“It looks like it, but it’s just for a charcuterie board. I wanted to have a lot of options since I don’t know what Patricia and Bill like.” I point to the bag with sparkling waters still on the counter. “Can you put those in the fridge? Warm sparkling water is gross.”

“I hate to break it to you, but sparkling water tastes like feet no matter the temperature,” he whispers in my ear before backing away and forcing me to lose the comfort of having his heat against my back. “And I have no idea what the fuck charcuterie is.”

I turn around with a log of salami in my hand, prepared to use it as a weapon against him for slandering sparkling water and being as old as he is and not knowing what a charcuterie board is. I mean, it’s the age of Instagram! Doesn’t everyone post pictures of their boards? There’s no excuse.

However, all of my wrath fades to black with my first look at him.

Now listen, I’ve seen this man shoeless and in gray sweatpants more times than I can count. I’m pretty sure it’s his outfit of choice, one that I fully stand behind and support. But right now, he’s not in his standard home uniform. He’s dressed in actual adult man clothes and holy fuck if it doesn’t make my thighs clench together.

I feel like an athlete’s build helps determine their position. Linemen are bigger, tight ends are taller, but still bulky in muscle. But quarterbacks. My, my, my. Quarterbacks. Quinton is tall and lean, but not bulky at all. I’m sure he’s been told he’s built like a basketball player many times in his life. And it’s a build that wears dress pants and a tucked-in, button-up shirt so well that it actually robs me of my ability to speak. His dark gray pants were clearly altered to fit him just right. Snug around his thighs and slim cut all the way down to his ankles. I really want to make him turn around because I know his butt looks amazing.

But the pinnacle of this casual yet authoritative look, the part that just makes me want to scream “Yassss zaddy!” is the way he’s taken the time to roll his sleeves up to his elbows. If you ask me, the most underrated part of the male body is the forearm. I don’t know what it is, but seeing Quinton’s forearms out, covered in just the right amount of hair and a fantastic watch, is the fantasy I never knew I had.

“Damn.” I stare with my mouth hanging so wide open, I could catch flies, pointing a salami at him. “You look so hot.”