“If I’d known you were going for a run, I might have gotten up even earlier to join you.” And then, before I can get my own, Quinn grabs a glass from the cupboard and fills it up with water. He sets it on the counter for me as I freeze, staring at it for a moment.
He cracks a charming smile at me. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to spill that all over you.”
I move to sit at one of the barstools, my legs feeling like jelly. “As much as I appreciate that, it honestly might feel pretty good right now. It’s so humid outside.”
“I feel bad about the coffee disaster,” he says, flipping what looks like an omelet in the pan. “It wasn’t exactly how I wanted to meet you.”
“Well, you also pretended you didn’t know my name, so how am I supposed to believe that you wanted to meet me?” I taunt, taking a long drink of my water. It tastes so unbelievably refreshing I almost can’t believe it.
Quinn chuckles, taking my jest in stride. “I thought I was being cool by pretending I didn’t know who you were. Henry talks about you, plus my mom is a huge fan of yours. She actually saw you compete a few years ago when you were touring with the US team. She would kill me if she knew I pretended not to know who you are.”
Okay, that’s sweet of his mom, but my mind immediately fixates on the first part about Henry. He talks about me?
I can feel my heart leap in excitement, but that can also be blamed on post-run recovery.
I smile at Quinn’s admission, trying not to swoon at what Henry might have said about me to his friends. “And what do you think now that you’ve met me? Am I everything Henry and your mom said?”
“I think you would do anything for the people you care about. You’re doing a good thing for Henry. I don’t know many people who would selflessly agree to something like that.” I nod because it makes sense that he would bring that up. Quinn is one of a handful of people in on the relationship ruse, but I wouldn’t say I’m doing it selflessly. However, I don’t think that’s a statement I need to refute. “I think you have a big heart to go with your sassy personality, and I think you have an incredible work ethic. You’re also beautiful, but that’s my personal opinion, not Henry or my mom’s.”
Oh.
I stare at him, taken aback by Quinn’s answer.What . . . what am I supposed to say to that? I was half-kidding when I asked what he thought, but I didn’t actually expect him to answer.
He turns around to grab his protein shake, opening up a cupboard to look for something. “Did I say too much?”
I clear my throat, stalling to find the right words. “No, just surprised,” I reply, taking another drink of my water to get rid of the chalky feeling coating my mouth.
With Quinn’s back to me, I take the opportunity to check him out. Maybe it’s not a bad thing that he’s shirtless, and damn, do I have a thing for muscles. His back is well-defined, but his arms . . . fuck, they look nice. I don’t see any tattoos, which is only a little disappointing because I love Henry’s—
I choke on fucking air, causing Quinn to quickly turn around to look at me.Holy shit, am I checking out Henry’s friend? Henry, as in the guy I’ve been in love with for forever?
“Are you okay?” he asks, scanning over me as I cough, trying to catch my breath.
“Perfect,” I gasp out, thumping my chest as if that will do anything. How does one recover from choking on the literal air I breathe perfectly fine all the time?
“Are you sure about that?” he asks, raising a skeptical eyebrow as he crosses his arms over his chest. Okay, seriously, now that I’ve started looking at his muscles, I don’t know how to stop. What is wrong with me? I’d be chewing his ass if I caught him checking me out, and I have to give him credit, Quinn’s eyes haven’t strayed from my face during this entire conversation.
I nod quickly, feeling my face grow hot. “I’m . . . um . . . going to get ready for work,” I say, reaching for the glass of water to put it away, but instead, I accidentally push it straight off the edge of the counter.
It shatters on the hardwood floor with a crash, and I gasp, immediately hopping off the barstool as Quinn sets his drink down to help me.
“Shit,” I mumble under my breath, gingerly scooping the larger pieces into my hand. I can’t believe I did that. I’m a fucking fool.
“Careful, don’t cut yourself on the glass, Mirabelle,” Quinn warns, kneeling down as I lift my head with every intention of telling him he’s not the boss of me. Unfortunately, the crown of my head collides with his chin, and my hand tightens in a knee-jerk reaction around the glass.
I feel the sharp pain immediately, cursing through my teeth as Quinn groans, rubbing his chin. The glass in my hand falls to the floor, already stained with my blood. “Ouch,” I hiss, immediately feeling queasy at the sight of the red streaking the glass. I don’t even want to know what my hand looks like, but if the way it feels is any indication, I’m sure I cut it good.
I close my eyes, trying to inhale through my nose and exhale through my mouth. Ireallydon’t like blood. My phobia of blood is so extreme that my gynecologist put me on an IUD with a higher hormone level to prevent my period from coming. It took one time of me passing out at the sight of my period at the gym as a teenager, and being woken up by paramedics, for that to happen.
His hand wraps around my wrist to steady me from falling into the pile of glass as I keep my eyes tightly shut. It dawns on me that I thought about how rude it was that Quinn wasn’t wearing clothes in Henry’s house, but I’m also wearing a minimal amount since I ran in a sports bra and running shorts. I still have more on top than he does, but that’s because I don’t have a choice.
“Let me see,” he instructs, taking my hand in his, and I feel light-headed. This sucks, but I definitely need help because if I see the blood again, I might actually pass out.
He’s too quiet. Oh god. I must have cut it deep.I can’t believe I did this.At the very least, I can blame Quinn; if he hadn’t been here shirtless, I wouldn’t have gotten distracted and knocked the glass off the counter. Then, if he hadn’t crouched next to me to tell me the obvious, I wouldn’t have hit my head on his chin, thus preventing me from slicing my hand open.
“Is it bad?” I ask after a moment of silence as he touches my hand.
“You might need to go to the hospital to have it amputated. It looks pretty deep.”
