Page 62 of Loving You

I bet I could touch you, slowly slide my hand between your thighs, and the moment I pressed a finger against you, you’d combust.

Fuck. How long has it been since I’ve hooked up with someone who wasn’t my hand?

Too fucking long if my brain and mouth have decided to just randomly reveal what we’re thinking without debating the consequences first.

I brace myself for the argument I know is about to happen, but all I’m greeted with is silence.

After I pull myself together enough to look up, I find Quinn watching me. Her tongue sweeps out over her lips, and her gaze flickers from my eyes to my mouth.

No. Don’t do that. Don’t look at me like that.

We spend one night drinking beers and hanging out alone, and suddenly, this new tension shows up.

Hell, it’s not new. We’re just behind closed doors now, so it’s heightened.

Fuck.

Me.

“I … I wouldn’t,” she finally says and steps back.

She wouldn’t what? I can’t remember what we were talking about.

I know the words didn’t come out of my mouth, but she still finds a way to read them on my face.

“Combust,” she says with more confidence now. “I would not combust from just one touch. Especially not from you.”

I can’t help but smirk. I might not have meant to say those words out loud, but going by her flushed cheeks right now and the way her words sound all breathy, I’d say I was right.

“If you say so.”

I try not to reveal my smirk as her eyes narrow the longer she stares at me. I shouldn’t enjoy this. Not one bit. I just told her a mere twelve hours ago that she shouldn’t let people talk to her the way she does and here I am, saying inappropriate words and wishing they were actions instead.

Suddenly, the scowl on her face fades and a grin takes over as she rests her hand on my chest.

“I’ll come up with a plan and just fill you in later,” she says sweetly, letting her hand slide across my bare skin as she heads for the door. “Oh, and my family wants us over for dinner later this week.”

She practically slams the door on the way out.

I touch the spot where her hand just was, my body on fire from one simple touch.

Part of me wishes she hadn’t left, and I don’t know how to feel about that.

New office assistant, check. Stack of applications for the shop position, check. Invoices sent to happy customers, check. Shop life is going smoother than usual; check. Does Quinn officially know she’s controlling my summer—check, check, and check.

Only six more weeks to go.

I can do this.

Everything is going to be fine.

CHAPTER TWELVE

QUINN

I’m not okay.

It’s been two days since I marched my happy self into Miles’s house and demanded that he help me set Cherry up with Danny and two days since his hand touched my leg. My thigh. My outer thigh.

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