29. Chapter 29

"Dammnnnn, girl!" Chloe squeals, letting out a whistle as she walks into my room. "You look bangin'."

I'm applying another coat of mascara to make sure my eyes pop. Nerves consume me. Quinton and I have gone out so many times I couldn't even give you a number, but tonight is different. Tonight, we are going on a date. A date as boyfriend and girlfriend. Excitement isn't a strong enough emotion to describe how I feel.

Capping my mascara, I toss it in my makeup bag before making my way over to my full-length mirror.

"Is it too much?" Running my hands down my dress, I take one last look in the mirror.

When I picked out my outfit, I wanted to go with something sexy but still me. He's seen me in so many outfits, but I wanted to stand out tonight. And the red dress I picked out is perfect. It's tight and hugs my curves in all the right places. The girls look fantastic thanks to the sweetheart neckline that transitions into spaghetti straps that criss-cross in laces down my back, giving my skin the perfect exposure. Lifting my foot, I step into black, square-toed lace-up heels and bend down to tie them. I left my hair down in loose, beach waves with a neutral smokey makeup look. Chloe's right. I look damn good. I feel sexy.

Quinton set up our entire date. Which is such a relief. Not that I've dated, but even just planning girls' nights, it gets annoying to be the one to constantly plan every detail. Sometimes, a girl just wants to be surprised with a little "wine and dine" date. He's picking me up around six for our dinner reservations. Quinton Boyd has some weight in the city. He was able to pull some strings and get us a table at a fine-dining oyster bar and chophouse. He won't tell me what he has planned after dinner, just that there will be more to the night.

"No, Brynn, it's not too much." Chloe makes her way to stand next to me.

She's looking at me through the mirror, and I swear her eyes are getting misty.

"Don't you start crying. I'm going on a date. It's nothing big."

"I know. I'm just happy to see you happy. You deserve to be happy, Brynn." She wraps her arm around me, and I turn to hug her. "It's your time. I've been waiting on you two idiots to admit your feelings."

I laugh and pull away from her. We stare at each other. Is this something that your mom is supposed to tell you? This moment we are having, aren't I supposed to have that with my mom? It's weird to not have any relationship with the woman that gave me life. I would give anything to be able to pick up the phone and FaceTime my mom while I get ready for a date. It's been almost seven years since I've been on one.

What would my life have been like if I had a strong mother-daughter relationship? Would she have been beside me through the grieving process? Would she have seen how I blamed myself and encouraged me to move forward? Tell me that it was okay to love again? I guess I'll never know.

I shake myself from my thoughts. I don't want tonight to be tainted, not after he claimed me in front of everyone on the quad yesterday. He must've seen how insecure I felt. I won't even say jealous, because I'm not jealous of Keisha. But hearing her call Q's name and then start strutting over to us put me on the edge. Quinton and I have a past with a lot of people on campus. I just want people to know we are now off-limits.

Making herself comfortable on my bed, Chloe settles in to watch me add the finishing touches to my outfit. I layer a simple gold necklace with my gold ‘B' bar necklace, gold hoop earrings, and one more swipe of a nude shade lipstick.

"Have so much fun tonight," she says, scrolling through her phone.

Before I have a chance to respond, the doorbell chimes. A smile immediately spreads across my face.

"Oh my gosh, look at you," she says, hopping off my bed and rushing toward the door. "You're smitten."

Reaching down, I grab my clutch from my desk. "Would you stop? I'm just excited for some seafood."

"Uh-huh, I'm sure that's what you're looking forward to."

The two of us make our way down the stairs, but Chloe jogs ahead, which isn't hard since I'm wearing heels.

She reaches for the doorknob, and as she opens the door, she turns her head and says, "B, aren't oysters an aphrodisiac?"

I hear Q laugh at her, and my face turns as red as the dress that I'm wearing. Taking the final three steps, I come up beside Chloe as she finishes opening the door to reveal a hot-as-sin Quinton.

"Goddamn," Quinton rasps out at the same time I say, "Holy hell."

It's safe to say we are both very pleased with each other. Quinton is standing in front of me dressed in all black. He's like a Black James Bond. Black, skinny-cut dress pants that taper at the ankles, a black dress shirt with the top three buttons undone—sans undershirt—and a black suit jacket. Fucking fine.

