by Cat Mason
After a quick stop in the bathroom to brush my teeth again, and use enough mouthwash to fill a kiddie pool, I manage to get my stomach under control before attempting to head into the kitchen. “Mornin’, Foxy,” Evan says, his back to me as he works on flipping the pancakes on the griddle. “Hungry?”
“Just juice,” I answer, grabbing the jug from the fridge and pouring a glass of orange juice for myself. “Thanks.”
Shaking his head, E slides a plate with two pieces of toast on it onto the island. “Kid make you sick again this morning?”
“Yeah,” I answer, then realize what he said. “Wait. How the hell did you—”
“Please.” Arching his brow skeptically, he turns back to remove the pancakes from the griddle. “You cry at the drop of a hat and haven’t had a drop of alcohol in weeks. If you’re not knocked up, hell’s freezing over.”
“Whatever,” I mutter, climbing onto the stool. “I don’t cry.”
Facing me again, he plops the huge stack of pancakes down on the island. Shrugging one of his broad shoulders, he smirks. “Your tits also doubled in size pretty much overnight.”
“Pervert,” I mutter, looking down at my chest. “My boobs have always been fabulous.”
“I’ve never had any complaints,” he chuckles. Reaching over, he pushes the plate of toast closer. “Eat.” Nodding, I pick up a slice of the bread and take a bite.
“Listen to you,” I mutter, picking up a slice. “Big bad Evan Pahl, flexing his muscle.”
“My papers are in order to flex as needed,” he informs me, flexing one massive bicep before drowning his pancakes in syrup. “If you say please, I may even take off my shirt.”
“I’m good,” I laugh, waving him off. “Besides, isn’t there a rule about no nudity in the food preparation area?”
“Rule three-hundred-nineteen!” Bristol yells from the front room. “Put it away, whore, or I’ll fill your pocket pussy with industrial strength super glue!”
“Eat a cock!” he shouts at the doorway. Looking back to me, he scowls. “You make grilled cheese naked at two a.m. one time and it follows you forever.”
While I nibble at my breakfast, E inhales his stack of pancakes, firing off questions about the baby between bites. I tell him what I can remember from the doctor visit I had previously told him was for a yearly check-up I had forgotten to set up when I was back home in California.
“I should’ve told you sooner,” I explain, sliding from the stool to my feet.
“You should’ve,” he agrees, putting our plates in the sink. “Guess that means you haven’t told Tanner either, huh?”
“I haven’t told anyone other than Bristol,” I admit, feeling guiltier than I expected to. “The plan was to tell the two of you together once I got my head around it, and before I told anyone else. Hell, you should be the first to know if you’re about to be a dad. I totally understand if you’re wicked pissed at me right now.”
His brows knit together, shoulders straightening. A look of confusion passes his face, quickly replaced by what looks like contemplation and understanding. “Come here,” he says, rounding the bar. Wrapping his arms around me, he pulls me into his chest. My emotions begin to short circuit immediately. I slam my eyes shut tightly, forcing back the tears. His hand goes to my hair, fingers gliding through the strands tenderly. “I don’t care if the baby’s mine or not,” he sighs calmly. “I’m here. Whatever you need. It’s gonna be okay, Foxy. That’s a promise from Big Daddy Pahl.”
“Yeah,” I deadpan, pushing him away. “We won’t be making that a thing. Save Big Daddy for the bedroom, kinky fucker.”
Flashing me his gorgeous smile, he wraps me in his arms again before pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “I love you, Quinn. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you.”
Looking up at him, I return his smile, the stress that had been weighing down my shoulders feeling slightly lighter now that I have talked some of this shit out with Evan. “I love you too, E.”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, the screen door behind me slaps shut. My entire body goes rigid in E’s arms, the stress returning tenfold. Releasing my hold on him, I turn and meet Tanner’s furious brown eyes. “Didn’t mean to interrupt,” he growls, shoving around the island. “Tell Greer and Bristol I’ll be out front.” Disappearing down the hallway, his heavy steps echo loudly, before the front door slams so hard it rattles the whole house.
“Shit.” Blowing out a breath, I look up at Evan. “Still think everything’s gonna be okay?”
