Quinn smiled. “I ply them with expensive wines. Sometimes we’ll go dancing. I—”
“I’m not a date, Quinn. You don’t have to wine me or dine me.”
His smile faded. “No, I imagine not.”
“There is one thing you’d have to do, though.”
“Yes?”
“Sixty-nine me.”
“Yes, Mark,” he said, utterly serious. “I want that. I want everything you’ve been describing to me tonight.”
I’d been playing, but I didn’t want to play anymore. I opened the door leading out to the fifth floor. “My place is right this way.”
We headed down the corridor. 9