“Pshhh. The winters are nothing.” I wave him off. “It’s the spring that really bites you in the ass. Just when you think you escaped without a snowstorm? Bam! Blizzard. It’s super fun. And, it’s scientifically proven that they only come when I’m out of milk and bread.”

Out of the corner of my eyes, I see his smile grow as his deep chuckle washes over me. I don’t know what it is, but it’s so soothing. He could start a Pandora station just of his laughter, and masseuses would play it while people got massages, it’s that good.

“So if I keep you stocked, we’ll be safe?”

“Yup, you can’t argue with science.” I stop and amend my statement. “Well, you shouldn’t argue with science.”

“Truth,” he says.

We continue to stare out of the window until the blue starts to deepen and the pinks fade. Which reminds me that even though I’m only thirty-one, I already hate to drive in the dark. And also, that I told Quinton not to wait up.

“Why are you here anyway?” Once I hear the words out loud, I realize how rude they sound and cringe. He’s going to think I’m incapable of being anything other than a bitch. “Nope, let me rewind. I thought you were going to head out. What made you stay?”

There. That was better . . . marginally.

“I went to talk to Jason about some extra stretches, my shoulder’s been bothering me a little.” He must see the panic that crosses my face. He might drive me nuts, but he can’t be hurt, the Mustangs need him. “I’m fine, really. I just want to get ahead of it.”

That seems like something a reasonable person who doesn’t procrastinate would do. Not that I can relate to that in any way, shape, or form. What can I say? I make plans and life laughs—or punches me—in my face. And I’ve learned the punches hurt more when you’re expecting a different outcome.

Expectations, kids. Don’t have any.

“Okay, that’s good.” I take one last look out of the window before turning and starting to walk down the long hallway. “My fantasy team would not be happy if you weren’t out there.”

“I’m on your fantasy team?” he asks, a cocky, shit-eating grin pulling across his face.

“Don’t let it go to your head. You were the only quarterback left. Definitely not my first choice.” I lift my hand to pat his arm before remembering that I kissed him the other night, and all touching, no matter how innocent, should probably be off limits.

“Woooow.” His laugh returns and my steps falter. “Okay, I see how it is.”