It was midday, which meant it was the worst time to arrive at any airport inside any city in the entire world. Nikki, Casey, and I exited our plane and headed toward the next gate of departure. Fluorescent lights from the ceiling guided our path with a breadcrumb trail of yellow and white hues.
I pulled my phone out of my pocket and checked the time.
1:04 p.m.
We had an hour until we’d need to board our plane and get ready for our next departure out of Birmingham.
This time, though, we weren’t going to New York. Well, at least not on this leg.
All three of us were at the beginning of a five-day stretch, with four overnights scheduled at various airports throughout the South and Midwest. Atlanta, Louisville, Chicago, and Detroit. Those cities would be our home away from home for the next week.
“I’m famished,” Casey said and abruptly swerved right, his black loafers tip-tapping in the direction of the food court. “I need to eat something substantial or else you girls are going to have to carry me on to the plane.”
Nikki and I followed his lead, not even questioning his motives. When Casey was hungry, it was always in your best interest to go with the flow and give him the time he needed to choose his next meal.
Otherwise, he’d go Diva Smash and start demanding candy bars while simultaneously whining about anything and everything.
Trust me, it was a situation that needed avoidance.
Our terminal had the usual hustle and bustle of midafternoon on a Monday.
Airports, no matter what city or country they were located in, encompassed the same vibe—plasma screens with arrival and departure times covering the walls, people—excited, bored, and half-asleep—waiting at their gate with their suitcases and baggage resting beside them, and a cacophony of sights and sounds that provided the background music, all revolving around one thing: going somewhere.
A sea of faces that moved in an unseen current, flowing like water to their destinations and creating a wide river down the aisles. Small groups sometimes stopped and caused an eddy, but the others kept the current moving, flowing around the outside and continuing on their way.
Once Casey spotted the Great American Bagel shop, he became a man on a mission, swerving through the crowd and heading straight to the counter.
No doubt, his sights were set on a chicken salad bagel. He went nuts for anything chicken salad, especially if it was placed on a lightly toasted sesame bagel.
“Want anything?” he questioned over his shoulder before giving his order to the lady at the counter.
“I’m good. I packed my lunch today,” Nikki answered, and Casey redirected his gaze to me.
“No thanks,” I said and pointed toward the Hudson News Shop. “I’m going to run over there real quick and grab an US Weekly or something equally gossipy to read.”
“Grab me a Cosmo?” he asked.
“Sure thing.” I nodded. “I’ll meet you guys at the gate.”
Once I stepped into an empty Hudson News, my eyes quickly located the book and magazine section—an entire wall full of every popular magazine in circulation. For a little airport store, they had a nice selection, even organizing their books and magazines into genres with staff recommendation cards.
As I reached out my hand to grab the newest issue of Cosmopolitan for Casey, I paused mid-movement when a set of familiar blue eyes stared back at me from the cover of a magazine. Sports Illustrated, to be exact.
Instantly, I redirected my hand and pulled the sports magazine down from the rack.
With both hands clutching the magazine, I stared down at the cover graced with a closeup view of Quinn’s handsome face—black paint smeared below his eyes—shielded behind a football helmet.
The Quinn Bailey Connection: A Champion on and off the Field.
Get to know the best quarterback in the league,
and find out why his Mavericks are our Super Bowl pick this year.
It was surreal seeing his name and face on one of the most popular sports magazines in the country. Hell, for all I knew, it was a worldwide publication.
I flipped through the pages until I found the six-page spread with Quinn’s interview, more pictures of him on and off the field, and the sports magazine’s Super Bowl predictions for this year. Which, out of ten analysts, eight of them voted in favor of the New York Mavericks bringing home the championship. And every single one of them attributed that possibility to Quinn’s quarterbacking abilities.
When my eyes caught sight of a photo with Quinn’s back to the camera, his body clad in football pads, helmet, and Mavericks uniform, my brain fixated on the thick, veiny muscles of his forearms until it moved down to his strong hands.
I knew those hands. They’d touched every inch of my body.
Images of hot kisses and greedy touches and soft caresses filled my head, and I pretty much lost myself after that, floating inside the memories of spending an entire night wrapped up in Quinn.
