Because I am upset.
I do have feelings for him.
And I thought maybe, just maybe, he’d call me and tell me he missed me. That he’d try to come up and see me on his weekend off, or he’d invite me down for a mid-week booty call.
I’m a hopeless—and hopeful—romantic at heart and I can’t help it.
“Well,” I say, pushing my shoulders back, trying to regain as much composure as I can for someone who just threw up in the kitchen sink. “Thank you again, Archer. Goodnight, and good luck on your interview tomorrow.”
Instead of giving me his cocky smile, his brow furrows and he looks, dare I say, sad. His hand lands on the back of his neck, a subconscious gesture I’m starting to realize he does when he’s uncomfortable.
“Of course, Quinn,” he says my name softly, and it rolls off his tongue like velvet. “If you get sick again, you can come get me. I am a doctor after all.”
“Right. I’m glad you reminded me because I almost forgot.”
His frown starts to turn. “We can’t have that now, can we?”
“You probably should start wearing your white doctor coat around the house. And have one of those gold-plated stethoscopes around your neck like the TV doctors do.”
“Mine’s platinum.”
I laugh. “Even better. Goodnight, Dr. Jones.”
“How do you do this every day?” I fall into a lounge chair, over exaggerating my exhaustion. Though I am dragging, even with sleeping in past ten this morning.
Wes shrugs, a slight smile on his face as he watches his son run around the yard with the dogs. “You just do.”
“You’re like a superhero. Literally. Saving lives as a cop and rocking the whole single-parent thing.”
He bypasses the compliment. “Keep your shoes on, buddy!” he shouts to Jackson. “He’s going through a barefoot phase right now.”
“Better than his bare-butt phase when he wouldn’t wear pants.”
Wes laughs, adjusting his gun on his belt before sitting on a chair next to me. He’s on his lunch break, and came by for a homemade meal and to see Jackson.
“You do know the crime is really low here, don’t you? Or have you been away so long you forgot? I’m not saving lives in Eastwood.”
I shoot him a look, trying desperately hard to ignore the sick feeling in my stomach. “Fine, you’re no Avenger, but you keep this town safe. We’d have higher crime if we didn’t have good police on our force.” Wes rolls his eyes. “Can’t you just accept a compliment?”
I flatten my hand over my stomach, swallowing down the lump rising in my throat. “He starts preschool this fall, right?” I grab the can of ginger ale I brought out and pop the top. This is my third one today and the only thing so far that helps. I’ve made a point to avoid junk food, even though the cookies that made me sick last night look oh so appealing today.
“Yeah, he’ll go two days a week.”
“Are you sad about it?”
“Not right now,” Wes says. “On the first day, I think it’ll hit me. Though it’ll be good to have him in school for a few hours those days. Mom loves watching him while I work, but Dad’s been getting busier and busier. Mom will never admit she’s crunched for time, but I’m sure she is.”
“Have you thought about hiring a nanny?”
“I shouldn’t have to hire a nanny,” he grumbles, looking away. I know where his thoughts have gone, and I feel bad for directing them that way. Wes’s wife left when Jackson was only a few months old, leaving a note saying she cracked under pressure. She showed up on his first birthday, played the role of perfect housewife for a while and then left again.
Jackson doesn’t remember her, but he still asks if his mommy will come home. I hate her and I never want to see her again. Well, only so Wes can divorce her once and for all.
“So,” I start, changing the subject. “I made a fake video of the Batmobile for Dean. Want to see it?”
Wes chuckles, blue eyes sparkling. All my brothers have blue eyes like our parents. I’m the odd one out with green eyes.
“Of course.”
I show him the video, and we both laugh. Then Mom calls us all in for lunch. She made homemade mac and cheese, along with a cucumber and avocado salad that I usually devour. But right now, a small bowl of mac and cheese is all I can handle.
After Wes leaves, Jackson and I go into the living room to watch a movie and hopefully get the crazy kid to nap. I end up falling asleep before him.
