by Cat Mason
“Oh no,” he grumbles, tossing his cards down. “You won’t swindle me out of any more money tonight. No, ma’am.”
“Aw.” Sighing, Quinn pouts her lips. “Such a let down.”
Reaching over, Evan snatches Bob’s cards from in front of him. “You folded with three Kings? Chicken shit.” Tossing them down, his eyes move to Quinn. “What’ve you got, Foxy?”
Fucking Evan. My eyes snap his way, rage and jealousy churning in my gut. Son of bitch. I hate when he calls her that. The goddamn nickname is a constant reminder that he has history with her. Something I wish like hell I could erase and replace with my own.
With a flick of her wrist, Quinn flashes her cards. Her blue eyes spark, a victorious smile spreading across her face. “Holy shit!” Felix roars with laughter. Leaping to his feet, he slaps Bob on the back. “You let a skirt holding a pair of fours bluff your ass into folding.”
“Again with the skirt bullshit,” Quinn mutters, rolling her eyes. “Talk shit all you want, but it sure looks like us girls have you by the balls.”
“Fours?” Bob’s eyes widen in shock. Snatching up the cards, he shakes his head in disbelief. “I don’t believe it.”
“Oh, believe it, baby!” Bristol squeals. Scooting closer to the table, she begins stacking and counting the pile of chips, going on and on about ordering cookies and snack foods in bulk. “Don’t slip in your tears on your way home.”
“Never underestimate the abilities of a woman,” Quinn announces confidently. Standing, her eyes move to me, her smile faltering slightly. “We’re incredibly talented when it comes to faking it.”
Turning her back to me, she walks away from the table, her heels clicking across the floor with each sway of her fantastic fucking hips. My gaze travels up her long legs, tightly encased in a pair of thigh-high black suede boots, to the tight red skirt that hugs every perfect inch of her biteable heart-shaped ass. Goddamn. That ass stars in my dreams every single fucking night.
“In case you were wondering.” Bristol drops a hand to my shoulder and squeezes. “Yes, you should.”
“Yes, I should what?” My head snaps up to meet her eyes.
“If you really need an answer to that, you’re a lost goddamn cause.” The smartass response on the tip of my tongue is lost the moment she pins me with a hard glare. She knows. I should have expected this.
“B—"
Her eyes narrow further, brows pinching together as she studies me. Or debates the dozens of ways she would like to beat my ass for how I treated Quinn. Not that I blame her. If it were possible I would kick my own ass. “Just go,” she says, jerking her chin in the direction of the now empty doorway.
Nodding my head, I push to my feet and head into the back to find Quinn, ready to demand we face this shit head on. The dim lights and empty narrow hall give me little to go on. Knowing she isn’t about to risk ruining her boots in the alley, I put my money on her hiding out in the bathroom. Pushing open the door, I spot her staring herself down in the mirror hanging above the sink.
The carefree confidence she usually wears is gone. In its place is something beautiful, but vulnerable. Her eyes are softer, sad even. She huffs out a laugh, the sound lacking its usual contagious electricity. “Apologetic asshole ends up in full body cast after following bitchy blonde into the Ladies’ room at local bar. News at eleven.”
“There’s that sense of humor,” I say, stepping inside to let the door close behind me.
“That wasn’t a joke.” Her head snaps up, eyes narrowing as they meet mine in the mirror. “It’s a warning.”
Squaring my shoulders, I take another step toward her. “I think I can handle whatever you throw at me.”
“Do you?” She turns to face me, the coldness in her deep blues is razor sharp. “I’d think long and hard about that, Tanner. You can’t afford to keep making mistakes.”
Cocking my brow, I ball my fists at my side. “Mistake?” The word tastes like vinegar in my mouth.
“Mhm.” Her stare hardens unforgivingly. “A momentary lapse or critical error in judgement in which you possess deep regret.” Taking a step toward me, her lips curl, her eyes sparking with fury. “A mistake.”
There it is. After spending the entire night pretending I don’t exist, Quinn gives me the first glimpse of the fire burning behind those blue eyes. Now, instead of ignoring me, she’s baiting me, waiting for my reaction. She doesn’t want my half-assed apologies and sweet words. That’s not us. This is what we do. She can’t resist the dance we do any more than I can.
