The intercom buzzed, and unless someone had sent a Chinese delivery to the wrong apartment, those sounds signified Quinn’s arrival…for our freaking date.
Holy moly.
“It’s Quinn,” he said through the speaker, and I tapped the intercom to let him inside.
I hurried my ass back into my bedroom, my heels click-clacking across the hardwood floor, and took one last look in the floor-length mirror beside the door.
Hair shiny and sleek? Check.
Makeup intact? Check.
Little black dress and heels? Triple check.
It’d taken two hours of fashion analysis to come up with the easiest, most clichéd choice: my one and only black cocktail dress paired with my favorite pair of nude pumps.
Honestly, I still wasn’t certain it was the right choice, but I knew time had obviously run out when two knocks reverberated from my door. I couldn’t dillydally any fucking longer; my date was here.
“Just a minute,” I called out as I practically skidded across the hardwood floor of the hallway and toward the living room.
As I gripped the door handle, I gave myself another two seconds to take a big, calming breath and silently pray, Please let tonight go well.
The instant I turned the knob and opened the door, the nerves in my belly fluttered and flopped around at such an intense pace I felt like squealing. Son of a nutcracker, I was nervous. I hadn’t planned on this much anxiety when I’d initially said yes.
It’s because you like him so much…
Another calming, yet very discreet breath, and I schooled my face into a soft smile. “Uh…hi,” I said lamely and instantly felt like face-palming.
Uh…hi? I was the queen of un-smooth and awkward.
And good God, why did he always have to look so fucking good?
Perfectly kempt yet shaggy light brown hair, those intense blue eyes, and a body that looked good underneath pretty much anything—especially his current choice of casual yet sexy attire of a lilac collared shirt and jeans—Quinn looked good.
And not just good, but good with an extra-long O.
“Hi.” He greeted with a sexy little smirk. “Wow, Kitty Cat. You look amazing,” he said, each word coming out of his mouth at a smooth and steady pace, mimicking his eyes’ perusal.
I didn’t know what to do underneath the intense, warm gaze of those blue eyes of his. So, I did the only thing I could think of. I motioned for him to step inside, the exaggerated movement of my arm more awkward than anything else. A bystander from the hallway probably thought I was inviting him inside for some line-dancing and a good old fashion hoedown.
“Please come in,” I added. “I just need to grab my purse and keys.”
He stepped inside my home, and I wasn’t sure what he could possibly be thinking in that moment.
“So…this is where I live…” I said, and even I could hear the uncertainty and nervousness in my voice. Surely, my quaint little first-floor apartment inside a Hoboken brownstone-style building was nothing in comparison to his place.
I didn’t have to know his net worth to understand a professional NFL quarterback could afford a whole lot more than my humble abode.
Stop being so self-deprecating, Cat.
My subconscious was right. Quinn knew I wasn’t rich and my life wasn’t surrounded by fame. I was a twenty-four-year-old flight attendant. The fact that I’d already achieved as much as I had, all without the help of my parents, and in my early twenties at that, was a huge accomplishment in my opinion.
He looked around my home, taking in the white walls and eclectic yet colorful furniture and accents. A soft smile kissed his lips when he noticed my favorite spot in the entire apartment—the picture wall I’d created. Various, candid photos, all of my closest family and friends, they took up the entire wall space surrounding my mantel.
“I love your place.” Realness and authenticity coated his words like caramel. His eyes met mine, and I shrugged.
“It’s a bit random for some people’s tastes…”
“Really, Cat. It’s fantastic, and I’ve only seen the living room.”
“Thanks,” I said in a small voice, his enthusiasm throwing me off guard a bit.
He smiled, and I strove to regain my equilibrium.
“I’d offer to give you the tour, but I don’t kiss-and-tell or show my bedroom on the first date,” I teased, and Quinn chuckled.
Wait…what? I don’t show my bedroom on the first date?
