by Cat Mason
By the time my ass hits the sand, tears are freely slipping down my cheeks. Fucking hormones. Swiping at them angrily, I bitch myself out for being such an unstable basket case, while at the same time thankful that Tanner decided not to follow me out here to continue our conversation. I am not prepared for what that would have done to the emotional overload raging through me, thanks to the little uterus hijacker, hellbent on fucking up my ability to pull off my flawless resting bitch face.
Looking down at my stomach, I scowl. At this rate, the kid is going to be grounded until he or she is thirty. Especially if, after I spend hours pushing it out of my vagina, the little traitor comes out looking like Tanner fucking Hewitt.
Chapter Two
Geriatric Sexism and a Smirking Asshole
Quinn
After taking some much needed time to get my shit together, I dig deep enough to find an inner voice that doesn’t have homicidal tendencies, and head up to my room to get ready for our night out. The ride into town could have been awkward, given that we were all cooped up inside the SUV together, but there is little time to focus on the thickening tension with Evan bitching the entire drive about how late we are.
Evan Pahl doesn’t mess around when it comes to the weekly poker night with Tage’s uncle and his friends or missing out on an opportunity to get his grubby paws on unlimited amounts of chicken wings. If you ask me, Tage has to be rethinking that whole all you can eat concept since E came to town. The big guy is a bottomless pit, goal-oriented on eating his weight in wings any chance he gets.
With no game on tonight, the crowd at the bar Tage owns with his uncle Felix starts to thin out after the dinner rush. Felix’s buddies, Bob and Jimmy, are setting up the tables when we walk in. “Wasn’t sure you’d show up tonight, Tiny,” Bob says, taunting Evan. When he looks my way, the old man’s smile widens. “Hello, beautiful. Come to run away with me?”
“You know it,” I call out, blowing him a kiss. “I’m a sucker for a man who wears socks with sandals.”
“Pony up the dough if you want in, boys,” Jimmy blurts, shuffling the cards.
“What about us girls?” I ask, quirking a brow. “You ever planning to deal us in?”
Jimmy and Bob alternate between looking at me, then each other. “You sure you don’t want to just watch, sweetheart?” Bob asks, sweetly. “I’ve seen men leave this table in tears.”
“Goddammit!” Evan shouts from the bar where he stands talking to our usual waitress, Jodi. “I told you it was the hot sauce.”
“Horseshit,” Bob chuckles.
“Leave ‘em alone, Bob,” Felix shouts through the window in the wall. “Tiny can’t help it if his taste buds are as fragile as his ego.”
Scowling, Evan looks my way. “I’m cutting the brakes on his scooter as soon as we get home.”
“That’s a thing we won’t be doing.” Grabbing some cash from my back pocket, I walk across the room like I own the place and toss it down on the table. “Deal me in.” Ignoring the piercing set of brown eyes I feel burning at my backside, I smile. “Tears aren’t my thing, sweetheart. They’d ruin my mascara.”
“Hell yes!” Following behind me, Bristol tosses down cash of her own. “I’m in too.”
“Now, wait just a damn minute,” Bob blurts, wagging his finger at the money. All the previous sweetness and harmless flirtation in his tone gone. “Do you have any idea how many years we’ve had these weekly poker nights?”
“It was a cold Tuesday night,” Tage says, striding into the room. Looking at the guys, he gives them a mock salute. “In fourteen hundred and ninety two...”
“Very funny, shithead.” Bob’s eyes shoot to him, hardening. “Point is, no women have ever been dealt in.”
“Nope.” Jimmy shakes his head. “Doesn’t happen.”
“Sounds like you are a bunch of geriatric sexists if you ask me,” I fire back, hitching my hand on my hip.
“The fact is, cards is a man’s game. Plain and simple.”
“Yep,” Bob agrees. “No offense, men are just better at things like this. You understand.”
“Uh oh,” my brother chuckles, looking to Tage. Leaning back against the bar, he trains his eyes on me, anticipation written all over his face. “Ever seen a shark’s eyes when they catch a taste of blood in the water?”
