The guy, who does in fact have a name, but has gone by Ace for so long that I honestly can’t remember it, rubs a palm over the back of his neck and winces. “I don’t drink coffee.”
“Neither do I.” I control myself from rolling my eyes. “It’s a metaphor.”
“A what?” He tilts his head and gives me a blank look, one that reminds me of the Golden Retriever I used to have when I was a kid. Like he hears my words but can’t actually process the meaning.
I guess I’m going to have to spell it out for him.
“For...sex.”
His brows shoot up, then he gets this dopey expression like I might have to explain what that is too. “Quinn...”
I hear the but in his voice, even before he says it.
“You’re gorgeous, but...”
Yep, there it is.
“But what?” Thank God for the alcohol in my system, because I’d probably be burning with embarrassment right now, rather than just annoyance.
He glances around the parking lot like he’s expecting someone to jump out of the bushes at any second. “Honestly. Your brothers scare the shit out of me.”
I try to hold back another eye roll. This time I’m not successful.
“Then why did you agree to go on a date?”
The corner of his lips pull up, and deep dimples tug at his cheeks. “You’re hot. And I...” He shrugs. “like you.”
I shake my head and sigh, then open the car door. I don’t think I’ll ever understand men. I also wonder how many of my dates my brothers have intimidated in the past.
Sometimes having four older brothers sucks.
He leans over the passenger seat as I get out. “Maybe we can go to the movies next Tues—”
“Goodnight, Ace,” I say, shutting the door, knowing date three will never happen.
Date two probably shouldn’t have either, but as much as I put on a happy face for everyone, I’m lonely...and sexually frustrated...and starting to become a little cynical in this whole relationship thing.
Ace’s tires roll over the gravel, and the lights disappear onto the country road towards town.
Feeling sorry for myself and needing someone to vent to, I unlock the back door of Savages and Saints instead of going up to my apartment, hoping Jenny is still there.
She is. Red hair pulled back in a messy bun, Jenny’s bent over the counter checking things off the inventory list. She lets out a small shriek when I come up behind her.
“Shit, Quinn. You scared me.”
“Sorry.” I smile and grab a bottle of Avion Silver off the shelf and two shot glasses.
“Bad night?” She raises a brow at me.
“Bad year.” I pour two shots, then slide one towards her, draining mine quickly, barely wincing when the tequila hits my throat.
“I don’t know how you drink that stuff.” She chuckles and pushes the shot back. “I take it your date didn’t go well.”
I groan, then down her returned shot. “You could say that. I’m starting to think I’m going to end up as one of those lonely old cat ladies.”
“You hate cats.”
“I do.” I pour myself another shot. “Maybe I’ll get a dog.”
She chuckles.
A car honks outside.
“That’s my ride.” She places a hand on mine and squeezes it. “If you’re staying to drown your sorrows, mind locking up for me?”
“Sure,” I say on a sigh.
I follow her to the front door and lock it behind her.
When she’s gone, silence fills the building.
I hate silence.
Always have.
Growing up in a house full of boys, you’d think I’d crave it. But I don’t. I like noise. Music. Laughter. Because in the silence my heart beats a different rhythm, one that aches for the things it can’t have.
I grab the tequila bottle from the bar, taking a swig from it as I walk to the stage, tempted to turn the karaoke on and have my own private sing-off.
I’m the one who convinced Kade to get the machine. We move it away on Friday and Saturday nights when local bands play, but honestly, I’d rather listen to drunk renditions of Summer Nights and Love Shack than the mediocre guitar playing of wannabe grunge bands.
With the bottle to my lips, I scan the Polaroids that wallpaper the area.
My fingers trail over the one that always draws my attention. It’s of me on a makeshift stage with a guitar two sizes too big for me, smiling up at Zee, who’s singing into a stand-up microphone. The photo was taken long before he and Kade opened Savages and Saints. Judging by my flat chest and ridiculous pixie cut my mom had attempted to do herself, the photo was taken the summer I turned eleven.
In the backyard of our house, while my brothers goofed around by the pool, Zee had taught me how to play guitar. I’m not sure if I’d already loved him then, but if I didn’t, he’d stolen my heart irrevocably that summer.
But the Zee in the picture was a different boy than the man who left. The one who kissed me in the back office, then pushed me away like I meant nothing to him.