Where in the hell had that come from? If this date went well, I’d be an idiot not to show Quinn my bedroom.
“I guess I’ll start crossing my fingers for a second date now.”
Giggles left my lips in a wave of melody and amusement. “How about you make yourself comfortable for a minute while I grab a few things?” I suggested and motioned—casually, this time—toward the small white sectional in the living room. “Can I get you anything to drink while you wait?”
Stop being weird, I mentally chastised myself for all of a sudden turning stuffy and formal and silently prayed he hadn’t sensed my weirdness. Although, I knew that was probably an impossible feat, but who knew, maybe the Big Guy upstairs was feeling generous tonight.
“I’m good,” Quinn answered and winked at me over his shoulder. “I’ll just stalk your wall of photos until you’re ready to go.”
I smiled and headed back into the hallway. “You know, you’re surprisingly good at the stalking,” I called toward him once I reached my now-mess of a bedroom.
Clothes scattered across the floor and my bed like rag dolls, it looked like a bomb of H&M had gone off.
Quinn’s chuckle echoed down the hall. “You say stalking, but I say tenacious!”
I grinned, but once my eyes took in the disaster of my bedroom again, it quickly faded. What in the hell had happened in here? It was like I’d deconstructed my entire closet and relocated it to my bed and floor.
I did my best to straighten up—because, yeah, I didn’t know how the date would end—while Quinn remained safely unaware in my living room.
Once I’d tossed everything back into my closet and managed to shut the door, I grabbed my purse, keys, and phone and headed out.
“Okay, I’m ready whenever you are,” I announced as I walked back into the room. Quinn still stood by my picture wall, his eyes intently examining each photo.
“Are these your parents?” he asked and pointed toward a picture from a beach vacation in Gulf Shores. With the sun in our eyes and the beach at our backs, the three of us stood huddled together, smiling down at the camera in my father’s hand. I’d been twenty at the time, still unaware of who or what I’d wanted to be.
“Yep.” I nodded and stepped beside him, my bare arm brushing softly against the soft fabric of his lilac shirt. “That’s Martin and Gail.”
My mother was a beautiful, dark-skinned African-American woman, and my father was the complete opposite—a creamy, white-skinned Irishman. When you put the two together, you got me—a creamy, mocha latte mix of both.
“You’re a perfect mix of them,” he said and glanced between me and the photo. “You have your mother’s lips and your father’s eyes.”
“And a little bit of both when it comes to skin color,” I added with a cheeky grin.
“That too.” Quinn smiled knowingly. “Where did you grow up?”
“A little suburban town known as Mariemont. It’s just outside of Cincinnati.”
“Do your parents still live there?”
“Yeah. They’ll probably never leave Mariemont. I can’t really blame them, though. My parents’ house is adorable, and it’s located in this little ten-mile area where everyone knows everyone. Honestly, sometimes, it was like growing up in Stars Hollow on the Gilmore Girls.”
Confusion slid onto his face, and he quirked a brow. “Gilmore Girls?”
“It’s a TV show… Lorelai… Rory… Wait…” I paused and took in his now more puzzled expression. “You don’t know the Gilmore Girls?”
“Should I know them?”
“Are you kidding me?” I questioned in damn near outrage. “Everyone should know them.” I was only speaking facts. Gilmore Girls was one of the best television series ever made. Hell, I still watched reruns and was waiting on bended knee for yet another season to come out. And spoiler alert: I needed to know what in the hell was going on with Rory’s pregnancy.
Quinn took his cell phone out of his pocket and summoned Siri with two quick taps to the home button. “Siri, add a reminder for tomorrow at four p.m. Title it, Gilmore Girls.”
A shocked laugh left my lips.
“A reminder for Gilmore Girls added to tomorrow at four p.m.,” Siri confirmed, and Quinn waggled his brows toward me. “All right. Now that that’s settled, are you ready for our date, Kitty Cat?”