“Yeah.” Mirroring Greer’s stance, Tage scratches his chin thoughtfully. “But I’ve never seen a fish willingly cut off their own tail.”
“Hmm.” My eyes narrow on Jimmy and Bob. “To me, it sounds like maybe you old men are scared of being beaten by a girl,” I taunt, batting my lashes innocently.
Seriously, what is it with the men around here? Having a dick doesn’t give you a free pass to be one. It also doesn’t make him better than me at anything because of an extra appendage. Now, I’m determined to prove that very thing to every pair of cock and balls in this place too stubborn to see it.
“For the record, I’d like to say that I’ve got no problem being beaten by a girl,” E says, holding up his hand like a kid in kindergarten class. “Hell, I’ll even bend over and say please.”
“Keep it in your pants, you kinky fucker,” I laugh, waving him off.
“Someone open a window,” Bristol grumbles, scrunching her nose. “It smells like sexual desperation in here.”
Looking back to the guys, I cross my arms over my chest. “You dealing us in or not?”
“How ‘bout it, Felix?” Jimmy shouts, tiling back in his chair. “Do we deal in the skirts, or let ‘em cheer from the sidelines?”
“Did you really just call us skirts?” Bristol asks, shaking her head.
“He definitely did,” I agree with a nod.
“More the merrier, if you ask me!” Shoving his head through the little window behind the bar, Felix waggles his insanely large eyebrows. “I’ve got a trip to the casino next month to pay for.”
“Suit yourself,” Bob grumbles, plastering on a fake as hell smile. “It’ll be a pleasure taking your money.”
“Know what I see?” I ask Bristol, a confident grin spreading across my face.
“An excuse not to address the seriously large and horrifyingly awkward elephant in the room?” she asks, tapping her lips with her index finger.
“Asshole,” I deadpan, nudging her with my elbow. “Actually, I was talking about that linen closet in the upstairs hallway, and how I plan to use that poker pot I’m gonna win tonight to turn it into a snack pantry of our very own.”
“Oooh.” Nodding, she rubs her hands together. “That isn’t horrifying or awkward at all. I’m kinda wicked fucking excited about this idea. Even if it’s out of pure and simple avoidance and denial that you’re even doing it.”
“As you should be.”
Bristol isn’t wrong about this being my attempt at a distraction. I honestly can’t think of a better way to get my mind off everything going on in my head right now than dishing out a little five card beat down. Especially since getting drunk is off the table for the foreseeable future.
My confidence is truly not arrogance. After all, it was me who taught Evan to play poker after finding out about his obsession with Kenny Rogers and those damn Gambler movies he loves so much. It gave us something to do other than bang each other’s brains out. Since that was the only thing either of us wanted to do for the most part when we were together.
Felix jokes every week about how poker has a way of teaching valuable life lessons. Which isn’t wrong. It also requires patience and a keen ability to read between the lines of bullshit thrown around at the table. Winning a hand isn’t always about the cards you’ve been dealt. It’s what you do with the five cards in your hand that matters. It’s all about the show you put on to those around you and what you allow them to see.
Walking around to the head of the table, I pull out a chair, making a big show of sitting down and making myself comfortable. “Okie dokie.” Snatching up the stack of cards, I begin shuffling the deck. “Here we go, chicks and dicks. Grab a be
er and hold on to your asses. You’re about to be educated in the Quinn Baker style of five card stud.”
Evan groans. “My dick could not be any harder right now.”
“You say that to all the girls,” I coo, batting my lashes.
“So?” Adjusting himself, he drops down into his seat. “Doesn’t make it any less true.”
“Doesn’t mean I won’t take your money either,” I fire back, flashing him a confident smile.
“Look out,” Jimmy says, moving into the chair next to mine. “She’s about to teach us a thing or two.”
Ignoring his comment, I get to work on dealing the cards while everyone else settles into their chosen seats for the night. “Starting bet is five. Deuces wild.”
