15
QUINN
“Don’t Ya” by Brett Eldredge
- -
“Bite me, Tate Montgomery!” I screech, jumping when he tosses another worm at me.
“Oh, come on, Quinn. You can do it,” he teases, waving another of those disgusting things at my face.
I cross my arms over my chest and give him a look that I pray screams, If you come near me with another of those slimy fuckers you’ll never see me naked. But of course, it doesn’t. He just smirks, props his fishing pole against the cooler he brought out, and advances, the worm still wiggling between his fingers.
“Tate, I swear to God and all that’s holy, I will shove my boot so far up your ass you’ll never find it. Don’t come near me with that . . . thing.”
“For such a tomboy, you would think you’d grown outta that phobia of worms by now.” He laughs darkly, halting his advance and picking up my pole to murder the worm with the hook.
Dis.Gust.Ing.
“What? Just because I’m a mechanic, I’m automatically a tomboy?”
Tate rolls his eyes and hands me my pole, murdered worm included.
“Has nothin’ to do with your occupation, darlin’. You’re practically allergic to all things girly. And stop actin’ like I meant it in a negative way. Anyway, I happen to have a preference for fresh-faced women wearing short shorts and covered in grease.”
“Oh really?” I ask him in a snarky tone. “Meet many girls like that while you were in Georgia?” The second the question leaves my lips, I regret it. It’s easy to convince myself that there haven’t been any other women in his life—even if he has hinted at brief flings with no commitment. However, crystal-clear confirmation of his romantic entanglements over the last nine years isn’t something I’m sure I want to hear.
“Quinn,” Tate voices, trying to get my attention, but I just shake my head.
I quickly cast my line, looking out at the lake before me, the clouds in the sky peppering the dark water with little white dots. The spot Tate brought us to is one of the most popular fishing holes in Pine Oak, but thankfully today we’re the only ones out here. I’m sure that has more to do with the storm that I can smell getting closer. There’s just something about a hot summer day that carries a whopper of a storm with it. The air comes alive and there’s a dangerous scent to it.
“There wouldn’t ever be,” he finally says after a few minutes, drawing my attention away from the dark clouds in the distance.
“There wouldn’t ever be what?”
“Anyone that could ever come close to the woman you are. I’m a little rusty flirtin’, it seems. I’ll take care in how I say shit like that in the future.”
I feel my shoulders drop, the tension leaving them. “No, I shouldn’t have gotten so defensive. You don’t owe me explanations like that, Tate. We weren’t together, so you weren’t doin’ anything wrong.”
“You might not think I owe you an explanation, but Quinn, I need you to know regardless. You’re right, we weren’t together, but you’ve owned me since I was eleven years old, comin’ to Pine Oak for the first time. I never—not once—in the time that we were apart, gave any other woman what was already taken. So, at the risk of ruinin’ our date right when it’s gettin’ started, I need you to know that. I don’t want to see you lookin’ at me like I might not think you’re enough, Quinn.”
“I didn’t spend the past nine years without . . . scratchin’ an itch,” I tell him, embarrassed.
“And neither did I, Quinn. Get it out now, darlin’, and let’s move on after, sound good?”
“I’m not proud of it.” My words rush out, and I feel the shame of them. I reel my line in, check to see if the murdered worm is still attached, then cast it back into the lake. “I tried to move on, you should know that, but . . . no one was you. I haven’t been with anyone in a long time, though, and even before that, it was pretty infrequent.”
“Sounds like we were both in the same boat. I’ll tell you whatever you wanna know, but you need to understand I don’t want to know details, darlin’. You were livin’ your life and I was survivin’ mine. In the end, none of that matters, because we’re gettin’ our chance.”
“My mama . . .” I pause, trying to think of a good way to explain the enormity of damage caused to my head with her shit. “She’s the reason I tried to find what I felt without you around and . . . she’s the reason I stopped.”
I hear him reel his line in and look over to see him placing another worm on the hook. His concentration splits when he looks up from his hunched position and nods, encouraging me to keep going. The last thing I want is to be talking about this, but we’re getting to know each other again, and while he might have known about my mama abandoning us—leaving me with a craving to feel loved, needed, and wanted—he has no idea about the news that came long after he left, news that brought the same feelings back, but this time riding shotgun with a whole lot of self-loathing.
