Page 80 of Sweet Ache (Driven 6)
“Something that small’s not big enough to grant anything let alone an orgasm.”
“Fuck off,” I tell him, throwing my pen at him. He catches it and raises his eyebrows as in Not bad, huh? “You’re just jealous I’m getting nightly action when you’re not.”
“I am too!”
“Dude, barflies and groupies don’t count. If you can catch an STD standing within two feet of them, they don’t count.”
He shakes his head with a laugh. “Aren’t we all high-and-mighty now that we’re the ringmaster of her Quin-kitty.”
“It’s the lead singer thing,” I tell him, knowing how much it pisses him off. “We get all the Grade A.”
“Lead singer thing, my ass.” He grabs a beer from the refrigerator and holds it out. I nod and he grabs one for himself, pops the tops of both of them, and walks back and hands it to me.
“Thanks.”
“For the beer or for the push to go after Trixie?”
“Both.” I stare at him and try to gauge where he’s trying to direct this conversation.
“Hm … so your seminar ends when—this Thursday?”
“Yep.” I’m so distracted by the sudden bridge that just came to my thoughts I’m scrawling it out rather than picking up the bread crumbs he’s dropping.
“We should throw a party after it. A kind of thank fuck that’s over type of thing.”
“Yeah, sure … sounds good.” I read the line I wrote, cross it out, and rewrite it. The perfect version of it is just beyond my reach, but I know it’s there.
“Or should we wait until after your court date next week?”
“No, this week is fine. Next week is crazy.” I blow out a breath, lyric lost at the sudden panic piercing through my concentration that all this could have been for nothing: the seminar, forcing Hunter to make empty promises I know he can’t keep, my inevitable fall from grace. Shit, the only good that’s come out of this whole situation is Quinlan.
“I added an appointment at Sledge’s on your calendar,” he deadpans, and now I’m sure as shit listening.
I snap my head up to meet his eyes when I hear the name of our tattoo artist. “Excuse me?”
“We made a deal, brother.” He smiles smugly. “I’m in the mix or there’s no proof.”
Irritation flickers and flames. “What exactly is it you’re looking for out of this besides just plain trying to piss me off?”
“You tell me, Hawke.” He stares, lips pursed, telling me to figure it out myself. “A bet’s a bet.”
“Yeah and an asshole’s an asshole.” I don’t have time for his games. He’s angling at a point, wouldn’t take this approach if he wasn’t, but I’m just trying to figure out what it is.
“I bet you’ll look pretty in pink.”
“And I think you’ll look uglier with my fist in your face. What gives, Vin?”
“What was the bet?” I look at him like he’s losing his mind.
“Tame the untamable. Sleep with Quin by lecture’s end, you in on the action for proof, or else I get the tat of stupidity.” I roll my eyes, exasperation setting in. “But that was before….” My voice trails off as I wave my fingers in a gesture of irrelevance.
“Before what?”
“Nothing. Never mind.” I bite the words off, the unspoken confession hanging there that I don’t want to fess up to yet. I’m just not sure if my hesitancy is because I don’t want Vince to know or if I’m not ready to admit it to myself.
“Never mind? What, you got a thing for her?”
“No. Drop it.”
