by Harper Sloan
At some point in the middle of her speech, I lose control over my feelings. I still hold one of her hands tightly in my own, but I swipe at my face with the other, clearing the annoying tears that I was powerless to hold back. My throat is burning, a lump of pain lodged deep within it.
"Jesus Jones," I breathe, shaking my head in disbelief. "For someone who doesn't have the slightest experience in this shit, I sure did sound like I knew what I was talkin' about."
Leigh's hand tightens. "Something tells me, Q, you actually have more experience than any of us."
"I've been alone since he left, Leigh. The only relationship I've ever had was one I basically kept a secret from everyone, and when it exploded, I let the crash scar me deep enough that I never tried again. How exactly does that scream experience?"
"I think you've actually been waitin', to be honest. When you helped me through that rough spot with Maverick, you were speakin' from deep inside you, Q. It was advice I have a feelin' your mind was just waitin' to give you for yourself. Like you told me, two people meant to be together will always, always find their way back together."
"I want this chance," I whisper, fear of my desires dripping from each word. "I want it so much I can taste it, but I don't know how to forget that we lost so much. How do I ignore the fact that, while we were meant to be together, we've spent years apart and not exactly without the attention of other people durin' that time?"
"You just do," she says softly. "You just do. Now that's somethin' I can tell you from experience, honey. You said it yourself: he never thought y'all would get this chance again, and you were livin' your life thinkin' the same damn thing. You can't hold that against him, and he can't hold it against you."
"And if I do this, move forward to him and not away from him, what happens when one of us realizes there's nothin' left to have?"
"Then you have your friend back, Quinn. You guys spent a long damn time as friends before anything matured from that. There are no guarantees in this world, but at least you know, one way or the other, you have him back in your life. But, Q, that's your fear makin' you ask that question. Trust me on that."
I inhale, leaning back and pulling the air deep into my lungs for strength while I mull over her words. Is it as simple as that? Are my fears of being hurt again just creating problems that aren't even there?
"You felt the power of y'all's connection touch you from just a scribbled-down phone message written on a dirty piece of paper, Quinn. You hadn't heard his voice, seen the man he is now, or known there was a chance to have it all back, and you still felt that. All from a piece of paper, honey. Stop tryin' to think of ways that it won't work and start focusin' on the proof that it will. You're a hell-raisin' badass, remember?"
I choke on a laugh, her words warming me from the inside.
"Yeah, I am a hell-raisin' badass," I agree through wobbly lips.
"You betcha ass you are. Now what are ya gonna do about it?"
Well, isn't that the million-dollar question.
11
QUINN
"Burning House" by Cam
- -
I stand back and study the old F1 with a critical eye. I've just finished putting everything back together, the panel fitment being the biggest pain in my ass, but after a two-day struggle, Homer is getting his first breath of fresh air after a long process of fixing imperfections, priming and painting.
Now that everything I had dismantled is put back together on the old frame and he's had his date in the paint booth, the old guy is finally aligned, symmetrical and sexy as hell, his paint gleaming in the bright shop lights. Honest to God, Homer looks even better than he probably did right off the line nearly seventy years ago.
It's taken me a whole day to get the suspension reinstalled, and with the help of Tank, Homer's new motor and transmission are back in. I just finished running the new brake and fuel lines as well as the electrical components inside Homer's sexy frame. I still have to install the exhaust system I ordered for him, one that I have no doubt will make him purr like the sexy beast he is, but I needed a break after working for almost ten hours on him alone today.
Not only that, I need to make a call I've been putting off since my dinner with Leigh a few nights ago.
The guys have long since left the shop, even if I could tell a few of them didn't want to leave me here alone. It didn't take much encouragement to get them to skedaddle out of here seeing that it's a Friday night and they've all been talkin' for days about hittin' up Coops for some beer and pool. They should be used to leaving me here alone. I've gotten lost in so many projects in the past that it's not exactly a rarity, but I think they put up a fuss for show now, knowing that I would never take them up on their offers to stick around.
