Page 47 of The Arrangement

I shrugged, stuffing another roll in my mouth. “You’ve eaten half of it, so stop complaining.” He didn’t reply, dark eyes flickering to the TV.

“Thanks for the food, Clark. You didn’t have to.” His deep voice was quiet, and he even looked softer in the domestic scene before me. Sebastian Quinn, in a boxy tee shirt and jersey shorts that were cut wayabove the knee and showed his powerful quads. It took me a bit to remember that the body currently devouring an obscene amount of food and watchingThe Fellowship of the Ring: Extended Editionwas the same one that had fucked me through multiple mind-altering orgasms.

“Oh, this is my favorite part,” Quinn exclaimed, a bowl of lo mein cradled to his chest as he turned the volume up on the monstrosity of a television. The boats floating on the river toward the mighty, ancient statues always made me feel awestruck.

“Didn’t pin you for a Tolkien fan,” I admitted, my stomach full as I relaxed back into the cushions.

Quinn looked offended. “Why?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know, I guess I just never thought about you liking things.” Okay, that was rude, but I literally didn’t know what to say to his question and I honestly didn’t even know why I spoke in the first place.

“Yeah, I get it,” Quinn replied, surprising me entirely. “I mean, we barely knew each other. It’s weird thinking of someone you barely tolerate as a three dimensional person.”

I didn’t know why his words twisted something in my gut, but I knew it had nothing to do with the ungodly amount of sushi I had just eaten.

“Do you?” I asked, barely audible. Quinn turned his attention away from the movie to look at me oddly.

“Do I what?”

“You know, barely tolerate me?” My face flushed at the intensity of his stare and I was more than glad for the dim lighting around us.

Quinn bit off another piece of spring roll, his gaze considering me like he was mulling over what to say.

“You’re tolerable.”

I shoved him, his body nearly unmovable as I grinned, something unwinding in me and relaxing. Between the food, the cake, and the 3-hour and 48-minute movie, my body was languid and comfortable.

It was nearing the end now, Quinn’s giant body curled up against the side of the couch watching in rapt attention while he scraped thelast bits of his second piece of cake off the plate. Our thighs were touching, which was weird because his couch was definitely big enough for both of us to sprawl out comfortably. We’d just…ended up that way. I looked down to where our thighs were touching just as soon as Quinn did. Quickly, I shuffled away, clearing my throat and heart skipping a beat. I tried not to look at him while we watched the movie, how soft he looked. How he was so, so very different than I had thought he would be. Sure, the sex was great but I also liked being around him. I hadn’t planned on that.

I didn’t mean to fall asleep, and I’d always had trouble doing so at other people's homes. Growing up in a hoarder's apartment in New York, I’d learned to sleep lightly. My father had people coming and going at all hours of the day and night, it wasn’t until I was older that I found his mugshot from a state prison for drug possession and trafficking. I had always been nervous around strangers, probably because my dad made me keep quiet and stay in my room anytime someone knocked on the door. I didn’t even do sleep overs after my grandparents took me, so besides living with Dylan? Only my bed, my apartment.

Sleeping at other people’s houses? A no-go.

Until it wasn’t. I couldn't have even made it until the end of the movie, because when I woke up next, I was curled up on Sebastian Quinn’s ridiculous couch, my head cushioned by one of his pillows and a heavy blanket draped over me. The very beginning of morning was streaming into the windows as I blinked awake, still trying to remember where I was.

I sat up suddenly as the front door opened, revealing Quinn still dressed in his sleep pants and a hoodie with a beanie covering most of his errant dark curls.

“I didn’t want to wake you up last night,” he said quietly before setting down a familiar to-go cup on the coffee table in front of me. My brows furrowed as I reached for the hot coffee and looked at the label—vanilla oat latte with one pump lavender, two pumps vanilla and whipped cream.

“You brought me coffee?” I asked, my voice still rough with sleep and confusion.

Quinn shrugged. “You brought me a birthday cake and sushi; it was the least I could do.”

“Oh, was Sarah there?” I asked, sipping my usual beverage, wondering how my best friend reacted when he asked for my normal drink. At eight a.m.Oh shit. My anxiety had just spiked for a moment when Quinn made a face.

“Sarah? The blond that works there? She wasn’t there.” He took his coffee and dropped a bag beside me; I knew immediately from the smell that it was one of the sausage and cheese quiches.

“How did you know how I liked my coffee?” I asked, taking the bag slowly as I watched him pick at the label on his coffee cup.

Quinn’s shoulders tensed for a moment as he sipped his own brew. “I’ve heard you order it a few times.” He looked at me as I eyed him incredulously. “I happen to be an observant person, you know.”

My stomach was in knots and I wasn’t sure why.

Scratch that, I did know why. And somehow that made it worse.

I quickly stood and folded the blanket while he was busy in the kitchen, picking up my coffee and quiche.

“Thank you again for breakfast!” I exclaimed, hoping my voice didn’t betray my nervousness. “And happy birthday.”

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