mingled with fuzzy images from the night before, making it tricky for Grace to swim through her consciousness to reality. She remembered waking up in Quentin’s car and seeing Tommy’s Blazer on its side, and pretty much everything after that up until when Quentin carried her back to his car. The rest of the night was a blur.
Stiffly, she turned her head toward the clock on her nightstand, and gasped in surprise. Quentin was sleeping upright in her chair. He didn’t look very comfortable. His neck was kinked awkwardly as his head rested on the back of the chair, his jaw slack as he breathed deeply in his slumber. Her gaze roamed over his crossed arms, and the bare feet that rested on the end of her bed. He must have pulled an all-nighter, she decided.
More images flashed before her eyes. Soft lips against her forehead. Tender touches of care through the night. The sweet hum of song lulling her back to sleep each time he woke her.
Grace rolled away from him, carefully pulling her blankets back so she could try to get up without waking him. Her muscles screamed in protest, her entire body as sore as if a Mack truck had driven over her, backed up, and run over her again. Grace wondered how long it would take until she could move without hurting. Carefully, she placed her hands on either side of her legs, when her fingers brushed against bare skin. Looking down, she inhaled sharply, yanked the blankets back over the bottom half of her body, and flopped backward on the bed so Quentin couldn’t see her underwear from behind. Oh God, she groaned mentally, throwing her arm over her eyes.
There was nothing careful in the way she fell back onto the bed. Quentin woke, startled. Jumping off the chair, he looked frantically around the room. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, just about everything,” Grace muttered.
“Is it your head?” He tugged on her arm. “Let me see your eyes.”
Mortified beyond belief, she tried keeping her arm in place, but wasn’t strong enough to resist.
“Oh my gosh, you look like you’re burning up. Here.” With the back of his hand, he felt for a fever, much like her mother had when she was younger.
Someone kill me now, Grace silently begged. Humiliation burned bright red over every square inch of her face. “Stop it, Quentin!” She batted his hand away and scowled at him. “I’m not running a fever. I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine,” he said, staring at her with skepticism. “Just tell me, because you’re not going to be able to keep it away from me anyway.”
“Fine. I’m embarrassed. Happy now?”
“Embarrassed.” He rolled the word around like he was trying it on for size. “But why?”
“I’m not wearing any bottoms, just panties.” Panties that were way too skimpy for him to be seeing her wearing.
“Oh.” He straightened, took a step back, and said nothing more.
Raising her eyes, she met his gaze straight on. “Please tell me you didn’t undress me.”
“Well… uh… I—” Quentin stumbled over his words and looked away, unable to meet her eyes.
“Quentin!” Grace yelled, as she pulled herself up in her bed, scrambling to get into a sitting position without revealing more of herself.
He swiped a hand across his face and looked away, his voice uncertain. “I had to.”
“Uh-huh.” Grace grunted in mortification and crossed both arms over her face as she fell back again, wishing she could be anywhere else.
“Your mom wasn’t home and your jeans were filthy from the wreck.”
Grace dropped her arms to her stomach and frowned. “And so you thought you’d just help me out of them?”
He paused, and let out a sigh. “Yes.”
She grunted again and turned her face to the wall.
“No—” he started again, before she cut in.
“Which is it, Quentin, yes or no?”
He sat back down in the chair behind Grace’s head, releasing an exasperated breath. “I tried my best to do it as discreetly as I could. I did it under your sheet. I didn’t see anything, I promise.”
His promise made her feel a little better. The truth of the matter was that although he was the first man to ever take her pants off, she’d never quite pictured it happening like that. Tilting her head back, she forced her lips to curve up. “Thank you for not being a jerk then.”
Quentin didn’t reply. Instead, he stood up, asked if she needed anything, and then hurried out of the room, she assumed to give her privacy so she could