“I really don’t want to get into the details, but we found out she had a loose outlook on monogamy. She cheated on my father, a lot, but it wasn’t until Maverick finally came home after retirin’ from ridin’ that he told us what he found out a few years after he joined the professional circuit.” I look back at Tate before continuing. “She had run off chasin’ God knows what the first time and came back pregnant with Maverick. She stuck around for a while, had me, then I guess I was the last straw for her. She left for good shortly after I was born. So, yeah . . . I’m one big jacked-up ball of abandonment issues. Without you, it got worse, and I’m not proud of the person I was. Who knows how long I would have kept dreamin’ of her comin’ back one day and wantin’ us, but Maverick kicked those stupid thoughts to the moon and all I saw when I looked in the mirror was the whore she is staring back at me.”
He grunts, rising from the ground, his newly baited fishing pole tossed carelessly next to his feet. I stand tall, not lookin’ away, and wait. “I’m not even sure where to start, Quinn. It’s only normal that you would want your mama, baby, but don’t you ever compare yourself to her. Never met her, never want to, but even if I did it wouldn’t make a difference in the truth. You aren’t your mama, baby. You felt her void and everything you experienced is somethin’ anyone would feel. You might struggle with the fact of her leavin’, but darlin’ girl, you have to know how much you’re loved by the people that stayed.”
He left. I push the voice in my head to the wayside. I won’t let the fear come back, bringing its lies. He left, but he didn’t do it because he wanted to. He could never be like my mama. He wanted to fight but couldn’t, was helpless to move on in order to save everyone he loved. She didn’t want any of it—the fighting, the protecting: she only cared about herself.
“I’m gettin’ there. Even before you came back I was on my way there. I don’t know what it’s gonna take to finally make it, but I’m workin’ on it.”
“I wish I coulda been here for you,” he says despondently.
“You’re here now.”
He steps closer, running his knuckles from my temple down to my chin before leaning forward and pressing a kiss to my forehead. Why that simple gesture feels so intimate, I’ll never know.
“I might not have been one of those people that stayed, darlin’, but I don’t want you to think I wouldn’t have if the situation hadn’t been impossible.”
“I know, Tate. I do.”
“I know I told you I’d tell you anything, but can we just leave it at the knowledge that we both were livin’ the best we could. You know what matters, just as I do—we mighta been livin’, but there was only ever one person that would own that piece of us we kept back.”
I swallow thickly, and nod. I know if I were to open my mouth right now, I would cry big, fat, ugly emotional tears, and I don’t want to look back at this date—our first date as adults—and feel anything negative.
“What do ya say we try and catch us somethin’ good?” He winks, and just like that, the heaviness falls away.
I‘m so content in this moment with him, in comfortable silence as we cast our reels into the sparkling water, that my mind drifts away, and I’m suddenly lost in a memory of our past . . .
- -
Twelve Years Ago
“Just jam the damn thing on, Grease!” Tate bellows from his spot a few yards away from me.
I hear some of the other kids snicker as they overhear us on their way to the watering hole and feel my face instantly flame. Why the hell did I agree to stay behind and fish, of all things? I could have gone with Leigh when she took off ten minutes ago, but nooooo—I let my stupid crush on Tate Montgomery keep me behind. I’m not even sure why I bothered. I could’ve been swinging off the huge rope swing into the cool water right now instead of . . . this.
I look back into the cup of worms and feel bile surging up my throat.
Oh, Jesus Jones. I’m supposed to touch them?
“Grease!” Tate yells impatiently again.
“Kiss my boots, Starch! You gross, nasty boy!”
If he was closer, I’m sure I’d see those blue eyes of his spark. It’s something I’ve noticed a lot lately, even if I don’t understand what it means. I tried to ask my brother, Clay, about it but he just looked at me like he did when I got my period for the first time a few years ago and asked him to go get me some pads. I figure it’s just Tate growing sick of spending time with me. He’s been pulling back this summer, and I can’t understand why.
