Chapter 18 #3
My internal dialogue went something like this: Leave it open!
But that would be strange if someone walks by.
Who cares? I care! Why do I care? Just close it!
You can’t close it; you’re in your underwear!
And if the door is closed, you might…do…
something. Here is the situation: I’m in my underwear in my room with Quinn, and my alcohol-laden inhibitions are low, low, low.
It’s like closing yourself up in a Godiva chocolate shop; of course you’re going to sample something.
Don’t sample anything! Don’t even smell anything!
If you smell it, you’ll want to try it. Don’t smell him anymore— No.
More. Smelling. I hope he doesn’t see the empty bottle of wine…
Put some clothes on. Is it weird if I dress in front of him? I want some chocolate. Ah! Clothes!!
Finally, the door closed even though I hadn’t made a conscious decision to do so.
I took a steadying breath then turned and followed him, trailing some distance behind and crossing to the opposite side of the room from where he was currently standing.
I spotted my workout shirt on the bed and attempted to put it on surreptitiously.
Quinn’s back was to me, and he seemed to be meandering around the space; he didn’t appear to be in any hurry. He paused for a short moment next to my laptop and stared at the screen.
He looked lost and a little vulnerable. Smash, smash, smash
I took this opportunity to pull on some sweatpants and a sweatshirt from my suitcase. The sweatshirt was on backward, with the little V in the back and the tag in the front, but I ignored it, grabbed my jacket from the closet behind me, and slipped it on too.
He walked to the window and surveyed the view as I hurriedly pushed my feet into socks and hand-knit slippers, given to me by Elizabeth last Christmas.
I was a tornado of frenzied activity, indiscriminately and quietly pulling on clothes.
I may have been overcompensating for my earlier state of undress.
However, it wasn’t until he turned toward me with leisurely languid movements that I finally stopped dressing; my hands froze on my head as I pulled on a white cabled hat, another hand-knit gift from Elizabeth.
Quinn sighed. “I need to talk to you about your sist…” But then he stopped speaking when he lifted his gaze to me.
His features, shaping into something resembling dumbfounded astonishment, were cast in a warm glow from a nearby lamp.
He looked earnestly surprised and a little boyish. Smash, smash, smash.
His mesmerizing eyes narrowed as they looked over my now completely covered form; the only skin showing was that of my face and hands.
If I’d been thinking clearly and soberly, I might have felt ridiculous.
Instead, as I was most definitely not thinking clearly and was most definitely not sober, I was cursing myself for leaving my gloves in Chicago, and I was looking for my glasses.
He shifted on his feet, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and studied me with open and growing amusement. “Are you going somewhere?”
I swallowed and tried to shrug, but the movement was lost under the layers of clothing.
“Yes.” I lifted my chin, feeling suddenly hot, which reminded me of how hot it was outside, even at 9:30p.m. I then quickly amended.
“No.” I lowered my hands from the hat on my head and tugged at the sleeves of the jacket. “I haven’t decided.”
He tilted his head just so, his mouth tugging upward on one side, and then he slowly, slowly started crossing to me like he was stalking prey; like he was afraid sudden movements might send me into another tornado of clothing myself. “Where were you thinking of going?”
“To gamble,” I blurted. It was the only thing I could think of in my slightly imbibed state; after all, we were staying at a world-famous casino in Las Vegas.
“Really?” he asked conversationally, like I was telling him about a good bargain down at the Save-A-Lot. “What were you thinking of playing?”
“Poker.” I wanted to cross my arms over my chest, but due to clothing, boobs, and a lack of coordination, I encountered too much bulk; my movements were restricted.
“Poker.” He nodded once, holding me in place with a clearly skeptical if not entertained expression. “Is it very cold—this place where you’re going to play poker?”
Without me really noticing, he’d crossed to me. One moment Quinn was at the far side of the room by the window, and the next moment he was standing directly in front of me with no more than three feet of air and clothes separating us.
“N-no—not necessarily. I just wanted to be prepared.”
“Prepared for arctic temperatures?”
“Prepared for any eventuality.”
“Like what? Poker in a freezer?”
“Like strip poker.” I said the words before my brain thought them and, due to his proximity, I saw something the opposite of calm flash behind his eyes.
I chewed on my top lip to ensure I didn’t say anything else.
I knew that my own eyes were overtly large, and watchful, and very repentant for the most recent sounds of my mouth.
Quinn swallowed, and his expression had changed: less teasing but no less intense. “We could…” His gaze flickered to my lips then settled on my forehead. “We could play strip poker here.”