Chapter Six
Holiday Themed Male Gyration.
Tanner
She loves him.
She fucking loves him?
As if I thought things couldn’t get any more fucked up. Catching that look pass between Evan and Quinn was bad enough. Seeing her wrapped in his arms, giving him those words takes things to another level. Jealousy rages through my veins, sending me spiraling out of control.
It hurts like a bitch seeing someone else get what you’ve always wanted.
Even worse when they have what you’ve always secretly considered yours.
Every single minute since I walked out of the bar last night has been spent trying to figure out my next move. When Quinn has been hurt, getting back on her good side is like trying to play hopscotch through a mine field. I know damn good and well I have no chance in hell of getting through it without taking a hit or two. If it were anyone else, this wouldn’t be an issue. I’d cut my losses, walk away, and head off to find the next available piece of ass.
Not this time. This is Quinn. My Quinn. And I’ve decided I’ll be damned if I go down without a fight.
“Okay.” Bouncing on her heels, Bristol shakes out her arms. “One more time from the top, Cam-Ron.” Speaking into the mic, she waves at the surfer looking shithead working the controls. “I need to make sure I nail that last chorus.”
“Me too.” Quinn nods in agreement before glancing over at Greer. “Count us in.”
Nodding, he slams down on the bass pedal while clapping his sticks above his head. “One, two, one, two, three, four...”
Quinn’s slender fingers move over the frets of her bass. Tugging her bottom lip between her teeth, she closes her eyes, letting every chord wash over her. Music has always had a way of affecting her. She feels every note to the depths of her soul, each lyric leaving its mark on her in some way.
“I’m caught in your web,” Bristol starts to sing. “No power left to fight. Every taste pulls me deeper. Each second of pleasure worth the pain. You make it hurt so good, baby. Together we feel so right.”
The second I come in with a wail from my Fender, Quinn’s eyes open, finding mine immediately. The intensity in her stare would intimidate other people. Not me. I feed on it.
And just like that it’s her and me. Us. Nothing else matters. Her lips tug into a smile, those deep blues igniting. As if we were about to duel it out with our guitars right here and now. She feels it too. The tension. The fucking fire that fuels every note flowing between us is burning just as fiercely as it always has. My fingers slide up and down the neck of my guitar, wishing it were her curves that I was digging into instead.
Stepping up to the mic in front of her, Quinn backs Bristol up on the chorus.
“Take your best shot,” she sings, challenge dripping from her plump red lips. “I’m yours. I’m yours.”
“Hit me with all you’ve got,” Bristol continues. “Wear me out. Make me scream. Rip me apart at the seams.”
I feel every word in my cock. My fingers itch to close the distance and do exactly that. Visions fill my head, bringing me back to the night I spent with her on Tage’s couch. The night I realized I’d never be able to go back to the way things were before. I have to get my shit together and make my move.
Once we finish the run through of the song, Quinn leans back against the wall. Her cheeks are slightly flushed, a satisfied smile spreading across her face. She looks sexy as hell. “Oh God,” she sighs conte
ntly, pressing a hand to her chest while she catches her breath. “That felt fucking amazing.”
Is it possible for all the blood in my body to rush to my cock at once? Because it literally feels like all the blood in my body has rushed to my cock all at once. Leave it to Quinn to nearly kill me by giving me a goddamn hard on.
“There are some things that a brother should never have to hear his sister say,” Greer mutters in disapproval. “Shit like that is scarring as fuck, no matter the context.”
“Shut your face, Lord Fuckwad,” she fires back, flipping him the bird. “Your mom’s a ho.”
“She’s your mom too,” he fires back, shaking his head in disbelief.
“And being my birth giver instantly lessens the degree of her slut status?” Quinn shrugs. Batting her lashes, she flashes him a smile. “I don’t think so, big brother.”
“She’s got ya there, man,” I admit, biting back my laugh when he shoots a glare in my direction. “What?” I shrug. “Wasn’t her Christmas card last year a picture of her getting a lap dance at The Cock Ring Lounge? Dude, that’s not even a strip club.”
“For the love of anal fucking,” Bristol snorts, her body shaking with silent laughter. “Because that makes all the difference.”
