About Last Night (About Last Night #1)(61)

Spent, I collapsed behind Mia, my hands still resting on her hips, albeit weakly. I ran my hand down her hip to the smooth skin of her thigh. My lips against her shoulder, I pressed a long, gentle kiss there, hoping it would convey the words I couldn’t say.

When she rested her hand on mine, squeezing, I was sure it had. Slowly pulling out of her, I stood, removed the condom, and wiped myself off. Zombie-like, I crawled back into bed behind her.

She yawned.

I yawned.

She reached down to pull a sheet over our tired, spent bodies.

I drew her close, placing a soft kiss at the area under her ear.

She sighed blissfully.

And then we napped.





Chapter TwentyEight



Mia




It was official. I was a floozy.

Losing my virginity one night then all but begging for sex the next afternoon…

Yep. I was definitely a tramp.

As I tiptoed around Quinn’s room, trying to be as quiet as I could while retrieving my clothes, I couldn’t help but glance over at him as he slept. His face had softened in a way that looked almost innocent and childlike. His breathing deep and even, he hugged a pillow. A stray piece of hair had fallen over his brow. If I weren’t so worried about waking him, I would have pushed it back, ran my fingers over the stubbled rough skin I liked so much, and kissed his forehead lovingly. He looked so peaceful. I couldn’t bear to wake him.

We’d napped together for a few hours, and although it felt so natural for Quinn to hold me while I slept, my body pressing back into his, I would be lying if I said it didn’t freak me out.

It freaked me out, because it was definitely something I could get used to, and what Quinn was offering was not a forever type thing. He said it before. ‘If you start seeing someone, playtime ends.’

It didn’t even bother him, the thought of my dating another man. I mean, of course it would be a double standard since he was an escort, but the thought obviously hadn’t induced jealousy. That said it all.

Whereas when it came to Quinn, I couldn’t even think about his work as an escort. I could only push the thought aside and pretend it didn’t bother me, for both our sakes. Honestly, how could it not bother me that the man I had started to develop real feelings for was sleeping with other women four to five nights a week?

It bothered me. It bothered me a lot.

But this was Quinn, and I had no claim on him. If I could only have him for a lover, even if for a short while, I’d take it. And when it became too much for me, when I started to feel dangerously in love with him, I’d start dating someone else, ending our non-relationship with the hope that I could find a man who made me feel half of what I felt when I was with Quinn.

It didn’t seem fair somehow, but that was life. It felt nice being wanted, even if it was only temporary.

It was now close to seven p.m. The sun was setting, and being a national holiday, if I didn’t leave now, I’d miss the bus and have to catch a cab. Cabs were expensive. I wasn’t a millionaire.

Dressing soundlessly, I took one last look at Quinn, and at that very moment, he let out a rumbling snore. Quickly covering my mouth with my hand, I chuckled quietly.

My smile fell as I kept my gaze on him. These were the moments I would cherish after our time had passed. These moments were bittersweet.

I shook my head as I walked down the hall, retrieved my purse, and slipped on my flip-flops. With a quick last look around, I opened the door then closed it behind me, walking down the stairs and out the building.

I watched the sun set, splashing of orange and pink across the sky.

The bus arrived and I stepped onboard, taking a seat right at the very back. Thoughts of Quinn assaulted me: his bright smile, his bold laugh, his uncharacteristic playfulness. I ran a hand down my face, suddenly weary as I asked myself a silent question.

How would I come out of this unscathed?




Sitting cross-legged on my bed, the TV on, playing a show about a female lawyer going about her business in all her badassery, I ate tasteless bran cereal for a late supper.

With hair still wet from my shower, as I couldn’t be bothered to dry it, I dressed for comfort in yoga pants, a loose sweater, and fluffy slippers. I called it a quiet night at home, and being that it was close to ten p.m., I hadn’t expected visitors. So when my doorbell rang, I paused with a spoonful of cereal halfway to my mouth, frowning in confusion.

Placing the bowl of cereal on my nightstand, I went to the door and asked, “Who is it?”

The usually sassy voice responded a very tame, “It’s me. Ella.”

My fingers fumbled at the locks, throwing the door open. She looked terrible. Well, not terrible, but terrible for outgoing, feisty Ella.

Her hair was pulled back into a high ponytail, her curls looking surprisingly pacified this evening. She wore jeans, flat shoes, and a cardigan. I looked her over and uttered a cautious, “Hey, I’ve been trying to call you.”

She smiled sadly. “I know. Sorry, I went AWOL.” She shrugged and uttered a hushed, “Licking my wounds, you know.”

That statement saddened me in such a way that my throat thickened, and in one quick motion, I stepped forward, wrapping my arms around her protectively, wanting to surround her in my warmth. After a moment, her arms folded around my waist, taking all I was giving.

We held onto each other for a minute. Then she pulled back, her eyes shining, her voice shaking. “It just sucks, you know?”