Sweet Ache

“Let’s get this over with,” I mutter to myself as Rylee’s have wild, reckless sex comment flickers through my mind.

Because damn it, Hawkin just threw me for an unexpected loop. The throw caution to the wind part of me stood to attention. The skeptical part of me flipped him the bird.

And despite myself, I know who I want to win.

Chapter 6

QUINLAN

Concentrating on teaching Hawkin how to operate the PA system is difficult with his comment running loops through my mind. Add to that, he’s taking his sweet-ass time savoring his treat while we’re both in the confines of the small alcove off to the side of the stage where the controller resides. The space is minimal so each time I demonstrate the switches on the board it causes him to lean in closer.

And with each brush up against my back—the thin cotton of my tank top does nothing to mute the feeling—I’m getting more turned on. And more irritated with him.

“Make it count,” he murmurs behind me, his breath feathering over the exposed skin and I immediately know what he’s talking about. I suck in a breath when his finger traces the small and delicately inked words in the space between my shoulder blades. The only tattoo I have. “What does it mean?”

“Pretty self-explanatory,” I bite out but when a sigh of disappointment falls from him, I relent and quickly elaborate, finding that I want to tell him the truth. “I … I think it’s important to make every moment count. Every friendship, every lover, every broken heart, every decision, every everything—they all need to count for something or else they’re pointless and when all is said and done and you look back at your life, you’ll have regrets.” I shrug, feeling a tad too philosophical over a damn tattoo but I’m being honest. “Regrets suck. Making it count lessens that for me.”

He’s silent behind me, mulling over my comments I assume, and I hate that I can’t see his face. Suddenly I feel extremely vulnerable both emotionally and physically so I finish flicking the switches over so that he can see what I’m doing. I need to get out of this small space and his proximity. Like pronto.

“See, simple,” I say, stepping back and into his chest. I expect him to move immediately, since the full contact of our bodies is anything but professional, but he doesn’t. And it’s his immobility that lets me know he’s doing this on purpose.

Irritation escalates to full-blown anger. I don’t like my hand being forced. He wants to flirt, fine.

No, it’s not fine.

God, he’s got me flustered when I never get flustered and now I can’t think straight. I just want to get this over with.

“Not simple, no,” he says, breaking through my internal debate, his mouth close to my ear so that his breath tickles my bare skin. “Is there a reason you’re trying to rush this?”

So many words fill my head but I know I need distance from the heat of his body clouding my thoughts. I step back again, aiming to free myself from the small space but only succeed in pressing my ass further against his groin.

I sidestep immediately, our bodies separating as I bump my back against the wall behind me in an ungraceful escape. “I’m not rushing,” I lie. “Just making sure I show you everything you need to know before class starts. I can slow it down some if you’d like?” I ramble the words out, choosing to focus on the Def Leppard logo on his black shirt instead of meet his eyes.

“Nice and slow is always good—don’t you think, Quinlan?”

I snort out a laugh, nerves front and center so that the quip is off my lips without thought. “Guys like you wouldn’t know slow if it hit you in the face.” The comment gives me a little better bearing, and I arch a brow at him, daring him to respond and grant me the argument I’m pushing for. A confrontation that will piss him off so he’ll steer clear of me and the trouble we’d cause each other.

“You think you have me pegged, don’t you? I assure you, square or round, I don’t fit in any predetermined hole.” With our sunglasses off, I can’t deny the question in his eyes like I could on the way here. Just as I can’t hide the truth in mine.

But I’m damn well going to try.

“You don’t have to fit in any hole for me to be right. My brother used to be just like you…. Hell, I probably know your game better than you do.” I quirk an eyebrow, waiting for the comment I can see on the tip of his tongue.

“Maybe I only want to fit in one hole,” he says softly as he takes a step into me, our bodies close, eyes locked, and libidos begging for the physical connection that we’re both fighting. I should be pissed at his comment, should think it sounds corny, but holy hell that melodic tone to his voice makes it sound anything but. “Go out on a date with me.”

My breath hitches and mind consents but my feet step back, reminding me I have nowhere to run. I falter against the wall behind me, emotions whirling and warring at a breakneck pace.

“Bet you didn’t guess I was going to ask that now, did you?”

I hope he doesn’t notice the slight hesitation before I respond with a laugh. “Smooth, but uh, no thanks.” Despite the words, my mind says yes.

He angles his head and his eyes lock onto mine—daring me to look away. “Then why do I make you so nervous?”

I can’t help but glance down at his lips and then back up to his eyes as every part of me wonders what they’d feel like on mine. My tongue darts out and wets my bottom lip in reflex and the slow curl of his mouth tells me he notices it.