NO. HAVE YOU lost your freakin’ mind?" I shove my fork into my eggs and take a bite, staring at Quinn like she's crazy. Because she is.
She shakes her head and laughs, which pisses me off even more. "Don't laugh about this, Quinn. This isn't funny. It was embarrassing and humiliating and there is no way I can go out to din—"
"Maybe you're overreacting," she interrupts smoothly, shoving a bite of sausage in her mouth. "Maybe he was nervous. Maybe you came on too strong."
Me? Come on too strong? She's officially lost her damn mind.
"I did not come on too strong. He led me on!" I scoff. "He gave me every signal that he wanted it just as much as I did, and when I finally grew a pair of balls and made a move, he totally shut me down." I know I probably sound like a crazed lunatic and my words are flying out of my mouth faster than I can think them, but I'm genuinely upset about what happened last night.
"Okay. First of all," she says, waving her fork in the air, "don't ever say that again! Balls are not strong. Growing a set of balls will not make you stronger. Now, a vagina, that's strong. Take your vagina, for example. You pushed out a ten-pound baby without a lick of medicine. That," she shoves a bite in her mouth, "is a strong vagina. You’ve got like the superhero of all vaginas!" I'm at a loss for words. Quinn is known for her random rants, but this is way off-the-wall. I keep staring. What the hell do I say to that? She's right. My vagina freakin' rocks!
A deep cough sounds behind me and I turn around to see a woman about my age, slapping her husband on the back. Said husband is looking at Quinn and I with a horrified expression and an extremely red face. I can't help but smile when his obviously pregnant wife slides out of the booth, tosses some money on the table, and high-fives me on her way out of the diner.
I turn to Quinn and her eyes are wide with amusement. We both let out a snort of laughter before she continues. "Anyway," Quinn says, trying to catch her breath, "I still think you shouldn't cancel on him tonight."
It takes me a minute to remember what we were talking about and I shake my head, erasing all thoughts of strong vaginas. "Quinny, if you would have been there—if you would've seen what happened—you'd agree with me. There is no way I can have dinner with him tonight."
She pushes her empty plate to the edge of the table and picks up her cup of coffee. Leaning back in the booth, she pins me with her okay-convince-me eyes. "Tell me exactly what happened."
I tell her all about our conversation at the bar and the game we tried to play. I also disclose the small, emotional breakthrough we had, which ultimately led to our decision to leave the bar and walk home. Then, I give her a quick rundown of the random facts we shared on the way home.
"But it wasn't just what we said, Quinn. He found small ways to touch me or bump into me, and at one point he shocked the hell out of me by wrapping his arm around me and pulling me to his side."
"So? What's the big deal about wrapping his arm around you? How is that leading you on?"
"Well, if you'd stop interrupting me and let me finish, I might get to that part!" I snap. She snorts out a laugh and keeps smiling. Damn her.
"He didn't just pull me to his side. He pulled me to his side and then nuzzled my hair!" My voice is rising with each word, trying to get her to understand that I didn’t misread the situation.
"You're right," she nods, "that was a more intimate move. How did you react?"
The waitress brings back my sweet tea and I chug half the glass, needing my sugar fix this morning since I didn't sleep a wink last night. I take a deep breath and then let everything else fall out.
"I hesitated, for just a second. Then, I thought to myself, 'Why the hell not?' It's no secret I've lost all of my resolve with him. So I figured that if he wanted to take the initiative and get close to me, then I wasn't going to stop him...or myself." I wait for Quinn to respond but she doesn't. Instead, she raises her eyebrows, urging me to continue.
"When we got to my house, he told me he was proud of me and we sort of had an awkward moment. Then, he pulled me into a hug...but it wasn't just any hug, Quinn!"
"Of course it wasn't," she murmurs with a smirk.
"What the hell? What's that supposed to mean?" Now she's just pissing me off. My best friend, who is supposed to have my back, is finding this whole situation funny. It's not funny. I'm hurt and embarrassed, and I need her to tell me I'm not overreacting. I'm half tempted to get up and leave her ass here with the bill, but her face softens and she grabs my hand that is currently balled into a fist.
"I didn't mean anything by it. It's just...this is you and Ty. Harley and Tyson. We've always known this was going to happen. You two are destined to be together and it's finally happening. I'm just so happy for you, Harley." I glare at her, not wanting to respond in fear of giving myself false hope. "I'm going to call you guys ‘Har-son,’" she says, laughing at the name she created before she keeps going. "Ty-ley. Oh...Har-ty!" She thinks she's being funny. She slaps the table and laughs while I keep glaring.
"Sorry," she says, catching her breath and holding her hands up in surrender. "Sorry. I'm a little slap-happy. It was a long night and you got me out of bed way too early. Please continue. What happened next?"
"Well, now I don't even want to tell you." I'm dying to tell her, but I need her to take this seriously. This isn't a game, it's my heart!
"Oh good Lord, Harley, stop being childish and get on with it."
"Fine," I concede. "It wasn't just any hug, Quinn. God, I feel like an idiot saying this, but sparks flew. Like literally flew! As soon as my body touched his, it felt like we were meant to be together and we just...fit. I squeezed him tightly and buried my face in his neck, because the thought of being anywhere else scared the hell out of me. I didn't want to let him go." I swallow hard, pushing back the emotion that starts clawing its way up my throat at the memory of how that moment made me feel.
"I know he felt it. I know he did. Then—and here's the kicker—he buried his nose in my hair, and in a move so sensual and sweet, he moved his hand up my back and held the base of my neck. My neck, Quinn! You don't just run a hand along someone's spine and grip their neck if it's not meant in a romantic way. Right?"
"Right. I can see how you'd think that." She aimlessly stirs her coffee, seemingly unaffected by anything I've said.
"Am I totally off the mark here?"
"Nope," she says with a quick shake of her head, "keep going. Tell me the rest."