Chapter 93
Chapter 93
Neema’s head snapped up so fast, Quinton was certain he heard her neck pop. Juice splashed out of a glass Quinton hadn’t realized she was holding, wetting her hand, chin, neck, and half the front of her shirt.
As though that wasn’t bad enough, whatever had been in her mouth went down the wrong path, and in the next heartbeat, Neema was captured in a coughing fit so violent one would have thought her body was trying to expel a lung.
For a split second, Quinton was frozen. That wasn’t the reaction he’d ever thought he would get to a somewhat marriage proposal. Oh, hell.
Neema’s eyes watered. That finally had Quinton moving.
“Neema!” He rushed forward, grabbing the napkins from the coffee table and thrusting them at her. “Breathe, sweetheart. I didn’t mean… Just… Breathe.”
She tried to wave him off, coughing between gasps, “I’m… Trying.”
“Here, tilt forward-” he suggested, helping with a hand to her back.
“Stop hovering, Quinton!” she croaked out, anger seeming to take the place inhabited by shock just moments before.
Unsure of what else to do, he took a step back, feeling like a complete idiot as she finally managed to catch her breath. Her cheeks were flushed pink, her eyes bright with both tears, disbelief, and maybe anger.
When the coughing finally stopped, Neema stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “Marriage?” she repeated, voice half-shocked, half-incredulous. “That’s what you said, right? Did I hear you right?”
Before he could respond, Neema went on with a groan. “Oh, please tell me I heard you right and didn’t just almost choke on my tongue for nothing.”
Quinton rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. You heard me right. I mean… It came up.”
“Came up?” She blinked rapidly, still dazed. “From where? I was sitting here drinking juice and eating grapes. Where did it come up?”
Frowning and feeling a little irritated by her attitude, Quinton folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the arm of the couch behind him. “Okay, there is no need to be dramatic about this. I was talking to Vanessa, and it came up. I just wanted to know what you thought of the subject.”
Neema glared at him. She used the napkin to wipe at her chin. “I’m not being dramatic. You can’t just drop a bomb like that out of nowhere, Quinton!”
“Look, I didn’t mean to ambush you. I just-”
“Quinton,” she interrupted, still trying to steady herself. “We’ve barely been together a month.”
“I know,” he said, voice low, steady. “But you can’t tell me you don’t feel it too.”
Her lips parted, but she didn’t speak.
He took a slow breath. “We may have only been together officially for a few weeks, but you and I both know this started way back. It’s not just some spark that’ll burn out. It’s real.”
“Real doesn’t mean ready,” she said softly.
“Then when?” he asked, frustration bleeding into his tone. “When will it be ready? How long until you think I’m allowed to love you out loud?”
Her eyes widened. “That’s not fair.”
Maybe. On some level, Quinton knew he was being irrational and giving a knee-jerk reaction to rejection. Because he felt rejected by her reaction and words. A bitter laugh fell from his lips. “You want fair? Fine. How long were you with Jerome before you got engaged?”
The room went still.
“Don’t,” she warned, her tone sharp.
“How long?” he pressed, refusing to hear all the warning bells going off in his head. All Quinton knew was that he’d opened himself up after years and considered something he’d sworn he never would again. And Neema had turned him down without hesitation. For the first time in a very long time, Quinton felt as though his insides were being torn to shreds.
She swallowed hard. She avoided his gaze but answered his question, her voice low and heavy with too many emotions. “Two years.”
“Two years,” he echoed. “And how did that work out for you?”
Neema’s jaw tightened, anger flaring in her eyes. “That’s low, even for you.”
Quinton wasn’t listening. “I’m just saying,” he said, voice hardening. “Time doesn’t guarantee anything. You can spend years with the wrong person and still not know them. Or you can meet someone and know within weeks that they’re it.”
“Are you speaking from experience?” she shot back. “Because you have more experience with marrying the wrong person than I do.”
Her words stung more than he wanted to admit. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The air between them was heavy, sharp around the edges.
Finally, she said quietly, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought that up. But I can’t talk of marriage right now, Quinton.”
Quinton stood there for a long second, his jaw clenched tight, the muscles in his neck tensing.
He wanted to say something. Anything. Realization dawned. He’d messed up. He wanted to fix it, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he turned away, his footsteps echoing across the hardwood as he walked toward the hallway.
“Quinton,” she called softly.
He paused, but didn’t turn back. He didn’t want her to see he was barely holding it together.
“I’m not saying never,” she said. “Just… Not now.”
He closed his eyes, his chest aching like a hot knife was piercing his very soul. “Yeah,” he said finally, his voice low. “I know.” And then he walked out.
Quinton made it back to the office before his strength gave out. He leaned against the wall, his hands braced on either side of him. How had that gone so wrong?