Chapters (48)
- Cover
- PRAISE FOR ALEXA MARTIN’S PLAYBOOK SERIES
- Titles by Alexa Martin
- Dedication
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
- Prologue
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-one
- Twenty-two
- Twenty-three
- Twenty-four
- Twenty-five
- Twenty-six
- Twenty-seven
- Twenty-eight
- Twenty-nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-one
- Thirty-two
- Thirty-three
- Thirty-four
- Thirty-five
- Thirty-six
- Thirty-seven
- Thirty-eight
- Epilogue
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- About the Author
- What’s next onyour reading list?
“Anyways, speaking of things I like to watch”—I really am the segue queen—“Vonnie invited me to go to the next Mustangs game with her. I wanted to run it by you since it’s your box too. I didn’t want it to be weird.”
“Not weird at all. I can just give you one of my tickets if you want, that way you can ride on your own.” All of the tension he was sporting is gone just as fast as it arrived. So much so that I wonder if I imagined it all. “I think that’s the game right before Halloween. I’m not a kid expert, but I feel like Halloween makes kids nuts and you might want your own exit plan.”
“Oh, uh—no. You don’t need to do that.” I try my best to sound convincing, but fail miserably. Probably because the giant lump that just materialized out of nowhere makes it hard for me to speak.
Because ugh. Halloween.
He places the taco in his hand back on his plate before pushing it to the side. “Hey.” His voice is almost as soft as his eyes as he leans in closer to me. “Are you okay?”
I wave my hand in front of him. “Yeah, of course I am.” I try to laugh it off as no big deal, but instead, my laugh mingles with the sob stuck in the back of my throat.
Oh my god.
I’m going to cry in front of him.
Again.
“Fuck.” I slap my hands over my eyes when tears flood my vision and I realize there is no possible way to force them back down. “I’m so sorry.” The words are smothered in my hands as my breathing hitches with each mortifying sob that takes over my body.
And before I know what’s happening, heat envelopes me as long arms wrap around my shoulders and Quinton pulls me into his chest.
Any other time, I’m sure I would take note of his cologne and how his arms fit so perfectly around me. But instead, all I can think about is how crazy I must look and that there’s a ninety percent likelihood of me ruining his shirt with either my mascara or snot.
Please, God, let it just be the mascara.
His hands start to rub circles along my back and he whispers words I can’t comprehend in my ear.
The only thing I know, is that for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel alone and it’s that feeling . . . that realization . . . that slows my tears. Quinton’s arms loosen as my body starts to relax, but he doesn’t pull them away. His hands rest on my shoulders, and the heat and strength from his reassuring touch seeps into my body.