Page 81 of Sweet Ache (Driven 6)
“Drop what?” Vince goads me with a smug smirk that irks me to no end. What the fuck is he trying to get at here?
“You wanted to know about the bet? What about it?” All I want is to change the subject.
He narrows his brow and studies me. “Did you sleep with her?”
I give Vince an are you that fucking stupid? look. “Nope.”
It’s his turn to give me the fuck you sigh so common between us. “Dude, the studio’s walls aren’t that soundproof. Jesus, the two of you almost got me off from audio alone.”
“Damn, that was hot,” I’m unable to resist commenting because fuck, it was. I don’t think I’ll even be able to play that guitar again without the image of her on it distracting me. Shit, I just might have to hang that puppy on the wall with some of my other favorites…. The best part is everyone will assume it’s there because I wrote this or that song on it. It’s none of their fucking business I wrote music on it but not the kind they’re thinking about. “But wait, if you’ve heard us, why do you need proof?”
“Because a bet’s a bet. Why not finish it?”
“Hmm. Who said I wasn’t going to?” I say although my head is screaming over my dead body. Sharing Quinlan and the goddamn perfection she is between the sheets and the kind I’m finding out she is beyond the bed—patient, feisty, naughty, thoughtful—is out of the question.
So no
w of course I’m between a rock and a hard place when the only place I want to be back between is Quinlan’s thighs. Do I go back on my word for the first and only time in my life with Vince, balk on our bet? Or do I just follow through, stay true to the wager, and hate myself for doing it?
But what about being true to myself?
I swear to fucking God women are like alcohol. They smell great, they taste delicious, and right or wrong, they kill you slowly, one way or another. But shit, death by the slow burn Quinlan’s lit within me sounds like a pretty fucking perfect way to go.
“Well, let’s see, I don’t hear you inviting me into the mix to finish the bet off.” I groan as Vince’s words pull me from my thoughts, from the vision floating in my head of Quinlan lying on my bed, legs spread, eyes inviting, and her lips begging me to fuck her. Jesus if the image was any hotter it would be a goddamn porno.
“Could it be that Quin means more to you than a romp in bed? That for once you’re seeing the one thing I’ve been trying to get you to see for the past … umm … forever? Might you be falling for her, Hawke? Might she actually think you’re worth it?”
“No.” Yes. He’s fucking with my head in this conversation, and I’m not too thrilled about it. We’re in uncomfortable territory for me. That place I don’t delve except for in my own mind. The dark inadequacies I refuse to speak about must be rather transparent since Vince is calling me on the carpet over them.
My pride, my ego, everything I hold on to tightly to prove that I am not the weakling my dad was. I can’t fall for anyone, because the one thing I know … is that love makes you weak.
I hate the bullshit pile of emotions I feel right now. That contradiction between what I’ve always believed and that weird stirring wanting to see Quinlan again. Gauging my days on if she’s gonna come around. Fuck, this is fucked.
“What are you, Vince? My goddamn shrink?” I’m a little irritated and a lot annoyed. I don’t like having my hand forced, especially not in this arena … and he knows that so why is he trying to use a bulldozer to push home his point?
“Nope. Just looking forward to you getting that tat.”
“Not gonna happen. I keep my goddamn word—every fucking time—so don’t you go start questioning my integrity now.” Or what Q is beginning to mean to me. Fuck. Why did I agree to this bullshit bet?
“Oh so this thing with Quin is really all just about the bet then? Seems to me like things might have changed on your end.”
“No. Yes. Sure. You’ll get your proof at the party, then you can get the fuck out of my business, got it?” I shove up out of my chair, pissed and done with this conversation.
“Stubborn asshole, you’re missing the point!” he yells to my back as I walk out of the kitchen only to find Hunter sitting on the bottom step of the stairs. His presence stops me dead in my tracks, but it’s the smug look on his face, the twisting of his lips, and the amusement in his eyes that I need to worry about. They tell me that he heard way too much of our conversation. Fuck.
“So Quin was just a game, huh? One of your stupid band bets?” He doesn’t hide his thrill over the opportunity that just presented itself, and I hate myself for giving it to him. “I’m sure she’d love to hear about that.”
“Nah. Vince was just fucking with me,” I lie to my twin, knowing if I let on how much I don’t want that to happen, it’ll only spur him on to tell her. My mind starts rifling back over the rest of our conversation trying to figure out just how much Hunter heard. Goddamn it. The front door wasn’t Giz after all, it was Hunter and that means he might have heard everything.
“Yeah, right. Did you forget we have that twin thing going on?”
“Not very smart to bite the hand that feeds you, right, Hunt?” Vince says, stepping up behind me.
And fuck yes he says what I want to but sometimes it’s a helluva lot easier to just shut the hell up than to make Hunter go on one of his little tirades and fuck up my life some more. Sometimes it takes more of a man to turn the other cheek and appear to be a pussy than it does to plow my fist in his face and tell him I’m done.
But fuck if that time’s not coming sooner rather than later. A man can handle shit dealt to him over and over, swallow his pride and bite his tongue, but involve that man’s woman, and it’s on.
And I just called her my woman. FUCK! Can anything be more of a mess right now than my head? I scrub my hands over my face as Hunter finally answers Vince.
