
I shake my head, refusing to answer when he squeezes the meat of my thigh.
I almost melt into him right there.
Heat creeps into my cheeks, and I’m thankful that the lighting is low because I know they’re painted bright red. “Douchewaffle. Your name in my phone is Douchewaffle.”
“Douchewaffle? Really?” Knox asks, quirking an unimpressed brow.
I can’t help but to giggle in response, which it only earns me another teasing pinch that has my nipples perking up beneath my shirt and my breath hitching in my chest.
With the way that Knox is looking down at me, eyes sparkling with a devilish delight, he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
“What?” I ask, as innocently as I can muster when he’s making me feel so scandalous. “Do you think I should add a heart or something?”
He doesn’t take the bait, instead, leaning even closer to me. His breath caresses my ear, every stroke of his hand driving me closer and closer to swinging my leg over his lap and straddling him right here in the booth with all of our friends .
“I think you should change it to ‘the most special cock you’ve ever had the pleasure of coming on.’”
“I think there’s a character limit,” I exhale harshly, and for some reason, I can’t stop looking at his lips.
His tongue darts out to wet them. To tease me.
“Oh, Quinn,” he whispers, and when he says my name like that, it makes me shudder with pleasure. My eyelashes flutter with the sensation that zips down my back. “You’ve never been one to complain about length.”
I bark out a sharp laugh that has the other three looking our way. I’m sure it wasn’t Knox’s intended reaction, but he smiles easily, drawing away only slightly so our friends don’t figure out what’s going on behind our menus. His eyes are still hot on mine, and I know that I’m going to be in for it later tonight.
“Hi there,” a cheerful voice greets, the waitress interrupts us before Knox can continue his incessant teasing.
She’s pretty, young and youthful, full of happiness. Her bright orange hair is in unruly circlets, barely tamed by the claw clip it’s slowly falling out of. It works for her, though, and stands out starkly against her dark uniform and bright eyes.
“I’m Isla, and I’ll be your waitress tonight. What can I get you all started to—” Her light tone drops and her smile falls when her eyes meet Slates. She’s quick to recover, I’ll give her that, clearing her throat and looking pointedly down at the notepad in her hands. “Do you know what you want to order or do we still need some time here?”
I almost rear back in my seat from the sudden change in her tone. It seems forced, and she’s chewing on her lip nervously, like it’s taking all of her self-control to not sprint out of here.
It only takes one glance at Slate to understand what I’m seeing, because he’s slipped down in his seat and is hanging his head like a scolded child.
“A few more minutes would be great,” Knox pipes up, trying to ease her discomfort with a soft smile. “Thanks, Isla.”
She nods and skitters away. I hope that she can’t feel all of our gazes on her back and she descends into the kitchen like a dog is nipping at her heels, but none of us can seem to pry our gazes away until the door swings shut behind her, then we’re all whipping our heads around to stare at Slate.
“What was that all about?” Rory asks, breaking the uncomfortable silence first.
“Nothing,” Slate answers all too quickly, and the rest of us share glances.
It’s obvious that something has happened between Slate and the waitress, but he’s never acted like this in the presence of one of his flings before. Perhaps she was a failed conquest, one that saw through his playboy act. He’s fucked so many girls that I didn’t even know it was capable for him to feel bad about any of them, unless something really went wrong in the bedroom that time.
“What? You forget her name or something?” Ace jokes. Rory scolds him but Slate ignores them, turning one of the harshest glares—one of the only glares—I’ve ever seen him make on Knox.
Knox’s hand on my thigh tenses and even I flinch a little under that look Slate’s throwing his way. “I thought you said she wasn’t working tonight,” Slate grumbles, sinking even lower in his seat. He resembles a kicked puppy, and it’s so unlike him that I’m feeling concerned on his behalf.
Knox only shrugs, wrapping his arm around my shoulder and drawing me against his side. “I didn’t think that she was. ”
“Fucking douchewaffle,” Slate mutters, and I hide my grin in Knox’s shoulder.
