She’s your best friend’s little sister,I remind myself. Thinking about her like that is definitely breaching bro code. Doesn’t matter how pretty I think she is (I do) or how long it’s been since I’ve had sex (five years, but who’s counting). I can’t think about her like that.
It’s a slippery slope.
One I’ve walked before—when I was much younger and much stupider.
If I think about her now, it’s just a matter of time before I’m jerking off to thoughts of her. And I know from experience, it’s nearly impossible to look your best friend in the eye after imagining his little sister naked.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asks, eyes wide and expectant.
I shake my head. I hadn’t realized I’d been staring at her this whole time. Even now, it’s impossible to look away. “Like what?”
Her lips tip up playfully. “Like you’re scared shitless.”
I huff out a laugh, leaning toward her. “Your beauty is terrifying, Quinnie.”
She blows air past her closed lips, thinking I’m joking.
But truly—sitting across from her, remembering all the nights we spent talking under the stars, seeing how she’s grown even more beautiful and remarkable over the past decade—it takes my breath away. Andthatabsolutely terrifies me.
I manage to keep my thoughts on the straight and narrow for the rest of our time at the diner, and when it’s time to go, I pay for our meals,ignoring her protests.
As we walk the block back to the truck, I shift to the outside edge of the sidewalk without thinking. She doesn’t say anything, but I catch the flicker of a smile before she looks away.
It’s fully dark as I drive back to Dawson Ranch on the bumpy country road, the only light visible coming from my headlights.
I keep stealing glances at her shadowed profile out of the corner of my eye. I can’t help it. She looks beautiful, but exhausted.
I’m trying to think of something interesting to say to her when there’s a flash of movement to my left. I curse and slam on the brakes, but my reflexes aren’t fast enough for the deer that darts into the road.
Quinn screams as the deep thud of the deer bouncing off the hood of the truck reverberates in the cab.
“Shit,” I mumble. “Are you okay?”
She nods, a hand to her chest, then quickly unbuckles and jumps out.
“What are you doing, Quinn?” I ask, following suit.
She doesn’t answer, but as she sprints toward the young buck I’ve hit, I know exactly what Quinn Dawson is doing. She’s always had a bleeding heart for animals.
“Quinn,” I hiss out a whisper. “I don’t think that’s a great idea. He might not be dead.”
She looks at me like I’m an idiot and continues to squat beside the deer. “He’s still breathing.”
“Great,” I mutter. “Let’s get out of here.”
Her eyes shift to me, and the look of exasperation makes a smile pull at the corners of my mouth.
“I don’t suppose you have a stethoscope in your truck, do you?”
I roll my eyes. “Can’t say that I do.”
“Fine, then get down here and make yourself useful, would you?”
“Haven’t you seenTommy Boy? Remember what the deer did to the car when it woke up?”
“I’m not asking you to put the deer in your truck.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. For a second, I was sure that’s where this was headed.