I wake up to the sound of Jackson playing with PAW Patrol on in the background. Archer is sitting on the ground with Jackson, pushing toy cars around on the ground. He’s still wearing the suit he wore to his interview. His tie is loosened around his neck, and the top few buttons are undone.
Good Lord. It should be against the law for a man to look that good.
Don’t even remind me of the fact he’s sitting on the ground talking in funny voices to a three-year-old who I just happen to love more than life itself. Feeling hot and bothered, I sit up and push my hair out of my face.
“Aunt Winnie!” Jackson exclaims. Quinn was too hard for him to say, and ‘Winnie’ just stuck. “Come play with me!”
Archer turns, eyes meeting mine. He looks happy and relaxed sitting there playing, and it’s doing bad things to me. Fuck, I want him so bad.
“How was the interview?” I ask, deciding it’s best to just stick to polite conversation. He did hold my hair back as I threw up last night. And as much as I want to hate him, I can’t.
“I think it went pretty well,” he says, eyes meeting mine. “How are you feeling?”
“Better.”
His eyes go to the ginger ale on the coffee table in front of me. “Really?”
“I haven’t thrown up again, so that’s a plus, right?”
“Right.”
I get up and move to the floor, tucking my hair behind my ear. Jackson can be a little bossy when he plays and tells us all what to make his toys say. It’s nice sitting here with Archer, and with Jackson here as well, there’s no risk for drama.
Not yet. Not until Archer and I are alone together. Which is something I’m going to make sure doesn’t happen.
About fifteen minutes later, Jackson’s finally tired. Mom comes out of the home office, saying she needs a break after arguing for an hour on the phone with a plumber they hired for a job. Jackson snuggles up with her on the couch and falls asleep almost instantly.
“What are your plans for the rest of the day?” Mom asks me.
“Just hang out here. Jamie is working a double today, so she can’t do anything.”
Mom covers Jackson with a blanket, kissing the top of his head. “I have a few errands to run before dinner tonight, would you mind possibly doing a few of them for me?”
“No, not at all,” I say eagerly. Getting out of the house and away from Archer is a good idea anyway.
“Great! Archer, why don’t you tag along? One of my errands is to go to the feed store and some of those bags are heavy.”
“I can handle it, Mom,” I say dryly.
“I’m sure you can, but why not enjoy some company? And I don’t think Archer wants to sit in the house with me all day,” she adds with a wink. “My list is on my desk.”
“I’m going to change first,” Archer says, not meeting my eyes. I don’t want to hurt his feelings, even though I don’t think he considered my feelings when he had sex with me three times and then never called.
“Good idea,” I say. “It’s hot. Out. Outside. It’s hot outside, I mean. You should change into something not so hot. Not that what you’re wearing is hot like that. I mean in temperature.”
Archer nods, smiling slightly at my word vomit and goes upstairs to change. I use the bathroom, shove a few mints in my purse to help my unsettled stomach, and get the list from Mom’s desk.
I get into my car, cranking the air to cool it down, and fiddle with the radio until Archer joins me. We leave in silence, with nothing but the radio between us.
It doesn’t take long to get into town, and since downtown isn’t very big, we can park in the middle and walk to most of the stores.
“What’s first on the list?” Archer asks once we’re out of the car.
“The feed store is right there,” I say, pointing across the street. It’s been a while since I walked around Eastwood’s downtown. It’s worlds different than Chicago, and for some reason, the nostalgia is hitting me hard.
Archer nods and follows me to the corner. I can feel his eyes on me and do my best to ignore him. I don’t trust myself not to give in to the intense desire to kiss him that’s currently crippling me.
We cross the street and go into Henry’s Feed and Garden, an old cowbell jingling when I open the door.
“My oh my,” Mrs. Miller says, pushing her glasses up on her nose. “Is that you, Quinn Dawson?”
“It is,” I say with a smile.
