Free Wings Over Poppies (Over #2) by J.A. DeRouen Page B

babe. Maybe in a little while,” he replies absently and places a firm grip on my upper thigh.
    What. The. Fuck.
    “Quen, what’s up, man?”
    Two men approach us, and Quentin nods his head in acknowledgment. The dark-haired guy scans the room and pays little attention to us. The other one, who I silently nickname Mr. Redneck Romeo, shakes hands with Quentin while he creepily surveys me from head to toe. Something about this guy screams douche.
    “What’s up, bra?” Quentin says in a strange, deep voice while rubbing my thigh possessively.
    That’s not Quentin’s voice. He’s deepened it to sound like a ‘roided out juicehead. What the hell? The guy who I’ve been with all night would not molest me in public and use words like “bra.”
    “So who’s this little hottie? Introduce me.”
    “This is my date, Alex. Alex, this is my roommate, Buck.”
    I regretfully offer my hand to Buck and try my best to keep my disgust in check. Anyone who can make my very promising date turn into this asshole in front of me is not someone I want to know.
    “Very nice to meet you,” I say stiffly as I try to pry my hand out of his hot, sweaty grip.
    “The pleasure is all mine, baby. I’m gonna find my own little hottie, so I’ll catch y’all later. Quentin, I won’t wait up tonight, dude,” he says with a knowing chuckle.
    Quentin chuckles back, runs his eyes up my body, and then smirks at Buck. I’m not sure what’s changed in the last five minutes, but my night has taken a swift nosedive. My bad dating run is obviously still in full effect.
    “Take me home. Now,” I say stiffly as I pick up my purse and remove his hand from my leg.
     

     
    “I had a really good time tonight, Alex,” Quentin says with an apologetic smile.
    “I wish I could say the same. I thought we were having a great time … and then your roommate showed up, and you turned into an asshole. What was that about, Quentin?”
    He shuffles his feet nervously and shoves his hands in his pockets. It’s obvious he’s ashamed of himself, but I can’t figure out why he’d act that way.
    “I’m sorry. That’s not me. That’s not who I am. Buck … he brings out the worst in me. Why don’t you invite me in, and we could, I don’t know, talk about it or something?”
    His eyes are hopeful, and I just don’t get it. He has to know this is going nowhere.
    “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m sorry, Quentin. Good night.” I turn to the front door, key in hand. He grabs my shoulder and turns me back to him.
    “Wait, Alex, please. Just let me come in for a little while. I can’t go home yet. Please.” His eyes plead with me, and I can sense his desperation.
    “I’m not letting you in, Quentin. What the hell is going on?” My eyes narrow in question.
    “If I’m home when Buck gets home, I’ll never hear the end of it.” He tosses his hands up in frustration.
    Why would Buck care what time Quentin made it home? Unless he wanted him to think … surely Quentin isn’t trying to imply…
    I flush with anger at my sudden realization. “You little jerk! You’re trying to ‘Anthony Michael Hall’ me!”
    “What? I don’t know what that is,” Quentin stammers as he backs away.
    “ Sixteen Candles , you dickhead! You want to show Buck my polka-dotted panties!”
    “I have no interest in your panties, Alex. I swear.”
    “But you do want to make it look like we’re having sex. Don’t even try to deny it! And why don’t you have any interest in my panties?” I cross my arms and narrow my eyes at him. I’m getting to the bottom of this. “Oh shit, are you trying to use me as your beard?”
    “My beard? What the hell are you talking about? I’m not fucking gay!” His posture changes from retreating to menacing in an instant.
    I place my hand on Quentin’s arm and squeeze gently, giving him a slight smile. “Look, I don’t care if you’re gay. What I care about is the fact that you have no problem having pretend-sex with