“You’re ridiculous.” I grinned and shook my head at the same time. “And to answer your question, yes. I didn’t get all dolled up to stand around in my living room and look at old pictures.”
“On the contrary, I like looking at your old pictures, but in the spirit of keeping my gorgeous girl happy, let’s go.” He smiled and reached out his hand, ready to start our date adventure together.
My gorgeous girl? Oh my.
I faltered on my heels a bit, stepping to the side to regain my balance, but luckily managed to pull myself together.
“Okay.” I slid my hand into his, and the instant I felt the warmth of his skin against mine, I couldn’t stop myself from feeling just how good this—Quinn and me, together—felt.
He led us out of my apartment and out the main door and gently helped me into the passenger seat with his hand pressed at the small of my back.
And the entire time, I wasn’t thinking about the fact that Quinn’s version of a vehicle was a decked-out F-150 with black-tinted windows, or the fact that the man sitting in the driver’s seat next to me was an actual celebrity to the rest of the known world.
No. It wasn’t any of those things.
It was the fact that I was going on a date with the handsome stranger from 2A. The one who’d serenaded me on a midnight train to Birmingham, Alabama. The guy who’d inserted himself on to more than one of my flights because he wanted to see me.
Hot damn. Tonight, I was one lucky bitch, and it had nothing to do with Quinn Bailey’s celebrity status. It was just him, and everything that made him the man I was finding out had a heart of gold.
Two hours later, we sat inside a little art studio in New York, side by side on wooden stools, drinking wine from the bottle of Merlot Quinn had brought, and following Stella’s—our teacher for the evening—step-by-step painting instructions.
With purples, blues, oranges, yellows, and reds filling our canvases, tonight, our Paint ’N’ Sip masterpiece was called Times Square.
I had already finished up the billboard portion, but Quinn was a little behind, still focusing intently on the little people filling the sidewalks.
“Psst,” I whispered toward him, while Stella moved on to the taxis.
“What?” Quinn questioned quietly, but his eyes never left the strokes of his brush.
“You’re like way, way behind.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.” I giggled. “Look at mine.”
Considering that Quinn was still concentrating on the pedestrian portion of our painting, the one that had occurred three steps ago, he was most certainly behind. His canvas looked nearly bare compared to mine and Stella’s.
“Is everything okay?” our instructor asked and rubbed a hand across her already paint-covered smock. With her brush still in hand, Stella paused to glance back at the only two people in her studio. Her hair, shades of fire red with wild ringlets, shone beneath the studio lights as her gaze moved back and forth between Quinn and me.
Not only had he planned a date at a painting studio, he’d also rented out the entire place for our session, giving us complete privacy. With the number of Mavericks fans who resided inside the city limits, I had a feeling it was more out of necessity than anything else.
“Yep,” he blurted out quickly. “We’re all good back here.”
I fought the urge to burst into laughter when I glanced at his canvas again.
So bare.
“Okay,” Stella responded. “Just let me know if you need me to slow down.”
Slow down? Quinn probably needed her to start over.
“What made you choose Paint ’N’ Sip for our date?” I asked on a whisper after taking a quick sip of my wine. Hints of chocolate and cinnamon pressed against my taste buds, and I swallowed.
“I got the idea from your Instagram.”
“Seriously?” I questioned, surprised by his thoughtfulness.
Apparently, Mr. Quarterback had not only been paying attention to my flight schedule but my social media too. Most of the things I shared on my Instagram revolved around my own personal sketches, paintings, and pictures of the greeting card line my father and I sold through Etsy. Selfies and personal photographs were pretty rare.
“Yeah,” he answered honestly. “Which, by the way, what is the whole ‘Caterpillar & Co’ thing I keep seeing pictures of on your profile?”
“It’s a greeting card line,” I said with a shrug. “Just kind of a fun, hobby thing my father and I do together.”
“How long have you been doing that?”