“I haven’t seen you in years! Get over here, girl.” She opens her arms and wraps me in a big hug. Mrs. Miller and her husband, Henry, have owned this feed store for as long as I’ve been alive. Back in my youth, I showed goats and horses at the county fair and I spent a decent amount of time in this place. My parents got rid of the goats soon after I graduated high school, and my show horse died five years ago.
I still miss him.
“You look amazing!” Mrs. Miller exclaims, holding me out at arm’s length. “I heard about your fancy app and your fancy job. We’re all proud of you, hun. This whole town is.”
“It was nothing,” I say, trying to brush off the compliment. It wasn’t nothing, and it took a lot of work to create the app. Selling it was part talent and part luck. The right person saw it at the right time and offered me a deal I couldn’t refuse.
“And who is this?” Her eyes go behind me to Archer.
“Hi,” Archer says, offering his hand to shake. “I’m Archer. Dean’s friend.”
He is Dean’s friend. It’s not a lie. But for some reason his words make me feel all stabby. What is up with me today? I must be PMSing hard.
We talk with Mrs. Miller for a bit before getting the things on Mom’s list. Archer carries two heavy bags of feed out to the car like it’s nothing. I open the door for him and step aside.
“Quinn,” he says once the bags of chicken feed are in the car. “I don’t want you to be mad at me.”
“I’m not mad,” I say softly, tempted to go with Mom’s favorite and add ‘I’m just disappointed’ to the end of it. I don’t, and instead, I pull the list out of my purse to see what else we need to get. “Mom wants two bouquets of flowers. The florist is just down the block.”
I take off, and Archer falls into step next to me. “You seem mad, and I wouldn’t blame you.”
Coming to a sudden halt, I whirl around. “Really, Archer? You wouldn’t blame me? How very generous of you.”
I take off again, wondering where the fire inside of me is coming from. I’m not a confrontational person. At all. I know I have feelings for Archer, but I guess they’re rooted deeper than I thought for all this snapping.
“Quinn, stop.” Archer grabs my wrist, gently pulling me back to him. I let him bring me close, and rest one hand on his firm chest, feeling his heart beat beneath my fingers. I want nothing more than to kiss him, for him to pick me up and press me against the brick wall of Eastwood’s only bookstore, not caring who sees.
Tingles make their way through every inch of me, and my pussy aches to feel his touch. I need him.
And I think he needs me too.
I lick my lips and inch in, wanting to feel if his desire matches mine. It’s a bit unfair, if you think about it, how women can hide it when they’re turned on but guys can’t. Especially guys like Archer who have a big dick. Not that I feel sorry for him in that aspect, of course.
“You said you like honesty,” Archer says, voice deep, rumbling right through me. “So be honest.”
I swallow hard, throat suddenly thick. “Fine. I can be honest.” I raise my head, lips inches from his, and open my mouth. Archer tips his head down, and if he doesn’t kiss me, I think I might explode.
Archer grips my hips, pulling me to him, and I feel his cock start to harden. I melt into his embrace, remembering how good it felt to have him inside me. Even before that, the way he touched me, the way he looked at me, the way he made me feel like I was a goddess…I miss it and I need it.
I slowly bring my hand down his chest, keeping my eyes locked with his. My fingers dance over his waistband of his athletic shorts, so close to the tip of his cock.
And then the door to the bookstore opens, swinging out and almost hitting us. We jump back, separating just in time.
“Quinn!” Logan exclaims, stopping short. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
18
Archer
I blink rapidly, eyes needing to readjust to the bright sunlight around us. Everything faded for a moment there.
“And Archer. I didn’t know you were in town.” Logan’s eyes go from Quinn to me a few times before he pulls Quinn in for a hug. “I’m guessing this is why Mom’s having us all come over for dinner tonight.”
“Yeah. We’re out running errands for her,” she says, shuffling back. Sweat breaks out along my back, both from the heat of the day and almost getting caught. My judgment goes out the window when it comes to Quinn, and she got me going from zero to sixty in three seconds flat.
