Page 65 of Sin for You

And I was more than happy to be that guy, to help her through her pain, had volunteered for the position—but somehow, stupidly, that still cut.

I knew I wasn’t the man for her, never had been, never would be.

But goddammit, I wished I was. I didn’t know what it was, maybe the way she was looking at me, the way she’d just kissed me like her life depended on it.

But in that moment, that second, I wished I could keep Quinn Parker, not just until she got tired of me but, fuck, for a lifetime.

Chapter Sixteen

Bull

I stepped out of the shower, rubbing the towel over my head vigorously, finger combed my hair back, and got to work drying the rest of me.

Mase had ended up staying an extra night after realizing the water heater was playing up and the faucets in the downstairs bathroom needed replacing along with a few other things around their family home.

I kind of hated that Quinn hadn’t asked me to do those things. I liked the idea of making sure she was comfortable in her place.

I shoved on my briefs and the jeans I’d bought for Cal’s exhibition and realized I was shaking.

Christ.

Pull it together, Bull.

But my hands were still shaking when I tugged on my shirt. I hadn’t been this nervous since I went to prom. I thought I’d pass out when I pulled up outside my date’s house and saw her father standing there.

Jesus, there was no calming the nervous energy pounding through me.

Four nights I’d been separated from her. Four long hard nights with only my fist and a head full of Quinn. And after having her for a whole night to myself, knowing what that felt like, not to mention the day on the boat, then in my office, then suddenly…nothing. I felt like a fucking drug addict going cold turkey—right down to the shakes, apparently.

I finished dressing, deodorized, and tried to fix my hair again because it was sticking up in odd places. Gel? Did I even own gel? I used to own gel.

It’s not 1982, asshole.

I went to town on it with my comb, which didn’t help much. When did I start caring about my goddamn hair? I never really looked at it, just washed it and left it. Shit. Stop looking at your fucking hair! I forced myself to ignore my reflection and brushed and flossed my teeth.

I looked at my face again. Maybe I should trim my beard a little? I turned my head this way and that. It was kind of scruffy. I got out the scissors and trimmed up the sides.

I swiped my whiskers into the trash can, then rushed to my room to grab some socks…and tripped over one of my boots, catching myself on the dresser before I knocked myself out on it. “Shit.” I turned and tripped on the other boot.

If Quinn could have seen me she’d have laughed her ass off. I was behaving like a lovesick teenager.

But Christ, I was anxious to see her, to kiss her, touch her.

To sink inside her.

I quickly tugged my socks on, shoved my feet in my boots, and headed for the door.

My phone started ringing.

I pulled it from my pocket as I snatched up my keys and glanced down at the screen.

Mase.

Pulling up short, I eyeballed my friend’s name with my gut in knots. It was like he’d sensed all the way from Portland that I was about to head to his family home and do dirty-as-fuck things to his baby sister.

Then I felt even worse because I considered not answering.

I stabbed at the screen with my finger and put the phone to my ear. “What’s up?”