That’s a lie. I know exactly why. Stupid me had to go open my big ol’ mouth two days ago and tell him I didn’t just want to be friends anymore. I thought he felt the same way, but he just looked at me funny and left. Now the summer is almost over and he’s about to leave here with things all sort of jumbled between us.
“What was that?”
I scream, dropping the fishing pole and the cup of worms, which makes me scream again. I hear Tate’s deep chuckles, even if he is trying to stifle them. Jerking my body around, I narrow my eyes at him.
“You’re jumpy,” he stupidly points out.
“Well, I wouldn’t be if someone wasn’t creepin’ around sneakin’ up on people.”
“Only sneakin’ up on you, Grease,” he retorts, stepping closer to me and leaving a little gap between our bodies.
“Well, that was rude, Starch.”
“You need me to bait your line, darlin’?” he asks, his voice vibrating through my body, making my skin come alive with chills. I shiver, and his eyes do that weird thing again—the blue swirling and becoming almost turquoise.
“N-nope,” I stammer breathlessly.
“You sure about that? Got worms tryin’ to make a break for it as we speak.”
I gurgle a choked squeal and jump, landing against his body with my arms wrapped about his strong neck. When the softness of my chest makes contact with the hardness of his, I feel his arms move only moments before his long fingers grab my ass, urging my legs around his hips.
I feel his erection against the part of me that hasn’t ever felt like it does now at the same moment a loud boom of thunder rocks through the silence around us. My shock-filled eyes bug out when he rocks himself against me. I’m not completely naïve, so I know the wetness I’m feeling is my body getting turned on, but it’s so foreign . . . and obvious, I can’t help but wonder if he can feel it too.
Rain pelts down from the sky. I didn’t even notice the storm moving in, and now it’s right on top of us. I blink, trying to see through the drops of rain running into my eyes. I’m afraid to move and have this moment broken, but the group we came with will be back soon. No one’s going to stick around the watering hole when there’s a thunderstorm around.
Tate lowers his head, the brim of his cowboy hat blocking the rain, and with one last slow blink, I look up at the boy that’s stolen my heart.
“I don’t want to lose your friendship, Quinn.” His words, spoken softly, hit my ears, and, instantly aware of his intentions, I feel a burst of electricity zing from my brain.
“You couldn’t never lose me, Tate.” He couldn’t. I’ll never be anyone’s but his.
“You don’t know that.”
I feel my head move in a weird combination of shaking and nodding. “Yes I do. Next to Leigh, you’re my best friend, Tate. We’ve spent the past four summers getting closer and when you’re back at your parents’, we still email every day. There’s not a second of my life that I don’t think of you. I know I couldn’t ever live without those seconds, either. I love you, Tate. Don’t you get it?”
His shoulders are tense under my hands, the deep heaving breaths he’s taking making his whole body move under my touch. Then, with another violent boom of thunder, his lips meet mine and I know without a single doubt in my mind that the boy giving me my first kiss ever will be the same one that gives me my last.
“I love you too, Quinn,” he says against my lips. “Promise me I won’t ever lose you?”
My mind gets muddled, his firm touch on me only making it worse.
“Quinn?”
I try to answer, but I’m so lost to him that all I want to do is feel his lips back against mine. This is it. I know he wouldn’t ever have given into this if he didn’t want me. He wants me. Finally. Finally, someone wants me.
“Quinn!”
- -
Present Day
“Quinn!”
I blink, the memory fading away instantly, and look up at Tate, a much older and even handsomer Tate than the fifteen-year-old version that had just been in front of me in my mind. His strong hands hold my arms, a firey burn tingling against the skin he’s touching, his gaze a little bit alarmed.
“Christ, Quinn, are you okay? You were a million miles away.”
I feel my head move woodenly: I’m helpless to do anything more than just stare at him.
“What the hell just happened?” He lifts one hand off my arm to tip the black cowboy hat on his head up, giving me a clear view of his face. The movement causes me to look up as I realize that we’re being soaked with fat raindrops. “Quinn?” His hand comes back and he gives me a tiny shake when I continue to gaze up at him mutely.