“For a really long time, actually. I was twelve when we started it,” I explained and dragged my brush across the canvas in the small, quick strokes Stella had instructed us to do from the front of the studio. “It didn’t start out as a greeting card line, though. It just sort of evolved into it.”
“Consider me intrigued. How did Caterpillar & Co start?”
“Well…my father runs the post office where I grew up, and I used to help with all of the Dear Santa letters that came through. When I was twelve, I’d pretty much made it my mission to answer every Dear Santa letter the post office received. I don’t know, I guess a year or two after that, once I’d started taking art classes at the community center up the street from the house, it had all just kind of turned into greeting cards. And the rest is history.”
“And Caterpillar? Is that a nickname?”
I nodded. “My dad called me that a lot when I was a kid. Hell, he still calls me that now, and I’m twenty-four.”
“I guess there’s just something about you,” he said with an indulgent smile, and his eyes brightened with warmth. “You’re just so damn cute and adorable. It’s impossible to not want to give you a nickname.”
“Yeah…Kitty Cat…kitten… Surely, there won’t be any more, right?” I teased.
His smile grew wider. “Only time will tell, I guess.”
“I should come up with a nickname for you.”
“Do your worst,” he said through a chuckle, and his eyes locked with mine. “I’ll eat anything you dish out with a spoon and a smile.”
I had no response to that, only a soft laugh and a shake of my head.
“Okay…” Stella’s voice grabbed my attention, and I looked toward the front. “Before we move on to the skyscrapers, make sure you refill your blues and reds if you’re running low.”
Several minutes of focus passed, and I’d lost myself in the strokes of my brush as I added softened hues of red to create a dramatic shadow.
Once I’d managed to lay the foundation for my skyscrapers lining the street, I paused my painting and just watched Quinn for a few moments. He was still crazy behind but appeared unfazed by that fact.
So, while he painted, I watched, taking in the focus etched on his face. Lips firm in determination, he furrowed his brow, and a slight wrinkle formed above his nose.
Even superfocused, he was handsome.
Not to mention, he’d taken off his long-sleeved collared shirt and was now just painting in a white, cotton T-shirt that revealed enough of his biceps for me to be reminded that his body was ah-fucking-mazing.
All those hours on the field and in the gym had obviously paid off.
The muscles of his arm rippled and flexed as he moved his brush across the canvas. I licked my lips and silently wished I could take a taste. Hell, if we weren’t in the middle of a Paint ’N’ Sip, I might’ve actually attempted it.
“Stop watching me,” he whispered mid-stroke, and I just grinned—half dazed and drunk off of my prolonged ogle time.
“I can’t help myself. You’re so…” Hot…sexy…lick-able… “Focused.”
Yeah. Focused. That’s exactly what you were just musing about…
“Because I’m painting a masterpiece here, Kitty Cat,” he said, and his brow furrowed deeper.
I wondered if his sports fans were familiar with that determined face.
“Is this what your ‘O game face’ looks like?”
Instantly, he stopped painting and turned to face me. “My what face?”
“You know, your O game face,” I repeated. “The face that your sports fans probably know all too well.”
“I’d be surprised if my fans know what my O face looks like, but my game face? Yeah, they probably know that one.”
“That’s what I said.”
“No,” he said through a chuckle. “You said O game face.”
I snorted in shock. “No, I didn’t.”
Holy hell, I’d just said O game face? Was that some kind of Freudian slip?
It’s probably because all of the sex and licking thoughts you’ve been having since this date started…
Quinn gazed at me with a smirk kissing his lips.
“Shut up,” I muttered, but he only smiled wider. “Oh my God. Stop smiling at me like that.”
“Is everything okay?” Stella questioned. “Are you guys good to move on to the next step?”
“Yep,” Quinn answered for both of us, even though I hadn’t even added my taxi cabs yet, and he was still stuck on the pedestrians.
While Stella started instructing us on how to properly paint the evening lavender sky, my painting partner just kept smiling at me, his eyes glimmering like diamonds beneath the studio lights.
