“Mhmm.” He didn’t press. “Just remember—it’s not weakness to want somebody. It’s survival.”
I let out a shaky laugh. “Look at you being wise.”
“Older brother privilege,” he said. “Love you, sis.”
“Love you too.”
We hung up, but his words stayed. Survival. Want somebody.
I stared at the stripped wire in my hand, gloves sweaty, pulse kicking. My body still sore, clit still aching in that good way, and my mouth still ruined from Quentin’s kisses. He’d kissed like forever, and my brother had the nerve to call it survival.
The lie I’d been running—reckless, just sex, just heat—felt flimsy as drywall dust. And when Quentin called later, inviting me to a real event, a real date, every excuse I had cracked like brittle wire.
By the time I finished the last outlet, the sun had dipped. I packed up, said goodnight to the guys, dust streaking my jeans, arms sore but satisfied. Daddy would be proud of this work. Clean, tight, solid.
I stripped off my dusty clothes when I got home, showered hot, and let the steam try—fail—to clear my head of Quentin Hale. The fog of lust clung harder than drywall dust ever did.
The phone buzzed as I wrapped in a towel.
“Girl, you alive?” Shawna asked, voice too loud through the speaker.
“Clearly.”
“You sound… happy. Suspiciously happy.”
“I had a good day.”
“Mmhmm. Or a good night.”
“Shawna.”
She cackled, then went quiet, more pointed. “So? You shot pool with him, yeah, but… the date didn’t end there, did it?”
Heat rushed to my face. “Why you always fishing?”
“Because I know you, Rae,” she said, laughter threading with something else—envy, raw and honest. “I saw the way he looked at you. Like you were the whole damn game. Don’t tell me you just shook hands and went home.”
I smirked, even as my chest tightened. “Some things ain’t for public consumption.”
“Uh-huh.” Softer now. “Lucky you.”
That tugged something deep. I knew that sound. Wanting. It mirrored the ache I’d carried before last night—before Quentin touched me, kissed me, split me until I couldn’t lie to myself anymore. Shawna didn’t mean harm; her envy was never mean. But I heard the ache in it, and it made me love her more.
“Don’t be jealous,” I said gently.
“Jealous?” she scoffed. “Maybe. But happy for you too. Just don’t disappear on me. I still need my partner-in-crime.”
“You could never get rid of me.”
“Good.” She exhaled. “See you Saturday. And Rae?”
“Yeah?”
“Whatever he’s doing, keep letting him. You deserve that glow.”
I smiled into the quiet after she hung up. Shawna had named it. Glow. And it scared the hell out of me. Because glow meant more than dick. Glow meant I was in trouble.
I sat there in just my towel, skin still warm from theshower, telling myself not to think about Quentin. Not to replay the way he kissed my forehead like I meant more than a night. Not to imagine his thick dick dragging in and out of me, my pussy gripping until I screamed.
