“Just say it,” I growl.
He tsks, acting just like his father. Like he’s not a completely different guy in a bedroom with his girl.
“I’m thinking,” he grumbles, “how…good those lips would look wrapped around my…”
I pinch my brows together.
“You know…” he gruffs. “My cock. Jesus, Quinn.”
That’s what Lucas was thinking? I fold my lips between my teeth, still tasting the lipstick.
“Weirdo,” Hawke mumbles.
And I don’t have to shove him anymore. He practically runs down the stairs to get away from me.
To my surprise, I laugh as I close the door and lock it. Lucas looked at my mouth four times.
In the living room, I remove the notebook from the waistline of my pants and drop it to the table before pulling out the diary I’d stashed in the bureau. I fan the pages to find the next entry. There are several blank sheets after the initial passage. Not sure if she—or whoever—meant to come back and add things, or if their attention to organization was as haphazard as their writing.
Gone
Alone
Can’t go home
Eight days since I felt you
Gone
Alone
Can’t go home
Did it to me, now I’ll do it to you
Drawings fill the page around the words. The bridge. A car under the water. The warehouses of Weston, his hand, her neck…
I flip the page and stare at the headlights of the ’72 Dodge.
Do it to me, now I’ll do it to you.
Atta girl.
Light from the TV flashes in the corner of my eyes, and I walk over to the couch, picking up the remote the boys left. The TV must’ve come back on when Hawke threw down the remote.
I stare at the screen, a blush rising to my cheeks. What the hell were they watching? The woman is on the bed, one man under her and the other one behind her, and I crane my neck, trying to figure out whose legs are whose.
Lucas
Noah and I hop out of the back of a JT Racing truck, each of us grabbing a few flags already strewn on poles to slide into the lamppost slots along High Street. The Fourth of July parade is in less than three days, so everyone is pitching in to decorate.
“Thanks for paying for the drinks the other night,” Noah says.
I fit the end of a pole into a bracket. “I needed them more than you did,” I reply. “I guess I wasn’t much for company. Sorry.”
We barely talked, some local fans of his gathered around as soon as we got there to fawn over him. I was grateful, though. I didn’t want to drink alone, but I knew I wasn’t going to talk much, either.
“It was fine,” he says. “Kind of like drinking with my brother.”