Our first night together had been engraved inside my brain, painted on my skin, every little moment memorized to the point of obsession.
My skin hummed and vibrated with cravings for more.
More Quinn. More nights like that. Just more.
We’d both been busy, too busy since that night a week ago, and I’d only gotten to see him one night in the entire seven days. And trust me, after you’d had Quinn Bailey inside you, once a week wasn’t enough.
“No doubt, Bailey is going to get a Super Bowl ring this year.” A voice pulled me from my daydreams, and I looked up to see a young, twentysomething guy standing behind the counter of the store. He nodded toward the magazine in my hands. “Are you a Quinn Bailey fan?” he asked, and I internally smiled at his question.
Does having his dick inside me make me a fan? I thought sarcastically, but luckily, I cut off the signal from my brain to my mouth before offering up that information to a complete stranger.
Instead, I just shrugged. Sarcasm was better in secret anyway. “He’s all right, I guess.”
“Just all right?” the guy, whose name tag read Devon, questioned in outrage. “Homeboy broke league records last year with his laser-sharp arm. And that was before the postseason.”
I smiled at his words, and my heart twitched inside my chest as it grew bigger with the intensity of my pride. I was honored to know Quinn. In that moment, with a magazine spotlighting his career in my hands, everything he’d accomplished settled inside me with undeniable clarity. After getting to know the man behind the football persona, I knew, without a doubt, he deserved all of the recognition he received.
“I take it you like Quinn Bailey,” I responded, and Devon grinned from ear to ear, pointing toward himself proudly.
“You’re looking at one of his biggest fans right here.”
“Is that right?” I asked and refocused my attention on getting the things I actually needed.
“Yep,” he answered. The honesty in his voice rang clear. “In my eyes, Bailey is a legend. The best quarterback that’s ever lived.”
I grabbed Casey’s Cosmo off the rack and an US Weekly for myself, headed toward the counter, and set my magazines—including the Sports Illustrated—onto the glossy white surface. Just before Devon started ringing up my goods, I spotted Twizzlers on the candy rack down below and snagged a pack for Casey and added them to my items. “So, do you ever go to the Mavericks’ games?” I asked as he started to scan my goodies.
“Ah, man, I wish.” He sighed a disappointed breath. “Game tickets are expensive. Flights are expensive. Hotels are expensive. Hell, pretty much everything is expensive,” he said with a chuckle. “Plus, I don’t think my car would make it all the way to New York.” He placed my magazines and candy into a plastic bag. “What about you? You ever see QB play live?”
I shook my head. “I’ve never been to a game. Hopefully, this year I’ll go.”
“You live close by?”
“I just moved to New York, actually. So, no hotel or flight necessary,” I added with a grin.
“You work for an airline,” he mused. “It shouldn’t matter where you live, you can probably get your flights for free.”
I laughed. “Yeah, I guess you got me there, huh?”
Once I swiped my credit card, I slid the bag over my arm and leaned my hip against the counter. “If you could say anything to Quinn Bailey right now, what would you tell him?”
Devon thought it over for a minute. “I guess I’d just wish him luck this year. And let him know that that seventy-three-yard throw to Phillips in the last twenty seconds against Baltimore was the single best play I’ve ever seen.”
“Seventy-three yards?”
I was no expert in distance, but that sounded pretty damn far.
“Seventy-three yards and Phillips had triple coverage. Bailey is a fucking monster out of the pocket.”
I had no idea what out of the pocket meant, but I chose to keep my mouth shut and not reveal my idiocy on football-related topics.
While Devon filled my ears with another play-by-play of another “seventy-yarder by Quinn” my phone pinged in my uniform pocket. Discreetly, and without disturbing Devon’s man-crush gush session, I pulled it out and checked my inbox.
Quinn: I just left a shop called Bath & Body Works with a bag full of Citrus Explosion. That place is nuts, by the way. Everything smells like fruit, and the ladies working there never stop smiling. I think they might all be high from the fumes. What are you doing right now, kitten?
Citrus Explosion. I nearly burst into laughter at the memories those words brought to the surface. Not to mention, the hilarity an image of him standing inside of Bath & Body Works and shopping for hand sanitizer provided.
