I step back as she climbs out of the car, tottering on sky-high heels. When she heads for the front porch, I follow, easily matching her stride.
“What do you think you’re doing?” She shoots me the side-eye as she fishes a single bronze key out of her front pocket.
“Walking you to the door.”Obviously. No way I’m rolling out until she’s tucked safely inside. Noah would have my ass if something happened to her, and that’s the last thing I need on my conscience.
“Whatever.” She rolls her eyes. “If you want to play knight in shining armor, who am I to stop you?”
“I’m nobody’s white knight.” And I’d do well to remember it.
“Don’t I know it,” she mutters, stumbling on the first step. I grab her elbow on instinct, holding her upright.
“What was that you were saying?”
She straightens and pulls her arm free, shrugging one shoulder. “Watch out for the loose step.”
Right. It was totally the step. “You should probably call maintenance in the morning,” I say, not bothering to hide my smirk.
Quinn narrows her eyes, but doesn’t respond. Instead, she hurries up the stairs and slides her key in the lock. She turns the key, and the bolt slides back with a loudthwack.
“Since you’re here,” she says, pushing the door open to reveal a dimly lit hallway. “You might as well make yourself useful.”
I arch a brow. “That depends on your definition of useful.”
Because no way am I having sex with her. Even if it wouldn’t break rule number two—not to mention myno virginspolicy—Quinn’s not sober enough to consent.
She doesn’t bother responding, just sashays down the hall, hips swinging, perfect ass beckoning me to follow.
And dammit, I do.
Quinn turns right at the end of the hall and flips a light switch, lighting up a small, neat bedroom with a full bed, overflowing book shelves, and more pink throw pillows than seems tasteful. I’m no design expert, but how many furry pink pillows can one girl need?
She perches on the end of the bed and crooks a finger, encouraging me to come closer.
Nope. Not happening.
I’m readying yet another protest when she lifts her left foot, extending it toward me to showcase her strappy black heels. “You’re good with your hands, right?”
Wait. What?
Way to misread the situation, asshole.
In my defense, the girl has a one-track mind.
“You want me to…” I gesture to her foot, brows pulled low, unwilling to proceed without clarification. “Unbuckle your shoes?”
A wide smile splits her face and laughter dances in her eyes, like she knows exactly what I’ve been thinking. “The straps are a pain.”
Talk about getting bitch slapped by humility.
But what the hell. At least if she’s in bed—alone—I can leave with a clear conscience.
I cross the room and sink to my knees. Taking her left foot in my hand, I brace the heel against my thigh. Her ankle is exposed and as I shift her foot to get a better look at the buckles, my fingers brush her creamy skin. It’s just as soft and smooth as it appears and desire stirs low in my gut.
Get the shoes off, and only the shoes.
Nothing else—no one else—is getting off tonight.
Or ever, thanks to the rules.