I take one last look at Homer, the Lava Red paint I picked for him making me want to lay my body against the hood and just soak in the beauty. In low light, he almost looks black, but the second the light strikes his sleek metal cage, red undertones burst free, making it come to life.
It's hot.
So damn hot, I think I've fallen a little in love with the old guy.
"God, Homer, you sure are gonna turn some heads," I tell him, patting the hood with affection.
Reluctantly, I turn from the sexy beast and walk to my office to grab a Coke, a snack, and my cell. I groan loudly when my tired body finally settles into my desk chair, taking a bite of my Pop-Tart while I stare at my phone.
Butterflies erupt in my stomach and the Pop-Tart I'm chewing on suddenly tastes more like cardboard. I'm being ridiculous right now. A big baby.
"Come on, Quinn," I tell myself sternly. "You're a hell-raisin' badass. Just pick up the phone and throw the stupid ball you've been bouncin' in your court back in Tate's."
Tossing my half-eaten snack down, I snatch my phone up and connect the call before I can give myself a second to freak out more than I already am.
"This is Tatum Montgomery," the deep, velvety voice answers.
The same voice I've been unable to stop thinking about for days. God, he sounds delicious. If that's a thing, that is. Seriously, his voice should be considered illegal. Panty-melting illegal.
"Hello?" he calls, clearly impatient, if his tone is anything to go by.
Shit, I haven't said a word. I bet I'm breathing heavy. Like a creepy stalker or something.
"Hey," I squeak, rushing the word out to quiet the panic Inner Quinn is going through.
"Quinn," he breathes. Literally. He breathes my name in the most sensual way, and I feel it go straight to my gut.
"Okay, bucko, so in an effort to keep a whole full-disclosure thing goin', I'm goin' to have to ask you to not say my name like that. It makes me think thoughts that don't belong in my head at this juncture in our . . . reunion."
Deep, sexy-as-hell, lady-part-tingling grunts of laughter follow.
"Add that laugh to the list of things you can't do too," I pant. Could this get any worse?
"Anything else, Grease?"
I pause, looking out into the shop floor while I think about that one. I'm sure if I really thought about it, though, I could make a list of things that make my body burn. "I'll have to get back to you on that," I rush out, thinking that there will never be enough time in the world for me to list them.
"You do that," he chuckles.
"Maybe it's the phone," I mumble to myself. I don't remember his voice sounding this . . . erotic in person.
"What, Quinn?"
"Oh, God. Seriously, only you make me stupid. No one else does this shit to me, but you just short somethin' out in my head that doesn't work right. I'm at the shop. Do you have time to meet up and talk?"
More deep rumbles of laughter.
Kill me now.
"Just finishin' up at the office, Quinn. I've got one more patient file I need to update and then I'll head over. Sound good, darlin'?"
I squeeze my legs together, instantly regretting it when the seam of my jeans hits my swollen and very needy center. " 'Darlin'
' " just got added to that list too."
"Right." He gurgles with suppressed laughter. "See ya in a bit, Quinn."
He disconnects the call before I have a chance to say anything else, and I replay our conversation. The second I realize I just invited him over, I freak. I didn't exactly plan this out thinking we would have this conversation face-to-face, but sure enough, that's how it came out to him. Now I need to hike up my britches and deal with it, because I no longer have the phone to hide behind.
"Holy shit, I'm gonna freak the hell out," I groan, then do exactly that.
- -
Seventeen minutes later, after a panic session involving four more Pop-Tarts and a hell of a lot of pacing back and forth, I see him pull into the lot. I had moved to the front reception slash waiting-room area after I managed to stop yelling at myself and waving my arms in the air, figuring it would be better to have somewhere we could sit down, but then rethought my strategy. I've basically done nothing but pace since I walked up here and saw the only option is a leather love seat. I really need to replace those stupid single chairs I made Tank toss because they made this place look like a thrift store.