“What’d you buy?” Quinn asks, shifting nervously. She’s worried her brother saw us too.
“That thriller that’s being made into a movie. I refuse to see the movie until I’ve read the book.”
Out of all her brothers, Quinn and Logan are the most alike. He’s the second youngest, even though Owen is a mere handful of seconds older, and I’ve heard them joke about that bonding them.
“The one about the girl who wakes up from a car accident covered in blood and thinks her husband is a killer?” she asks.
“Yeah, that one.” Logan holds up the book. “Well, I’ll see you guys later. I need to stop in at the bar and make sure things are set up for tonight. And then find Owen.”
Quinn raises an eyebrow. “You lost him?”
“I’m not his keeper.”
“He needs you to be,” she mumbles. “Do you need me to triangulate his phone again?”
“Nah, I installed a tracking app he hasn’t noticed yet. He went home with some girls last night and I’m guessing he’s still sleeping it off somewhere.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t know how you guys can look so alike but be so different.”
Logan shrugs. “Beats me. I got all the smarts, and he got all the…you know, there’s nothing he has that I don’t.”
Quinn laughs and moves her gaze from Logan to the buildings surrounding us. I remember Dean saying he was worried about Quinn when she first took her job in Chicago. The rest of her family was here in Eastwood and she moved away, though it’s not like anyone could blame her. This is a small town and she has an advanced degree in computer science. There’s nothing here for her.
Quinn’s hand lands on her stomach and she grimaces. Shit, she’s probably feeling sick again.
“You okay, sis?” Logan asks.
“Yeah, I’ve been so stressed from work it’s making me sick,” she says, waving her hand in the air. A long list of terminal illnesses rush through my head, and I have to force myself not to diagnose Quinn. There’s nothing wrong with her. She’s fine.
She has to be fine.
We say bye to Logan and move onto the next stop, and Quinn picks out two bouquets of yellow and white flowers. After that, we go to the vet to pick up medication for Rufus, and lastly, the post office to get a book of stamps.
We leave the post office in silence, and I hate how tense things are. They don’t have to be like this. I want to go back to that Friday night when Quinn and I were walking along the river.
“Quinn,” I start, mentally yelling at myself to man the fuck up and just tell her how I feel.
“I’m sorry.”
She puts the SUV in reverse and flicks her eyes to me. “For what?”
“For not calling you. I should have called or texted or…or…something. Things are complicated, and Dean’s been a good friend to me. He’s like a brother and I…” I let out my breath, shaking my head. “It’s not a good enough excuse, I know. But I am sorry.”
Quinn bites her lip, looking out at the road as she leaves the parking space. Her brows come together, and I wish so badly to know what she’s thinking.
“Complicated. Right.” She turns down the main road out of town. “What does that even mean?”
“I’m not sure,” I say honestly.
She tightens her grip on the wheel. “Do you regret sleeping with me?”
“No. Do you regret it?”
Her lips press into a thin line and she shakes her head. Before she can answer, her phone rings. Connected to the Bluetooth in her car, the call comes up over the speakers. It’s someone from work, asking Quinn about coding. Her words are technical and lost on me, but I’d be lying if I said hearing her talk like that didn’t turn me on. The phone call goes on until we arrive back at the Dawsons’ farm, and even though we left our conversation in a very precarious place, going back would be even more awkward.
“Should I take the chicken feed into the barn?” I ask, getting out of the SUV.
“Yeah. Thanks.” She gets the other items and heads inside without me. Dean and Kara are here, everyone is in the usual meeting place: the kitchen. Quinn is leaning against the counter snacking on pretzels, Dean looks like he’s close to being bored to death, and Kara and Mrs. Dawson are bent over an iPad, intently looking at something.
“Thank the Lord,” Dean says when he sees me. “We got important video gaming to do.”
Kara looks away from the iPad, giving Dean a glare. He holds up his hands in defeat and sits back down.
Cheat Codes Page 14