After Slate has eaten his bodyweight in pancakes, we head over to one of the bars only a block away. It’s packed with people, which Slate preferred when we offered to go to a less popular bar or even when we offered to all go back to the apartments and drink the rest of the night away.
It seems like he’s more than ready to forget about whatever the fuck happened back at Rhonda’s.
The air is hot with bodies and laughter. As we make our way through the throng of people, I’m glad that Knox talked me into a pit stop at the apartment so that I could put my things away before we went for our late dinner.
My hand is tucked tightly into his as we shove through the crowd to the dance floor. Rory is leading the charge, tugging on my other hand while Ace had gone off after Slate to apologize and make sure he’s getting everyone drinks and not just himself.
Knox isn’t usually one for parties, and I’m worried that he’ll be uncomfortable here, especially as Rory draws us into the center of the crowd. Peering over my shoulder, I’m pleasantly surprised to find Knox easing his way through the dance-floor, shoulders lax as the clubby music washes over us. It’s bass heavy, which isn’t unlike the music I’ve heard him listen to through the wall, but I know that he prefers hard riffs and lyrics that are screamed so loud it makes my eardrums rattle.
He tosses me a smile that he only reserves for me.
I can feel his gaze on me while I dance with Rory, letting the beat of the music wash over me, drawing the rest of my unease away. I know I’ll have to face my project again tomorrow, but for now, I revel in the feeling of being free, being with all of my friends.
Ace hands Knox and I drinks when he returns. I take a sip of mine and hum in approval. It’s something fruity and I can barely taste the alcohol, which means it’s dangerous. Delicious. There is no Slate in sight and Ace shrugs, pulling Rory into his side when he shouts that he’s still by the bar, taking shots with a group of girls that stopped him.
I roll my eyes because that is very much like Slate. Knox pulls me into his front, plastering his broad body up against mine. His free hand slides around my waist, pinning me to him in a possessive way, and when I peek up over my shoulder, I catch him glaring at a guy a few feet away, whose face drops when they flicker down to the way that Knox is holding me and then back up again.
I can’t help the giddy feeling that erupts in my stomach and I use the brim of my cup to hide my grin when the boy turns away and slithers back through the crowd with his tail tucked between his legs.
I roll my hips with the rhythm, my ass brushing up against Knox’s front where I can feel the beginnings of his interest against my hind. His grip on me tightens, tugging me even closer and steadying me against his chest when I stumble.
“Falling for me hard there, Princess?” Knox teases, his thumb slipping underneath the hem of my shirt to trace my skin. A shiver zips up my spine despite the heat of the bar and I lean into him, relaxing against his strong body.
I ignore his jibe but can’t ignore the way his cock is jabbing my backside. I roll my lip between my teeth, biting back the moan that threatens to slip from them. We only just arrived and Knox is acting like he’s ready to drag me right the hell out of here and all I’ve done is wiggled my hips a little.
Sometimes, he’s too easy.
“Think Slate is coming back?” I ask over my shoulder, trying to distract myself from the wetness gathering between my legs when Knox subtlety rubs against me again. His hand at my waist has gone from a soft swipe of his thumb to his palm flat against my stomach, the tips of his fingers trying to wedge themselves into the waistband of my panties.
I squeal at the sudden abruptness of Knox spinning me around. My drink sloshes over the brim of my cup and down my arm as I stare up at him wide eyed and confused.
The song changes, melting effortlessly into the next one. It’s quicker, sexier, or maybe I’m just thinking that because Knox is gluing our bodies back together, his hips circling, his large hand guiding mine in a slow grind.
His eyes are all pupil and he uses the curve of his knuckle to close my dropped jaw, the other wrapped firmly around me again, keeping my hips pinned to his as we dance to the music.
Knox’s breath is hot as he nips my earlobe before whispering, “I don’t want to hear another man’s name come out of your mouth right now.” He rubs his cock against me with intention; I gasp and he smirks. “Now, close that pretty mouth of yours before I shove my cock in it.”
