My phone pinged with a text notification, and I snagged it off of my bed to find a message from Quinn.
Quinn: ETA 5 minutes.
It was the fifth text I’d received from him in the past hour, all of them similar in nature, each one noting an official countdown to his arrival.
Me: Sheesh. Are you in a hurry tonight or something?
If speed to start our date was his motivation, I couldn’t fault him.
After the make-out session we’d engaged in at the stadium, when I’d made it to my home and realized I still a few hours until our date, I’d felt like time had stopped—the hours ticking by slower than molasses sliding out of a mason jar.
Quinn: Just excited to start our second date, kitten.
Ditto, buddy. But seriously, he needed to do less texting and more driving.
I preferred him to arrive safe and in one piece, thank you very much.
Me: Stop texting me while you’re driving!
Quinn: I’m at a stoplight. ETA 3 minutes.
I smiled and hurried my ass into the bathroom for one last glance in the mirror. I’d chosen a more casual approach for tonight, keeping my makeup natural and my outfit—a knee-length, breezy white skirt, lavender tank, and nude flats—cute but comfortable.
Although, with the hopes of sex in mind, I did go all out for the bra and panties that lay beneath my clothes. Thanks to a trip to the mall—which not only was necessary, but served as a nice distraction from time’s snaillike pace—and a hundred-dollar receipt from Macy’s lingerie department, I’d found the sexiest little pink and very sheer silk panties and bra.
Fingers and toes crossed Quinn actually got to see my underwear tonight.
Fuck, he better see my underwear tonight. On me, off me, on my fucking floor.
With a quick flip of my hair to add some extra volume to my natural waves, I added one final coat of hair spray and headed out of the bathroom with my purse and phone in hand.
As Quinn pulled up in front of my building, I beat him to the punch and walked outside. I had my front door locked and was heading down the stairs when he managed to meet me halfway.
“You didn’t even give me time to knock?” he asked, and I grinned.
“I felt like your ETA text messages were code for ‘Hurry your ass, Cat.’”
Quinn chuckled and shook his head. “That’s not exactly the point I was trying to get across.”
I put a hand to my hip in response to his words. “And what point exactly were you trying to get across?”
“Well…” he said and stepped toward me, closing the distance between us. “I just wanted to make sure we didn’t spend too much time inside your house or else…” He paused, and his lips brushed mine.
“Or else, what?”
Quinn’s lip brush turned into a full-on kiss, soft and slow, and my mind danced with memories of the kissing we’d engaged in inside the supply closet at the stadium.
I wanted to experience that brand of kissing again.
Also, a whole lot more that was far, far dirtier.
Wrapping my arms around his neck, I attempted to take it further, pressing my hips against his, but he pulled away, a small, knowing smirk cresting his pink and slightly swollen lips.
“Or else,” he started to finish his original thought, “I was afraid we wouldn’t actually make it out of your house, and we’d have to change our date plans from Plan A to Plan B.”
A little giggle of amusement left my lips. “Oh, so what you’re saying is this ETA business was all for a noble cause?”
He winked. “Exactly, kitten.”
“Well…” I paused and feigned a little frown. “I kind of disagree…”
The skin between his eyebrows creased. “You don’t think I was trying to be noble?”
“No, I think you were being too noble,” I said, and his face lit up like the morning sun—a smile wreathed in happiness, with rays of excitement shining out for good measure. “I would’ve enjoyed the scenario where we never left my house.” The admission felt vulnerable and risqué, but I worked hard not to focus on either. Instead, I pressed a hard, smacking kiss to his lips and let his gaze hold mine. “But let’s stick with Plan A and enjoy our second date together.”
With Quinn’s jaw slack and his eyes wide, I pointedly sashayed my ass toward his truck and hopped into the passenger seat.
That’s right, buddy. It’s on tonight. Tonight, I was Cat Wild, tigress. I would be bold, I would be confident, I would be irresistible. Hear me roar!
He opened my door, I hopped in, and he jogged around the hood to get to his side.
Furrowed brow, firm lips, and that little crinkle above his nose, his face morphed into the focused and determined expression I’d seen at the Paint ‘N’ Sip on our very first date as he settled behind the wheel of his truck. He had his sights set on something. I wasn’t sure what, though.
I silently prayed it was sex. With me.
Me and my vagina, Lord, hear our prayer.
A loud squeal came from the tires as he pulled away from my building and took a right onto the main road, and a couple of pedestrians’ heads popped up to find the source.
Boy, someone’s in a bit of a rush…
“So…uh…where are we headed?” I asked, thrilled by his rushing and trying not to feel like Wonder Woman at being the cause of it.
“To Plan C,” he responded and flashed a grin in my direction. He weaved the truck in and out of traffic, driving a good ten miles over the speed limit but still managing to do it safely and with ease and finesse.
“Plan C? I didn’t even know we had a Plan C.”
How many fucking plans were there? And which ones included the sex?
“Trust me, there’s a Plan C.”
“Mind clueing me in here, Quinn? What exactly is Plan C?”
Is it just me or could we play a drinking game of how many times we’ve said “Plan C”?
“Consider it a combination of Plan A and Plan B.” That was his version of an answer.