“What?” I asked once I started to feel awkward underneath his intense gaze. For lack of anything better to do, I lifted my wineglass from the table and distracted myself with a sip of wine.
He brushed his finger down my cheek. “Thanks for coming on this date with me, Kitty Cat.”
My heart pitter-pattered inside of my chest.
“Thank you for inviting me on this date.”
“Can I ask you something?”
I set my brush down on my easel. “Of course.”
“Tonight, after I’ve finished this masterpiece that you can hang on your mantel…and I’m walking you to your door…” He paused, and I waited with bated breath for him to finish.
“Yeah…?”
“Can I kiss you, Kitty Cat?” he asked on a whisper, and a sharp gasp escaped my lungs. He leaned forward, and with his gaze holding mine, he quietly added, “I need to feel how soft those perfect lips of yours are. They’ve been driving me crazy all night.”
My skin flushed from the heat permeating his words. I blinked, but it wasn’t a quick blink, it was a long, slow, trying to digest his words kind of blink.
Holy hell. And yes, please.
“Okay.”
One corner of his mouth reached up toward his cheeks. “Okay?”
“Yes.” Apparently, one-word answers were all my brain could handle in that moment.
“You’ll save a kiss for me, then?”
“Uh-huh.”
He just smiled in response and ran one lone finger slowly up the skin of my bare thigh. In rapt attention, I watched its ascent up-up-up my thigh, until it reached the hem of my dress. But instead of going farther, he pulled it away, picked up his paintbrush and resumed his painting.
Holy water in a petri dish. I fought the urge to moan out loud.
Thank God Stella was only one more step away from finishing up Times Square.
Just as Quinn pulled in front of my building, the clock on the dashboard clicked over, the neon green numbers glowing midnight. I’d been focused on the fucking time ever since he’d brought up the whole kissing thing.
And believe me, it’d felt like a snail, inching by at a sluggish pace.
It’d taken Stella a whole thirty minutes to finish up the final step for our Times Square painting, and then another thirty minutes for Quinn to catch up on all the steps he’d missed.
Although, I had to give it to him, his final product was pretty fucking adorable.
The people in his painting were us. And the billboards were all variations of Cat, Kitty Cat, and actual pictures of cats and kittens.
He’d joked about me hanging it up on my mantel, but I so totally was. The fact that it was the first thing I grabbed for when he put the car in park was proof of that.
With his hand on the small of my back, Quinn gently helped me out of his truck and up to my front porch. He nodded toward the painting—his painting—that I carefully set down by my door.
“Are you really keeping that?”
“Of course I am,” I answered instantly, nearly offended that he even had to ask that, and he grinned.
I probably should have said something witty and cute and adorable in that moment, but my mind was far too busy going through my mental “Are you ready to have sex with Quinn?” checklist.
Sexy underwear? Check.
Legs shaved? Check.
Horny? Triple-Triple-Check.
Surely, the odds were really, really fucking likely that tonight, we’d end up inside my house, on top of my bed, and completely naked.
Normally, I would be a little hesitant over that fact, moving so quickly on the first date, but when it came to Quinn, I was ready to throw caution to the wind. And most importantly, I was ready to experience that kiss he’d asked me for.
“I had an amazing night with you, Kitty Cat.” He reached out and slid his fingers into my hair, tucking a few loose locks behind my ear.
“I did too.”
We should totally kiss over how amazing it was…
“No regrets?” he asked with a smirk, and I shook my head.
“No regrets.”
“You should always live your life to avoid regrets, Kitty Cat,” he mused. “You know, when I was twelve, my dad gave me the best advice I’ve ever been given. And it’s prevented me from a lot of regrets.”
“And what advice was that?”
“It only takes one minute of bravery. One minute of insane, embarrassingly crazy courage to change your life. Sometimes, it only takes that one minute for something great to happen.”
I scrunched my nose in confusion at his sudden, serious change of pace, but he continued on.