“Moving beyond all things parental and involving holiday themed male gyration or metallic g-strings,” I blurt, sliding my guitar onto the stand next to me. “Have we figured out what we’re playing at the radio station next week?”
“Actually.” Grabbing her notebook from the barstool beside her, Bristol turns our way. “After my call with Vicki this morning, I’m thinking we should drop the first single live on the air,” she explains, flipping through the pages.
“Hey, Icky Vicki!” the four of us shout in unison, throwing up our hands. “You mean that frigid snatch actually called to do something other than bitch?” I add, knowing that nasty woman isn’t known for her positive attitude.
“It’s obviously the first sign of the Apocalypse,” Bristol admits, nodding her head. “Time to start building that underground bunker.”
Staring down at the page, Quinn absentmindedly flips the pink hoop in her bottom lip back and forth. A tell-tale sign that she is deep in thought. “What if we slowed it down and did this acoustic style?” She looks up at Bristol. “Perform that version live on the air.”
“You think?” Bristol doesn’t sound convinced.
“Barely Bruised unplugged?” Greer asks. Standing, he tucks his sticks into the back pocket of his jeans. Quinn nods. “Hell yeah. That’s a great idea.”
“Tanner?” Suddenly, all eyes are on me.
“Yeah. Sounds good.” Yanking a hand through my hair, I nod. “Let’s do it.”
“Great.” Smiling, Quinn closes up her guitar case and moves for the door. “Now, can we go eat? All this being awesome has me fucking starved.”
“You guys killed it in there today.” Coming out of the control booth, Cam-Ron flashes Quinn a smile. “Wicked sick.”
The guy looks like a surfer who took a wrong turn on his way to the beach, ending up in fucking Michigan. His long blonde hair is pulled back in some kind ball, and the guy even has on one of those shirts Hawaiian tourists buy in hotel gift shops. Fucking tool.
“Thanks,” she replies, returning his smile. “Can’t wait to hear the playback. Well, once we start actually recording.”
“Actually.” Shoving his hands into his front pockets, he steps into Quinn’s space. “We record everything once we flip the light on. Even the jam sessions before we lay actual track.” He shrugs. “Sometimes, the labels we work with like to add some of the raw stuff to the album as bonus material. You should hang out, I’ll give you the grand tour.”
Not gonna happen, shithead.
Stepping up behind her, I slip an arm around her waist, possessively. Pulling her into my side, I shoot Cam-Ron a look, letting him know that she’s off limits. His gaze shifts between Quinn and me, mouth pressing into a hard line. He wants to say something. I can see it written all over his face. But he doesn’t. Yeah, motherfucker. Mine. The words are on the tip of my tongue, the jealous bastard in me, ready to bash his white capped teeth down his goddamn throat if he so much as flashes them in her direction again. “Good to know,” I fire back before Quinn can open her mouth. Looking down at her, I can’t help smile when I see the shock written all over her face. “Pizza sound good to you, babe?”
Quinn’s eyes light up. My heart squeezes in my chest, knowing I’m the reason for the excitement on her face. Even if it’s mostly because of the mention of pizza. At this point, a win is a win in my book. “B, grab Granny Slow-Mo and move your asses!” she shouts, practically dancing beside me. “Tanner’s buying pizza.”
“Dammit, Quinn,” Greer growls. “That nickname stopped being fucking funny about two minutes after Felix started that shit.”
“Ah,” I chuckle, jerking my chin at him. “So what you’re saying is it was funny for that two minutes. You really should pull that stick out of your ass and replace it with a sense of humor, man.”
“Give him a break, Tanner,” Quinn giggles, the sound better than anything I’ve heard today. “Greer has a great sense of humor. He’s good for a knock knock joke off a Laffy Taffy wrapper every six months or so.”
“She’s right,” Greer says, coming up behind me. “Knock, knock?”
“Ooo!” Quinn rubs her hands together. “Who’s there?”
“Sizzle.”
Turning to face him, I arch a brow. “Sizzle who?”
“Sizzle hurt like a bitch!” he shouts, grabbing my shoulder and punching me in the stomach. I double over, the breath rushing out of me on a pained grunt. Bristol and Quinn laugh their asses off, while the beach bum tool makes some sound that sounds a balloon deflating. Clapping me on the back, Greer chuckles. “That one didn’t come off a wrapper.”
