Page 57 of Mine

“I hardly doubt there’s anything fresh off the grill in this thing.”

Quentin’s grizzly laugh ticked Phoebe, and she side-eyed him.

“Just go with me, lady love. I promise to feed you right tonight.”

For some reason, that sentence passed Phoebe in a non-nutritional type of way. At least when it compared to food.

“Okay, let’s go.”

“You sure? I’m feeling a little hesitation.”

“I’m fine, just messing with you anyway.”

“Oh okay.”

Quentin knocked on the partition, and seconds later, their door opened. He slipped out first, and Phoebe was drawn into his arms. They left the limo and strolled hand in hand through the back doors, then was escorted to a main hall where restaurants sat in a quiet corner.

“I didn’t even know this was back here,” Phoebe said.

“Nobody knows this is back here, unless you’re VIP of course.”

Phoebe raised a brow. “Are you saying I’m not VIP?”

Quentin chuckled. “Not at all, but you’re not a sports kind of girl, are you?”

“Since you know me so well, you tell me.”

“Hmm testing my knowledge, huh?”

“Yep.”

“All right, I’ll humor you. Kickball was your favorite game of all time. Next to that volleyball, then track. You used to love the Spice Girls until Geri Halliwellleft the group in 1998, in which you swore you would never support anything of theirs again.”

Phoebe chuckled.

“The singer you idolized was Whitney Houston, and you cried like you’d lost a best friend when she died. When it comes to religion, you believe that Christ died for your sins—”

“Our… sins,” she interrupted. “Go on, I couldn’t help myself.”

Quentin chuckled. “That’s what I meant of course; however, you also like some ideologies of the India culture.”

“I swear I’m part Indian, I just know it,” she partly whined.

Quentin smirked. “You can always get a DNA test done to find out your ancestry.”

“I’ve always wanted to do that.”

“We should do it together.”

Phoebe stopped walking and turned to him. “We should, shouldn’t we?”

“Absolutely,” Quentin’s voice bolstered, holding a James Earl Jones beat. “For all I know, I could be an African prince around here.” His intimidation made Phoebe giggled and before long she burst into laughter.

“And I an African princess.” She laughed.

Quentin pulled her in for a hug. “Or a Nigerian princess,” his thick voice drummed.

It made Phoebe shudder, and she pulled Quentin’s face closer to hers. “Or you a Nigerian prince,” she said.

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