Not my mom.
Not one of my brothers.
Not Sommer.
Quinn.
That’s a problem, because asking for help and inviting him over to my space is not something I need to do. I’m liable to jump his bones like a dog in heat, but ever since his massage, I can’t help but wonder…
Is he really as endowed as he appeared in those tight boxer briefs?
And why the hell am I thinking of that image again?
Because it’s been a really long time since I’ve had anyone show me their big stick, as much as I’d like to pretend that’s not the case. Two years since Richard the Cheating Dickface stuck his wiener into Gabby the Skank. I say wiener now because after seeing Quinn standing there, hard and ready, it’s proof that Richard was shorted in the dick-length pool.
I try to ignore the hum between my legs and squeeze my eyes shut.
I need rest.
No, you need dick.
Fucking subconscious.
I’m never going to get any sleep now.
CHAPTER
NINE
Quinn
It’s a gorgeous Sunday afternoon. The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, and the fish are jumping. At least that’s what Cade said after spending the morning with Wyatt at the farm. I ran into him and Oaklee at the grocery store, grabbing their food for the week.
My truck is loaded with groceries, as it usually is at some point on the final day of the weekend. It’s always busy there, but it’s been my habit of shopping on Sunday since I left home at eighteen and moved in with Camden.
I’m driving through downtown, heading for home, when I catch movement out of the corner of my eye. I glance over to see Charli enter the salon; her SUV parked in front. I’m not sure why I do it, but I whip a U-turn in the middle of the street and park behind her vehicle.
Just as I’m climbing out, I see her trying to get through the front entrance carrying an overflowing laundry bag. She’s struggling to move it through the doorway without dropping what’s in her hands, so I quickly jump out of my truck and run toward her.
“Here, let me help,” I say as I reach her side.
She startles and drops the bag, sending blankets and sheets onto the sidewalk. “Dammit, Quinn,” she grumbles, reaching down to collect the items.
“I said I’d help.”
“I’ve got it,” she insists with a little extra venom. With a huff, she lifts the bag and starts coughing. She turns her head and almost buries her face in the dirty bedding. It’s as if she realizes what she’s doing and drops the bag to cover her mouth with her arm.
Waiting her out, I make sure she’s not going to drop from lack of oxygen before scooping up the bedding and grabbing the bag.
“IsaidI’ve got it,” she bellows, her eyes narrowing as her claws come out.
Oh, goodie. Spicy Charli is here.
“You do, but why push yourself when I’m here and can just help?”
She rolls her eyes and practically elbows me out of the way. “I don’t need you.”
Realizing she’s going to hurt herself if I don’t step back, I do just that and watch as she struggles getting the overflowing laundry bag into the back of her SUV. I don’t comment on how ridiculous she looks or how much easier it would have been if she would have just let me do it, even though I want to do both.
