by Quinn, Taryn
Pit Stop: Baby
Dirty DILFs Book 4
Taryn Quinn
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Pit Stop: Baby
© 2018 Taryn Quinn
Rainbow Rage Publishing
Cover by: LateNite Designs
Photo by: Deposit Photos
All Rights Are Reserved.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First ebook edition: Taryn Quinn, October 2018
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Contents
About This Book
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Oblivion Series
The Boss
Taryn Quinn
Cari Quinn
Taryn Elliott
About Taryn Quinn
We had the hottest hookup ever. And now, she’s having my baby.
I’m a carefree single guy.
A successful race car driver who enjoys hitting the track—hard.
I don’t do commitments.
Hell, I rarely even do repeats.
Until I spent the night with a gorgeous, funny woman who rocked my world.
No names. No identifying details. Just lots and lots of pleasure.
Until we meet up again at my older brother’s wedding. And guess what, she’s my brand new sister-in-law, Rylee Ford.
And apparently, now she hates me.
Oh, and she’s also pregnant. Surprise, I’m the daddy.
I’m so screwed.
Author’s note: Gage doesn’t start out as a single father...but it sure doesn’t take long for implantation to occur. Pit Stop: Baby is a standalone romantic comedy with a HEA ending and no cliffhanger.
You're cold and hot
You burn out like a match
Keep a slip knot in the strings you attach
You think it's easy, but that's a lie
The only reason that you're good at goodbye is
Every boy you ever met, was too easy to forget
Well, I ain't going out like that
Make You Miss Me, Sam Hunt
One
December (The night before my sister’s wedding)
The cheers around me threatened my steady hand. That and maybe the hundred proof whiskey I’d been drinking all night like it was Diet Coke. I was here for a good time and that was what I was having.
Mostly.
Mopping up the floor with the third team of dart players didn’t hurt. Or the extra seventy bucks in my ass pocket from the idiots betting against me.
When you lived in a small town like Turnbull, there wasn’t much else to do but play darts and pool with the guys. Especially since I wasn’t the type of girl to join a flock of women and preen at the bar. I liked to be in the middle of the action and knew I pissed off more women than I became friends with. I was the girl who excelled at darts, but could run a table when needed.
“Come on, sweetheart, we don’t have all night.”
I ignored the guy with the two-pack-a-day voice. Justin? Jerry? I couldn’t remember and didn’t particularly care. He was just pissed because I’d trounced him first tonight. I’d taken twenty off of him before he even realized I’d won the round.
Judd, right. That was his name. Like the hot dude from The Breakfast Club. He even looked like him a little. Only it was the version of him on the wrong side of forty and didn’t turn my crank. Not that I had a problem with guys heading for forty and beyond. I’d played trophy girlfriend a few times when I was in my early twenties.
The bling was alluring. Guys in their twenties couldn’t afford sparklers like men with careers. The only problem there was I actually liked having a conversation with a guy. When you were from a different generation, it made things a little difficult. And I didn’t have it in me to be shallow enough to just enjoy the rich guy ride.
“Come on, Ryan, I just want a chance to win back my money.”
“My name is Rylee.” I flicked my dark hair over my shoulder and lifted my lucky purple dart.
No do-overs. One and done only for this girl. Getting fired three weeks before Christmas made a girl grab some perspective.
It was time to finish this damn game. I’d been stringing it out with the guys around me calling out their own numbers in the game of 301. Each time I aced the shot, I picked up another five bucks.
But if I had to listen to Billy Joel’s “Piano Man” come belting out of that jukebox one more time tonight, I would eject the ancient record with my boot.
I blew out a slow breath and hit the center of the triple ring. Six guys groaned. “I believe that’s the final sixty points I needed?” I turned, downed my shot. I made gimme fingers and they each dropped a twenty on the table. I swiped up the pile. “Pleasure playing with you guys.”
“Bet you can’t hit a double bullseye in three rapid shots.”
The voice was deep. It carried from the back of the pack of men. The fact that my nipples instantly hardened and tried to bust through my glittery babydoll shirt made me swallow my acidic reply.
Maybe not so bored anymore.
“Another round for the table, darlin’.” The voice was smooth caramel over chocolate lava cake.
“You got it.”
Our waitress’s voice went breathy. At least that was a good sign that Mr. Caramel’s voice might in fact have a matching face.
Not that I cared. Much. My current jobless status meant I’d take his money regardless.