Taking the seat across from me, Tanner’s jaw ticks as he stares me down. Placing his hands on the table, he flexes his fingers into the tablecloth. Swallowing hard, I shift in my seat under his heated gaze. Damn him. Damn him and that sexy stare right to the seventh circle of hell.
Picking up his cards, he glances down at them. Deep in thought, he slowly runs his tongue the length of his bottom lip. My face heats, memories of how good his mouth felt on mine begin racing through my mind. I can almost hear the growl that rumbled up from his chest when I bit down on that lip.
Holy heat blasted hormones.
Catching me watching him, his lips twitch knowingly. Bastard. Fucking hell. Just that one smug look from him and my blood fucking power boils through my veins. Blowing out a breath, I force myself to my focus on own cards and attempt to work out my strategy for this hand.
“Horseshit,” Bob mutters, tossing down three cards. “Can’t do a damn thing with those.”
“Uh oh.” Snorting, I toss down two cards of my own. “Doesn’t sound promising over there.”
“It’s not over yet,” he fires back, tapping his temple with two fingers. “This game takes as much smarts as it does luck. And honey, I’ve got loads of both.”
There is insane amounts of shit talking and laughing while I swap out everyone’s cards for new ones. After taking a minute to size up my new hand, I smile to myself, though making sure to keep my face unreadable to anyone else trying to guess where my head is at. Jimmy, Greer, and Bristol almost fold immediately, leaving Tanner, Bob, Felix, Evan, and I to duke it out. Looking over at Bob, I arch my brow. “I raise ten.”
Bob’s stare hardens, silently calling me out. Any other time, this guy is the sweetest man on earth, but apparently you don’t fuck with him when it comes to cards. “I see your ten,” he says, tossing his chips into the pile.
“Fold.” Evan tosses his cards down to the table. “Pair of nines.”
“I’m in,” Felix nods, adding to the pot. “Let’s see whatcha got, little lady.”
“Tanner?” I ask, looking across the table at him.
“I see your ten,” Tanner challenges, pushing four chips into the pile. “Raise you twenty.”
“Twenty?” Bob eyes widen. “On the first hand?”
“Twenty,” Tanner repeats, nodding his head. “Either lay your cards down and sit this one out or ante the fuck up.” A cocky grin spreads across his face, his eyes locking on mine. “I don’t know about you, Bob, but I play to win.”
What the hell is he doing?
“Twenty it is.” Swallowing hard, I toss in my chips. Damn this man and his sexy smirking ass. “I call.”
“Let’s see what you’ve got, pretty boy,” Bob grumbles, tossing in his chips.
“Two pair.” Tanner lays his cards down face up. “Jacks over eights.”
“Ha,” Bob barks, dropping his cards. “Three sevens.”
“Read ‘em and weep, fellas.” Felix flashes his hands. “Full house. Twos and fours.”
“Well, damn. I don’t have any pairs,” I admit, batting my lashes. Flipping my wrist, I slam my cards down. “I’ve got a straight flush. Queens high.”
“Yes!” Bristol cheers, throwing up her hands. “Round of beers on me, Jodi.” Leaning up, she grabs my winnings, pulling them toward us. “We’re getting a snack closet with a shelf dedicated to white fudge covered Oreos.”
“Just lemonade for me,” I blurt, scooping up the cards and shuffling them back into the deck. When everyone’s eyes snap to me in surprise, I shrug. “I don’t drink when I play. It dulls the senses.”
“That’s smart,” Bobs mutters, clearing his throat. “First hand is only a warm up.”
“Whew. That’s a relief,” I sigh, dramatically, swiping my hand over my forehead. Shuffling the cards one last time, I sit them down in front of me and flash him my biggest smile. “Because when I walk out of here with the whole pot, I want you to feel you’ve done your best.”
Chapter Three
Rub Some Dirt on That Butt Hurt.
Tanner
“I’m out.” Tossing down the shit hand I was dealt, I sit back in my chair, waiting for a reaction from Quinn. Or at least a smug comment. Staring down at the cards in her hand, she doesn’t even bat an eye.
Dammit.
