Quinn’s normally cheery gaze goes solemn with the memories.
“You saw something in me no one else did, Banner,” she says softly. “And you wouldn’t stop, you stubborn bitch, until I saw it, too. And it made me want to live again.”
She blinks back tears of her own.
“Do you realize how many people you’ve done that for?” she asks. “How many guys are still in the NBA because of how you fight for them? Protect them? Smacked them on the head when they needed it? Everyone’s not like you. The way you care for people, how you fight for them, it’s extraordinary. Your loyalty is extraordinary.”
A humorless laugh huffs past my lips.
“I think Zo would probably question my loyalty right about now,” I say, glancing back down at my lap.
“You’re a good person who did something out of character. You can’t beat yourself up forever. Banging your head against the wall burns a hundred and fifty calories, but is that good for you?”
“What?” I laugh, even though I’m not sure when I’ll be rid of this guilt. “Oh my God.”
“I’m just saying I know it will take time, but you’ll have to forgive yourself,” she says, sharing a smile with me. “And the connection you describe with Jared, what I saw for myself between the two of you, it’s hard to ignore—to walk away from—especially if your relationship is . . .”
Quinn squints, searching for the right word.
“Unsatisfying,” she settles on. “You probably knew before Jared even came back into your life that things were not quite what they should be with Zo. It’s painful now, but maybe in the long run . . .”
I process that, not sure I’m ready to let myself off the hook that easily.
“And Jared Foster?” Quinn asks tentatively. “May I ask a highly inappropriate and insensitive question?”
My lips quirk into another smile. “Those are your specialty, aren’t they?”
Her eyes are avid, and she’s practically licking her lips. “Was it good?”
Good would be an understatement. I’m forming words for what sex with Jared was like when the doorbell rings. I glance down at my grimy appearance and grimace.
“Yeah, I’ll get it,” Quinn says, standing and patting my shoulder reassuringly on her way to the door. “And get rid of whoever it is. Have one of those Popsicles!”
I’m giving the frozen alcoholic treat a nice long lick when she reappears, eyes bright and cheeks rosy. Or what I like to call the Jared Foster effect. He walks in right behind her.
God, why does he have to look like that?
Jared’s appeal has never been wholly physical. I’ve seen lots of beautiful men in my line of work. True specimens of manhood. There’s more to my connection with Jared than how gorgeous he is.
But it certainly doesn’t hurt.
“Hey,” he says, filling the arched entrance to my living room. His hands are shoved into dark-wash jeans and a white Kerrington T-shirt stretches across the width of his chest. His hair is wildly tousled like he’s been running his fingers through it.
Or like I have.
“Hey.” I look at Quinn and then at the Popsicle in my hand. Anywhere but at him. It’s the first time we’ve been in the same room since what I’ve come to term as Deskageddon, where the world as I knew it ended.
An awkward silence encircles the three of us, and I’m not sure how to break it. Quinn knows what we did. Jared probably suspects I told her. Meanwhile I’m wrestling with a cacophony of emotions and sensations, ranging from guilt to turned on. I’ve never been an oversexed person. I enjoy sex but can always back burner it. It was one of the reasons a long-distance relationship worked so well for me and Zo. But Jared unleashes something wild inside of me. Something I’m not sure how to tame.
“Um, I should go,” Quinn says after a few seconds. She grabs her purse and clears her throat. “Good seeing you again, Jared.”
Peripherally I see him nod, but I feel him looking at me unwaveringly.
“We’ll touch base tomorrow, then, Banner.” Quinn sounds unnaturally bright. I look up and she widens her eyes meaningfully—her sign for OMG.
“Okay,” I say, rediscovering my vocal cords. “I’ll call AesThetics first thing in the morning. Thanks for coming by.”
The soft click of her leaving through the front door doesn’t mobilize me. I stare at the liquored ice in my hand, heedless of it melting and dripping between my fingers. I’m not sure what should happen next. My principles, my convictions, have always anchored me, made me certain of every step. They prescribed every step. Now that I’ve violated them so egregiously, I’m in a minefield, and any step I take may explode under my feet.
“You’re making a mess,” Jared says, walking over to take what’s left of the Popsicle and tosses it into the trash.
He takes my hand and slowly licks the icy, flavored vodka from my fingers. His tongue is like warm velvet making love to the delicate webbing between each digit. All the muscles below the belt clench. I’ll never see that tongue again without remembering how he lapped at what my body poured out for him. In the moment, it felt like perfection. But confessing it to Zo, it felt like sin. I snatch my hand away and finally look up at him. Concern crinkles the smooth lines of his face.
“What have you done to yourself?” He traces around my puffy eyes. “You’ve burst the blood vessels.”
I should have known. That happens whenever I cry too hard, but I haven’t cried this hard in a very long time. Maybe since the last time I cried over him. I pull back from his touch, and he drops his hand to his side. His concerned expression hardens like cement.
“So you told him?” he asks. “What happened?”
I walk away, needing space, and sit in the sleek leather recliner closest to the fireplace. I avoid the couch where I’ve perched all day because when Jared sits down, I don’t want it to be next to me. The man should come with a highly flammable tag, preferably near his cock.