Focus, DeLaurentis.
Get the shoes off and get out.
The sooner, the better.
I make quick work of the first shoe and slip it off, letting it fall to the floor as I turn my attention to the second.
“Wow. I think that’s a record.” Quinn yawns, her lips forming a perfect O. Her lipstick is long gone, but the natural look suits her. “With those hands, you should definitely be the number one draft pick.”
Not likely, but I appreciate the sentiment. It’s a welcome distraction from the feel of her slender calf in my hand.
“Flattery will get you nowhere, Mowery.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she says, fighting a laugh. “You know, this mission of yours to preserve my virginity would be adorable if it weren’t so infuriating.”
I snort. I’m a lot of things, but adorable isn’t one of them.
The second shoe drops to the floor and I rise to my feet as Quinn lets out a sigh of relief and wiggles her toes, the overhead light glinting off the shiny red polish on her toenails.
Damn. Even her toenails are sexy, which is definitely not a thought I should have about Noah’s sister.
“Why don’t I grab you a glass of water while you change into your pajamas?” I suggest, desperate to put some space between us.
“Make yourself at home.” She waves me off. “Cups are in the cabinet above the sink.”
I retrace my steps back down the hall and fill a glass with water in the tiny galley kitchen. Then, wanting to make sure Quinn has plenty of time to change, I stop in the hall bathroom, hoping to find a bottle of aspirin.
Something tells me she’s going to need it.
I flip on the light andbingo, there’s a medicine cabinet hanging above the vanity.
It’s the old-fashioned kind with a mirrored door. Guilt gnaws at my conscience as I stare at my reflection, considering my options.
On the one hand, I have no business snooping in Quinn’s medicine cabinet. Who knows what kind of personal girly shit is stashed in there? On the other, if I’m doing it for the right reasons—to spare her a killer headache in the morning—does that make it okay?
Fuck if I know.
I’ve never rifled through a woman’s bathroom before, and I certainly didn’t expect to be doing it tonight.
Quit being a pussy, DeLaurentis.
Just open the door and find the aspirin. How bad can it be anyway?
“Do it for the greater good,” I mutter, reaching for the latch.
I open the cabinet and swing the door wide.
“Holy hell.”
It’s like a pharmacy exploded in there. The shelves are jammed full and I’m half convinced this is some Hermione Granger shit, because no way should that much stuff fit in this tiny cabinet. I scan the shelves, but I don’t recognize half this stuff. There are bottles and brushes and a tube of weird green gel. And are those creepy spider-looking things eyelashes?
I suppress a shudder.
Girls are fucking weird. I could’ve gone my whole life without seeing this.
My gaze lands on a rectangular packet of punch-out pills and I avert my eyes.
Not my business.