A sharp knock against the front glass makes me jump, scream, and spin around--stupid sugar high.
"I'm so screwed," I groan, shuffling on my booted feet to the door to unlock it and let him in. My inner voice screaming the same thing, only with a whole different meaning.
"Hey, Grease," he greets in a low, smooth voice--one that doesn't sound any less sensual off the phone.
"I'm screwed," I scream aloud. "Totally and completely screwed!" Then, because I'm clearly two seconds away from losing it, I start pacing, incoherent gibberish that I'm powerless to stop spewing from my lips. I look over my shoulder at him, only to feel my brows knit and my eyes narrow, my mind picking up right where it left off, only now the gibberish is coming out more like I'm speaking in tongues.
"Whoa," he calls out, grabbing my shoulders softly, halting me mid-stomp. "What's goin' through your mind, Quinn?" His eyes search my face as he tries to understand what's going on, and his thumbs rub soothing circles against the exposed skin.
Note to self: Wear tank tops whenever he's within touching distance.
"You scare me more than a rattlesnake about to strike," I whisper. "Right down to my marrow, Tate Montgomery."
His face softens and his eyes spark knowingly. He knows that by admitting that, I've all but signed myself over to him. Wholly and completely.
"You've got nothin' to worry about when it comes to me, darlin'."
"I think . . ." I take a deep breath. "I think that might take me some time to realize."
"Well, aren't you in luck? Seems I've recently found myself with nothin' but time."
I close my eyes and drop my forehead to his chest, the rapid beating of his heart hitting me the second I make contact, and I realize he's feeling this a whole lot more than his calm demeanor is letting on. For whatever reason, the knowledge that he's as deeply affected by this as I am washes over me like an instant dose of calm.
"Wanna see Homer?"
"Who?"
I laugh as I pull my head off his chest, the ice broken just like that. The second our eyes connect, my laughter stalls in my throat and I give him the truth of my heart.
"I've missed you." I reach up, pushing some wavy hair that had fallen over his forehead toward his temple. "If I didn't feel each one of those years you've been gone in my bones, I would think not a day's gone by since you were last here, this lazy man's hair fallin' into your eyes."
"It's supposed to make me look rugged yet sexy," he says keeping a straight face for a beat before his lips twitch. "I missed you too, darlin', more than I could ever explain."
I nod, feeling the air starting to shake around me with our vulnerable admissions. Not wanting to break down like a baby, I grab his hand and take him to meet Homer.
Hopefully that'll give me some time to get my mind straight and tell the man that broke my heart in two once in my life already that I'm giving him the power to do it again.
Jesus Jones.
12
QUINN
"Like I'm Gonna Lose You" by Meghan Trainor
- -
"Whoa."
I smile when I hear it. The pure reaction of shock and wonder that I just knew Homer would incite from people. He's that perfect.
"Yeah," I breathe, lost in the trance that is Homer. "He should be ready soon. I finished up the interior wirin' earlier today; I'll install the rest of the interior finishes tomorrow, get the windows installed, and then I'll move on to the bed. I've got the most beautiful deep mahogany wood for it that will set off the red in the paint."
"You got all this done already?"
I turn to face him when I hear the disbelief in his voice, feeling the pride I take in my work inflating my ego. "Yup," I say, popping the p. "I kinda know my way around F1's," I smirk, and then point over my shoulder at my girl. "I've been tinkerin' with Bertha for about a year now. Took me a while because it was a side project I did in any extra time I had around the custom projects I had come in. Or I would take weeks off at a time because she's a cranky bitch that gave me a whole lot more frustrations than Homer did."
Tate whistles under his breath, looking from Bertha to Homer. He repeats the process a few times before settling those mesmerizing eyes on me. "Homer and Bertha?"
"It isn't nice to put your hands under someone's hood if you aren't at least on a first-name basis."
