Keeping Quinn: The Next Generation

by Edwards, Riley

  Whatever the reason, it ticked me off, though I’d never made the effort to call her. I only allowed myself the silent texts. My punishment for being a dick.

  I was coming up the stairs when Quinn was coming out of her apartment and I paused to take her in.

  Cute white cuffed shorts and a flowy little pink top that made her midnight hair stand out, flip-flops on her feet. Damn, she was beautiful. The outfit was simple, casual, but on her it was hot.

  “Where you runnin’ off to?” I asked and she jumped in surprise.

  “Damn, you scared me.” She turned to face me and the front of her was arguably better than the back. But only because I could see her pretty eyes. “I didn’t think you’d be home for another hour. You didn’t text to tell me you were on your way.”

  The way she said it, the cute pout on her kissable lips, made me smile. And as Jackson had pointed out, it was something I’d been doing a lot of over the last few months.

  “Not an answer, babe.”

  “Well, I noticed we were out of…you know…and I thought I’d run to the store and pick some up. And as long as I was out, I’d grab us something to eat and surprise you. But now that you’re home, you can tell me what you want.”

  “Don’t need to go to the store, I have a box in my apartment,” I told her and her nose scrunched.

  “Two things… one, I can’t get into your apartment and I wanted to be ready.”

  “I’ll get you a key. What’s the second?”

  Her head tipped to the side and she gawked. “You’ll give me a key?”

  “I’ve got one to your pad, babe. Not a big deal.”

  “Okay,” she whispered, and it belatedly hit me what I’d offered.

  No woman, not even my mother, had ever had a key. And as hard as I searched for some sort of discomfort at Quinn having a key, I found none. Though the lump in the pit of my stomach made itself known—I wasn’t playing this smart, keeping my distance. I was actively, willfully, and purposely trying to tie her to me.

  “What’s the second thing?”

  “Um…well…I guess there’s not really a second.”

  The way she paused, the shy way she’d spoken, it dawned on me what she was saying without wanting to say it.

  “It’s a brand new box, Quinn. Bought it after you told me you were going home to shave your legs and told me to knock the next day.”

  When her face showed relief, I knew I’d nailed it.

  I didn’t understand women, and I’d stop trying to when I was around sixteen and I watched my brother’s heart get ripped out of his chest by a conniving bitch. Then I seriously stopped caring at eighteen when I saw my uncle’s wife hitting on one of my father’s married friends. By the time I was twenty-one I’d given up trying to understand relationships as a whole when Uncle Seth took my cousin, Elijah, and me out for a drink and the scumbag picked up a woman who was not his wife and had taken her home right in front of us. The fuck of it was Elijah hadn’t cared and Seth had given his son a smile and wave as he left. That was the night my rules had been etched in stone.

  Therefore, I didn’t understand women, relationships, commitment, and why an unopened box of condoms would mean shit to Quinn, I only knew it did. Maybe she didn’t want the reminder if I’d dipped into it to use with a woman that was not her. Who the fuck knew? But I was pleased she now looked happy.

  “Okay. Well, I’ll just run out and grab some food. I’ve got nothing to make. You’ve been at work for three days, I doubt you’ve got anything in your fridge that I’d dare eat, and I’m tired of takeout.” She paused then asked, “Suggestions?”

  As if my mouth had a mind of its own, I spoke—yet again I didn’t think before I did it, I didn’t stop myself before I said, “Give me a minute to toss my shit at my place and change my shirt. We’ll hit Buckeyes.”

  “Buckeyes?”

  “Yeah. Best freaking steaks in Georgia,” I reminded her of something she likely knew.

  “But takeout steaks always suck. Though their burgers are awesome.”

  “We’re eating there.”

  Quinn’s body jerked and I watched as her hands fisted. Yep, I was a selfish asshole. But this time it wasn’t because I was pulling her in, trying to do everything I could to keep her close while lying to our best friend—it was because I’d never taken her to dinner.

