“It just looks like a deformed carrot to me.”
She lets out a small sigh and gets the rest of the produce we need, crossing the last thing off our list. We get in the checkout line behind a young mother, visibly exhausted as she tries to juggle twins who are I’m guessing to be around six months old and a crying two-year-old.
The cashier totals up her order and the mom digs her credit card out of her bag. It’s declined. Her cheeks turn bright red and the cashier runs it again. And again. I probably wouldn’t have noticed if it wasn’t for the way Quinn is staring. She bites her lip and gets her own credit card from her purse.
“I can try entering the numbers manually,” the cashier says. The young mom nods, on the verge of tears, and turns to attend to the toddler, who’s on the floor crying now. Quinn takes a quick step up and slides her own card through the reader.
The cashier eyes Quinn and she just smiles back at him, then uses her finger to messily sign her name. The mom straightens up right as the receipt starts to print.
Her eyes go from the receipt to Quinn and back again.
“Thank you,” she whispers, voice wavering with emotion. “I knew we might not have enough, but they’re hungry and…” She stops, looking up to try to keep her tears from coming.
“You’re welcome,” Quinn says. “You have beautiful children.”
The two-year-old stops crying, looking up at Quinn with curiosity. The mom thanks her again and again, wiping away her tears, before she and her children leave. Quinn moves on, acting like what she did was no big deal. She doesn’t want recognition from it. Doesn’t want anyone to pat her on the back.
That’s just Quinn. As kind as she is pretty.
The situation with her just went from bad to worse. Because as I stand here looking at her, it hits me that she’s not just someone I want to hook up with. She’s someone I could fall in love with.
And I think I already have.
6
quinn
I cannot believe I had feelings for that asshole.
A mere few hours ago, at that. Am I stupid for reading too much into last night? We talked. We bonded. We felt like friends, and for once I thought Archer looked at me like I was more than just Dean’s little sister, who he puts up with solely out of loyalty to his friend.
“Quinn!” Kara squeals, walking through the foyer with open arms. “Thank you again so much for helping today!”
“Of course,” I tell her as she hugs me. “It was fun.”
And it was, other than the ride home from the grocery store where Archer did his best to act like I wasn’t even there. I don’t get it.
And they say women are complicated.
“Everything looks great. The food smells amazing and those drinks are to die for!”
“I had them at a party in Chicago once. They’re too complicated for me to make, but that’s why we invited Owen and Logan, right?”
Kara laughs. She’s had one or two drinks already, I can tell. She was nervous for tonight she admitted while we were cooking, and hates being the center of attention. She actually suggested to Dean they elope just so she can avoid opening presents in front of everyone at her bridal shower.
“And you look amazing,” she goes on, looping her arm through mine. We head to the appetizer table. “I’m seriously jealous of your boobs.”
I look down at my cleavage and laugh. “I could tell you how annoying big boobs are and how I’d kill to trade with you, but I’d be lying.”
“Thanks for the honesty. I’ve been thinking more and more about getting mine done.”
“If you want it, then do it.”
“Really?” Kara picks up a plate.
“Sure. It’s your body.”
“You’re the first person to not try and talk me out of it.”
“Why would I?” I grab myself a plate as well. “If it’s what you want, then go for it. Besides the obvious—going under the knife—I don’t see how it’s any different than getting up and doing your hair and makeup every day. You’re changing your appearance that way as well.”
“Right? That’s what I told my sister.”
I start filling my plate when Dean walks over. Archer is with him, and I don’t have to look up to know. The scent of his cologne fills my nose, causing me to tense. Not because it smells bad, but because it reminds me of last night.
“What are you talking about?” Dean wraps his arms around Kara.
“Boobs,” Kara responds.
“This is a conversation I can get behind.” Dean slides his hands up Kara’s waist.
She takes his hands in hers. “I was specifically talking about Quinn’s. I’d kill for a set like that. I mean, they’re perfect, aren’t they?”