I twirled my dart through my fingers. “What’s the bet?” I had a cool two hundred in my pocket. Enough to cover groceries for a month. If I could double that, it would be even better.
The guy came out of the shadows and my nipples weren’t the only thing at attention. My clit and heart did a double-tap like I was at the top of a rollercoaster one click past the drop.
Hello, Caramel.
He matched the word in every way. Dark blond hair cut close, along with a scruffy face that was just beyond sandpaper to that perfect buzz that could make the very best friction when used correctly.
His smirk told me he was aware of his appeal. It remained to be seen if the smirk came with a boatload of asshole or charm.
But it was the eyes that had me sunk. Barrel-aged whiskey—my favorite. Even in the dim bar, they glowed hot and interested.
Did I mention my clit was doing a salsa beat? No? It sure was.
Unfortunately, I had just enough of said barrel-aged whiskey in my system to drown out self-preservation.
“What do you have in that perfect ass pocket?”
I grinned up at him. “Three hundred.”
Lies. But if I could take him for a little more…
He glanced around at the men who were suddenly finding their boots very interesting. “Is that right? Then obviously you are needing a bit of a trouncing.”
I turned back to the board. “So, that’s a bet then?”
“Don’t want to shake on it?” His voice came from right behind me. Far too close.
But remember that little mention about too much whiskey? Yeah, tequila had nothing on whiskey when it came to me.
I turned until we were almost lined up. I nibbled on my lower lip as I stared at his full, mack-worthy mouth. There was something about a man who had full lips. No teeth mashing would be a part of our future.
Because I was going to taste that mouth if it was the last thing I did tonight.
I locked my gaze with his. “Sure, we can seal the deal.” I rested my hand on his chest and went up on my toes.
His eyes went wide with surprise as I gripped the deceptively gorgeous cashmere of his sweater. Not exactly the kind of guy who belonged in a dive bar. I yanked him down and covered his mouth in a quick, hot kiss.
I was expecting a little buzz, but not this. Not the urge to drag him down closer. Usually, I was more talk than action when it came to men. I enjoyed flirting and could spin it out for ages without it ever coming to anything.
This fried my plans and my circuits like a…
Hmm. I didn’t really have a likeness in my electrified brain. And it was not because of the whiskey.
He rocked back on his heels, but not before his long fingers slid along my lower back. His fingers were not as soft as the sweater, which made him all the more intriguing. I’d been expecting paper-pusher hands. “Not exactly what I had in mind.”
“It’s a big bet.” I stepped away and turned back to the board. My fingers trembled a little. Damn, that probably hadn’t been my best move. “What was the shot?”
“Don’t remember?”
Nope. I sure didn’t. “Thought it might have been too easy, but didn’t want to make life harder for myself if I didn’t have to.”
“Double bullseye within three quick throws.”
I tipped my head with a slow smile. “Do you do everything quick?”
His low laugh made all the things jangle inside me. “Loaded question.”
“If you have to think about it too much, then I probably don’t want to know.” I picked up my lucky dart with two of the others on the table. I straightened my shoulders and got into position.
I shot off the first two, and a light, warm breeze floated by my ear a la Kevin Costner’s Robin Hood. The third nailed the rim of one of the wires and clattered to the floor. My lucky fucking purple dart.
I whirled on him, my hands on my hips. “What the fuck?”
“We didn’t establish any rules.” A slow smile transformed his handsome face into downright sinful.
“That’s bullshit.” I resisted the urge to stomp my boot, but only barely.
He twirled me around and cozied up behind me. I stiffened in his arms, but he pointed to the board. “You still won there, Artemis.”
Startled, I twisted to look up at him. Mythology? Wears hot cashmere sweater, has man hands, and smart. I’m not sure where this trifecta came from, but I was afraid to blink. He’d totally be a figment of my buzzy imagination.
His stubbled cheek brushed along mine. “Guess I owe you three hundred, my little huntress.”
“From Artemis to huntress? I’m not sure I want to be downgraded.”
“I was thinking more like Princess Diana.”
I laughed. “Now a super blond and definitely not alive version. At least you could let me be Megan or something.”
“More like Wonder Woman.” He flicked his finger along my wavy dark hair. “You’re hot and fierce like her.”
“Oh.” I swallowed. Yeah, I could definitely deal with that comparison. “I definitely don’t have her boobs.”
I slammed my eyes shut. Good going, Rylee.
