The Gritty Truth (The Whiskeys Dark Knights at Peaceful Harbor #7) - Melissa Foster Page 0,11

or gave off seductive vibes, the way Angela did with Joey without even trying. As usual, she had only one answer, and Angela had nailed it. Chemistry.

She rolled her eyes at herself for even thinking she was special to him. Those friends with benefits she imagined surely had even more chemistry with him. The butterfly-inducing zing of electricity between them probably only felt special to her because she didn’t have enough experience flirting with guys to realize it was normal.

But it sure didn’t feel normal.

She hit the last of the studio lights in the lobby and stared out the glass doors into the front parking lot, missing her grandmother. If Gram were alive, she’d tell Roni what she always had about matters of the heart. Sparks start fires, and fires feel good when they’re small enough to warm you, but inevitably they either die out or burn everything in their path. Forget the sparks, Veronica. Look into the heart of the person. If you see gray, run the other way. If you see red, take the man to bed. But if you see a clear blue sky, you’ve got yourself a unicorn, and that just might be your good, kind, hardworking guy. The one you’re meant to be with forever.

Roni stared into the darkness, picturing her grandmother’s serious eyes staring out from behind her wire-framed glasses, her face mapped with wrinkles and worry lines, her short gray hair curling around her ears. The familiar weight of loneliness settled into Roni’s chest.

She startled at a knock on the glass, her hand flying to her chest as Quincy stepped in front of her, those all-seeing eyes holding her gaze. Neither of them moved, but a smile lifted his lips, making her smile, too. He reached for the door, his brows lifting in question.

“Oh.” She unlocked the door, and he pulled it open. My goodness. He was gorgeous, tall and broad in a worn black leather jacket over a gray sweater and faded jeans. His hair was brushed back from his face, making his features even more striking.

He parked one black boot against the bottom of the door, holding it open, and said, “Hey there, beautiful.”

His voice was rough and sweet at once, making every inch of her tingle. “Hi. What are you doing here?”

“Taking you on our date.”

She laughed nervously, feeling a little giddy. “Our date?”

“You lost your chance to make your move, so I’m making mine. These are for you.” He lifted his hand, showing her a fistful of wildflowers, which he must have picked for her because the stems were scraggly and dirty.

Oh, how she loved that! She couldn’t have stopped the dreamy sigh that slipped out if she’d wanted to. “Quincy, they’re beautiful. Thank you.”

“You said wildflowers were your favorite, like the ones on the field by the bridge, right? That’s where these are from.”

She couldn’t believe he’d remembered that from their first few weeks of texting back in May. A wave of emotion stole her voice. He stepped closer, bringing the rich, masculine scents of leather, earth, and man, with an undercurrent of something she had come to know as uniquely Quincy, and her pulse quickened.

“You should get your things,” he said confidently.

“My things?”

“Keys? Purse?” His gaze moved slowly from her face all the way down to her toes, appreciation rising in his eyes as they followed the same path back up her black leggings, lingering long enough on her white ballet wrap shirt to make her traitorous nipples pebble to greet him. A wicked grin appeared as he met her gaze and said, “As much as I hate to ask you to cover up, you’ll need a jacket.”

Despite her rattled nerves, she was surprised that no part of her wanted to make up an excuse tonight. “Okay. Do you want to come in and wait? I have to run upstairs to my apartment for my jacket.”

He cocked a brow and said, “You can wear mine.” He shrugged his jacket off and held it open for her to put on. “I’m not taking the chance that you won’t come back down.”

She laughed softly, loving his sense of humor. “Won’t you be cold?”

“Not likely with you by my side.”

Even though she knew she wouldn’t be cold with him by her side, either, hearing him say it so openly made her a little nervous.

He must have noticed, because he said, “I already promised to keep my hands to myself, and if you’re worried, text that blonde you’re always whispering with