“You did not,” he replies.
“No, I really did.”
“Well, you didn’t show it.”
I watch him as a blush creeps up his neck. I’ve known about Quinn’s crush on me, and for as long as I can remember, it irritated me. I didn’t want my little brother’s best friend to crush on me. My friends teased me, so I pushed back at him. We’vealways had this comfortable back-and-forth banter, a love-hate relationship of sorts. He’s one of my favorite verbal sparring partners, though I’d never tell him that.
“What about you? Big plans tonight?”
A flash of him on a date enters my mind, and it’s not a comforting picture. In all the years I’ve known Quinn, I don’t recall many dates or girlfriends. In high school, sure, but ever since he reached adulthood and entered the workforce full time, not much. At least not much that was shared with me.
Gabby joins the picture, and the milkshake in my gut sours. It may sound conceited, but I know she’s only hitting on him because of me. Quinn’s crush is no secret, even if he tries to hide it, and she’s using that to piss me the fuck off.
Works too.
“Cam is coming over to watch the Guardians game with me,” he says, taking a big slurp of his own milkshake.
“Eww, gross. Who in the hell roots for the Guardians?”
“Who roots for the Reds?” he counters.
“Me!” I proclaim. “You only cheer for them because of that stupid movie in the nineties.”
He barks out a gravelly laugh, the sound reverberating through my blood and landing with a thud against my clit. “Major Leagueis the best movie.”
I roll my eyes as Jeff approaches our table with two plates of food. “It was cheesy then, and it’s cheesy now.”
Quinn lifts one of the fries off the plate placed in front of him and points it at me. “Them’s fighting words, Charlotte.”
My eyes narrow at the use of my full name, which only makes him laugh harder as he pops a fry into his mouth. His dark eyes sparkle with mischief as he somehow grins and chews at the same time. “Let’s eat.”
CHAPTER
SEVEN
Quinn
“How was your massage?” Camden asks as he plops down on my couch, a beer in one hand and plate of chicken wings in the other.
“Fine.”
He glances over, searching my arms.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Looking for the scratches,” he teases. Though, I suppose he could be serious. It’s not a secret Charli and I usually go a few rounds under normal circumstances, so I can see where he might be a little worried about me being so vulnerable, while being practically naked on a massage table in front of the one woman who’d claw my eyes out.
“She was a complete professional,” I tell him, trying not to think about the feel of her hands on my body. The last thing I want to do is get hard—again—especially while sitting in the same room as my oldest friend, who’s also her brother.
“I’m proud of her,” Camden announces. “Maybe she’s finally growing up.”
I laugh. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, friend. Just because she managed to give me a massage doesn’t mean she won’t throw a wrench at me next time we’re in your garage.”
Camden chuckles. “Again. She won’t throw a wrench at youagain.”
Absently, I rub the side of my head, remembering the shock and pain of that damn wrench knocking me upside the head. She’s lucky I didn’t have a concussion. Or a brain bleed. Not that she would have cared. She probably would have just thrown another one and called me a baby.
“Again,”I repeat, kicking my legs up on the coffee table and dipping a barbecued chicken wing into the ranch dressing. “Anyway, how’s everything going?”
