Accidentally Aphrodite - Dakota Cassidy Page 0,47
all that time invested. Not at all. I’m just saying, never give up. It’s what you told me when we had to write that stupid essay about some ancient artist’s perspective of his death. Remember how I struggled with that? Christ, I wanted to raise him up from the dead just so I could kill him all over again.”
Quinn sighed, but she shot Ingrid a fond smile. “One essay and several drastically bad life-choices are exactly the same.”
“You’re breaking me,” Ingrid said mournfully, letting the cookie drop to the plate.
Quinn patted her hand and wiped the side of Ingrid’s mouth free of crumbs. “Don’t be broken. I’m not.” And that was the truth.
Carl stood up suddenly, pushing aside his chair and grabbing a big tote bag from under the table. He stooped in an awkward half-bend of knees and pulled out a book.
Holding it up, he grinned crookedly at Quinn and held out his hand, now duct-taped securely to his wrist, the shiny silver metallic catching the overhead light.
Quinn cocked her head in Nina’s direction.
Nina smiled, and when that smile was in direct relation to someone she loved, it was the most amazing, serene sight to behold. She was so beautiful when she wasn’t threatening to turn your liver into pâté.
Nina ruffled Carl’s dark hair like a proud parent. “He wants to read to you, Lite-Brite. Carl’s an intuitive little dude, and he must sense you’re sad about all this love goop. He loves to read. Reads everything he can get his hands on. It makes him happy. He thinks it makes everyone else happy, too. Don’t you buddy? It’s his way of cheering you up.”
Quinn smiled up at Carl then, her heart tight and melty in her chest. “I love to read, too, Carl. It’s my absolute favorite pastime.”
Carl grunted and stuck his hand back at her with that grin even the hardest of hearts couldn’t deny.
Quinn took it, letting Carl lead her to her bedroom, where he sat on the edge of the bed and patted the place next to him.
And there she sat, on her frilly romantic bed with the plump white and blue lace pillows, right next to a vegetarian zombie who clumsily nestled Goodnight Moon on his thighs and grunted out words to her.
And it was the second most amazing thing that had happened to her today.
Chapter 9
The doorbell, tinny and obnoxiously loud, had Quinn literally falling out of her bed, stumbling over Carl, who’d fallen fast asleep after they’d read together.
Buffy and Spike stirred only briefly from their spot on the pillows before yawning and settling back in, curling together in a warm ball of contentment.
Grabbing her bathrobe, Quinn made a break for the door in the hopes whoever it was, holding their finger to the damn doorbell as if they were demanding entry to Heaven, wouldn’t wake Nina.
Because she did not want to be the one who ruffled those bat wings.
But it was already too late. Nina held the door wide open, the freezing rush of air whooshing around Quinn’s ankles.
The vampire folded her arms over her red thermal shirt with black bats on it, crossing her long legs covered in matching thermal underwear, and cocked her head in Quinn’s direction. “Ding-dong, parental unit calling,” she growled.
Oh no. No, no, no.
“Quinn?” Her mother rushed in, pushing her way past Nina to stop directly in front of Khristos, whose big body was sprawled awkwardly on her couch, sound asleep. His beautiful face took her breath away, relaxed and serene as though his liver wasn’t in dire danger of being pecked out.
His muscled arm was flung over his forehead in abandon, and his chest, covered in a T-shirt, lifted in a slow, mesmerizing rhythm of rippled goodness.
Her mother stabbed a finger at Khristos without saying a word, her disapproval ringing in the still apartment air as surely as if she’d expressed it verbally.
Nina strolled up behind her mother’s left shoulder, the floppy bunny ears on her slippers bobbing up and down. “Cat got your tongue?”
Her mother’s eyes went wide at Nina’s presence. “What is this?”
“Hot dude.”
“Explain!” Helen Morris demanded.
Nina scratched her head, “Um, hot dude I’d consider hittin’ if I didn’t have my own hot dude at home?”
“Why?” she spat, adjusting her yellow and blue fanny pack around her waist.
The vampire frowned. “Why is hot dude on the couch?”
When Helen didn’t answer quickly enough for Nina, she said, “Look, lady, are we free associating or playing charades or somethin’? Because it’s damn early for me,