Incredulity made me giggle like a deranged chimpanzee. For some reason, tonight, Quinn was allergic to providing any kind of useful information. “Can you at least tell me where Plan C is located?”
“It’s a surprise, kitten.” He shook his head as he took a left turn at a stoplight. “But,” he added and handed me his phone. “Feel free to play DJ while I drive us there.”
“Is there a reason why we’re in such a rush to get to the illustrious Plan C location?”
He winked.
He was acting so weird it was cute.
Choosing patience over nagging, I shrugged and made myself comfortable in the passenger seat while I scrolled through his phone. I smiled when I saw his various playlists related to football: Game Day, Practice, PreSeason, Play-offs, etc. It was a pretty long fucking list, but when I spotted “Bodak Yellow” by Cardi B, I clapped my hands together and tapped play.
With a flick of my wrist, I turned the volume way up.
The speakers vibrated with the bass, and I quickly realized his truck had one kick-ass sound system, Cardi’s voice ringing out crisp and clear.
I sang along, and Quinn’s blue eyes flashed toward me for a brief second as he grinned at me out of his periphery. Me and Cardi B weren’t exactly sisters in sound and appearance, but by God, I was definitely a soul sister. Make that lettuce, Cardi. I loved money and I could make moves.
For the next three minutes of the song, we cruised through the streets of Hoboken, rap music bumping behind the blacked-out windows of Quinn’s truck, headed in the direction of God only knew where.
It didn’t come as a surprise that he sang along to the entire song too, tossing out lyrics like he’d written them himself.
And when that song ended, I chose another; this time, Selena Gomez, “Good For You.”
But the singer or the song didn’t matter to him. Full of emotion, and even hand gestures on display, Quinn sang the opening lines while I giggled my ass off. And, eventually, sang right along with him.
We’d only managed to get through three more songs before he pulled into a McDonald’s parking lot and got in line for the drive-thru.
“What sounds good, kitten?” he asked, and I sat up a little in my seat, glancing around the parking lot.
“Huh?”
“What sounds good to eat?” he repeated, and I scrunched my brows together, still surveying the parking lot beneath the famous golden arches.
“This is Plan C?”
“It’s not all of Plan C,” he comforted, and a laugh flew from my lips.
“We’re eating dinner here?”
“Yep,” he answered but then closely assessed my face. “Is that okay with you?”
Was it okay with me?
They had McFlurries here. Of course, it was fucking okay with me.
“I’ll take a cheeseburger, chicken nuggets, small fry, and an M&M’s McFlurry,” I said, giving him my order in a clear, concise tone.
Quinn’s full lips stretched up into a grin, even reaching the corners of his blue eyes. “Anything to drink with that?”
“What the hell, give me a small Coke too.”
If I was going to eat fast food, I was going to fucking enjoy it.
He nodded in confirmation, and once a lady’s voice crackled through the speaker, he proceeded to give her my order, along with his—two double cheeseburgers, ten chicken nuggets, a large fry, and a large water.
I smiled as he finished rattling off his meal request. I guessed I wasn’t the only who was hungry or ready and willing to enjoy some greasy fast food.
He pulled up to the first window, paid the teller with cash, and moved on to the second. A teenager with a name tag that read Doug handed off our bags, and I didn’t miss the fact that Quinn was pointedly ducking his head away from the window as the exchange of food occurred.
With bags of food making sweaty steam in my lap and the drinks nestled in the cup holders, Quinn exited the drive-thru. “Hold on tight to the food, Kitty Cat. I’ve got one more stop before we’re ready to eat it.”
In enough time for me to sneak three French fries from the bag, he pulled the truck into a Mike’s Car Wash and stopped beside the automated pay machine.
A car wash? Was he serious right now? With amusement kissing my lips, I glanced around the empty lot to try to understand what in the hell was happening.
Is this Plan C?
I looked into the side mirror, inspecting the exterior paint. If Mr. Clean stood outside the truck, it would only take one quick swipe of his beefy index finger to deduce that Quinn’s truck was already clean.
Like, pristine clean.
I wonder if car washes are part of his assistant Jillian’s weekly tasks?
One swift slide of his credit card and a quick shift into neutral, and the truck eased forward for a good old-fashioned cleaning.
Just as the overhead jets squirted pastel-colored soap onto the windshield, Quinn turned in his seat, rubbed his hands together excitedly, and grinned. “Let’s eat.”
A shocked laugh escaped my lungs.
“What?” he asked and rummaged through one of the bags for his food.
“McDonald’s and a car wash?” I questioned, and my giggles turned infectious, one right after the other, I had to hold in my diaphragm to calm them down. “If you tell me this is Plan C, I might lose it.”
He nodded. “Pretty genius, huh?”
His smile was so bright and warm. I wonder if I can swim in it forever?
Eventually, my laughter eased, and I tilted my head to the side, trying to make sense of the situation. “Mind explaining your reasoning…?”
He offered a simple shrug. “Less date time outside of your house equals more date time inside of your house, particularly while you’re giving me a naked tour of your bedroom.”
Oh boy.
Without a second thought, I rummaged through the second bag and handed him his chicken nuggets. His fries followed soon after.
A questioning smirk crested his lips, and I waggled my brows in response.
Be bold, Cat, I coached.
“Eat up, buddy. You’re going to need your strength.”