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When I pulled up to the old Victorian, Jericho’s truck was parked out front. It was beyond time for me to sit the man down and ask what was going on with the renovation—specifically, how much more I could expect it to cost—and I was in the perfect mood to lay down the law.
But when I got out of my truck, I heard country music coming from inside the house. And as soon as I placed my boot on the first step, a pane of glass in an upper-floor window gave up its grasp on life and fell listlessly to the ground a few feet away.
I clenched my hands into fists and closed my eyes. Nope. I did not have the patience for this today. At least Herc wasn’t here to get hurt on the…
Herc.
Fuck.
After racing into the house just long enough to fill a duffle with clothes and toiletries, I shouted a greeting and goodbye to Jericho and ran back out to the truck.
Quinn was going to kill me for leaving Hercules with him once again. What was it about Quinn Taffet that made me lose my ever-loving mind?
Or did he do this on purpose? Did he deliberately set out to steal Herc when I wasn’t paying attention?
I entered his apartment hell-bent on giving him a piece of my mind, but when I took the first steps up the stairs, I heard him singing the lyrics to “Teenage Dirtbag,” except… he was changing them slightly.
“’Cause I’m just a poodle dirtbag baby, yeah I’m just a poodle dirtbag baby, listen to Lady Gaga, baby…”
I came to a stop outside the open bathroom door and stared at the sight in front of me.
Both of them were soaking wet and covered in splotches of mud, but Hercules looked like the happiest dog on the planet with his big doggie grin and eyes only for his favorite human on earth.
Quinn Taffet was elbow-deep in dog mud.
For me.
Well… for Hercules. But it was kind of the same thing, wasn’t it?
My chest suddenly felt like it was being constricted by a heavy band. This wasn’t… this wasn’t what was supposed to happen. How could a man covered in muddy dog water make me want to plaster myself against his naked body and fuck him into the wall? It didn’t. This was simply my…
I racked my brain to think of a plausible excuse for my feelings toward Quinn. My go-to reason was simple thirst, but I could hardly claim a recent dry spell after thirty-something nights inside Quinn’s body.
There was always the lust excuse. Quinn was a hot little package and incredibly responsive in bed. Who wouldn’t want to fuck him?
And then there was the possibility I was using him to avoid going to my own place.
I’d bought a money pit of a house that only reminded me every time I laid eyes on it that I was never going to have the long-term relationship and white picket fence I’d always wanted. All the years I’d spent deployed had been full of naive daydreams about moving back home and settling down with someone. Finally resting after years of active duty. I’d wanted the elusive American dream.
Instead, I’d gotten a house even the Property Brothers wouldn’t have touched, a dog who preferred almost anyone over me, and an ex who was currently most interested in fucking up my career.
But when I was with Quinn… none of that seemed to matter. Real life didn’t press on me during those magical hours, and I felt completely sheltered from my troubles.
So. I was using him to avoid my real life. Seemed legit. I wanted to fuck Quinn into the wall because it made me feel good. Did it need to be any more complicated than that?
“Take off your clothes,” I said in a low voice.
Quinn turned around in surprise. “What are you doing here?”
“Right now? I’m preparing to have sex with you,” I explained before pulling my shirt over my head and tossing it behind me into the hallway.
Quinn’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What about dinner? What about the revirgination plan?”
I gave him my most charming smile. “Dinner can wait. And the revirgination doesn’t start until we get to the farm, silly man. Besides, in order for you to revirginate,” I said, moving closer to him so I could begin peeling his clothes off, “someone’s gonna need to pop your cherry first.”
He tried to hide the smile, but I recognized it anyway. “I see. And just so we’re clear… this is you begging me for said cherry-popping.”
I pulled his wet shirt off and dropped it on the tile floor. “Definitely not.”
“I’m not sure I should give you my maidenhead,” he said with a delicate sniff. “It’s very precious.”
I yanked the button open on his pants. “That wasn’t the word I would have picked, but okay.”