Dean’s face contorts and he shakes his head. “She’s my sister. As far as I’m concerned, she’s never had any.”
I roll my eyes. “I’ve had big boobs since I was thirteen. It’s the Dawson curse.”
“That’s not a curse,” Kara laughs. “Oh, there’s my aunt Jessica. Remember, she’s the one who’s going to try to get you to campaign with her.”
“The conservative one?”
“Yes. And if she asks—and she probably will—we’re waiting until marriage.”
“For what?” Dean asks, looking at Kara like he’s serious.
“You’re lucky I love you,” Kara mutters before putting on a fake smile. She takes Dean’s hand and goes to greet her aunt.
“Want a plate?” I ask Archer, casting my eyes up to him for half a second. His face is set, dark stubble covering his jaw. I might not know Archer Jones at all, but I know for a fact he’s not one to turn down food.
“Sure.”
I hand him one and move around the table. The tension between us is thick and heavy, and I don’t understand why it’s there at all. I look at Archer again, wishing I could crack him open and take a look at his internal codes to find out what makes him tick. And to also find out what the hell is wrong with him.
There’s a reason I like to work with computers and not people.
I take my plate and turn on my heel, ignoring the sexy, brooding man in front of me, and almost run over my grandma. She’s headed in the direction I just came from and wants company. I don’t want to step back into the ice storm Archer has raging around him, but it’s my nana.
“Hi, Mrs. Dawson,” Archer says, offering a polite smile. “It’s been a long time. How have you been?”
Nana smiles. “Archer Jones. My, it has been a while! I’ve been good, busy with my garden and the choir.”
“Has Shelly Nicolson stepped aside yet and let you take the lead?”
Nana beams. “You remembered! And yes, she has, but only because she got cancer.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.”
Nana leans in. “Between you and me, she deserved it!”
“Nana!” I say, eyes widening.
“The stories I could tell about that woman!” Nana turns to me. “But not here. We’ll save those for the bachelorette party.” She gets herself a plate. “I hear you’re a doctor now, Archer.”
“Yes, I am. I finish my residency this year.”
“Are you hoping to start your own private practice?”
“No, ma’am. I’m a surgeon, so I’ll be staying at a hospital.”
“Ohhh,” Nana coos. “A surgeon. You must be good with your hands.” She winks at Archer. “And I bet you look dashing in that white doctor coat. You know I’m single, don’t you?” Nana puts a few appetizers on her plate. “Oh, Barbara, dear!” She waves to one of her friends and takes off.
I push a stuffed mushroom around on my plate. It’s too hot to eat but standing here without something in my mouth leaves me at risk of talking. Archer steps closer. Speaking of things to put in my mouth…
“Maybe I’m reading into this too much,” Archer starts, looking perturbed. “But was your grandma just hitting on me?”
The effort to control my smile fails me. “She’s gotten a little, how should I
say it—crude. Her memory is all there and she drives and lives alone, but she kinda says whatever is on her mind now.”
Archer laughs. “I’ll take it as a compliment then. And you do look nice tonight, Quinn.” He swallows hard, looking me over for a brief moment.
“Thanks. And you do too.” I look at him and he looks away, and we’re left standing there in awkward silence.
“Everything turned out nice.”
“Yeah, it did,” I agree, internally wincing. I didn’t think anything could be worse than not talking but making forced small talk is.
“The stuffed mushrooms are good.”
Shoot me now. “It’s Nana’s recipe.”
Archer nods. “Well, I should go find Dean.”
“He’s right there, still talking to Kara’s crazy aunt.”
“Oh, right.” Archer steps back from the table, letting another partygoer get some food. My mind flashes to my dream about Archer last night, and as annoyed with him as I am, there’s no denying how fucking sexy he looks in dress pants and a button-down shirt.
“I should, uh, go check on the chickens,” I blurt.
“The ones outside?”
“Yeah.” Cursing myself, I go into the kitchen and pour myself a glass of wine. I get a mouthful down when Mom comes in, carrying a stack of dirty plates.