My head falls back on my shoulders at the thought of that perfect cock of his pressing into my throat, pushing the air from my lungs, praising me as I take him all the way to the hilt.
It’s all I can do to keep the moan from creeping up my throat, but the music helps drown it out.
“Knox.” I mean to scold, but it comes out like a whimper.
Fuck, I’ve only had two sips of this drink and I know it’s not already going to my head. It’s Knox. He’s my undoing, what I thought I’d never find. I’ve had boyfriends before, and hopes to find one that treats me like he does, that supports me and learns with me and adores me like he does.
He doesn’t even have to touch me. He could just look at me with those big green eyes and I’d melt for him. I wrap my arms around his neck as we lose the night in each other, his forehead pressed against mine, his breath a soft pant against my lips.
My nipples tighten beneath the fabric of my shirt and I know he feels them pressing against his chest from the way that his eyes gleam, the way that his tongue darts out to wet his lips. He looks like he’s still hungry, and I’m his next meal.
I fucking love it.
I lose all sense of our surroundings as we grind against each other in the middle of this dance-floor with the lights beating down on us and the music drowning out the noises he keeps drawing from my lips. As far as I’m concerned, we’re alone, his body pressed up against mine in the midnight hours, like we’re meant to be.
“What do you want, Princess?” Knox asks me, staring down at me intently. He towers over me, and I love the way he’s holding me so tightly, like I might just slip away at the stroke of midnight.
“You,” I answer immediately, because there’s no need to think about it. There’s no other answer. I want him at all hours of the day, throughout the night. When neither of us can sleep and we’re curled around each other, whispering into the dark like it’s our safe haven. I want him and his shaky hands, the ones that make me tremble. I want his dark hair and broody nature, the way he only opens up for those closest to him.
“Do you know what I want?” He asks, voice throaty and low. I wouldn’t be able to pick it up over the music if he weren’t right in my ear.
“Me?” I guess, and his laugh makes my heart soar.
“Yes,” Knox chuckles, nipping the shell of my ear playfully. “But do you know what I want to do to you?”
Fuck, I might just come right here in the middle of this dance-floor like some whore. The way we’re grinding up against each other like a couple of horny college students, which we are. Like our friends aren’t in the same bar as us, like there aren’t other people watching us.
Someone bumps into us and my drink sloshes over the rim of my glass again. Knox straightens to glower at whoever it was, but the iciness of my drink sobers me a little. Enough to have a witty reply on the tip of my tongue when he steps back into our bubble.
“Draw me like one of your French girls?” I ask, fluttering my lashes up at him.
Knox smirks and my knees go weak. The threat in his eyes makes me vibrate with pleasure.
“First, I want to take you home,” he says, and his hand strokes a long line from the base of my back up my spine, his fingers fisting my hair at my nape. My fingers scrabble against his shirt, almost tearing into the fabric as he directs my head the way that he wants, his lips trailing a teasing line up the column of my throat.
I’m fucking dripping.
“Then—” Knox’s breath is so hot against my skin that I can barely even focus on the words that are coming out of his mouth. All I can feel are his fingers tangled in my hair, his lips on my skin, and his cock grinding into my stomach. “I’m going to strip you of all of these clothes—” His other hand grabs a handful of my ass and I didn’t even realize that his drink has disappeared from his grip until now .
The thought doesn’t last long, because Knox is still talking, still trying to ruin me with words alone.
And I think he might just be able to.
“And I’m going to ask you to ride me, Princess. I want that tight, drenched pussy on my cock as you take what you want, everything that you want, because you’re my needy girl, Quinn, aren’t you?”
The sound of my name on his lips has me rolling my hips faster, grinding on him harder.
“Yes!” My nails rake down the back of his shirt.
