Chapter 4

“How long have you been out here?” I asked, quickly pushing him away once my heart jump started.

“Since I heard your bike. I didn’t want to scare you so I didn’t say anything, but I couldn’t help myself once you took off your helmet.”

“Well. You scared me.” I admitted, my cheeks turning red.

“I’m sorry.” He sounded genuine. “It wasn’t my intention.” Slowly, he reached out and rubbed his thumb against the side of my cheek. “You had a little smudge.” He told me. My cheeks reddened even more. It must’ve been grease from the shop. How had I missed that? I felt even more embarrassed. “Shall we go inside?” He asked.

I nodded, eager to be done with this awkward situation. He took my hand and the moment I felt his palm against my own, my heart rampaged. I held onto it tightly as he guided me inside. Suddenly, I didn’t feel like myself. It was like I was no longer in control of my body, following Quin without consciously thinking about it.

“I hope you like steak.” He said as we stepped into the kitchen. I was too preoccupied with the sensation running along my arm and into my chest that I barely noticed the large living room furnished with leather sofas and a seventy-inch flat screen. Inside the kitchen, however, I was floored. It was marvelous, to say the least, equipped with stainless steel appliances and granite countertops that shone brilliantly.

“How can you afford all of this on a trainer salary?” I asked, my eyes locked on the kitchen island with its light oak wood cabinetry and touchless faucet. “This is amazing.”

“Maybe I have other sources of income.” He answered mysteriously as he walked over to the oven and opened it up. A plume of steam rolled out, hitting me in the face. I stepped back as he grabbed the handle of a skillet and placed it on the counter. It didn’t even occur to me that he didn’t have oven mitts on.

“You made steak in the oven?”

“I like to broil them once they’re cooked.” He explained. “Please. Make yourself comfortable. Would you like a glass of wine?”

“Red or white?”

“I have both.”

“White then. Thanks.” I walked to the table and blushed as I saw it was romantically set for two. There were candles and fancy silverware on the table. A bouquet of flowers placed inside a crystal vase. I couldn’t believe that this man had gone through so much trouble just for a date with me.

Cautiously, I sat down, afraid that I might ruin the perfect arrangement. Seconds later, Quin appeared with two plates, setting one down in front of me. “I hope you like your steak medium rare.”

“Yeah. That’s perfect.” I said. The steak was beautiful. It looked tender and crisp. Maybe the secret to making a perfect steak was indeed tossing it in the oven. Complimenting the steak were some fluffy-looking mashed potatoes and peas. I smiled. “This looks really good.”

“I hope you like it.” Quin grabbed my glass and started to fill it with some Don Perignon. The champagne fizzled as bubbles escaped over the glass’ edge.

“I thought we were having white wine, not champagne.”

“Contrary to what most people think, champagne is a type of white wine.” He explained with an air of high class. I blushed at my mistake. “If you’d like, I can open a bottle of chardonnay instead.”

“Oh no. Please, don’t go through the trouble. This is absolutely fine.”

“Are you sure? It’d be no trouble at all.” He assured me, but I shook my head. I didn’t want to make him open another bottle just for me.

“In that case. Let’s eat.” He smiled and sat down on the other side of the table. As he cut into his steak, a puddle of blood gathered at the bottom of his plate. His steak didn’t look medium-rare at all. It just seemed rare. Quickly, I cut into mine and saw that it was cooked to perfection. The outer layer was cooked all the way through and only the middle held a tinge of pink to it.

“You really like your steak rare, huh?” I asked, cutting my steak into small, bite-size pieces, trying to keep my gestures elegant. Even though we were inside this man’s home, I felt like we were in some fancy restaurant where everyone was judging my actions.

He nodded but didn’t otherwise answer. He just continued to eat with an obvious, insatiable hunger. He stuffed his mouth, any hint of his earlier high-class vanishing as he shoveled through his meal. It was like he hadn’t seen food in weeks. His teeth chomped down on the meat, tearing it apart. I started to lose my appetite as I watched him.

Reaching out, I grabbed my glass, about to pick it up when the fine glass shattered under the pressure of my tight grasp. I quickly pulled my hand back. It was already bleeding as the champagne spilled over the tablecloth.

In an instant, Quin was by my side, his hand tight around my wrist. I looked up at him, my heart racing, feeling the grasp of his fingers. “I’m so sorry –” I was going to continue apologizing when he hoisted me off my chair and yanked me toward his sink. His actions were jerky and rough and I had to stumble to keep up with him.

“Quin. You’re hurting me!” Still, he didn’t let go.