Well, if that wasn’t a blow to my ego I didn’t know what was.
“You fuck my wife and you tell me you can’t even remember doing it?!” Quinn yelled, raising the bat and pointing it at a slightly shaking Mr. NSC. “You have three seconds before I shove this bat where no bat should ever venture.”
“I swea—“
Mr. NSO was swiftly cut off the moment Quinn started counting.
“One.” He winked, scratching the bat against the stubble on his chin.
“Fuck! I’m going.” He ran, yelling behind him as he made his way out of my apartment, not before stumbling a couple of times and running into God knows what in my living room.
The moment the door clicked into place behind him, Quinn let out a deep belly laugh, dropping onto my bed in hysterics. The bubble of laughter I’d been trying to keep back poured from my mouth and together with my gay best friend, we laughed until we cried.
Once the tears subsided a couple of minutes later, I noticed Quinn’s serious gaze latching onto mine. The baseball bat, long since forgotten, sat at the end of my bed and I eyed Quinn wearily.
“Spit it out.” I groaned, pulling the sheet higher against my chest.
“You’ve known me for ten years, when have I ever spit it out?” Quinn winked, a smirk playing at his lips.
I rolled my eyes and shook my head at the sexual innuendo master that was my gay best friend, finally noticing what he was wearing. Did he get dressed in the freaking dark?
He was wearing a white wife beater, showcasing his not-so-bulging muscles beneath the thin fabric. Then, there were the jeans, tight blue jeans that did nothing to hide the strength of his thighs, and as my gaze moved lower I noticed the chunky brown work boots on his feet. My, he went all out.
Quinn had been my best friend since college, ever since he randomly burst into song in the middle of the corridor. I was minding my own business, trying to find my English class when he grabbed me by the hand, my books falling all over the floor, before twirling me around three times and dipping me dramatically. We’ve been best friends ever since.
“I’m bypassing your need to talk about semen in every conversation we have and instead I’m going to ask you what the hell processed you to put...” I waved my hand in his general direction, “this together?”
Quinn’s back straightened as he sat up, looking down at his horrible wardrobe malfunction before smirking at me. “You said DEFCON 1. We haven’t had one of those since high school. I thought this would be a little more convincing than me prancing in here with a freaking pink shirt and heels.”
I cringed; he had a point.
“One, you don’t own heels.” I stared pointedly, counting my fingers as I went. “And two, high school was a different story. Everyone was scared you’d take them prisoner behind the bleachers and suck their brains out through their genitals.”
“Yeah, because I’m a raging gay pervert, apparently.” He rolled his eyes before his gaze turned a little more serious. “I hope you were careful last night, Payton. I don’t particularly want to start my day at the clap clinic.”
The hell?
“Did you really just say ‘the clap clinic’?” I balked, smacking him in his chest. “We didn’t have sex. My jeans are still on my freaking legs.”
I sighed hard, falling back into the comfort of my pillow. Maybe I could start the day over in a couple hours.
Quinn sighed along with me, moving to the other side of the bed where, only moments ago, my bed partner slept. He grabbed the pillow, cringing as he noticed the wet patch of drool. “That’s so fucking gross,” he complained, flipping the pillow over and lying down beside me.
“So, what do we call this guy then?” Quinn asked after a beat.
I closed my eyes and rolled onto my side, facing my best friend. “Mr. Not-So-Charming.”
Quinn chuckled softly and a small smile played at my lips.
“You’re certainly kissing a lot of frogs, babe,” he whispered, moving a loose strand of hair from my face.
“Do you have to use fairy tale analogies?” I sighed again, opening my eyes and searching my friend’s face for a hint of amusement. It wasn’t there. In its place was sympathy… or pity. I couldn’t work out which. “How many times do I have to tell you, Quinn? There’s no such thing as Prince Charming or Mr. Right. There’s no fairy tale adventure, dramatic once upon a time love and there certainly isn’t a happily ever after.”
“Fairy tales are real, Pay. You just have to believe.” He winked, leaning in and placing a kiss on my forehead. He leaped from the bed and strutted his ridiculously toned ass to my closet, rifling through my clothes until he pulled out a pink tank top.