  She’d generously given me her body so many times I couldn’t keep count. I’d taken her mouth, her pussy, her time, her beauty, and I’d given her nothing but orgasms in return.

  Total dick move on my part.

  “Brice. I don’t—”

  “I’ll be out in two minutes,” I cut her off and stopped to brush my lips against hers as I walked by.

  I hadn’t meant for the kiss to deepen, I hadn’t meant to taste her, though I wasn’t sorry. Especially when I broke the kiss to see her green eyes shining.

  * * *

  I was parking the car in front of the restaurant, debating whether or not I should tell her about my conversation with Jackson, when she broke into my thoughts.

  “Bridgett called me today and gave me shit about not going out with her the last two times she called. Now that Paula has a man, Bridgett feels left out so I agreed to dinner and drinks with her next Monday. I checked the calendar and you’re on shift.”

  Images of the last time Quinn had gone out with her girls assaulted me, and something that felt a whole lot like jealousy mixed with a healthy dose of unease assailed me when I wanted to forbid her from going out without me.

  It would be a total dick move and I had no right, but all I could picture was Quinn in her clingy, short black dress that had barely covered her sweet ass. Then of course there were the sexy-as-fuck heels she’d had on, that did the impossible and made her legs look even better. And I was not the only one who’d noticed. There hadn’t been a man in the club who hadn’t noticed her.

  Fuck, no, I didn’t want her going out with Bridgett to some bar without me there to protect her from the hungry wolves that would undoubtedly circle. But again, it wasn’t my place. I had no claim over her.

  And that thought killed.

  “I’ve been selfish taking up all of your time,” I started, but Quinn cut me off before I could finish.

  “And I’ve enjoyed every minute.”

  “You know, you can always tell me to kick rocks or come back later. I—”

  “I only get you a few days at a time. That’s why I agreed to next Monday, because you’re working.”

  I knew I’d been taking up all of Quinn’s time and I had been present during one call from Bridgett where Quinn blew her off saying she was too tired to meet her for drinks, but I couldn’t muster up any regret for monopolizing her time. Though I wasn’t sure how to proceed. Never in my life had a woman let me in on her plans when those plans did not include me. Nor had I ever been in a situation where a woman made plans around me and what I had going on.

  To say I was pleased Quinn had considered my work schedule was an understatement. The mere fact she’d jotted down the days I was on shift at the station filled me with something so huge it scared the shit out of me.

  This was one of those times where I should’ve thought about cooling things off and backing away, but any time I started to allow my mind to go there, my stomach roiled. I didn’t want to change a damn thing, except maybe to pull her in tighter.

  I was completely fucked.

  “Whatever you need, Quinn.”

  Her emerald eyes flashed, and in the dim light of the parking lot I couldn’t quite make out if she was happy with my statement or if she hoped I’d say more.

  “You know that goes both ways. I mean, I’ve been selfish, too. Most of the time I don’t even wait for you to knock before I open the door. If you need—”

  “Babe, I have everything I need.”

  That time, I couldn’t miss the surprise in her eyes.

  “Okay. I just…I mean…this was…”

  “Quinn, trust me, I’m good. I like w
hat we have. I like coming home and seeing you at your door. I like knowing I have something to look forward to when I leave the station. I don’t need anything but what we have.”

  That was a partial lie. She made me happy with what she gave me, but deep down I knew I wanted more. I just had no idea what the hell to do about it.

  11

  I was in a total daze as Brice held my hand and walked us into the restaurant.

  Held my hand—in public.

  I wasn’t paying a lick of attention to anything because my mind was stuck on our conversation in the car. He said he liked what we had. He liked having something to look forward to when he left the station—and that something was me.

  What the hell did that mean?

  As the days had slid into weeks, then into months, I’d been on pins and needles waiting for Brice to end things. But he hadn’t; instead, he was now a regular in my bed. And not just for sex, he’d slept there most nights. Now we were at a restaurant, which felt a lot like a date.

