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?
“It’s starting to not taste as bad,” I tell Donny. I learned my lesson on this my senior year. It tasting better does not mean it’s actually tasting better, it means I’m fully inebriated. “That means I have to tap out soon.”
“But you just fuckin’ turned up!”
“Yeah,” I agree. “But I’m not very good at this. I don’t have a Donny-level tolerance.”
“Funny.” Quinton slides into the empty seat next to me. “And I just don’t have Donny tolerance.”
“Ha-fucking-ha.” Donny rolls his eyes. “I don’t know why you Denver people always want to act like you don’t love me. Everyone loves me!”
Quinton and I both look at each other, but neither of us say anything at all until Donny walks away mumbling how the altitude has ruined us.
“Tequila, huh?” He points at my empty shot glass. “I didn’t peg you as a shot girl.”
I don’t know if it’s the adrenaline rush I get after an event, the vodka tonics, the tequila, or all of the above, but the response I would’ve lassoed in yesterday just falls right out of my mouth.
“Well, considering you didn’t peg me for a girl at all when we first met, this doesn’t surprise me.”
And then—definitely from the tequila—I laugh really hard . . . at my own joke. Lucky for me, it’s not long before Quinton’s thick, raspy laughter is mixing with mine.
“Oh shit!” He leans back in his chair, covering his mouth with a fist. “You got jokes?”
“I got a few.” I bounce my shoulders a few times, and the urge not to brush them off is just obtainable in my drunken haze.
I’ve obviously seen him all throughout this event . . . and after too. But it’s in this moment, with all of the overhead lights on and the top buttons of his shirt undone, that I realize I’ve never seen Quinton look like this before. The shadows and edges usually covering his face are gone and there’s a softness to him. It’s the first time I’ve seen him look happy and relaxed. And it makes him even better looking.
He opens his mouth to say something, but doesn’t get it out.
“Elliot!” Brynn yells from across the room, her arms stuffed with balloons. “Are you sure you don’t need a ride?”
“Yeah, I’m just going to get an Uber. Thanks, though.”