Page 46

"Come in," Quinton called briskly through the door.

I was suddenly nervous, no longer actually wanting to step foot inside his private sanctuary.

"Get in here, baby."

Shit.

I couldn't simply leave the plate on the floor in front of the door and haul ass back to my bedroom before he could open the door and drag me inside. Now he knew it was me and he'd just chase me down and drag me back.

My hand went to the knob. Before I could bolt like a total coward, I steeled myself. I turned the knob and pushed the door open wide.

I stood in the doorway with my mouth hanging open as my eyes took in his bedroom.

The room was, like every room in the Alexander house, excessively large. That's where the similarities ended.

Unlike the other bedrooms I'd visited here, Quinton's bed was small, twin-sized. There was no headboard or footboard, simply a metal frame underneath it, holding it up. It was up against the wall and between the only two windows in the room. The bed was covered in a plain black comforter with one lone pillow in a white case.

If the walls had been painted any color I couldn't tell because, from floor to ceiling, books were stacked one on top of the other, taking up all the available wall space.

The windows were bare, exposing the entire room to the outside world if they cared enough to look in. I had no idea how he could sleep like that.

Beside his bed there was a black milk crate flipped upside down. On top of it sat his cell phone, wallet, and a black picture frame. I didn't need to see the picture to know it was one of me. There was no one else he'd have a picture of beside his bed, not even his beloved brother. That was a space solely reserved for me.

There were two doors on the opposite side of the room as the bed and I assumed they were for the bathroom and closet. Every bedroom in this house came with a bathroom and closet. Something affordable only due to the sheer size of the house.

Other than that, there wasn't anything else to look at. No dresser. No television. Not even a damn rug on the cold, hardwood floor. The books were all neatly stacked, not a single one out of place.

Just standing in the doorway looking in hurt my heart.

"Uhhh..." I mumbled. "Where's all your stuff?"

Rude, I know, but he would have been the same way with me.

I snapped my mouth shut when I actually paid attention to the man himself instead of inspecting his belongings.

He was sitting on the floor Indian style. There were black candle sticks on the bare floor, their wicks lit and burning bright.

It looked like a goddamned fire hazard to me. Not to mention completely stupid after what had just gone down at the cottage. Quinton didn't seem the least bit concerned.

He had a thick deck of oversized cards in his hands. The side that faced up was entirely black and he was casually shuffling them.

"Are those..."

"Tarot," he said casually. "The boys told me you've never had yours read for you and it's something you've always wanted. They swear it's the reason why you've been putting so much effort in to learn."

It used to irritate me that they'd all talk about me behind my back and with Quinton especially, because he kept such strict tabs on me. That irritation was entirely gone at the moment.

"Really?" I asked in a quiet, hopeful voice. I had waited so long for this moment. Today was turning out to be a serious day of firsts for me.

"Really," he replied seriously. "Been waiting for you, baby. You took long enough to get to me."

Finally, he looked up at me and away from the deck in his hands. His eyes narrowed and I should have known I wouldn't be able to get away with anything where he was concerned.

"Close the door then get your sweet ass over here."

I kicked the door shut behind me with my foot and winced when it slammed closed. I stood frozen for a few seconds, waiting to hear any sound of people moving around throughout the house.

Blessedly, everything remained quiet.