“Lucky me.” Straightening, I tighten my hold on Quinn’s middle, pulling her with me as I head for the door.
Chapter Seven
Ball Up
Quinn
The high from the studio session continues humming in my veins after leaving the studio. Music calls to me, breathes something into my blood that I never experienced until a guitar was placed in my hands. The music we make together as a group only heightens that to another level of bliss I can’t begin to put into words. I’ve spent the better part of fifteen years honing my craft, the last several working exclusively with Tanner, Greer, and Bristol. Not only can I play guitar, but I’ve worked my ass off to learn other instruments as well. Not that many of those come in handy very often when rock is my bread and butter.
Every twisted inch of my soul is wired together with the strings from my bass. Music is in my blood and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
After Tanner picks up the massive stack of pizzas he called in, there is one more quick stop for the guys to grab beer before we finally manage to get back to the house. “I need fifteen minutes to shower and change before you press play, Evan! I swear to fuck if I miss pivotal plot points, I’ll smother you in your sleep and sell off your internal organs on Ebay!”
“Same here,” Greer chimes in, taking the steps two at a time.
“Eight minutes!” E shouts up the stairs. Yanking his phone out of his pocket. He smirks down at the screen. “Not a second more.”
Passing up the guys, I head to the kitchen to grab some iced tea before heading for the back room Evan and Bristol have basically turned into their own personal movie theatre. It’s like a cave in here. The windows have all been covered with slate gray blackout curtains, with an enormous L-shaped gray sectional, that could easily seat a dozen people. The flat screen television takes up nearly the entire wall it is mounted on, and the sound system literally vibrates the floor.
There couldn’t be a more perfect place for us to escape to after a long day working in the studio. Movie theatres eat your hearts out.
Dropping down onto the center cushion, I yank off my combat boots and toss
them to the floor. Stretching, I wiggle my toes, happy as hell to finally be able to kick back and relax after a hard day of doing what I love. “My ass has never been so happy,” I groan, sagging back against the cushions.
“Hope you’re hungry, I got your favorite.” Sliding the boxes on top of the coffee table, Tanner takes the cushion beside me. He seems tense, nothing like the casual, carefree guy I have known all my life. That’s who I miss. “Beef, bacon, and peppers,” he says, flipping open the top box.
“I know,” I reply smugly. “It’s your favorite too.”
“You’re my favorite.” There’s that smooth Tanner Hewitt charm. Leaning up, he dumps out the paper bag beside the boxes. “I also loaded down the bag with parmesan and crushed red pepper packets.”
My mouth is on the verge of watering the moment I set eyes on the pizza. “Well,” Sitting up, I take the plate from his hand, holding it while he tosses two of the biggest slices from the box onto it. “Now you’re just showing off.”
“Nah.” Snagging a slice for himself, he tears open a packet of red pepper and pours it on top. “No extra effort here, sweetheart. I’m naturally this badass.”
I smile at the playfulness in his voice. “That’s one of the things I’ve always liked about you, Tanner.” Taking a quick sip from my glass, I place it down on the table to focus on covering my own slices with parmesan and red pepper. “Always so humble.”
“Oh,” he says, sounding surprised. “So you do like me? I’ll be honest, I was starting to have doubts.”
“There have been some moments of like. Mostly fleeting.” Tossing the now empty packets to the table, I shrug. “Although, I’ve had plenty of chances to off your ass and haven’t taken them. I guess that means something, huh?”
“It does.” Sitting his plate down beside the box, he looks over at me. “I’m grateful you’ve let me live,” he chuckles.
“It’s a daily struggle,” I mutter, resisting the urge to roll my eyes.
“I miss you, Quinn.” Just like that the tone of the conversation turns from carefree to serious. He covers my thigh with his hand, the deep timber in his voice softening so much it tugs at the strings of my black heart. “Being this close to you and not being able to touch you. To just fucking be with you.” He scoots closer, his other hand coming up to my face, the rough tips of his fingers lightly tracing my cheek. “It’s killing me.”
