“Can you trust me to pick?”
She shakes her head and names a bottle of wine.
I grab it from the cabinet. Pour two glasses. Bring both, and my plate, to the table.
“Thank you.” Her fingers brush mine as she takes the glass. “And thank you for dinner.”
“Thank you for dinner.” I take a sip of my wine. It’s not my usual drink, but it’s good. Rich and dry with this hint of raspberry.
“You—”
“Say you’re welcome.”
She shoots me a really look.
I shoot it back.
“Okay, it was a joint effort. And you’re welcome.”
“Good.” I bring a scoop of beef and veggies to my lips. It’s fucking great. I was steering sure, but I couldn’t have done it without her. “And you’re welcome.”
Her smile spreads over her cheeks. “You’re ridiculous.”
I shrug am I and take another sip of wine.
She nods you are and holds up her glass. “To team work.”
I toast. “To team work.”
She brings her glass to her lips. “Is that what you want?”
“Huh?”
“Your friends joining us in Vegas?”
I don’t want to give up our alone time, but if this might convince her to stay—”They’re not going to be around the entire time.”
“Oh?”
I nod. “Still going to drag you to our hotel room and fuck you senseless.”
Her cheeks flush. “You promise?”
“Cross my heart and hope to die.”
She motions to the couch. “Could do it now.”
I could. But it’s going to change things. And they’re so good right now. “Could torture you for, well, how long do you want to spend in Vegas?”
“You’re waiting until Vegas?” Her voice drops to a whine.
I shrug maybe I am, maybe I’m not.
Her throat quivers as she swallows. “You’re cruel.”
“Definitely.”
“We could go tomorrow,” she says. “You know, in theory.”
“Don’t you have work?”
“Yeah, but I’m quitting. If I leave early—”
“You’re not capable.”
She shrugs sure I am.
I shake my head. “Quinn, you don’t have an impulsive bone in your body.”
“What if you fuck me?”
“Huh?”
“Then I’ll have an impulsive bone in my—”
“Fuck, angel, that was terrible.”
“I know.” A laugh spills from her lips. “I can’t think. I’m too distracted.”
“Go on…”
She shakes her head. “I’m making you wait.”
“It will be more painful if you keep talking.”
“True.” She takes another sip. Sets her glass down. “I’m flying out Thursday.”
I nod like I don’t have the date and time memorized. “We could leave Tuesday.”
“Two nights and a day?”
“Yeah.”
“Would you rather they come?”
“Angel, it’s up to you.”
“Oh.” She bites her lip. “It might be fun. Like a going away party. Or a—”
“Staying here party.”
“Yeah. Right.” She leans back in her chair. Pulls her sweater a little tighter. “I guess… I only know Griffin, really.”
That’s true.
“So I guess I need your judgment. Do you think I’ll have fun with them?”
“I do.” I hate to admit it (their egos are already enormous), but my friends are fucking amazing.
“Okay. Then I’m in. But our last night—”
“Wouldn’t give it up for the world.”
“Good.” Her smile is soft. Bittersweet. “And, um, after this, um… well, we’re going to watch An Affair to Remember.”
“We’re working our way to the money shot?”
She laughs. “Yeah.”
“How many to go?”
“Three.”
“Including this one?”
She nods.
“Almost there?”
“Yeah. We are.” She says it like she’s talking about the movie, but we both know she’s talking about us.
Chapter Forty-One
Quinn
After, we watch movies until we fall asleep on the couch.
He cooks me breakfast.
I pack. Research Vegas. Head to work.
When I get home, he’s at my front door. Waiting for me. For more.
He shows off the design he’s made for me—a raven haired pinup sitting on a stack of film canisters.
Then he flips the page to show off the stuff he’s been working on for him.
I don’t understand half the drawings. I certainly don’t know anything about color or composition.
But I can see something in them.
Something he usually keeps buried.
We watch old movies until I fall asleep on the couch.
I wake up in his arms with that same feeling of wholeness.
We fix tea and breakfast, part for work, do it again and again.
Everything goes so fast. Packing and shipping my apartment consumes the weekend. Then Monday.
Then all of a sudden, I’m waking up at the break of dawn, meeting Wes’s friends in front of a Santa Monica apartment building, next to a massive SUV.
It’s good.
Like this is a party, not a sendoff.
But, God, it’s still so obvious.
This is either the end.
Or the beginning.
“I’m not sure we’ve met.” A tall guy with light hair and broad shoulders offers his hand.
“We haven’t.” I take it. Shake.
He flashes a million-dollar smile. “Dean.”
“Quinn.”
“Oh I know.” Dean winks at Wes. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Anything I should know?” I ask.
Wes jumps in. “Angel, don’t listen to a word he says.”
“Oh?” I ask.
Wes wraps his arms around my waist. Pulls my body into his. “He lives to start shit.”
“But he wouldn’t repeat lies.” I look to Dean. “Would you?”
“Me? Never.” He feigns innocence.
“My bullshit meter is going off.” A short woman shakes her head. With disgust. No, feigned disgust. She’s already smiling.