“I’ve used that advice three times in my life. The first time, when I was in high school, and it was that advice that helped me play the game of my life in front of a college scout for the University of Alabama. The second time, I was in college, and it ended in a National Championship,” he stated and then paused.
Wait…that’s only two…
“And the third?”
“I was on a midnight train to Birmingham, and I ended up serenading the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
He stole breath from my lungs, and I had to avert my eyes from his intense gaze for a brief moment because those words made me feel too vulnerable.
But carefully, tenderly, he slipped his index finger under my chin and lifted my eyes to his. Hesitantly, I looked up at him from underneath my lashes and the swirls of emotion I saw there urged a soft gasp from my lips.
Lust, desire, need. No doubt they mirrored mine.
“And do you know what right now is?” he asked, his voice quiet but his words vibrating with intensity.
“What?”
“The fourth time.”
He didn’t give me time to ponder it further. Between one breath and the next, Quinn wrapped his arms around my body and pulled me toward him.
Warm, oh so soft lips pressed against mine.
I was completely unprepared. You would’ve thought that after spending an entire evening with Quinn—watching him talk and laugh and smile—that I would’ve known all there was to know about his lips. But I hadn’t imagined how perfect they would feel pressed up against my own.
My eyes widened, and it only took me about one second to fully realize that Quinn was kissing me, and another 0.8 of a second to understand that I was most definitely kissing him back.
Fluttering my eyes shut, I savored the feel of him. His mouth was so warm and the caress of his lips softer than I could have imagined. I opened my mouth with a low moan, and instantly, our kiss turned hungry.
Liquid warmth spread through my body as his fingers moved into my hair, gently holding me closer to him while his mouth danced with mine.
I slid my hands up his stomach, his chest, until my fingertips caressed the smooth ripples of muscle covering his shoulders.
The kiss was long and his mouth was hot and my heart was pounding. It obliterated every thought. For the first time in forever, my mind was locked into the present. The usual worries of the day evaporated like a summer shower on a hot car.
I had no other wish but for the kiss to never end.
A kiss like this should never have an ending, only a beginning, and a promise of much more to come.
I was drunk on endorphins, my only desire to touch him, to move his hands under my dress and feel him touch me. I moaned when his hands moved down my shoulders, my back, until they caressed the curves of my ass.
Instantly, my breath quickened, and my thighs grew damp with arousal.
Yes. Please. Touch me.
I wanted his fingers under my dress, beneath my panties, inside of me. I was ready to drag him inside my house, give him the official—and naked—tour of my bedroom, and spend hours upon hours worshiping his insanely muscular and fit body.
But he surprised me, knocking my equilibrium straight out of whack.
Instead of urging us further, Quinn softly ended the kiss. He pulled away, resting his forehead against mine. Our breaths mingled and danced as we both fought to slow our heartbeats and erratic pants.
“That was…perfect,” he whispered.
Yes! Let’s keep doing that…
“It was.”
“Tonight was perfect.”
“It was.”
It really was. But God, I didn’t want it to be over yet. I wanted more.
He pressed his lips to mine again, but before I could start getting excited over the prospect of more, he pulled away.
What is happening?
“Sweet dreams, kitten,” he said, and before I could process the fact that we weren’t going inside, Quinn pressed a soft kiss to my forehead and added, “I’ll call you tomorrow after practice, okay?”
“Okay,” I muttered and had the insane urge to shout, “Wait! Come back and have sex with me!” from my front porch. But I reeled in the crazy—and the horny—long enough to force myself back inside the house once I saw he’d made it safely to his truck.
That kiss. What in the fuck was that? And more than that, how in the hell had Quinn Bailey gone home after a kiss like that?
With my back resting against the door, I stared into the empty, dimly lit hallway of my apartment, confused, and if I was being honest with myself, really fucking disappointed.
I had been all kinds of ready to do a whole lot more than just kissing with Quinn Bailey.