“Asshole,” I mutter, flicking the image of his face, and at the same time wondering where he is tonight. Probably at one of those big Hollywood parties, or in Miami at one of those VIP clubs that only A-list celebrities can get into.
Wherever he is, I have no doubt he was swarmed by women, living the dream. Again, I mutter, “Asshole.”
I sigh and take another sip from the bottle, then frown when I see an empty space on the wall. The tack is there, but the photo is gone. Kade is so damn possessive about them, I know he’ll have a fit when he finds one missing. Along with the last bottle of Avion Silver.
My fingers are tingling, and my lips are slightly numb when I turn all the lights off and lock the place up, my legs feeling heavy as I walk up the stairs to my apartment.
Inside, I don’t even bother turning the lights on. With all the sexual frustration racing through my body, I have a one-track mind, which include two of my favorite things — my bed and my vibrator. I place the bottle of tequila on the bedside table, then shuffle out of my jeans and pull my shirt off, letting them both fall to the floor.
The bed creaks as I sit down on the edge and reach beneath the bed for my magic wand which is still plugged in from my earlier use today. I slide under the covers and turn the vibrator on.
Closing my eyes, Zee’s face is all I see, and I swear I can almost smell his scent, feel the warmth of him beside me. I whimper imagining his hands on me, the taste of his lips. Doesn’t matter how much I hate him for leaving, he’s still the only fantasy that gets me off.
I feel movement beside me. And I freeze.
The covers shift as a large mound slowly rises beside me and a growl-like sound comes from the shadows.
What the actual fuck?
A scream sticks in my throat, but my reflexes work perfectly. I hit the intruder with the only weapon I have — my vibrator.
“Fuck,” the deep voice barks. I hit the intruder again, this time striking something hard, which I’m assuming is a head. But I doubt it does much damage, since the end I’m hitting with is a softer plastic.
I put more strength into my next blow.
“Shit,” comes another growl-like curse
“Get.” I strike again. “Out.” And again. “Now.”
My last strike doesn’t land. A large hand grips the vibrator as I’m being tossed back on the bed, a very large, very male body pressing down on me.
“Stop. Fucking. Hitting. Me,” the man hisses.
I go still.
My heart is racing in my ears, but I recognize that voice, even if I can’t see his face in the darkness.
“Zee?” And again, the thought — What the actual fuck? — races through my brain.
I squirm under him, trying to get away, but he doesn’t release me, or the damn vibrator that’s still buzzing in his hand.
My eyes start to adjust to the darkness. I can see the faint outline of his face.
I know it’s the devil himself. My heart does a tailspin straight into my stomach.
Zee St. James is in my bed.
I hear a low growl at the base of his throat, and he rasps out roughly, “Quinn?”
His heavy thigh is between mine, pressing at my most intimate parts. The heat of his bare chest against my skin is fire and electricity. I swallow hard when I feel his erection grow and press into my hip.
And it’s like the last six years melt away. I’m pretty sure if my hands weren’t secured above my head, they’d probably be a second away from diving into his hair and pulling his lips to mine. Among other things.
Then he opens his damn mouth. “What are you doing in my bed?”
It’s an accusation. One that despite the heat of our bodies, is full of ice.
Looks like the last six years didn’t cure him of his assholeness.
“And why the fuck are you naked?” he bites out.
I twist my wrists and he lets them go, but when I push on his chest and try to roll away, his heavy frame still pins me to the mattress.
“Answer me.”
Slowly, with as much venom that I can muster, I hiss, “Get. Off. Of. Me.”
After a moment hesitation, he moves away, giving me a chance to escape. But when I jump out of the bed, I snag my baby toe on the bedside table and let out a series of curses.
“Shit. Damnit. Crap.”
An almost primal sound rumbles across the room when I switch the lights on.
Zee stands on the other side of the bed, shirtless, his eyes blazing fire as they roam down my body, then back up to my face. And he looks — feral.
I hold his gaze. Those eyes are my undoing. I’d thought I’d almost forgotten the color. Bottomless green pools that threatened to drown me. Every feeling I thought I’d pushed down comes spiraling back.
The ache in my core, the one I haven’t felt for any other man, throbs almost painfully with a want that will never be fulfilled.