“This is so much fun,” she says with a broad smile. “Just think of how much more fun it’ll be when it’s you getting married. I get to plan the whole thing!”
Kara threw Mom a bone by letting her plan tonight’s party since it’ll be her family taking care of the bridal shower and then the wedding.
“Someday.”
“Oh, it’ll happen, sweetheart. You are looking for someone, right?”
“In a sense.”
“Whatever happened to that guy two floors down?”
“Our first date didn’t go so well.”
Mom raises an eyebrow. “Maybe you’re being picky.”
“He ate nachos with a fork. A fork, Mom. You can’t stab a chip with a fork.”
“He didn’t want to get his hands dirty.” She smiles then quickly changes her mind. “What kind of first date did you go on where you were ordering nachos?”
“A Cubs game. He has really good seats too. I might have been able to let the fork thing go, but then he put ketchup on a hot dog.”
“Chicago has changed you. What about your new intern?”
“Mom, he’s my intern.”
She opens the cabinet and takes out her own wine glass. “So he’s not good enough for you because he’s an intern?”
“He’s a lot younger than me because he’s my intern.”
“A younger man isn’t a bad thing, you know. Men typically die first. This could be your insurance you don’t end up a widow.”
I take another gulp of wine. “You’re not much better than Nana,” I mutter and set my wine down and wrap my fingers around my wrist. “Do you have any Advil?”
“There’s some in the cabinet next to the fridge. Is your wrist hurting again?”
“Yeah, that dull ache is back and it’s traveling up my arm when I extend it.” I make a face and shake out my hand. “I’m sore from being on my computer for hours every day.”
“You should get it checked out. My girlfriend Gloria had something similar, always in pain, then had some sort of surgery done. I can ask her—wait! We have a surgeon here with us! Let me go find Archer.”
“Mom, no, he’s not here—” And she’s out of the kitchen. “To work,” I say to myself. I grab the Advil and pop a pill in my mouth, washing it down with wine.
“Are you taking painkillers with alcohol?” Archer gives me a smug smirk.
“Relax, Dr. Fuddy-Duddy. It’s just an Advil.”
“You still shouldn’t do that.”
“Noted.” I raise my eyebrows.
“Your mom asked me to come in here because you’re in pain.”
I wave my hand in the air. “I’m fine. It’s just random shooting pains in my arm that go up to my shoulder.”
“Which arm?”
“I’m not having a heart attack,” I sass. “It’s my wrist and really, I’m fine.”
“I can take a look.”
“I guess it won’t hurt anything.” I set my empty wine glass in the sink and cross the kitchen. My heart starts to speed up and heat rushes through me, settling between my thighs. I stand before Archer Jones, left arm extended, fighting off the insane attraction I’m feeling.
Archer gently takes my wrist in his hands. “It’s not swollen. Does it hurt now?”
“It’s off and on. Like a dull ache.”
“What makes it hurt more?” He turns my arm over and runs his thumb down my forearm. I suppress a shiver, licking my lips as I watch his fingers slide over my flesh. I tear my eyes away from his hand to look up at his face, but that only makes things worse.
His brow is furrowed, and there’s genuine concern in his eyes.
“Extending my arm and being on my computer.”
“Do your fingers feel tingly?”
“Actually yeah, they have a few times when the pain gets bad.”
“You have carpal tunnel syndrome, which is quite common for someone who types or is at a computer all day.”
“I figured so.” His hand is still around my wrist. “A handful of my co-workers have it. They’re a lot older than me, but it is what it is, I guess. So, am I damned to live like this forever, doc?”
“No, there are treatments. Start with ice and Advil for the pain and try a wrist brace.”
“I will. Thanks.”
Archer steps closer and hasn’t let go of my wrist yet. “You said it makes your shoulder hurt?”
“It does, but I think part of that is bad posture. I know I slouch at my desk.” I put my free hand over Archer’s. “It’s not something a massage can’t fix, right?”