  This arrangement was supposed to be sex only—no commitment, no promises, complete honesty. Though Brice hadn’t been with anyone else during our time together. That was something else I’d prepared for but knew it would hurt like a bitch. He’d promised he would be respectful and not come to me if he’d taken another woman. Yet, he’d never, not once, skipped my bed.

  So it was with all of those thoughts jumbled in my head taking all of my attention, I didn’t see what I should’ve before it was too late.

  “Quinn?”

  It’s important to note that while my body locked and my lungs seized at hearing my father’s voice, Brice did not let go of my hand—neither did he freeze like a deer caught in headlights.

  No, he was smooth when he stopped us in front of the table my parents were dining at. I had yet to speak because I was still in absolute shock.

  Brice was not. He smoothly greeted my dad.

  “Jasper. Emily. Nice to see you.”

  My hand flexed in Brice’s and I tried to jerk it away, but Brice didn’t let me. Not that it mattered much—my parents already saw us holding hands.

  Shit.

  “Hi, guys.” I tried to sound chipper but instead it came out sounding like a squeak.

  Damn.

  “Brice, how nice to see you.” My mom smiled.

  Of course she would, she was Emily Walker—polite, sweet, well-mannered—she would hide her surprise and possible hurt at my concealment I was carrying on an affair with Brice until she had me in private.

  “Would you two like to join us? We haven’t ordered yet,” my dad offered.

  Please, God, say no.

  “Appreciate the offer. Quinn?”

  Shit, damn, fuck it all to hell. How did I answer that? Was Brice deferring to me, hoping I’d get us out of having to sit with my parents? Or was he just being polite asking if I minded because he didn’t?

  I had my answer when Brice motioned to the hostess by tilting his head toward my parents’ table.

  “We wouldn’t want to hold you up.” I tried to decline.

  My dad’s smile broadened—he was thoroughly enjoying my discomfort—and suddenly I wanted to eat dinner with my parents so I could sit across from my father and kick him in his shin.

  “Nonsense,” Mom said. “Besides, you’ve been working so much I hardly get to see you. Sit, have dinner with us. Seems there’s a lot to catch up on.”

  Oh, yeah, I’d get an earful when my mom got me alone.

  My dad stood, moving to the seat to my mom’s right, Brice pulled out the chair to my mom’s left, and waited until I sat before he and my father both took their seats.

  There was a lot there. First, my father had moved so Brice and I could sit next to each other instead of across the table. Then of course there was Brice—who knew he could be a gentleman and pull out a chair for me? Not that I would know if this was normal behavior or if it was because we were in my parents’ company.

  Which brought me to the bigger problem—my first date with Brice would be spent with my parents.

  Kill me now.

  “So,” my dad started and I braced. “Jackson said there were two casualties at that warehouse fire.”

  “There were?” I asked.

  I knew there’d been a fire at a warehouse—three other houses had accompanied the 57—but Brice hadn’t mentioned casualties.

  “Yeah. Both male, mid-forties,” Brice answered.

  “Damn.” My dad shook his head. “Jackson said it was bad.”

  “Never good when we’re recovering instead of rescuing. But, yeah, it was bad.”

  I glanced at Brice and wondered how much more he was keeping from me and why he hadn’t told me two men had died.

  “How’s business?” Brice asked, changing the subject.

  “Good. Real good. More contracts than we can handle.”

  “Yeah, Quinn mentioned you were looking at hiring a few more men.”

  Dad’s eyes cut to me and his lips curved up. I would’ve paid more attention to how much I liked it when my dad smiled if I wasn’t still thinking about why Brice had kept something so important from me.

  The conversation flowed around me but I wasn’t paying attention to any of it. I was too busy trying to figure out why my feelings were so hurt. Then my heart squeezed when I remembered we weren’t that—we didn’t have a real relationship, not one that included heart-to-hearts and feelings.

  It was the wake-up I needed, the cold, hard slap in the face that Brice’s life didn’t include me. Not in any real way, where he’d share how he felt about two men dying during a callout.