"Hi, thanks for picking me up." The words fly out of my mouth quickly. Grabbing his arm, I start moving him backward. "We need to leave right now."

He resists my pushing, coming to a halt and stopping me. Warmth spread through my body, igniting a fire in my stomach as wetness pools between my legs.

"What's the hurry? We've got time."

Peering up at him, my eyes trail him from head to toe again.

"No, no we don't. Because if we stay here, I'm stripping you out of these clothes, and we will be late. And I didn't spend all this time getting ready to show up at a fine dining restaurant with sex-mussed hair."

Chloe and Quinton laugh at my outburst. We haven't had sex, yet that comment just proved how ready I am for us to take things to the finish line.

"Guess that's my cue to go," Quinton says to Chloe before following me down the steps. We don't get very far before he stops me. "You look beautiful, Wilder."

Leaning up, I meet his lips for a quick kiss. "You clean yourself up pretty well too, Quinton Boyd. Can't wait to see your fashionista style come out when you make it to the NFL."

"You'll be on the sidelines," he murmurs.

Then we make our way to his parked car.

The restaurant is gorgeous. It's way too much for our first date, but I appreciate him putting in so much thought to get us here. The chophouse is adult-only, with its moody setting and white-cloth-covered tables that contrast perfectly against the black booths and chairs. Plexiglass is attached to each booth, giving you an even more private dining experience. For a Thursday, the place is packed. Quinton and I slide our way through those waiting, and make our way to the hostess stand.

"Good evening, welcome to Carver's," the bubbly hostess greets us. She's extremely professional in the fact that she doesn't spend any extra time on Quinton. "What is the name under?"

"Quinton Boyd."

The hostess looks over her tablet and finds our name quickly. "Right this way, Mr. Boyd."

Placing his hand on the small of my back—my body ignites from where his hand touches the exposed skin of my lower back—Quinton guides me to follow the waitress.

Eyes follow us as the hostess guides us to a booth against the wall toward the back of the restaurant. As we slide into our seats on opposite sides of the table, the waitress places our menus down in front of us.

Opening up the menu, my eyes catch on the prices next to each item. My eyes bulge like they're about to bug out of my head. I knew the restaurant was fancy, but I wasn't expecting this.

"Quinton, this is way too much."

He doesn't even glance above his menu. "Brynn, I wanted to do this for you. It's fine. Get whatever you want."

Deciding not to press the subject, I go back to browsing the menu. There are so many things that jump out at me.

"Good evening. What can I start you two off with?" our server asks.

Quinton glances up at me, raising his eyebrows in a gesture for me to go first.

"I'll take a glass of sauvignon blanc."

"Of course, and you, sir?"

"Buffalo Trace. And an order of oysters, please."

The waiter nods before leaving our table.

"Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?" Quinton asks, taking a sip of the water that was placed on the table.

Blushing, I bring my water glass up to my mouth, taking a sip to hide the flush that paints my skin.

"Whatcha hungry for?" I ask, changing the subject. Taking compliments is hard. Like genuine comments, not the whole "you're hot" comment, but true compliments take me off guard.

"You want to share some stuff?" Quinton asks.

Vulnerability stretches across his face. Not one to wear his emotions on his sleeve, he never has, but tonight I can read him like a book. Nervous energy radiates off him. Mr. Cool and Confident is nervous tonight. As twisted as it sounds, it makes me feel good. Not because I want him to be nervous, but because it helps settle my nerves.

"I'm always down to share." Q chokes on the sip of water he was mid-drink. "Food," I rush out. "I'm always down to share food. You. Oh, hell no, I'm not sharing you with anyone."

Stop talking. Stop talking. Stop talking.

A red flag has to be waving above my head. "Stage five clinger alert! Avoid! Avoid! Avoid!"

His coughing fit comes to an end. Only a few heads turned our way, and I can feel my face flaming again.

"Thanks for the clarification." He laughs. I want to record the happiness that expels from him and play it on rainy days. "And just so we're clear, I don't share either."