“And when you’re coming on my cock, squeezing me tight, I want you to?—”
“Your drinks,” Slate says gruffly, interrupting everything. I’ve never been so frustrated, so horny as I am when he shoves an arm between us, effectively breaking us apart.
I don’t think my glare has anything on Knox’s, but Slate doesn’t seem to care at all, shoving a drink into my empty hand before doing the same to Knox. Now I have two, but my first one is almost empty, having spilled more of it than I actually drank.
I can’t miss the way Knox is adjusting himself, shooting me an apologetic look before turning those daggers back on his best friend. I gulp down as much air as I can but it’s humid and gets stuck in my throat.
“Thanks,” I answer, dazed. Slate doesn’t look any less calm from the shot—or shots?— he’d taken at the bar. His brows are pulled tightly together and there’s a scowl on his lips that doesn’t go away when he takes a swig from his own drink.
Knox seems to realize the mood his roommate is in, and although he gently maneuvers his way back to me, pressing a reassuring hand at the base of my back, his confused attention stays on Slate .
“You okay, man?” He asks, cautiously. I don’t think he’s ever seen Slate like this either.
“Fucking dandy,” Slate grunts in response, eyes grazing down to where Knox’s hand is, to how he’s standing slightly in front of me. I think I see Slate’s lip curl in response but he’s quickly bringing his drink to his mouth, glaring at us all the way, while he empties the contents of it in a few large gulps.
Knox stiffens beside me.
What the hell is going on with him?
Before either of us has a chance to ask, Rory’s pushing through the crowd, towing Ace behind her. A girl makes a face as she passes by but Rory doesn’t seem to notice, eyes red-rimmed in a way that makes me start surging toward her and abandoning the boys behind me.
What the fuck did I miss while I was completely consumed by Knox?
“Ro, what happened? Are you okay?”
She shakes her head, giving me a sad smile. She’s clutching onto Ace like he’s a lifeline, wrapping one arm around me when I hug the daylights—nightlights?—out of her. “I’m okay, just ran into a little trouble.”
My heart sinks. She doesn’t need to elaborate for me to know she’s talking about her douche of an ex, Max.
“Where is he?” I ask frantically, rolling onto my tiptoes to peer around the bar. It doesn’t help much, and I can’t see through the mass of bodies surrounding us, but when I find him, I’ll?—
“Already taken care of, Quinnie,” Ace answers a little too smugly for Rory’s liking, if the gentle elbow she hits him in the side with is any clue. I can’t help but grin along with him, thankful that he was able to help her out while I was lost in the feeling of Knox’s body pressed up against mine .
Glancing over my shoulder to check in with him, I find him avoiding my gaze, but not on purpose. He’s staring at Slate still, who refuses to meet any of our eyes, glaring around the room like all of these people are his own personal enemies.
“We’re going home,” Rory tells me, shifting wearily on her feet when she picks up the tension swirling around our group. She looks just as worried about Slate as I feel, but he refuses to acknowledge any of us. When she shoots me a questioning glance, her ocean eyes still glossy, I shake my head.
I have no idea, either.
“We’ll join you,” I answer, reaching my hand back for Knox’s. He immediately attaches and twines our fingers together. I gently thumb over one of the ridges of his scars and he squeezes back. The moment we had only a few minutes ago was ruined, but I think we might still be able to make up for it, as long as nothing else goes wrong tonight.
“You coming, man?” Ace asks, clapping Slate on the shoulder.
All Slate does is hunch further, shrugging Ace’s hand off.
Something has grabbed his attention, and he doesn’t look happy about it, tossing over his shoulder, “No, I don’t think I will.”
We stare after him, shocked. He’s already disappeared into the crowd. Well, as much as any six-foot-five man can disappear. But the boys can see better than me so I’m sure they’re catching where he’s off to.
“What’s his problem?” Rory asks, rubbing at her red eyes. It makes me ache for my best friend.
I hate Max.
Knox shakes his head, tugging me in the opposite direction, towards the door. “Not a fucking clue.”