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I laugh. “There he is.”
“Exactly.” She smiles into her glass. “I think that was his version of telling me he’s proud of me.”
“Probably.”
“He’s proud of a lot of things he doesn’t actually say out loud. My grandma used to joke that he came out of the womb with a clipboard and a list of things everyone could be doing better.”
I laugh at the image. “That tracks way too well.”
She laughs with me, and when she reaches for her wine again, I notice her plate.
It’s almost empty.
Mine isn’t.
“Hold on.” I point my fork at her plate. “How the hell did that happen? You’re almost done.”
She looks at her plate, then mine. “Maybe you talk too much.”
She takes her last bite with a little smile that tells me she knows exactly what she’s doing.
Fine.
I pick up the pace, shoveling in one forkful after another until I’m barely even tasting the food anymore.
Whatever. Ziti, schmiti. Or however the saying goes.
Once I’m done, I start gathering the plates, and she gets up with hers.
“I’ll help.”
“You can just put them by the sink.”
She follows me into the kitchen and sets her plate on top of mine. “Shouldn’t we do the dishes first?”
“No. Fuck the dishes.”
Before she can answer, I grab her around the waist and pull her into me.
Quinn lets out a surprised laugh that disappears the second my mouth hits hers.
She responds instantly, her arms coming around my neck as I walk her backward until her ass hits the edge of the counter. The kiss goes from hungry to fucking desperate in about two seconds, like sitting across from each other for an entire dinner was some kind of endurance test neither of us realized we were taking.
Her fingers push into my hair and tighten, pulling me closer, and I go willingly. There’s nothing slow or careful about this anymore. Our mouths keep finding each other between uneven breaths, kissing until we have to break apart for air, only to dive right back in.
Fuck, I’ve wanted this for so long.
Quinn presses closer, and when I pull back just enough to breathe, she follows me, catching my bottom lip before I can get very far.
That nearly fucking kills me.
A sound slips out of me as I kiss her again, one hand settling at her waist while the other braces against the counter beside her. She’s giving me everything back, matching every kiss, every pull, every bit of impatience, and that does something dangerous to what’s left of my self-control.
Because this isn’t me wondering if I’m moving too fast or trying to read every tiny change in her expression. I’m still paying attention, always will, but Quinn isn’t waiting for me to decide what happens next.
She knows what she wants tonight.
And apparently she’s just as tired of waiting as I am.