Me: LOL. I love that you just went to Bath & Body Works and actually purchased something. And, you’ll never guess what I’m doing right now…
Quinn: Are you doing the same thing I’m doing right now?
Me: I don’t know. What are you doing right now?
Quinn: Thinking about the two best nights of my life (so far) and how much I miss you.
He misses me? I swooned.
Me: Besides those two things. ;) I miss you too, by the way. <3
Quinn: Glad I’m not the only one. :) And I give up. What are you doing?
Me: I’m currently in the Birmingham airport talking to your biggest fan.
Quinn: My biggest fan?
Me: His name is Devon, and he works at the Hudson News shop in Terminal C.
A minute later, my phone started ringing, and I almost dropped it out of my hands.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” I apologized to Devon, who had now stopped talking about Quinn’s last season stats and stared at me in confusion. I looked down at the screen to see Incoming FaceTime: Quinn flashing on my screen.
He’s ridiculous. I smiled. I tapped the screen, accepting the call, and crazy curious where the conversation would lead.
“Well, hello there,” I greeted.
“Hey, kitten.” Quinn grinned. “You still with Devon?” he asked and I nodded. “Mind if I talk to him for a minute?”
“Uh…” I couldn’t not smile at his request. “Okay,” I agreed and turned the phone to Devon, who was now standing behind the counter with a still very puzzled look on his face. “This call is actually for you.”
“Me?” he questioned. “You have a phone call for me?”
“Yep.” I nodded toward my phone, which now displayed Quinn’s gorgeous face. “Trust me,” I said, “I know this is all very random, but you want to take this call.”
Hesitantly, he took the phone from my hands, and his eyes flicked down to the screen. Once realization set in, his mouth dropped open, and his bottom lip practically hit the display of Skittles on his counter. “Quinn Bailey?” he practically shouted.
“Hey, man,” Quinn responded with a hint of amusement in his voice. “How’s it going?”
“It’s…uh…great…how are y-you?” Devon asked while his eyes kept moving between the screen of my phone and me.
“I’m good. Just finished up practice. Cat here tells me you’re a Mavericks fan.”
“I’m a…” Devon paused and swallowed hard. “I’m a huge fan. Probably your biggest fan. You’re my favorite quarterback of all time, dude. Seriously. You’re a legend.” The rambling way he delivered his words was downright adorable, and when he lifted up his Hudson News polo to reveal a Mavericks T-shirt underneath, I couldn’t believe the odds of the situation. I’d literally found the world’s biggest Quinn Bailey fan while in an airport shop in Birmingham, Alabama.
“See what I mean?” Devon said and pointed toward his T-shirt. “Big-time fan. I always find a way to support my team.”
“That’s awesome.” Quinn chuckled. “And thanks, man. We appreciate the support.”
“I mean, that pass you threw to Phillips in Baltimore last year, holy fucking shit. It was the best play I’ve ever seen,” Devon said, astonishment in his voice.
“The seventy-three yarder?”
“Hell yes! Phillips had triple coverage. My mind was blown when I saw you guys pull off a win like that in the last twenty seconds of the game.”
“Good thing Phillips’s hands are sticky like glue,” Quinn mused. “That bastard can catch anything.”
“You guys are going to win it this year. I just know it.”
“Can you do me a favor, Devon?”
“Anything,” the adorable superfan responded, and I believed him. He looked so amped up that he’d probably run through the airport naked if Quinn asked him.
“Grab a pen and paper.”
“Okay,” Devon muttered as he hurried to find something to write with. He damn near knocked over the candy display when he snagged a pen out of a mug near the register. “Okay, I’m ready,” he said once he’d set a blank piece of paper down on the counter and looked at the screen again.
“Write down this email address,” Quinn instructed. “J-i-l-l-i-a-n at Quinn Bailey dot com.”
Devon scribbled. “Got it.”
“Now, check the Mavericks upcoming schedule and figure out the date and location that works best for you. Then send an email to that address with your full name, phone number, and game date choice. Oh, and make sure to put the words Unicorn Tickets in the subject line so my assistant won’t miss it.”
“Wait…what?” Devon questioned in surprise. “I don’t understand.”
