Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
I turn the light off in the bathroom on my way out. I’m already dreading going to Quinton’s place, and I haven’t even stepped into the hall yet. With no other reason to drag my feet, I leave the safety of this room behind and venture out into the hall.
Even the halls are mostly vacant, a few students venturing out to study or do who knows what. It’s both convenient and a pain that my new room isn’t that far from Quinton’s. What would’ve been a ten-minute walk has become a five-minute one since moving to this side of the university. No one bats an eye at me over here, and I know it has everything to do with Quinton.
The only one with balls big enough to mess with me was Matteo, and I suspect he knows better than to try anything again. He wanted to intimidate me, but I was over being the girl who hides in her room.
My thoughts waver when I stop right in front of Quinton’s door. There’s nothing to contemplate. I’m going to go inside and see whatever his surprise is, mainly because I have to, though part of me is curious to know what he wants to show me.
With the way things have been between us, I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. Lifting my hand, I knock on the door. The sound echoes back through me. Anxiety bubbles in my belly, and I impatiently move my weight from leg to leg.
The door is jerked open a moment later, silencing my anxiety with Quinton’s huge frame standing in the doorway. His dark hair is wet, droplets still cling to the strands, and I can’t help but drag my gaze over his body, drinking him in.
He’s sharp as a knife, ready to cut your throat and watch you bleed out, while at the same time, he still finds a way to be so breathtakingly gorgeous it hurts.
“I’m glad you came on your own. I was almost worried I’d have to come to your room and drag you here.” He smiles wolfishly—those perfectly straight white teeth of his shine in the light.
“I wouldn’t give you the pleasure of doing such a thing.” I give him an equally snide grin, and he laughs before taking a step back so that I can come inside.
I’m almost ready to ask him what the hell he wanted to show me and why he couldn’t just take a picture and text it to me when my mouth pops open. There are no words for the display of delicious foods that I see on the kitchen table.
It’s like someone took a buffet of favorite Thanksgiving Day foods and put them on Quinton’s table.
Stuffing, turkey, pumpkin pie, potatoes and gravy, and rolls, among other things, stare back at me, waiting to be devoured.
“What do you want?” I ask, whirling around to face him just as he’s shutting the front door.
Nothing is free, not when it comes to Quinton Rossi.
He walks toward me, his lips tugged up at the sides, but not in a conniving way. Instead of saying something snide or funny, he grabs my hand and leads me toward the table.
I’m shocked and a little worried that an alien got inside him and replaced him with someone else.
“Let’s eat and talk a bit. There is no price for a meal that we both deserve. Plus, it’s Thanksgiving,” he whispers into my ear while pulling out the chair for me. “I’m a monster, but even monsters have their own limits.”
This is charming. He is charming. I look at the meal before me and consider my options. There is a cost for everything, and I’m certain this will come back to bite me later, but the smell of the food is almost intoxicating, and it’s been way too long since I had anything close to a family meal like this.
The meal isn’t set up in a romantic way, but it feels intimate, like a date. The thought is ridiculous since I mean nothing to Quinton outside of being his personal fuck toy.
Maybe that’s why this feels weird, because the only times we ever talked are when we’re verbally sparring with each other or when I’m on my back, and he’s inside of me.
He hands me a plate, and I take it, waiting for him to load up his plate before I do.
“Ladies first.” He gestures.
“This feels wrong. We never talk, and we definitely never eat dinner together,” I say while loading my plate up with an array of items from the buffet in front of me.
Even as apprehensive as I am, there is a sort of joy buried beneath it. A joy that Quinton sees me as his equal, that he cared enough to invite me to Thanksgiving, knowing I was going to be alone. His words may show one thing, but his actions show he doesn’t hate me as much as either of us thought.