IT’D BEEN TWO WEEKS SINCE Quarry and I had officially become an item. It hadn’t been a hard transition to make. He had been right. Nothing had changed. Sure, we shared a bed every night, and I had to retrieve a few pair of my panties from under his bed on laundry day. And he’d fucked me on nearly every flat surface in our apartment—and I only say nearly because there were a few I had fucked him on. But, besides that, it was pretty much business as usual for the two of us.
Ash and Eliza had blown up my phone with texts after our date, but I’d downplayed our new full-throttle relationship as much as possible—and then I’d avoided the two of them at all costs. I was still trying to wrap my mind around things between Quarry and me, so the last thing I needed was a barrage of questions I probably couldn’t answer, which would spook me even more. Quarry had caught on to my hesitance pretty quickly, and the first week, he’d even made an excuse so we could skip the Page family dinner. I’d repaid him by adding another flat surface to our growing list.
All was good and well until a stupid magazine published a picture of Quarry and me kissing outside an Indianapolis restaurant. The caption read: Quarry Page and his long-time girlfriend, Liv James, finally caught in action.
After that, my phone exploded—and not just with calls from Ash and Eliza, who had basically already known but wanted details. Calls came from Mom, Dad, Uncle Slate, Aunt Erica, and Aunt Emma, and even Uncle Caleb shot me a text.
Mom was thrilled. (I should also disturbingly note that she squealed in delight when I told her that she’d won a cool grand from the little Quarry-and-Liv betting pool.) My dad demanded I bring Quarry home for a visit. I promptly penciled that into my schedule for the day after Hell froze over. The rest of my family shared the “it’s about damn time” sentiment, but they all seemed genuinely happy to see us together.
Well, except for Ash, who threatened to add murder to her “Newsies List” if I didn’t show up for family dinner that week and fill her in completely.
That death threat was exactly why I was trying to rush out of the community center after my last class. It was time to face the Page family head on.
“Are you sure you don’t mind?” I asked Don as I shrugged my coat on.
“Quit asking me that. I told you it was fine.” He smiled warmly.
“It’s just, I know I’ve been leaning on you a lot recently. And I know my peanut butter brownies are incredible, but I’m not sure they are adequate payment for as much as you’ve been helping me the last few weeks.”
He laughed, patting his belly. “My expanding gut disagrees.”
My phone pinged in my purse, and I was relatively sure it was either Quarry wondering why I was late or Ash making more threats on my life. I ignored it long enough to gather the rest of my stuff. “Okay, but you will be getting a sweet Christmas gift, so get your list ready for Santa by next week. I’m an animal on Black Friday.”
He laughed again and went back to grading papers.
“Goodnight,” I called to him and Gwen as I headed out.
After pulling my phone from my purse, I checked my texts as I walked to my car.
It was Quarry, but I was wrong about his reason for texting.
Quarry: Why are there 50 boxes of Christmas tree cakes in my closet?
Me: I went grocery shopping.
Quarry: Okay. That doesn’t help. Let me rephrase. Why are there FIFTY boxes of Christmas tree cakes in MY CLOSET?
Me: Okay… Let me rephrase. I went SHOPPING. Does that help?
Quarry: Nope. But where’d you put the shirts that used to be hanging in my closet?
Me: Top drawer.
Quarry: Cool. We’ll discuss the Christmas tree cakes later. I’m running late. Just got out of the shower but I should still beat you to Till’s.
Me: Okay sounds good. Oh and btw…it’s actually 70 boxes but I’m guessing you haven’t seen the ones under your bed yet.
Quarry: Nope. Just found those. However, I’m starved so you’re down to 69 boxes.
I was laughing, typing a message to scold him for having eaten my coveted seasonal snack cakes that were only sold for three months every year—hence my need to stock up—when a voice startled me just before I got to my car.
“About time. I was starting to wonder if I had the wrong place.”
A chill ran down my spine, and my head shot up.
Garrett fucking Davenport was standing on the sidewalk, smiling at me.
“You have got to be shitting me!” I cursed to myself.
He arrogantly sauntered in my direction, popping the collar of his coat for warmth when the wind picked up. Davenport wasn’t a bad-looking guy. He had the tall-dark-and-handsome thing going on; he was just so repulsive on the inside that my stomach churned at the sight of him.
“Liv, it’s so good to see you again,” he purred, closing the distance between us.