12
QUINN
“Like I’m Gonna Lose You” by Meghan Trainor
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“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?”
Mind stuck on that good-night kiss, I stare at him with breathy pants escaping my lips.
“I’m thinkin’ I might not have to do much persuadin’ for that kiss, huh, Grease?” he smarts off, winking down at me.
“I reckon not, Tate. I reckon not.”
He helps me close everything down. I’m fully capable of doing it myself, but it’s nice to have him here doing such trivial tasks—his presence alone something I’m enjoying immensely. No, that’s not right. It’s as if my body had been without feeling his presence for so long that it’s feeding off being near him. I feel like I can take on the world, a burst of renewed strength and happiness making me feel almost superhuman.
The other half of me is snapping into place, regardless of the fact that we still have to get to know each other again. It doesn’t matter that there is still so much unknown between us because of the years that have passed. All that matters is what I’m feeling.
Accepted. Wanted. Whole.
All because of him. Can I do this again? When he first came into my life, I was at that age where every little girl just wants and needs her mama, but I didn’t have that. His friendship, that bond we have always shared, eased the pain her absence had created inside me, filling me up and making that void almost unnoticeable. And that had been when all I had was his friendship during the summer for years. When we finally gave into what our hearts were screaming for, that void was filled—vanishing completely.
Then he left.
He left, and with him he took all the promises he’d ever whispered. He stole that piece inside me he had filled, and I hadn’t found a way to fix it since.
Now he’s back and promising me the chance at all those things again. All the things that it killed me to lose the last time. If losing him back then hurt me as fiercely as it did when I only wondered if he had been the one, how could I recover now as an adult that knows without a shadow of doubt that he is the only one?
“Tate,” I gurgle, his name coming out in a breathy burst of panic as I let those feelings settle in and take root.
He stops, his hand on the switch that controls the lights for the whole garage floor, and looks over his shoulder at me, his expression no longer relaxed and carefree, but now tinged with unease.
“I lied. Earlier when I said that you scared me, I lied. I’m not just scared. I’m petrified, Tate. There’s so much goin’ on inside me right now that I’m strugglin’ to make sense of it. Strugglin’ to trust that I can make sense of it. And not all that is just because you’re askin’ me to take a big ol’ blind leap of faith where your promises are concerned.”
The strong lines of his face get soft. A melty look of pure male hotness steals over his face, making him look even more handsome, if that’s possible. In all of that though, there’s a certain cockiness present that makes me think he might have enough belief in this for the both of us. He levels me with an understanding gaze, accepting what he’s up against instantly.
“How ’bout you let me handle all that worries you, darlin’, and give your mind some time to accept what it’s scared to see is real.”
Just like that. Like it’s the simplest of things.
“You’ll get there and I’ll be here every step of the way to prove you can believe, but until you do, I’ll just keep waitin’ for you to catch up to me.”
My breath speeds up and I almost feel like I could cry. This isn’t like last time. Last time we had whispered dreams and promises that we would do whatever we could to make them happen. He eased the fears my mama’s abandonment placed in my heart by promising he would always be there, even if only as a friend, but that he wouldn’t just leave me—and he had. But this, this is him giving me so much more with just that one sentence. He isn’t leaving. He isn’t telling me what I want to hear, and we aren’t two kids that didn’t know enough about life to build those dreams. He’s vowing to help me see what we as adults know is possible. To take those steps toward what was finally our time to have.
Each other.
“Together?” I hedge.
“Always.”
I nod, not trusting my words, and he gives me his back to finally flip the lights off. We move like two people who’ve been doing this night after night their whole lives through the shop until he’s standing behind me waiting for me to lock the doors, the silence between us comfortable, even with the lingering reminder of our need for each other whipping up the air around us.
I don’t get that good-night kiss he had joked about earlier. I think we both knew it wasn’t the time, and in all honesty, I’m glad. It isn’t that I don’t want to feel that again. Oh, I do, so much. But I feel so raw inside that I think some of the beauty of our reunion would always hold a sense of heaviness to it if we’d given in to our passions tonight.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow I have a date with my past as we start building our future.
And I can’t freaking wait.