Then I felt the heat of Quinn’s body and his soft voice near my ear. “Ella, you need to cover up in case some drunk ass busts in here and sees you.”
Like him? Except he didn’t seem at all drunk. He sounded . . . concerned.
I tried shrugging my shoulders but I wasn’t even sure if they’d moved. Before I had time to register my next thought, I felt his rough hands tug down my T-shirt. And then he took a quick step back, like he was afraid I’d think he was fondling me or something.
I laid my cheek against the toilet seat, praying nothing gross was stuck to it, while the room spun around me. Somehow I didn’t even care. I just needed my stomach to stop sloshing around and for my brain to stop feeling like sludge.
Why the hell had I downed that last shot and then chased it back with a beer?
Oh yeah, because my boyfriend was an asshole and had made me feel like I wasn’t even in the room. Maybe it was time I started being more truthful with myself and with Joel. Tell him how he made me feel and how he needed to cut that crap out. I didn’t know why I’d let things that bothered me go for so long.
“I’ll wet a washcloth,” Quinn said. I heard the faucet turn on and a vanity drawer slide open. “Might make you feel better.”
Before I could protest, Quinn clunked down on the tile behind me, and passed me the wet towel. My hand reached back but I had trouble grasping it; I was that squeamish. Instead, a low groan came out of my mouth.
“I’m gonna help you.” His voice was low and raspy, and right then and there I wished this strange meeting were under different circumstances. That I could actually lift my head and look at him. Figure out what he might be thinking. Discover the true color of his eyes. Were they green or copper or a mix of both? Had he thrown on his university ball cap again or was his russet hair a mess of tangles?
I was pretty sure I didn’t need anyone babying me, especially not mysterious Quinn. But I supposed it could have been worse. Jimmy, who always partied hard, might have tried to cop a feel alone in here with me. I didn’t get that impression from Quinn. He was handsome and broody. It always seemed like he had a lot on his mind. Like he was pretty serious about baseball and school. And not about girls or partying.
“Okay?” he whispered. He was waiting on permission to touch me again. And, God, I appreciated that about him.
“Yeah,” I said, another wave of nausea rolling over me. I swallowed the warm bile in the back of my throat and squeezed my eyes shut.
I felt Quinn’s hot fingers lift up my hair and then smooth it from my shoulders. I attempted to hold in a shiver. His heat mixed with my clammy skin made my stomach do weird flips. Next, I felt the cool cloth against the nape of my neck and I let out a deep sigh. It soothed and cooled my skin.
“If you raise your head, I can wipe your forehead, too.”
“N . . . not sure if I can yet.” I swallowed back my nausea.
I felt his breath against my cheek. “Let me do it.”
Why did this suddenly feel too damned intimate? I prayed that I smelled halfway decent and that my makeup was still intact and not beneath my eyes. I’d never been this up close and personal with Quinn and I felt like he could see all of my flaws. Hell, he’d already seen my ass. I wasn’t petite like my two best girls. I had curves. Curves that Joel used to appreciate.
The question was why did I care?
Quinn was only being nice and I was in no state to think it through more clearly. “Okay.”
His large and rough palm slipped beneath my cheek and gently lifted my head. He swiped the cool cloth over my forehead and then down the sides of my face.
“Hmmmm . . . so good.” I sounded ridiculous, but I couldn’t help it. It was nice being taken care of, even if was by a virtual stranger. A cute, mysterious stranger.
“Can you sit up yet?” he asked, sounding a little breathless. “I can help you back to Joel’s room if you want.”
I shook my head a little too forcefully, causing me to pitch forward and dry heave again. I was suddenly glad I hadn’t eaten any dinner. It might have ended up in Quinn’s lap.
“Shoot.” I lay down with my cheek against the cool tile floor. I could feel my T-shirt rising above my hips again, but I just didn’t care. Besides, he’d already seen it all. “I’m just going to stay here for a while.”
I listened to him inhale a lungful of air and then release it quickly. “Um, okay. I’m gonna bolt.”
I heard him stand and mutter, “Fucking Joel,” under his breath. “But I don’t like the idea of you being in here all night. I’m gonna check on you again in a little bit.”
“Wh . . . why wouldn’t you want me in here?” I asked. “What’s the big deal? I’ll be fine.”
“Ella, your shirt’s riding up again.” I heard him struggling for words. “You’re in a house full of horny drunk guys and you can’t stand up long enough to lock the door behind me.”
Crap. I didn’t think of it like that.
“But everyone knows me,” I said, with some effort. “I’m Joel’s girlfriend.”
“Sure.” He took a deep breath like he was contemplating saying something else. And then I heard him pace once, then twice. “No offense, Ella, but Joel doesn’t exactly give the guys the impression that you’re off-limits. Not like Brian does with Tracey. Not like I’d do . . .” Breathe in. Breathe out. “Never mind.”
His words stung. But I wanted him to tell me more. To say everything. “No, don’t stop. Finish what you were going to say.”
“No, I better not.” I heard his hollow steps on the tile floor. “I should go.”
“Wait, don’t go yet.” What was I even saying? “Can you . . . can you wet that washcloth again?”
Why would I want Quinn to stay if I hardly even knew him? And why did he make me feel so protected, more than Joel ever did?
“Sure,” Quinn said, and then swore under his breath. “But, Ella, you’ve got to pull your shirt down.”
My eyes flew open. He sounded like he was struggling to keep himself together. To not have naughty thoughts about me. A strange emotion jammed in my chest. I was affecting have-nothing-to-do-with-girls Quinn? I’d admit, I was curious about his answers when the guys were grilling him at the poker table. Why was he never with any girls?
My hands struggled with my T-shirt. “Is that better?”
I was asking him to look at my ass again? Brilliant.
He let out a shaky breath. “Yeah, better.”
I heard him run the faucet and then sit back down.
“Ready?”
“Yes, please.”
He shifted my hair over my shoulder again and then I shivered against the coolness of the cloth. “Hmmm . . . feels nice.”
I felt Quinn’s fingers shaking and I wondered what the hell was wrong with him.
“Quinn . . .” I rasped out. He didn’t answer me, just remained silent but I could hear his harsh breaths, like it was taking some effort to contain them. Had I done something to upset him? Did he wish he hadn’t stayed?
“I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t have asked you to stay. I just . . .” I struggled to get my thoughts out. “You can leave now. I’ll be okay. You sound . . .”
“No, I’m cool,” he said and his fingers relaxed against my neck. We stayed quiet for another couple of minutes; the only sound was our breaths. It was a comfortable silence and I was glad to not be alone. He dabbed at my forehead and cheeks and then put the cloth back on my neck.
I wanted so badly to continue our conversation from before but I didn’t know him or his moods. Would he get mad if I pushed him about it?
“Quinn. Would you mind . . . if I asked you to finish what you were saying . . . um, before?”
“I shouldn’t have talked about Joel like that,” he said in a rush.