His hand spanned my waist. “Your breasts are perfect.” He nipped my ear. “You started this little dance, but are you willing to finish it?”
The guys around us had dissipated when they were no longer part of the fun. They’d taken their free beers and gone about their business. I was alone with him. Well, as alone as I could be in a bar still half-full of people.
My breath died in my chest. Did I really have the balls to take him up on his offer? I’d done this before, both times ending in disaster. A college hookup the one and only year I’d attended. He’d been all talk and barely a two-pump chump.
The other had been a temp job with a fiery end. That was more hate fuck with a side of stupidity. Also more amazing in theory than in execution. I’d only ended up with bruises on my ass from the desk and no orgasms to be had.
“I’m sorry, huntress. I didn’t mean to overstep.” He took a step back.
Obviously, I’d taken too long to answer. Lost in the morass of the many mistakes in my past, I’d given him the wrong sign. Or maybe it was him moving back that gave me the courage to turn around and grab his hand. “One night. No repeats.”
He turned back to me. “No repeats? Not even tonight?”
I swallowed. Could a guy actually go more than once without passing out? I’d thought that was just in books and movies.
I lifted my chin. “As many times as you can fit in one night, handsome.”
He opened his mouth. I went up on my toes again and shut it for him.
I didn’t want to know his name. I didn’t want anything but a crazy night that would make this shitstorm of a week better. I had to stand up with my sister tomorrow and make everyone think I wasn’t the world’s worst fuck-up.
Again.
If I was going to make a crazy mistake, at least this guy seemed like he might make it worth the trouble.
Either way, I was about to find out.
Two
March
All that mattered was doing my job well.
I had to make coffee. Everyone at work had an order and I had to get them right.
New girl.
Had to make a good impression.
Cream and sugar with a splash of caramel for Kathy. The good caramel. The kind that was kept behind the counter.
I fumbled across the counter. Not caramel. Not the good stuff.
Kathy would be mad.
Where was the caramel?
But what about Monty’s coffee cake?
I moved to the shelves along the side and took a plate. Mustn’t forget the cake. Caramel on the cake? Maybe he’d like that too. Where was the caramel?
“What the hell are you doing in my fucking café?”
I turned toward the sound. “I’m looking for caramel of course.” I took the plate to the counter. “Monty wants coffee cake.”
“Are you drunk?”
“No, it’s morning. I don’t drink in the morning.” I moved back to the counter and took the lid off the muffin plate. No, he wanted coffee cake. “Okay, maybe I used to drink in the morning, but not anymore. I have to get coffee for work. Please don’t make me late. Sam wouldn’t like if I’m late. I’m the new girl, and I can’t be late.”
A bright light dented the fog.
“It’s three in the goddamn morning. I don’t have time to deal with this shit. You need to keep your damn edibles on the shelf unless you’re sharing with friends.”
“Edibles?” I frowned and looked down at the plate in my hand. I frowned. That wasn’t my plate.
“Look what you did to my place.”
The slam of a drawer made me stagger back a step. This was not my apartment. “Oh, God.” I swayed a little and shook my head. Where the hell was I? “Oh, shit.”
“I’m calling the cops.”
“Wait!” I shook off the fog of sleep and confusion and slipped on sugar and coffee grinds. I barely caught myself on the counter. “Wait. Oh, God. I wanna die.”
Macy Devereaux stood at the edge of the cafe with a baseball
bat over her shoulder, dark hair in a messy braid, and her icy eyes dead serious. “What the hell are you doing in here?”
I closed my eyes, pushing my frazzled hair out of my face. “You won’t believe me.”
I didn’t believe me. I couldn’t believe this was happening.
Not again.
The particulars were fuzzy as they almost always were after one of my episodes—a lot of times I didn’t remember much at all—but the signs were quite clear.
I glanced around at the huge mess on the floor and the counters. How the hell did I get into the café?
“You need to do some explaining or you’ll be doing it with Sheriff Brooks.”
“No, no. I’ll clean it up. I’m so sorry.”
“You’re damn right you’ll be cleaning it up. How the hell did you get in here? Don’t make me ask again.”
“I, um, don’t know.”
“What?” She lowered the bat. “What do you mean you don’t freaking know? I have a security panel, for God’s sake.”
“4344.”
Macy’s eyebrows shot up. “You know the passcode?”
“I don’t know how I know that. I can do this weird thing with tones though. If I ever heard it, I’d just know. From all my temp jobs on the phones. I’ve come down when you were opening up a few times.”
