To him, all I’ll ever be is Wes’ baby sister.
He bumps his knee into mine. “What were you thinking tonight, Quinnie? I’ve never seen you that drunk. Not even when you went to that party Chase threw in high school.”
“Oh God,” I groan. “I forgot about that party.”
“I didn’t,” he says. “I still remember you calling me at three a.m., begging me to come pick you girls up because you were drunk and neither of them had their licenses yet.”
“You came and saved me that night too.”
How many times over the years had Tripp been there for me when I needed him?
Too many to count.
And I knew that to him, it was nothing. He would be there for just about anyone. He was just that good—good to his core.
“Of course I did,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I wouldn’t have let you drive home with someone drunk. I wouldn’t have let any of you. Y’all are lucky I answered my phone.”
I nod as I look up at the star-filled sky. My feet dangle from his tailgate, and the fresh air sobers me bit by bit.
For as long as I can remember, Tripp’s always been there—a listening ear or a protective presence whenever I needed one.
“That was the first and only party I ever went to in high school,” I say. “I think Pops knew I was hungover the next day, ‘cause he made sure to spend the whole morning fixing something or other. The sound of that saw and hammer still lives in my nightmares.”
He snorts beside me. “So, what? You just wanted to let loose tonight? Is that it?”
“Yes? No? I don’t know.”
Maybe I wanted to let loose, but mostly I just wanted to forget. Forget how small my ex had made me feel. Forget that every part of me that should’ve felt alive with him just—didn’t.
I sigh, my gaze dropping to my lap as everything from the last few months rushes to the surface.
Beau had been perfect on paper—handsome, successful, and ran a thriving vet clinic. We liked the same things, moved in the same circles. At first, he’d been attentive, even doting. But our sex life had been uninspired. And when I’d tried to create more of a spark, I was met with indifference. I’d started to feel like I was just a pretty thing to have on his arm.
Mom had loved him, of course. He was exactly what she wanted for me—buttoned-up, prim, proper.
He was also a lying, cheating asshole.
And I couldn’t help but wonder what that said aboutme.
Tripp nudges me with his knee again, and my skin pebbles from the brief contact.
“I think you know better than you’re letting on, Quinnie the Pooh,” he says, voice low.
I roll my eyes at the childhood nickname and give up all pretense.
To hell with it all.
I’ve known Tripp since I was a toddler.
If I were sober, there’s no way I’d be talking to him about this, but with liquid courage in my veins, maybe I can finally satisfy a lingering question that’s haunted me.
“You’ve been with a lot of girls, right?”
He chokes on the water he just sipped, coughing so hard his cheeks are stained red by the time he’s done.
“What?” he croaks out.
“I mean... I’ve heard the stories. You were on the rodeo circuit for years. You were always a bit of a player. I imagine the buckle bunnies gave you plenty of opportunities to sow your wild oats or whatever.”