“I know what the word means.” Grabbing onto her upper arms with both hands, I pull her close. Staring down at her, I watch her eyes widen in surprise. “Let’s get something straight, little girl,” I growl. This is what she does to me. All rational thought is gone, leaving only need. “When I think about what it felt like to be inside you, I don’t feel regret.” Her breath hitches, the hardness slipping right off her face. “I feel withdrawal.”
“Well, that makes one of us,” she seethes, but doesn’t struggle against me. “Because trust me, Tanner, I’d take it all back if I could.”
“Liar,” I fire back, not buying that shit for a minute. Sliding my hand into her hair, I fist the curly blonde strands tightly, smiling victoriously when she shivers. “You’ve been sitting across from me all night waiting for this moment. Your tight little body is humming with anticipation.” Yanking her hair, I force her head back to meet my eyes. Her mouth falls open, those plump red lips begging to be kissed. Sliding my other hand down her body, my fingers find the hem of her skirt. “Dying for another taste."
She licks her lips, the corners of her mouth curling up wickedly. “In your dreams,” she breathes.
My mind flashes back to the first time we came to this bar for drinks together. The night was what began pushing me to my breaking point with Quinn. She stomped all over my resolve and restraint the entire night. She drank too much, dumped a plate of food over my head instead of eating it and taunted me with those very same three words. The line we have spent our entire lives dancing around, but never crossing was shattered that next morning. Now, the line is so blurred by my hunger for her I can’t even see the damn thing anymore.
Hoisting her off her feet, I slam my mouth to hers before she can say anything else. Quinn gasps against my lips, her hands flying up to my shoulders to steady herself. Her legs wrap around my waist when I pin her back to the wall, the heat of her pussy driving me fucking crazy. This is what I needed. What I have spent the last few months missing but telling myself I couldn’t possibly have.
The fight doesn’t leave her body. Instead, she throws all of it into kissing me back. Her hips grind against mine, rocking into my cock. Her body fits perfectly against mine, every soft curve tempting me to strip her bare and take her right here, regardless of who might walk in and find us.
“Tanner?” she moans, biting down on my bottom lip.
“Hmm?” I purr, sliding my hand up her thigh.
Breaking our kiss, she eases her feet to the floor. Shoving my back to the wall, her hands slide down, stopping on the waistband of my jeans. “Mmm.” Cupping my cock through my jeans, her smile widens. “Rock hard.”
“Yeah,” I grunt when she traces the edge of my cock through my jeans with her thumb.
Taking my hand, she slips them beneath her skirt. Her eyes darken, not leaving mine. I groan when the tips of my fingers meet nothing but bare skin. “This what you want?” she moans, rocking her pussy against my hand.
“Fuck yes,” I bite out, sliding a finger into her wetness. Pushing off the wall, I reach out my other hand, needing to feel her body against mine. “I want you so damn much, Quinn.”
Smiling victoriously, she yanks my hand away and shoves me back into the wall again. “Sorry, Tanner.” Righting her skirt, heads for the door. “Iif I need an orgasm, I sure as hell won’t be begging you to scratch that itch for me.”
“What the fuck, Quinn?” I bark, shaking my head in disbelief. What
just happened?
Opening the door, she shoots me a glare over her shoulder. “Oh no. Didn’t I make everything better by saying I’m sorry?” Her eyes go cold. “Guess all you can do is rub some dirt on that butt hurt and get the fuck over it.”
Chapter Four
Dicky Flapper
Quinn
“Dammit, Quinn!”
Tanner’s voice booms from the other end of the hallway. I couldn’t care less that he feels butt hurt and frustrated. The asshole deserves it for treating the word sorry like a goddamn Band-Aid. Does that make me petty? Maybe. Do I give a shit about wounding his fragile ego? Nope. What good is being knocked up if I can’t blame my hormonal outbursts on the fact that my body is being hijacked by a tiny little person that carries someone else’s DNA?
