“What did he say to you?”
“Nothing.”
“Quinn, just tell me, dammit.”
I’m not going to tell him, obviously. Even if I wanted to, I’m not sure how many words I’m capable of at this point. What the hell is Liquid Essence, and why does it feel so… good?
It’s like they took all the best things about liquor and weed, left out all the worst things, and put them in a blender. I feel warm, fuzzy, and tingly, and everything looks sparkly and glittery, yet I don’t feel dizzy, nauseous, tired, or paranoid.
I look up at Dean, letting the beauty and perfection of him seep deep into my soul. God, he’s wonderful. Those eyes—those big, deep, dark, soulful eyes—there’s so much tenderness in them; so much love. That strong, determined chin—that scruff of facial hair that I love to dig my fingers into…
