37
COOPER
This is a terrible idea.
Doesn’t matter. No way am I letting Quinn out of my sight. That jumpsuit is tight as hell, highlighting every luscious curve of her body.
Douchey frat guys would be all over her.
Not happening. Just the thought of some asshole pawing at Quinn has my pulse thrumming.
“Easy there, big guy.” Quinn looks up at me, the corner of her mouth lifted in a half-smile. Her lips are painted a sinful shade of cherry red, and the urge to rub my thumb across her lower lip is almost too strong to resist. “You squeeze any tighter and my head is going to pop off.”
I loosen my grip on her shoulders as we enter the living room.
“Sorry.” I flash her a wicked grin. “We can’t have that. You go down and the ladies are likely to rush me.”
She rolls her eyes and steals another peanut butter cup from my bowl. “It’s good to know you have your priorities in order.”
“Prioritization is critical if you want to make it as a student athlete.”
Facts. My days start at five-thirty and rarely end before midnight during the season.
“I’ll keep that in mind. You know, in case I develop a case of late-onset athleticism.”
“Smartass.” I give her a squeeze, pulling her in close again. Even with her boots, which have a chunky heel, she’s tiny next to me. I could practically put her in my pocket.Now there’s an intriguing idea. “Want to play beer pong?”
She shrugs. “I’m game.”
That she agrees without a single disclaimer or disparaging comment about her bad luck or lack of skill feels like a big fucking win.
We make our way to the beer pong table and I call next game.
A couple of the guys gathered around the table steal glances at Quinn, but a few well-placed glares take care of the problem.
Quinn is totally oblivious to the attention as she fishes another Reese’s out of my bowl.
She starts to open it and pauses. “I should probably lay off the candy, huh? Just in case.”
Without waiting for an answer, she tosses it back in the bowl.
“Just in case what?”
“Just in case it makes a reappearance later. I doubt they taste as good the second time around.”
I chuckle. “Let me get this straight. You aren’t worried about hangovers, but you’re worried about the possibility of puking up your guts?”
“Priorities,” she says, each syllable layered with sickly sweet sarcasm.
I shake my head and turn back to the game just in time to see a ping-pong ball fly over the side of the table. It bounces against the hardwood floor and rolls between Quinn’s feet.
She turns, and when she bends over to pick it up, every head in the vicinity swivels to look at her perfect ass.
Assholes.
“Show a little respect,” I bark as Quinn rights herself, holding the runaway ball aloft.
She hands it to one of the players just as Noah appears, a nearly empty bottle of lager in hand. His eyes are red-rimmed, and it’s clear he’s been drinking for a while. Probably started during today’s game and never stopped.