Besides, I’ll be damned if I sit by and let Tanner use some shitty apology like a get out of shit free card. It isn’t a magic smoke screen that will instantly make all the uncomfortable shit that happened disappear. That sure as hell doesn’t stop people from waving it around like some magic wand like it can instantly end all pain and suffering. He, of all people, should know shit like that doesn’t work on me. I’m immune to all useless words in the English language. The fact that he knows I feel this way, and yet threw those five letters at me like they could fix everything, is a slap in the face.
I thought I meant more to him than that.
“Holy fuck burger with extra motherdammit,” Bristol slurs, wobbling unsteadily when she slides off the bar stool. “You killed him, didn’t you?” Shaking her head, she holds up both hands. “Okay, we can handle this,” she says, nearly falling over when she glances back at Tage. “Babe, Quinn blew a gasket and bashed Tanner’s face in with a toilet seat. I need you to Google crime scene clean up. Use Evan’s computer in case the cops can trace that shit. He’s the only one of us that could survive prison.” Pressing a hand to her forehead, her face pales. “There’s probably blood everywhere. Oh God. What if I need to pee?” Her brow furrows. “The ee’s in pee are silent, aren’t they? Damn. Why are they even there? It’s a conspirapee.”
“I’m pretty confident it’s not,” Tage says, trying not to laugh at her drunken ramblings.
“I didn’t kill anybody,” I assure them both. “I’d never get the blood out of my boots.”
“Thank fuck.” Blowing out a sigh of relief, she grabs a shot glass from the bar, downing it quickly. “If you had killed him, would that make the baby an accomplice?” she asks quietly. Looking down at my stomach, her brow furrows as she thinks out loud. “Or a witness?”
“For the love of Chase Rice’s biteable ass,” I groan, pressing my fingers to my temples. “I’m surrounded by crazy people.”
“Don’t you dare refer to that smoking hot backside and dodge the real issues, Quinn,” she snaps, poking me in the abdomen. “You’re gonna corrupt the fetus before it comes out to meet us.” Reaching out for the bar stool, she bends at the waist, losing herself in a hysterical belly laugh. “That rhymed,” she wheezes through her laughter. “I’m so writing a song about this.”
“Hey, Mistress Boozenheimer,” I hiss, glancing over to where my brother sits in the far corner booth, talking to Evan and Jodi. “How ‘bout you stick a dick in that secret leaking flapper of yours?”
“Dicky flapper,” she snorts, erupting into another fit of giggles. Throwing her arms around me, she tugs me into a hug. “I love you a lot, Quinnie. I’m gonna visit you and your prison bound baby every visitor’s day.”
“I could burst with excitement,” I deadpan.
Tanner storms into the room. His chest heaves with each breath, nostrils flaring like a damn bull in time with every one of his heavy steps. “He’s alive!” Bristol cheers. Releasing her hold on me, she throws up both hands in excitement.
“Halle-freakin’-lujah,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. “Let’s all thank the baby Jesus.”
Grabbing the bottle of whiskey from in front of my brother, Tanner tears off the cap and tosses it to the table. Greer looks up at him questioningly but doesn’t say a word. Taking a long pull from the bottle, Tanner’s dark eyes meet mine, sending a shiver down my spine. “I’ll be out front,” he grounds out, tossing the bottle back at my brother. Fishing a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, he heads for the door.
“I’ve never seen him so pissed off,” I breathe, suddenly questioning if I took things too far.
“He’s a lot more than pissy,” Bristol snorts, completely amused. “It’s a bonerfied miracle he doesn’t start Hulk smashing shit.”
“Don’t you mean bonafied?” Tage asks, attempting to steady her with a hand on her hip.
“Not from where I’m standing.” Shaking her head, she bites back a laugh, her eyes dropping to the impressive bulge Tanner is still rocking as he passes us. “Poor Tanner,” Bristol adds, clicking her tongue. “His balls are probably a deep shade of pity party blue.”
“I wouldn’t know,” I bite out quietly. “Testicle color didn’t come up in our conversation.”
“Shocking,” Tage chuckles. “Most guys lead off with that right after saying hello.”