My mind is still swirling with the very vivid memory of our first kiss. Having him this close to me, almost in the exact way that he had been all those years ago, makes it even harder for me to separate memory from reality.
The only thing that makes sense right now is the overpowering need to feel his mouth on mine again. To experience the silky wet rasp of his tongue against mine as I get lost in him.
His fingers flex when I move, jolting myself forward and crashing my body into his. Not expecting it, he loses his footing and lands on the wet ground, taking care to cradle me in a way that eases the fall for me. We landed with him sitting, back straight up, and me straddling his waist, my center pressed tight against the hardness in his pants. I rock my hips and he bites his bottom lip. The action so beyond sexual that I feel my body clench with need.
My lips are on his, hips rocking, right as he opens his mouth to say something, giving me instant access to deepen the kiss. A groan tumbles up his throat, vibrating my chest, and I turn my head to get more. His hands move down and grab my hips, pulling my body down and at the same time refusing to let me move, the hard pressure of his hold pressing his cock against my swollen heat. This time I’m the one who groans. I’m vaguely aware of his hat falling into the dirt when I push my fingers into his hair. The thick strands feeling like heaven as they slip wetly through my fingers.
Our tongues continue to glide together, swirling and tangling with the heavy pants of our mingling breaths. I’m not even sure who is making which noise now, mewls, grunts, moans and groans combining in a chorus of ecstasy as we feast on each other.
Then he tightens his hold, my head becoming dizzy when the bite of pain registers, my panties getting even wetter. He sucks my tongue into his mouth and the coil inside me starts to wind up, tighter and tighter with each second. My hands roam through his hair, down his neck, until I’m holding his face between my palms. Just when I’m convinced my heart is going to stop—the sensations roaring through my body becoming too much—he forces my hips to roll forward, dragging against his hard length, and I rip my mouth free to cry out as an orgasm washes over my whole body.
“Holy fuckin’ Christ,” he whispers breathlessly, his face pink with arousal and what looks a lot like pride.
“Yeah,” I pant.
I jump when he shifts his ass on the ground, the movement rubbing his hardness against my still-sensitive parts.
“I’m two seconds away from comin’ in my pants, Quinn. Let me up before the front of my jeans are just as wet as my ass.”
He says it with a smile, but I can’t help but feel a little embarrassed about my actions. I mean, I did just virtually attack the man. I climb to my feet, with his help, and try to brush off the wet dirt clinging to my knees. When I realize it’s not going anywhere, I straighten and look at Tate bashfully, embarrassed that I just knocked him to the ground and used his body to find my release—something I haven’t obtained by any means other than my own hand in years.
“Don’t do that,” he demands, his voice hard.
“Do what?” I hedge.
“Don’t you dare regret that, Quinn. That was the hottest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever felt, and I still had my cock in my pants. Don’t you dare regret that.”
I shake my head. “I just . . . Tate, I attacked you.”
He grunts out a laugh and starts picking up our stuff before speaking. “Darlin’, if that’s how you attack people, you’re welcome to take me down any time.”
“Well, I can’t promise it won’t happen. I didn’t quite plan for us to get muddy and wet because I was stuck in a memory.”
His brows arch and he stops packing up the fishing stuff. His dirty hat is now back on his head, but his head is tipped up as he looks at me, rain streaking against his face. He blinks through the drops, frozen, as he waits for me to elaborate.
“Did you bring us here for a reason?” I ask, and the instant I do, I realize there is no way he chose this location on a whim. He knows exactly where I went when I was zoned out.
“It’s where we started,” he answers simply. He drops the tackle box on top of the rolling cooler, then stands to his full height, making me tip my head back to maintain our connection. “It’s where we first said, ‘I love you’; it’s where we had our first kiss; it’s our place. Honest to God, darlin’, I didn’t plan that happenin’, but I gotta say it feels pretty damn fittin’ that we start bein’ us in the same spot we did the first time.”
“Jesus Jones,” I breathe, unable to think of a better response.
His face gets soft and he leans down, pressing his kiss-swollen lips against mine.
“Let’s go get dried off and wait for this storm to pass. Sound good?”
I swallow the lump of emotion that his sentimental planning caused and nod. “That sounds perfect, Tate.”