Liam Davis & The Raven (Love Inscribed 1)

“Didn’t seem to work with Mitch,” I pointed out.

He hurled his sandwich wrapper at my stomach. “You really say what you think, don’t you?”

“Because it’s true.”

Hunter laughed. “Yeah, but sometimes a little sugarcoating or downright fake forgetfulness goes a long way.”

“You want me to forget this thing with you and Mitch?”

“Yeah. Because there is no me and Mitch.”

“Making your own luck didn’t help then?”

“Sure it did. Mitch wasn’t the only one I was making my luck for. He wasn’t even the main one.”

I scrunched my sandwich wrapper around Hunter’s, attempting to mask the warm feeling flooding me. I tried to thank him, but it struggled to come off my tongue so I nodded instead.

“Right,” Hunter said, rolling forward. “Let’s go somewhere I can take my sweater off.”

I dressed in a suit because it was a date, after all. The cuffs were stiff at my wrists, alternating between annoying and, well, pleasant when they tickled my skin lightly.

Quinn stomped around the kitchen, so I decided against blow-drying my hair in favor of giving him a quick greeting.

He stopped abruptly, the milk from his glass splashing on the floor. Placing the newly-emptied glass on the bench, he dropped a dishtowel onto the small puddle and swiped his foot over it, side to side. “Might want to lose the jacket,” he said tightly, his gaze doing the same sweeping that Hunter demonstrated earlier.

“Really?” I asked, veering around him for a slice of bread to pop into the toaster. “Is that why you were checking me out?”

Quinn picked up the dishtowel with a thin laugh and tossed it into the sink. He suddenly appeared right beside me, prying the bread from my fingers. “Why eat if you’re going out on a date?”

“We’re just doing a movie. Then she wants to help out with ideas for my column.”

“Your column? That’s your idea of a date?”

“Well, yeah. We’re going to Jell-O Fight Night just off Fifth. So right now”—I snatched back the bread and popped it in the toaster—“I’m hungry.”

Zing!

The toaster spluttered and sparked and I jerked my arm back.

Quinn swore and pulled the plug from the socket. He twisted me toward him with a tight, panicked grip on my forearms, checking me over carefully. “Are you okay?”

I swallowed. Blinked. “Have I ever told you you’re better than a cat?”

Quinn’s lips contorted into a grin that he proceeded to smother and turn into a frown. His hands moved to my jacket and pinched at the V just above the first button. “Jell-O Fight Night? I thought you wanted some muscle at your side when you went to party?”

“Somehow Jell-O Fight Night doesn’t sound all that intimidating. If you were a mop and a bucket, I might have taken you along.”

“In case you change your mind, I’ll be a phone-call away.” His fingers slid to the buttons, undoing them one at a time.

I let him. I liked watching the slight shake of his hands as he drew his fingers over the material, knuckles scraping gently over the shirt underneath. I shivered at the loss of the touch when he pulled back. “Wear it undone.”

“Thanks for the tip. When are you meeting the cheese tonight?”

He looked at me blankly for a moment, then twisted toward the fridge and opened it. “Yeah, Cheddar. He . . . uh—I mean, we—are meeting soon. What movie did you say you’re going to?”

“It’s that student documentary, Played With. Lost. At the campus theater.”

“That’s a coincidence,” Quinn said, pulling out some lettuce and tomato and moving to the chopping board. “We were planning on seeing that too.”

I tilted my head slowly. “This isn’t you getting jealous, is it?”

He laughed so loudly I had to rub my ears a little. “Nah, just a coincidence. And . . . since neither of us have any pathetic crushes on one another, you won’t mind if we’re there too, right?”

I rested against the bench and passed him the bread when he gestured for it. “Right. I just didn’t pick you for the documentary type,” I said. “You or the cheese. But since you are, would you mind giving me a lift?”

Quinn prepared sandwiches, cutting them neatly down the middle. “You know who might mind? Cheddar. Let me just give him a call and see how he feels about it.” He passed me the plate of prepared sandwiches and darted off to his room.

I stared down at the plate, a solid weight in my hand, just as Quinn was a solid weight in the apartment. I could get used to this. With a smile, I moved to the table and ate.

I sat close to the front of the small, almost empty theater with Hannah, who was a bouquet of smiles and laughter next to me. Behind us somewhere were Quinn and Cheddar, but I gave them their privacy by not looking back.