"Of course it isn't," he agrees, lips twitching.
"Homer's an expensive date, you know," I joke.
"I don't doubt that, Grease. Worth every fuckin' penny."
"As much as I hate havin' this talk here at the shop, I'm not sure I trust myself goin' anywhere else. For one thing, Clay's at home, I'm sure, and I would rather delay any chat he may want to have with you until I have a better understandin' of what's happenin' here. And to be completely honest, I know if we took things to your place I'm not sure you could resist this," I tell him, waving my hand down my body, in hopes of keeping things lighthearted, but I know instantly that my joke had the wrong impression on him. His eyes darken and his nostrils flare as he burns a path of awareness down my body. "So anyway, here at the shop is our only option." I rush the words out, wanting nothing more than to press my thighs together to attempt to ease the ache building between them.
"Here's got potential," he murmurs, patting the shiny hood of Homer before advancing.
"Hey now, snap outta it!" My hand meets his chest when he's just a few feet in front of me. My fingers curl, the soft material of his black button-down shirt rasping against my skin. Shit, did I just purr?
"You told me to fight for you, Quinn. You left the other night with that parting comment and I haven't heard a word from you for two fuckin' days. Do you have any idea how much restraint it's taken for me not to say the hell with it and not give you the time to sort your head?"
"Probably a good thing you didn't, Tate. I'm not sure it would have ended favorably for you had you not have given me that time."
"Yeah?" he mocks, raising one dark brow. "And now?"
"Now I think it's time I stop lettin' what happened years ago stand in the way of me livin'."
His jaw clenches and his nostrils flare. "What I did marked you."
"Marked you too, honey," I whisper, knowing the truth to my words in my gut.
"Move your hand, Quinn," he demands, pressing against my outstretched limb.
I instantly comply, and not even a breath later his arms are wrapped tightly around my body, crushing me to him. One of his hands goes up and I feel him rip the band holding my hair back out right before his fingers push into my thick locks in an effort to hold my head against his chest. He wraps his other arm around my back, curling his fingers around my side and making it so that there isn't a part of me that isn't touching him.
His heart pounds against my ear, the rapid tattoo matching mine. Feeling him like this snaps something deep
inside me, something I had thought I lost forever. I know in this moment that it would take a whole hell of a lot to make me run now.
"I'm not sure I deserve you givin' me another chance, Quinn, but fuck if I won't make sure you don't regret it."
"We still don't know each other anymore, Tate. It might not be easy and you might find you don't care for the woman I've become."
My voice is muffled, but I know he hears me, because he lets out a sound of disbelief that tickles my cheek. I take the moment to turn my head as much as I can and breathe in the scent of him, a fragrance that always made me dizzy with need anytime he was around, but that I missed like an addiction I had been cut off abruptly from.
"If I promise to resist your many, many . . . charms," he whispers, leaning back and causing his hand to fall from the back of my head and down my neck until I feel the heel of his hand at the top of my chest. His other arm leaves my back at the same time until he is holding the side of my chest, the heat of his hand on the side of my other breast. His eyes, though, they're devouring me and he isn't even hiding it. "Do you think we can finish this at my place?" he says to my chest.
"Tate," I warn, not sure if I want him to give our bodies what we both clearly want or follow through with his promise to deny them that.
"Haven't had you in my arms in close to a decade, Quinn, not counting the other day. While I promise nothin' will happen, I can't promise to keep my thoughts from goin' there. Make no mistake, darlin', my hands aren't goin' to be able to stay off of you when I know you're about to give me the right to put them there."
"Oh, really?" I gasp in mock shock.
Deep rumbles of his many chuckles hit my ears and I feel my face get all dreamy when he casts a lopsided grin at me. "Tell ya what," he says softly. "How about I walk you out, you let me talk you into a kiss good night, then I'll pick you up in the morning and we can start gettin' to know each other again?"