  “Babe?” Brice tapped my knee.

  “Yeah?”

  “Your dad asked you if you were ready to order.”

  “Oh. Sorry. Yeah, I know what I want.”

  Brice tilted his head to study me, his look of concern unwelcome. As a matter of fact, in that moment I wished I was anywhere but in his presence. I wanted to be able to mentally berate myself in the privacy of my apartment where I could have a proper crying jag at my stupidity.

  My dad warned me, told me I wasn’t capable of carrying on an affair and not get my heart broken. How right he was.

  “Your sister and Carter are bringing Emma over on Saturday. You should come over, we’ll plan a cookout.” I glanced at my mom and attempted to return her smile.

  “Sure. Let me know what time.”

  “Brice?”

  Oh, hell to the no. It was time I smartened up and started thinking straight. Brice going to my parents’ house for a family dinner like he was my boyfriend or some such shit wasn’t going to happen. Couldn’t happen.

  I needed to remember my place.

  “Mom, I’m sure he’s too busy. Right, Brice?”

  I turned to look at Brice. His chocolate brown eyes that were normally sweet and warm when he looked at me, were angry slits.

  I had no idea why he’d be upset, I was getting him off the hook. Brice had been clear from the start, but somehow everything had become murky. I wasn’t sure when it happened, though if I had to guess it was the night he cuddled with me on the couch. After that, murky became muddy when he started spending the night. Now everything was screwed up.

  “Actually, I’m free Saturday. I don’t go back on shift until Sunday.”

  Brice may’ve been answering my mom, however his gaze never left mine.

  Damn him.

  “Great. Maybe we should—”

  “Sweetheart,” my dad cut in. “Not this time.”

  Oh, thank God my dad stepped in and stopped my mom before she planned a blowout family barbeque that would include all of my aunts, uncles, and cousins.

  Jackson.

  He would freak the hell out if he knew I was sleeping with Brice. Or rather, he’d freak the fuck out on Brice if he found out Brice was sleeping with me.

  Start to finish, a really terrible idea. Beginning with Brice and me leaving the house together to go to dinner. That never should’ve happened. It shatte
red our happy bubble.

  Ruined everything.

  The rest of my evening turned uncomfortable. Conversation flowed easily, my parents smiled, Brice joked and laughed with them, and through it all my heart broke—just like my dad said it would.

  I could pretend when it was Brice and me alone in my apartment. Nothing could touch us there. Reality didn’t creep in like a cold bucket of water thrown in my face.

  * * *

  “You were quiet,” Brice noted when we got back into the car. “Everything okay?”

  “Sure. I’m just tired.”

  “Quinn, I’ve seen you tired. You do not get quiet and pull into yourself. What’s wrong?”

  “Don’t pretend you know me, Brice. You have no idea how I behave when I’m tired.”

  Brice jerked back and since I was looking I saw the muscles in his jaw tick. But if he had something to say, he locked it down and finished the drive back to the apartment in silence.

  If I was being honest with myself, which I wasn’t, I was firmly living in denial. That pissed me off. I wanted him to call me on my bullshit, tell me he did know me, he had paid attention over the last three months. But he didn’t. Another reminder—sex only.

  He parked, we walked across the parking lot and up the stairs in utter silence—it was deafening. Each step I took, way painful. Brice pulled his keys out of his pocket and used his key to open my door—that hurt, too.

  Then instead of doing what I thought he’d do, which was get away from me and my foul mood as quickly as possible, he followed me in, shut the door, and locked it.

  What the hell?

  “What are you doing, Brice?”

  He didn’t answer, instead he grabbed my hand and tugged me toward my bedroom. Was he crazy? He couldn’t actually think we were having sex? I’d spoken approximately a dozen words at dinner after he accepted my mother’s dinner invitation and only a handful in the car. There was no way he was so inept he missed my freeze-out.

  “Seriously, I’m tired.”

  “Heard you the first time, Quinn.”