“I’m making sure one of my biggest fans comes to a Mavericks game this year. Flight, hotel, and food—it’s all on me, dude. All you need to do is get off work, put on your luckiest Mavericks gear, and have an awesome time.”
“Holy. Fucking. Shit. I can’t believe this is happening right now.”
“It’s happening, man. Well, as long as you follow through and send that email.”
“Dude. It’ll be the next thing I do today,” Devon said, his voice equal parts certain and still amazed that this call was happening. “Wow. Just. Thank you. Thank you so much.”
“No, thank you,” Quinn responded. “Consider this thanks for your Mavericks support. All right, man, it was really nice meeting you. Mind handing me back to my girl now? I’d like to chat with her before she has to get on her next flight.”
“You got it, man. And seriously, thanks again. This conversation made my whole freaking life.”
As Devon handed me the phone, he smiled, huge and wide and thankful. “I have no idea how you just managed that. But thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you so much.”
“Drink a beer at the Mavericks game for me, okay?” I said and shot a wink in his direction, and he nodded enthusiastically.
I smiled at his excitement, offered a polite wave of goodbye, and as I turned toward the exit, I brought the screen back to my face. The sight of Quinn’s blue eyes urged my smile to grow. “You’re pretty amazing, you know that?” I asked, and he just shrugged.
“I wouldn’t be anything if it weren’t for fans like Devon.”
“You’re a good man, Quinn. Don’t ever forget that,” I said, sincerity in my voice. “And now I’m curious, what’s with the subject line Unicorn Tickets?”
A soft chuckle slid past his lips. “It’s a little inside joke with Jillian. The first time I did something like that, she got all pissed and said, ‘What do you think happens when you offer shit like that? A fucking unicorn just magically makes it happen?’”
“So now, of course, you can’t stop yourself from calling them unicorn tickets.”
“Exactly.”
“You’re such a smartass,” I said through a laugh. “It’s a wonder she can deal with you on a daily basis.”
He just grinned. “So when do I get to see your beautiful face again?”
“Right now.” I fluttered my eyelashes and winked.
“I mean, in person and preferably naked,” he said, and his voice grew deep with anticipation. “I need more, Kitty Cat.”
More. It was my sentiments exactly.
“Well…this is the first of five days on the road so…”
“Fuck.”
I nodded in confirmation. “Yeah. I know. It’s a real bitch.”
He paused for a moment before requesting, “Promise me something?”
“Anything.”
He grinned at that. “Send me your flight info for day five and let me pick you up from the airport.”
I scrunched up my nose. “But I usually just take the employee shuttle…”
“Kitten, promise me.”
How could I say no to that?
“Okay. Promise.”
“All right,” he said, satisfaction in his voice. “I’m going to let you get back to work. Call me when you make it to your hotel in Atlanta tonight?”
“You got it, bossy pants.”
He winked one blue eye at me. “You can bet that delectable little ass of yours that I’ll show you just how bossy I can be in five days.”
Oh, yes, please.
A soft moan escaped my lips before I could stop it. “Promise?”
Quinn groaned. “You’re driving me crazy here, kitten. How’s a man supposed to focus on football?”
“I’m sure you’ll find a way,” I teased. “Bye, Quinn.”
“Bye, Kitty Cat.”
The instant I disconnected the call, I realized I still hadn’t thought of a clever nickname for him. I mean, how in the hell could I find a nickname for a professional quarterback whose initials were literally QB?
It was difficult, to say the least.
With a brain full of Quinn, I click-clacked my navy pumps toward my gate. I took a quick glance at my watch and saw I still had twenty minutes before we’d have to board our plane and get ready for the flight.
I found Casey and Nikki sitting in the polyester upholstered seats closest to the currently empty gate agent’s desk.
“Girl, where were you?” Casey asked as I set my bags in an empty chair and plopped down beside him. “And what’s got you smiling so big?”
“What? I’m not smiling.” I definitely was. My cheeks were starting to hurt from it.
I blamed Quinn. A man shouldn’t be allowed to be so damn charming.
“You’re totally smiling,” he retorted, and Nikki agreed.
“Like the fucking sun.”