The floor in the butler’s pantry creaks and Archer drops my wrist and steps back. Dean emerges into the kitchen.
“Are you guys hiding too?” he asks.
“Why are you hiding? This is your party. And no,” I say. “We’re not hiding. Mom’s overreacting—surprise, surprise, I know—and made Archer look at my wrist.”
“What’s wrong with your wrist?”
“Carpal tunnel. It’s seriously no big deal. Archer told me what to do and I’ll be fine.”
Dean gives Archer a nod. “You’re a good friend for putting up with our mom.”
Archer laughs. “She’s not that bad.”
“She can be a bit overbearing,” Dean grumbles.
“Go back to your party,” I tell him. “Before Kara notices you’re missing.”
“She’s the one I had to get away from,” Dean admits.
“You’re hiding from your fiancée at your own engagement party?” I hike an eyebrow.
“She’s still going on about your boobs. And then Mom came over and was talking about her boobs.” He shudders. “I had to leave or throw up.”
I laugh. “Watch out, Dean, we might start talking about our uteruses next.” I give him a sweet smile. “I hope you two only have girls.”
“As long as they’re not twins. Twins do run in our family.”
“It doesn’t matter on the guy’s side,” Archer explains. “It only matters on the girl’s side, and identical twins aren’t hereditary anyway.”
“Really?”
“Really. Identical twins are a random event.”
“Well, that’s good news,” Dean says. “I guess I’ll go back out there. Might as well enjoy the party you all threw in my honor, right? You’re my best man,” he says to Archer. “You gotta come save me. I mean join me. Keep me away from Aunt Mary. She thinks modern medicine is witchcraft so she’ll avoid you.”
“Best man,” I repeat as Dean walks out of the room. I turn my gaze back to Archer. “I wasn’t sure how that was going to go. Logan and Owen were taking bets on which one of them Dean would pick. You are Dean’s oldest friend. It make
s sense.”
“Yeah…we have been friends a long time.” His brow furrows again, and he flicks his eyes up to me, looking at me almost as if I’m suddenly offensive.
“So…I’ll, uh, try to have better posture. Would that help my wrist pain?”
“Maybe. I’m a surgeon. I don’t deal with this sort of thing. Make an appointment with your general practitioner.” He turns to leave.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I snap.
“Nothing,” he retorts, whirling around. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Seriously?” I ask.
“Yeah.” He inhales deeply, and I’m not sure if he’s going to tell me off or push me up against a wall and kiss me.
“It’s like you’re a rescue dog and I don’t know if you’re going to let me pet you or if you’re going to bite. At least I can understand the dog’s unpredictable behavior, but you…I haven’t got a clue with you and you are driving me nuts.”
“You want to pet me?”
“Yes. No. Kind of. It’s a figure of speech.” I throw my hands up. “Whatever, Archer. I don’t know what I did to offend you.”
He strides forward so quickly I take a step back, pinning myself against the fridge. Archer’s hands land on my waist and he moves in, legs spread, so his hips are against mine. I inhale the scent of his woodsy cologne, heart beating so fast I think it might explode. So many times I’ve imagined his hands on me. For years, I’ve yearned for his touch. Begged and pleaded with the universe to have him look at me and not see me as Dean’s little sister.
And right now, he’s not. I’m not his friend’s sibling to put up with, but he’s not looking at me the way I’d hoped. He stares at me with a combination of hatred and lust, more intense than anyone has ever looked at me before. It turns me on and terrifies me.
I’m hot and cold up against him.
I want to push him away and bring him closer.
He leans in, taking one hand off my waist to move my curls over my shoulder. He licks his lips, and the light above us shines off the trail of wetness left from his tongue. The heat between my thighs intensifies, and my pussy begs to be touched. Stroked. Fucked hard.
Just like in my dream.
Dawson Family Boxset: Books 1-3 with Bonus Content Page 5