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It was the same thing Phil Grayson had said. It was the same words that had been splashed across the front pages of the newspaper. Phoebe vividly remembered the headline and start of one particular story, the one Quentin had texted to her.

Chicago’s Most Notorious Playboy Dating America’s Sweetheart

Quentin Davidson, the city’s most notorious playboy adds yet another notch to his belt with America’s sweetheart Phoebe Alexandria Rose, shocking Chicago’s elite. The kiss they shared at last night’s Chicago Bulls game was epic and sizzled everyone who witnessed it right down to the bone.

“No,” Phoebe stumbled, “of course not.” She pressed her lips together as Quentin’s lazy grin grew.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ve been called worse things,” he drawled.

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

Quentin decided to cut her some slack. “Of course, I knew going to the game would put us in front of the headlines, but I didn’t see any reason to try and hide it. We’re together, it’s as simple as that. I don’t care who knows about it or who has a problem with it.”

That much was clear from the way he’d sucked in her mouth in front of possibly millions of viewers. Phoebe sat back, content in his assurance. Her eyes dropped to the gift sitting in front of her.

“Open it,” Quentin said.

Phoebe smiled gracefully. “Don’t mind if I do,” she said, lifting the small box in her hands. The silk material sat cool in her palm as she made a show of fumbling with the bow to open it. Quentin chuckled, knowing Phoebe was always the kid to rip open presents during Christmas.

Pulling the top off revealed a vintage brass key. Phoebe took her eyes to Quentin. “Is this what I think it is?”

Quentin’s quirky smile drew her in, and a flutter of emotions ran through Phoebe.

“Depends on what you think it is,” Quentin teased.

“Okay for the sake of the theatrics, just tell me,” she said impatiently.

“But you know the answer to your question, so why don’t you tell me,” he said.

Phoebe glanced back down at the brass key. She knew Quentin was a collector of vintage items, including but not limited to his old school cars and art canvas, but also his vintage condo.

“Your home?”

Quentin’s smile reached his eyes as he watched Phoebe’s glaze over.

“I want you to be comfortable on the arm of this notorious playboy,” he teased, “so yes, this is a key to my front door. It’s yours to do what you will with it.”

Phoebe sat in silence for a moment, watching him as her thoughts battled, and her heart rate increased. She tried to gather herself as emotions she’d never known washed over her. For Quentin to give up a key to his front door was epic according to her brothers, the media, and anyone else who were aware of his bachelor lifestyle. But for Phoebe, it warmed her heart and solidified a lingering albeit quiet question: was he serious about her or was this something he would move past quickly?

“You’re serious,” she said as if answering her own question. Quickly, she cut back in. “That wasn’t really a question.” She smiled, still in shock at what most people would feel wasn’t that big of a deal.

Quentin sat forward. “You seem surprised,” he said. “I’ve given you a key to my place before.”

“On my eighteenth birthday,” she whispered, remembering when she’d received the gift. At the time she’d been confused but Quentin had elaborated that if she ever got lost in this big old world, she could always find peace at his place. He’d only been twenty-two, but by that time, Quentin had become so protective of Phoebe that he didn’t see any reason not to give her the gift.

“I never used it,” she said as if speaking to herself.

“I always wondered why.”

Phoebe searched for an excuse. “Um, well, I guess I never thought you really wanted me to show up. That you were just being nice,” she said. Although she’d had several dreams of spending the night at his place, going out for a leisurely stroll, and dining at the finest restaurants as Quentin’s new love. “I didn’t want to come over, and you had someone there, you know.”

Phoebe removed the vintage key from the box and rubbed her thumb over it. It wasn’t a wedding ring, but it was still symbolic in a way only they would understand.

“To give you a key then invite someone over when you could walk in on us is just rude,” Quentin said. “Is that what you think of me?”

“No,” her brows crunched. “I mean, well, maybe then, we were both young so.” Phoebe shrugged.

“But now you don’t?”

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