Iced Out (Leighton U #1)(33)

His grin grows, and paired with the mischief dancing in his eyes, I realize he’s just giving me shit. At least, I think that’s what he’s doing, because while Quinton joking around is nothing new, having him do it with me must mean I’ve been tossed into some sort of alternate reality.

Or I’ve gone insane.

Then again, this deal we’ve agreed to might be a sign we’ve both lost our goddamn minds. No matter how good it might make us feel in the moment.

“You’re nervous,” he murmurs. A statement, not a question, as he steps further into my personal space. “That’s why you tried to chicken out after practice.”

Once again, just like the night in the bathroom, I find my feet taking me backward. Away from him and the intoxicating aura he casts until I can’t go any further. The backs of my thighs hit the couch, my ass settling onto the cool leather arm. Quinton boxes me in against it. One hand rests on either side of me—so close to my hips—and the heat of his almost-touch sends my pulse skyrocketing.

I hate myself for wanting them to be touching me instead of the leather. To push me onto my back and cover my body with his, naked or not, while we devour each other all over again.

Jesus, I need to slow my roll.

Because, despite how ready my body is for whatever we’re about to do, it doesn’t take away from how much I can’t stand him. It only adds to the nerves he’s picking up on.

I swallow, looking into his eyes and do my best to deflect. “I take it you’re not?”

He blinks at me, slanting his head. That damn dimple pops even more, and shit, why do dimples have to be so fucking attractive?

“You are nervous.”

My teeth sink into my lip as I try to figure out some sort of plausible deniability. The last thing I want is to be an emotional open book when I can barely get a read on him. Unfortunately, I come up with nothing.

“Yeah, I am,” I admit, however begrudgingly. “Guess I’m alone in that sentiment, though.”

He leans back slightly, his eyes darting between mine. “You’re kidding, right?”

“I’m really not. This? You and me? It’s fucking crazy.” I let out a deep breath. “Part of me feels like I’ve gone off the deep end by even agreeing to this in the first place. And you being so comfortable with this whole thing is—”

“You’re wrong,” he cuts in. His hands move from the leather to find my thighs, and I look down to watch his long fingers splay out over my jeans as he steps between my thighs. Heat seeps through the denim where he touches me, and instinctually, I reach out for more.

My fingers weave through his belt loops, and I pull him in closer. He towers over me now, still standing at full height, and for the first time, I actually feel small. Not just in stature, either. Quinton’s presence alone is larger than life, and he’s sucked me into his orbit.

Fuck, what am I even thinking right now?

I crane my neck up to meet his stare. “Wrong how?”

“I’m gonna let you in on a little secret,” he whispers, tracing his fingers up and down the denim. “And if you tell a soul, I’d deny it to my dying day. But, Reed…I’m the furthest thing from comfortable right now.”

My brow arches at his attempt to placate me, because he must be lying. He’s practically oozing ease and confidence, not to mention a ridiculous amount of sex appeal. The last one is far too tempting to get lost in, especially with the recent memory of his body pressed against me, the planes of hard muscle and smooth skin I can touch freely and—

“I know you might not believe me, seeing as this whole thing is my idea,” he murmurs, one hand moving from my thigh to skitter up my side, “but I can assure you, I’m just as nervous about this as you are.”

“You’re right,” I rasp, my voice coming out far more graveled than I’d like. “I don’t believe you.”

Not by a fucking long shot.

He shakes his head. “At least you’ve done this before. With another guy, I mean. My level of experience with a dick other than my own is everything we’ve done together.”

“Plenty more than most baby bi’s have.”

“There’s that fucking term again.” He chuckles, and the sound sends a zip of electricity through my body. “Doesn’t make me feel any less like a born-again virgin.”

I crack a smile, finally matching the one he’s been wearing for the past few minutes. “Have you ever kissed a guy before? Besides, uh...”

Besides me?

Quinton’s confidence falters slightly at my question, and I watch him work to swallow before he shakes his head.

“Are you okay with it?” I ask, my eyes moving to his mouth too. “I probably should’ve asked before, but…”

I expected words. A simple yes or no to be his answer. But instead, he leans down, closing the gap between us with a single move until our lips meet for the second time tonight.

The action alone surprises me, but not as much as the soft, sweeping pressure of his mouth. It’s slow and tentative, his kiss, when I was expecting something more brash to match the recklessness I’ve come to associate with Quinton.

It’s the complete opposite of the way we went at each other back in the locker room.

But sweet and gentle don’t last longer than thirty seconds before he asks for more.