I’ve known the woman sitting across from me her entire life. There’s not one happy memory I can remember that doesn’t have her front and center. I know her. I know the way her mind works when she feels wronged. Quinn Baker doesn’t hold back. Especially when it comes to voicing her opinion on something. Or telling you how pissed off she is about something you did. She never avoids an issue.
I am fucking miserable and she knows it. Any other time she would be watching me suffer with a smile on her face. I should be on my knees groveling for her forgiveness, while she tells me how much of a fucking idiot I am. Now, instead of the warm, playful smile I have missed so much, she has spent the better part of the night looking right through me as if I don’t even exist.
This is fucking torture.
As much as I know I should get up and walk away right now, I can’t. I’m pinned in this damn chair like a fucking pussy, desperate for her to look up and meet my eyes. I need her to give me something other than that frigid cold shoulder.
After what I did, she should be clawing my eyes out. Not sitting there focusing on winning some poker pot of a couple hundred bucks. Yeah, it’s clear as crystal right now. I screwed everything up all because I had to have her. Now, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.
She taps her pale pink nails on the edge of her card, her teeth tugging at her glossy red bottom lip. Her mind is busy working over the cards in her hand, strategizing her next move. Watching Quinn in her element is sexy as hell. You can’t help feed off the energy that radiates off her. Quinn Baker lights up a room and commands my attention like no one else ever has. These last couple months have been so dark without her.
Quiet.
Boring.
Excruciating.
I have spent nearly every minute of the last couple months going over what happened the last time we were together. Taking advantage of a moment like I did was stupid and selfish of me. I crossed a line and there is no coming back from that.
There are a million reasons why I should have kept my hands and cock to myself. I’ve spent too many years debating the pros and cons of making a move on Quinn. Waiting for that perfect moment to tell her how I feel has been hard. There was simply too much at risk when I knew she wasn’t ready to hear it, or that she couldn’t possibly feel the same way. I drew the goddamn line and never crossed it because there was a hell of a lot more at stake than the two of us. I knew it then, and that hasn’t changed now that I know how good her body feels wrapped around mine.
It also doesn’t change the fact that there is no erasing the mark she has left on me.
I’m not sorry for a single minute I spent buried in Quinn’s beautiful body. Given the chance, I’d do it again. The problem is admitting my weakness for the beautiful blonde doesn’t make it right. With all the hell that rained down on us that day, and the nightmares I still fight off, I would easily relive every second of the hell we went through, every single fucking day, for the rest of my life. Becau
se the one girl I’ve always wanted, wanted me back.
It’s everything else I’ve been conflicted about.
Growing up, Greer and I spent a lot of time chasing off the assholes that have been sniffing after Quinn since she was a damn kid. Even when I claimed to have his back with that shit, I was secretly carrying my own agenda. Although we drove Quinn crazy, we were successful for the most part. Until we weren’t.
The truth is, not hating Evan for making a move on Quinn when I didn’t has been hard. To be completely honest I was fucking furious when I found out about them. Greer, not so much. While that should’ve calmed me down, the fact that he seemed okay with anyone touching her only made me angrier. Instead of seeing E as a threat, my buddy saw the situation as a perfect solution to the constant men coming at his sister at every turn. In his mind, Evan protected Quinn, while at the same time, never trying to push what they had into anything serious.
Or so we thought.
My opinion on all things Evan and Quinn changed the morning I walked in to her bedroom to apologize for being a fucking prick and found them in bed together. What I saw was not the on and off again sort of shit they’ve had for years. The look that passed between them slashed me to the bone.
Love.
That was all it took for me to lose my shit. Blinded by jealousy and rage, I punched a guy that under any other circumstances I would call a friend. When Quinn came at me for an explanation, I lost all control of myself and fucked her. Not once, but twice. Then I bailed like a total asshole.
All the time and distance has done is force a bigger wedge between Quinn and me. Something that I need to fix.
“Well, well, well.” Rolling her shoulders, Quinn braces an elbow on the table, confidence pouring off her in waves. “Just you and me now, Bob. You in, or would you rather save what you’ve got left in that pile for cab fare?”