A hundred questions burn through my thoughts, but the only words I can utter are a slurred, “You’re back.”
His nostrils flare. “And you’re drunk.”
I follow his gaze to the tequila bottle.
“So?” I place my hands on my hips, swaying slightly.
“Jesus, Quinn.” He rubs a hand over his face, and his jaw clenches, then he turns around, hissing out through gritted teeth, “Put some damn clothes on.”
That defiant voice inside my head isn’t quick to take orders from him.
I narrow my eyes, gathering strength from the anger swirling inside me. “Don’t tell me what to do.”
“Now, Quinn.” He warns, leaning with his palms on the window frame.
The muscles in his back bunch and tense with the movement.
God, those muscles. The man is pure masculine perfection. Broad shoulders, heavily corded back, tapering down to a narrow waist. And then there’s his ass...
A silent moan rumbles in my throat, or maybe it’s not so silent, because Zee’s head snaps around.
“Quinn,” he growls out. “Clothes.”
With a heavy sigh, I grab the first article of clothing I see on the ground and pull it over my head. It’s only when the shirt hangs halfway down my thighs that I realize it’s Zee’s t-shirt.
A small smile tugs at my lips, because I may not ever have him, but he’ll have to wrestle this damn shirt off me if he wants it back. Plus, if I’m wearing it, then he isn’t. And as hard as I’m trying to hate him right now, what I really want to do is drown in the image of every inked muscle.
“Better?” I quirk an eyebrow, and ready myself for his response.
When he turns around, he lets out another groan and drags his fingers through his dark hair. His nostrils flare and I catch his gaze drifting down to my legs again, but he shakes his head and quickly looks away, but not before I catch a glint of appreciation in his eyes.
“How did you know I was here?” He crosses his arms and leans against the wall, like he’s trying to put as much distance between us as possible. “Was it the redhead at the bar?”
I glare at him, realizing he’s talking about Jenny. He must have been at Savages and Saints earlier.
“Wait...” It finally hits me that he thinks I came here looking for him. “Oh my God, are you really that arrogant? You think I...” My fingers itch to throw something at him. But already his right eye is starting to swell, and I don’t doubt it’ll be black in the morning.
Good. Serves him right.
Did he really come back here thinking nothing had changed in six years? That this was still his apartment.
“What are you doing here, anyways? Does Kade know you’re back?”
“No.” Something that looks like guilt passes across his expression.
I’m about to lay into him, when there’s a knock at the front door.
God. What now?
“Expecting someone?” I cross my arms over my chest, mirroring his stance.
He glances over my shoulder and grinds out through clenched teeth. “Not unless the bartender told the whole damn town I’m back.”
I roll my eyes at him, knowing Jenny probably had no idea who he was. She’d only started working at the bar a few years ago.
When the banging gets louder, I let out a frustrated breath. Turning on my heels I go to answer it.
Ace is standing on the landing when I open the door, one arm resting on the frame, grinning down at me. “I thought it through, and I do want to have that...metaphor with you.”
“What?” I shake my head, still too flustered by Zee’s presence to be able make sense of Ace’s words.
I think I may have drank too much, because the damn world is spinning.
“Sex.” Ace gives me one of his dimpled grins. “I’m up for your offer.”
I groan, and I swear all the blood rushes to my face when I hear Zee cough behind me. Ace doesn’t seem to hear him, because he starts to move like he’s coming in.
Yeah, not happening. I place my palm on his chest, stopping him.
“I...uh...” I glance over my shoulder, and see Zee standing against the wall with one brow raised, a scowl drawing his lips down. I turn back to Ace. “Not tonight.”
With the door shutting on him, I hear him ask, “But another night?”
Clicking the deadbolt in place, I bang my forehead on the door a couple times, wondering what diabolical comedy show I’d been dropped into without even knowing.
When I turn around, Zee is still leaning against the wall, gaze boring into me with an unreadable expression. His jaw twitches, and he opens his mouth to speak, but I stop him.
“Before you say another word and make a bigger ass of yourself. This is my apartment, and that’s my bed. And you, Zee St. James, can go suck an egg if you think I’m going anywhere.”
Read more of Zee and Quinn’s story HERE
Salvage (Savages and Saints Book 3) Page 21