Page 31 of My Best Friend's Sister

S E V E N T E E N

- Madeline -

“Was that okay for you?” Quinn asked when I leaned back in the booth and rested my hands on my belly.

“It was delicious,” I said, staring at what was left of my burger. “I just don’t have anywhere to put the rest.”

“Mind if I…” He pointed at my leftovers.

“Knock yourself out. I’d rather it didn’t go to waste.” I considered adding that James always finished my food when he and I went out to eat, but it seemed like the wrong thing to say.

“I hope you’re not disappointed I took you somewhere so casual.” He fixed his dark blue eyes on me as he took a big bite.

My stomach flipped. “Not at all. I love casual. To be honest, I was worried you’d take me somewhere over the top for octopus sushi and cocktails named after beat poets.”

He swallowed and eyed his next bite. “Naw. Kerouacs peaked two years ago.”

I rolled my eyes. “So my fears weren’t unfounded.”

“I’d be happy to take you somewhere befitting that first dress you had on,” he said, leaning his elbows on the table. “I just figured after a week of pretentious fashion snobs and pushy photographers, something more down to earth might hit the spot.”

“Are you this thoughtful when you plan outings with your other Tinder matches?” I don’t know why I said that. I didn’t want to think about him matching with other girls.

“No.”

I waited for him to elaborate, but he just kept devouring my sandwich. “Where are you even putting that? I’ve seen your abs and they’re not insulated.”

He laughed. “I can pretty much eat whatever I want.”

“That’s a terrible thing to say to a woman.”

“It’s not a natural gift or anything,” he said, eyeing his next bite. “It’s because of the rowing.”

“The rowing? I suppose it was naïve of me to assume you weren’t into other wacky sports.”

“There’s nothing wacky about rowing,” he said. “It’s serious business.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“Much more serious than the posers who blow their gym time lifting weights and admiring each other’s veins in the mirror, anyway.”

“Not your scene?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I deal with enough guys at work who think they’re God’s gift.”

“And your goofy socks fetish?” I asked. “Is that serious business, too?”

His smirk pulled to one side. “The socks are complicated.”

My brows knitted together. “You have my attention.”

“Well, on the one hand, they’re medicine.”

I cocked my head.

“But they’re also the source of my superpowers.”

I laughed.

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