To her relief, the answer was no. "How did this happen?"
"Don't worry. Your virtue is intact. You used my shoulder as a pillow. That's as innocent as an ice cream social."
"How many ice cream socials have you attended?"
"None. But I have a terrific imagination."
Quinn couldn't fault Ryder's words. But the way he said them made her want to squirm. In a good way. It went to prove that she shouldn't spend this much time with him in such close proximity.
"I need to brush my teeth." Quinn skirted around the seated Ryder.
"Everyone is asleep, so the bathroom is empty," Ryder smiled as though enjoying a private joke. "We'll be in Philadelphia within the hour. There's a diner where we go first thing, no matter the time. I hope you're hungry."
Quinn's stomach felt hollow. When was the last time she had eaten? Between the excitement of starting the job and meeting the band, the impossible had happened. Quinn hadn't thought of food since yesterday at lunch. "How are their pancakes?"
"The best I've ever tasted."
Quinn rummaged around in her suitcase, trying to find her toiletries bag. "That is a lofty claim. I'm a bit of a pancake aficionado."
"Me too."
"There you are." Triumphantly, Quinn waved the bag over her head. "Why is it the one thing you need is always at the bottom of the pile?"
"A question for the ages." Ryder took her suitcase, replacing it on the rack. "You look pretty."
"I've been downgraded from beautiful?" Quinn laughed. She doubted Ryder's eyesight. Her hair hadn't seen a comb since before the concert. Who knew what kind of morning gunk lurked in the corner of her eyes. But it was nice of him to say. Even if, technically, it violated the no-flirting agreement. Or had they agreed to that?
"Did you promise me you wouldn't flirt?"
Ryder's hazel eyes took on a thoughtful expression. "I don't remember. I said you had a two-week no-seduction window. Flirting is innocent enough. Isn't it?"
Depends on the perpetrator .
"Like an ice cream social?"
"There you go." Ryder reached out. For a second, Quinn thought he was going to touch her hair. He seemed to hover, then dropped his hand to his side. "Better grab the bathroom while you can. I see Linc stirring in his bunk. If he gets there first, it will be uninhabitable without fumigation."
"Lovely."
"That is the last thing I would call it."
Quinn didn't stand around quibbling. Linc's bare feet hung over the edge of his bunk.
"And Quinn?" Ryder called out before she closed the door.
"Yes?"
"I don't know what I was thinking. Pretty doesn't begin to describe you. Beautiful is better. I'll give it some thought and get back to you."
Exasperated, Quinn shut the door. The man was incorrigible. And fun. Her mother liked to tell the story of when Quinn was eight, and she declared that if she ever met a man who loved pancakes as much as she did, she would marry him. That was going a bit far. However, she had met a few men who turned their noses up. Carbs and empty calories. Jeez. Get over yourself.
Turning, Quinn froze. This was a tour bus bathroom? It was nicer than the one in her father's remodeled guest suite—and Cora had gone all-out fancy. This one boasted marble countertops and a shower with multiple jets. The black-and-white tile floor gleamed. As did the antique brass fixtures. And the towels. They were wonderfully thick and soft.
"Ryder and his band certainly like to do it up right."
Quinn stood before the mirror, slowly brushing her teeth. First class all the way. It was how she had grown up. Never wanting for anything. Never worrying about paying her bills or budgeting for food. Not that Quinn was living in poverty. Hardly that. She made enough to live comfortably. But not luxuriously. It would be nice to live in this world again—for a little while.
There was a small but comfortable apartment waiting for her in San Francisco. When she moved to something bigger and better, it would be paid for with her money. Earned by her talent. Quinn dreamed of that
"Don't worry. Your virtue is intact. You used my shoulder as a pillow. That's as innocent as an ice cream social."
"How many ice cream socials have you attended?"
"None. But I have a terrific imagination."
Quinn couldn't fault Ryder's words. But the way he said them made her want to squirm. In a good way. It went to prove that she shouldn't spend this much time with him in such close proximity.
"I need to brush my teeth." Quinn skirted around the seated Ryder.
"Everyone is asleep, so the bathroom is empty," Ryder smiled as though enjoying a private joke. "We'll be in Philadelphia within the hour. There's a diner where we go first thing, no matter the time. I hope you're hungry."
Quinn's stomach felt hollow. When was the last time she had eaten? Between the excitement of starting the job and meeting the band, the impossible had happened. Quinn hadn't thought of food since yesterday at lunch. "How are their pancakes?"
"The best I've ever tasted."
Quinn rummaged around in her suitcase, trying to find her toiletries bag. "That is a lofty claim. I'm a bit of a pancake aficionado."
"Me too."
"There you are." Triumphantly, Quinn waved the bag over her head. "Why is it the one thing you need is always at the bottom of the pile?"
"A question for the ages." Ryder took her suitcase, replacing it on the rack. "You look pretty."
"I've been downgraded from beautiful?" Quinn laughed. She doubted Ryder's eyesight. Her hair hadn't seen a comb since before the concert. Who knew what kind of morning gunk lurked in the corner of her eyes. But it was nice of him to say. Even if, technically, it violated the no-flirting agreement. Or had they agreed to that?
"Did you promise me you wouldn't flirt?"
Ryder's hazel eyes took on a thoughtful expression. "I don't remember. I said you had a two-week no-seduction window. Flirting is innocent enough. Isn't it?"
Depends on the perpetrator .
"Like an ice cream social?"
"There you go." Ryder reached out. For a second, Quinn thought he was going to touch her hair. He seemed to hover, then dropped his hand to his side. "Better grab the bathroom while you can. I see Linc stirring in his bunk. If he gets there first, it will be uninhabitable without fumigation."
"Lovely."
"That is the last thing I would call it."
Quinn didn't stand around quibbling. Linc's bare feet hung over the edge of his bunk.
"And Quinn?" Ryder called out before she closed the door.
"Yes?"
"I don't know what I was thinking. Pretty doesn't begin to describe you. Beautiful is better. I'll give it some thought and get back to you."
Exasperated, Quinn shut the door. The man was incorrigible. And fun. Her mother liked to tell the story of when Quinn was eight, and she declared that if she ever met a man who loved pancakes as much as she did, she would marry him. That was going a bit far. However, she had met a few men who turned their noses up. Carbs and empty calories. Jeez. Get over yourself.
Turning, Quinn froze. This was a tour bus bathroom? It was nicer than the one in her father's remodeled guest suite—and Cora had gone all-out fancy. This one boasted marble countertops and a shower with multiple jets. The black-and-white tile floor gleamed. As did the antique brass fixtures. And the towels. They were wonderfully thick and soft.
"Ryder and his band certainly like to do it up right."
Quinn stood before the mirror, slowly brushing her teeth. First class all the way. It was how she had grown up. Never wanting for anything. Never worrying about paying her bills or budgeting for food. Not that Quinn was living in poverty. Hardly that. She made enough to live comfortably. But not luxuriously. It would be nice to live in this world again—for a little while.
There was a small but comfortable apartment waiting for her in San Francisco. When she moved to something bigger and better, it would be paid for with her money. Earned by her talent. Quinn dreamed of that
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