"Good to know." I bring the water glass back up to my mouth. Where is the waiter? I could really use that glass of wine right about now.

"Since we've established you love to share." Quinton smirks at me, humor lacing his face. "What are you thinking? I can do ‘turf' if you want to do the ‘surf?'"

"Works for me," I answer, scanning the menu again. "Order whatever sounds good. I'm not picky."

Our waiter returns, places our drinks down in front of us, and takes our order. Quinton orders a center-cut filet with potato puree, while I order the lobster with crab stuffing and asparagus. My mouth is watering just thinking about all the food we are about to eat. Jotting down our order, the waiter leaves us to enjoy our oysters.

"How was practice today?"

Propping my elbow on the table—I know, it's not polite—I bring my hand under my chin and watch him. Seriously, I could kick my own ass for putting off these feelings that I didn't realize I was snuffing out.

Grinning, Quinton answers. "B, it was kickass. I know I've been sayin' this, but I feel like we are really going to make it happen. We're ready."

My hand reaches across the table, finding his. Turning his palm up, my hand slides over his. It's a little awkward since our hands are opposite, but it still feels right. He runs his thumb across the side of my palm.

"I'm proud of you."

It's his turn to play bashful. "Thanks, Wilder."

Dinner was perfect. Both of us are so full from the delicious surf and turf. Instead of getting back in the car, Quinton keeps walking past the parking lot.

"Uhh, Q, we parked in that lot." Hiking my thumb over my shoulder, I gesture to the lot we just walked past.

Holding his hand out, I take it. "I've got another surprise for you."

And with that, we make our trek down the road. We don't get very far before Quinton is placing his hand on my hip, sliding me in front of him, and then stopping when I'm on the opposite side of him. He's now between me and the sidewalk. I go to question him about the move, but he just looks down with a smirk and winks at me. Heart fluttering, I melt in a puddle. Right there. On the sidewalk. Quinton Boyd knows the sidewalk rule. Swoon.

It's a short walk and I thank my lucky stars. These heels are cute, but they weren't made for walking. My feet are used to the comfort of sneakers. Stopping outside of an old brick building, Quinton pulls open the heavy black door, ushering me inside. My ears are met with music. But not just any music.

Live music.

Shimmying my hips in excitement, I enter the building, throwing Quinton a subtle grin. Boy knows I love live music and dancing just as much as I love tequila shots and football games.

Sidling up behind me, his front brushes against my ass, and my senses instantly heighten. If I can help it, we won"t be staying here long. Our bodies fight against the crowd in this packed bar. I'm shouldering us through as Quinton crowds me from behind.

"Well hot damn, if it isn't Brynn Wilder."

My head snaps in different directions, finding Quinton, with a puzzled look on my face. He gestures his head toward the stage—my mind realizes the voice came from the microphone.

Ecstasy is on stage.

I'm beaming from ear to ear.

"You look fine as fuck, girl. Bring your ass up here," Max says in the microphone, gesturing the mic toward me. "Make room, people."

The crowd starts looking around, trying to figure out who he's talking to.

Before I make my way toward the stage, I turn back to Quinton, searching his eyes for any clues on how to proceed. Is it bad to go up front when I'm on a date? He doesn't give me time to let my mind wander before he's nudging me forward.

"Let's go." Turning around, I start making my way to the stage. Before we get to the front, I stop and spin on my heels. "Wait," I ask. "Did you know they were performing?"

He beams down at me, and that's all the answer I need.

Quinton Boyd planned the most perfect date for me.

A guitar riff rips through the air, and I immediately recognize the tune. Ecstasy starts their version of "Scotty Doesn't Know," and my body immediately starts moving to the beat. Quinton is right behind me, not missing a step as our bodies slide together.

His hands never leave mine the whole night. Skating over my exposed skin, leaving goose bumps in his wake. Our bodies are glued to each other, his front to my back. Ecstasy is playing banger after banger. I haven't stopped moving to the beat since we got here.

Tonight has been the best night I've had in a long time. From dinner to watching my favorite band, Quinton knows how to plan a date. And now it's time to get the hell out of here. I can't take his lingering touches anymore. Either he gets me to his room, or I'm going to drag him to the nearest supply closet.