“Whatever,” I retorted for lack of anything better to say. “And I was at the Hudson News store.”
“Did you read an entire book while you were there?”
I rolled my eyes. “I also took a phone call.”
“And who was on the other end of that phone call?” Casey asked, grinning. “Was it someone who just so happens to be a professional quarterback?”
“It might have been someone like that…”
“I knew it!” Casey cheered, and Nikki smiled.
“If you tell me he’s your freaking boyfriend, I might stroke out from shock and happiness.”
“He’s not my boyfriend…” At least, I didn’t think he was.
Wait…is he my boyfriend?
“If he’s not your boyfriend, then what is he?”
“Uh…” I paused, unsure how to answer. “A guy that I’m dating, I guess?”
“That’s the definition of boyfriend, honey!” Casey cackled. “Tell me this, have you guys had sex yet?”
My silence revealed everything.
“Oh my God!” Nikki exclaimed. “You totally had sex with him!” she added on whisper-yell. “Cinderella Lifetime movie marriage, here we come!”
“Girl, that man is six foot six,” Casey stated with wide, shocked eyes. “You had that monster dick inside of you?” he asked on a whisper and proceeded to look around my body like he was inspecting it for something. “Where in the hell did it fit?”
“Oh my God. Stop it, you nutjob.” I slapped his hands away when he started lifting up my arms and investigating my armpits.
Casey just laughed.
“You’re crazy. And being superweird right now.” And I was blushing. Big time.
“I’m just curious,” he said through a soft laugh. “And now, I’m even more curious… How are you going to blow him?”
“What?” I asked on a shout. “What in the hell do you mean by that?”
“I mean, how are you going to blow him? Girl, he’s gotta be huge. No way deep-throating is an option,” he said, but then quickly added, “Although, I bet plenty of women have managed it when they landed Quinn motherfucking Bailey.”
Nikki giggled and nodded her head. “There are a lot of women who would do much more than just deep-throating for Quinn Bailey.”
Blow jobs? Deep-throating? My friends were fucking perverts.
While the two of them went off on a tangent about Cosmo’s latest article related to something called the Grapefruit Technique, I completely zoned out because my brain wouldn’t stop thinking about what it would be like to give Quinn a blow job.
Even though he’d never actually seen Quinn naked, Casey’s words held merit.
Obviously, I was no expert by any means, but I’d seen Quinn naked, and, well…he was pretty fucking blessed in the nether regions. I’d gained quite the plethora of intimate knowledge of Quinn’s dick during our two amazing sex-filled nights.
I’d felt it deep inside of me. I’d cradled it in my hands and stroked. I’d even run my tongue up its length. But I hadn’t fully wrapped my lips around it.
Holy moly, how was I going to wrap my lips around that monster while still managing the whole sucking—and apparently, deep-throating—thing that went along with blow jobs?
It wasn’t that I had never given a blow job. I had. But this felt like approaching the Mount Everest of dicks. I wasn’t sure if my mouth was up to the climb.
And deep-throating? Was that an actual thing?
Did girls deep-throat every time they gave a blow job?
Did they really have the ability?
The last time I’d attempted the illustrious deep-throat, I was a freshman in college, and I’d gagged. Like, a lot of gagging.
And you know what happened when you gagged? Your tear ducts turned into geysers.
I’d basically looked like I’d started crying mid-BJ, and my then-boyfriend, Jimmy Wallace, hadn’t stayed turned on much longer after that.
I guessed dick-themed tears weren’t the most arousing thing.
Most girls could have dug into their bag of sex tricks and found the self-confidence to attempt the blow job on Quinn, but I had no bag. I had no tricks. And the more I thought about it, the more I started to freak out.
I mean, we were dating. We’d had sex. Ah-fucking-mazing sex, at that.
But, eventually, we’d exchange a just oral session or two. It was inevitable.
“Come on, Cat.” Casey’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. “It’s time to board.”
Without a word, I nodded and stood up from my seat. And with my bags in my hands, I followed my friends past the gate agent, down the boarding hallway, and on to the plane.
All the while, my mind was still freaking the fuck out.
Holy shit. How am I supposed to give Quinn Bailey a blow job?
How could I even compare to all of his previous blow jobs?