“This must be what it’s like to be on a porn set,” she continues as if we hadn’t said a word. “Except instead of all the dirty talk and teasing that leads up to the hardcore fucking, there’s nothing but brooding tension and sexual frustration that goes nowhere. Actually, it’s nothing like a porn set,” she gestures erratically with her hand. “This is where porn goes to die.”
“Okay.” Sliding from the booth, Evan stands to his feet, stretching his long arms over his head with a low groan. “Time for us to make like a fetus and head out.”
My eyes shoot to Evan. His choice of words, while nothing he hasn’t ever said before, nearly have me swallowing my tongue. “Uh,” I stammer, my stomach knotting. Visons of a big ass watermelon headed baby flash in my mind and I swear it takes everything in me not to faint at the thought of it trying to squeeze out of my vagina. If the stress of being pregnant or dealing with Tanner doesn’t kill me, the absolute destruction of my lady bits will for sure.
Son of a whore, Quinn. Get your shit together.
“Hell yeah,” Greer stands. “I’m ready to crash.”
Draping an arm around me, Bristol rests her head on my shoulder. “Did you hear what Evan said?” she slurs sleepily.
“Yes,” I ground out, knowing where her mind is going. “And I swear on a case of White Fudge Oreos if you say what you’re thinking right now you’ll ride home tied to the hood.”
Chapter Five
Son of a Fucker
Quinn
I barely slept at all last night. Not that I ever do the night before we head into the studio. I’m used to the restlessness and anticipation that comes without fail every time we are about to record. What I didn’t expect was for my performance-jitter driven anxiety to leave me wide awake, and my mind to be occupied with nothing but thoughts of Tanner. The twinge of guilt and irritation over how I left things with him last night at the bar are totally killing the high of getting to work on the songs Bristol has been working on all summer. Having spent the majority of my time since I’ve been here helping her put the finishing touches on the lyrics and killer melodies, I have no doubt that Barely Bruised will be Absent Without Leave’s best album yet.
Yet I can’t focus on that today.
After spending the last few hours tossing and turning, I climb out of bed and get ready for the day. Knowing we don’t have to leave for the studio right away, I debate walking next door to see if Tanner wants to talk things out. The chemistry between a bassist and the lead guitarist is important when we play. Every note and rhythmic exchange that coexists between Tanner and me has the possibility to make or break a song. The music is where we come together flawlessly. I can’t possibly see us working worth a damn together today if we have all this shit hanging in the air between us. Usually, Tanner and I aren’t people who leave things unsaid. That is probably what bothers me the most about the last f
ew months.
Walking down the stairs, I groan the moment the smell of coffee hits my nose. A wave of heat rolls over me, my stomach churning in revolt. “Son of a fucker.” Shoving open the screen door, I barely grab onto the railing before I start heaving into the damn rose bushes like a cheap drunk at a frat party.
“It feels like high school all over again,” Bristol chuckles from behind me. “You emptying your stomach off the side of a porch, and me silently judging you for the poor choices that led you here.”
“Those were the days,” I reply, resting my head against the railing. “Back when my biggest problem was trying to dodge the squeaky floorboard outside Greer’s bedroom door to meet Rusty Cox in our make out spot.”
Although all the tiptoeing in the world didn’t stop big bad brother from finding out about Rusty and me. Shortly after his infamous Halloween party, Rusty showed up at school with a broken nose. Not bothering to ask any questions, I apologized for his beat down and called it quits in order to save him from losing any teeth.
Or his balls.
“His parents really were assholes,” Bristol snickers at the mention of Rusty’s name, just like she has every single time since the day we met him in high school. “Please tell me you’re putting some serious thought into this whole name a baby thing.”
“Absolutely.” Leaning back on the railing, I look over to where she sits, sprawled out in her fluffy red lounger, most of her body buried beneath the matching fleece throw cover. “Ima Baker. Hands down winner.”
“I’m disappointed,” she informs me, biting back her laugh. “In my head the bar was set so high, and you give me Ima.” Her giggle wins out. “I really need you to name this kid Harry Baker. Or at least let me tell people you did.”
“Harry Baker?” Shaking my head, I turn toward the door. “And here I thought we settled on Dicky Flapper.”
