Closing and locking his bedroom doors, he toed off his shoes and plopped on the edge of the bed, where he turned on the phone and began scrolling through his contacts. He imagined each woman as her name glowed on the screen. Not a single one netted his interest. With a frustrated huff, he tossed his phone on the bed and yanked off his clothes. He headed for the shower, where he planned to kill two birds with one stone: jerking off and getting cleaned up.
He turned on both spray heads in his shower-built-for-many and soaped himself up as hot water peppered his skin. Sarah popped into his consciousness, so vivid he could’ve sworn she was standing in the shower with him. As if he could reach out and run his soapy hands over her slick, wet skin. Tease those tantalizing tits. Cup the softness between her thighs. Kiss her lips and plunder her soft mouth.
Though he told himself to knock it off, his dick would have none of it. The urge was too powerful, and it took over. Fueled by an image of Sarah’s body in his brain, her lush mouth whispering erotic, dirty words in his ear, he came hard and fast.
Spent, he planted his palms against the shower walls to hold himself up, gasping in air. Jesus, what had happened? He couldn’t remember jacking off and coming like that before. As if something potent had taken possession and moved through his body.
He shook his head. The only reason the vivid vision of Sarah had blazed in his brain was because she was the closest fuckable female. That had to be it. He could not, would not, let himself fantasize about her again. She’s off-limits. Just get her out of your mind now. Problem was, he wasn’t confident he could heed his own advice.
Chapter 14
Lockdown is a State of Mind
The next day, while Liz napped and Quinn was out for a run, Sarah had her nose in the fridge, humming to eighties music playing on her phone. She ran her eyes over the fridge’s inventory. What could she make out of broccoli and ham? “Empanadas,” she said aloud. “Crap. I don’t have enough flour for the pastry.”
“You have flour now,” Quinn’s deep voice rumbled behind her, and she let out a surprised yelp. She whirled just as he plopped an armful of brown paper bags on the counter.
“You went to the grocery store?” she screeched. “I thought you were running.”
He flashed her an apologetic grin. “I was. After my run, I drove right by King Soopers and thought I’d check for you—”
“I was gonna go.” She closed the fridge door behind her.
The smile faded, and a vertical crease formed between his dark eyebrows. “I was right there.”
She cinched her arms over her chest, fighting the urge to acknowledge how sweet she found his gesture. “You’ve just screwed up my plan for the day.”
His face dropped.
The crestfallen look gave her a surge of guilt, and she rushed on. “How am I supposed to trash-talk you when you do something nice?”
The grin returned with a triumphant twist. “Wait’ll you see what else I got.” Out came a humongous package of chocolate morsels that he laid on the counter. “In case someone feels the urge to make more cookies. Oh, and I went with paper bags because I read they’re great for letting the cookies cool. Dual purpose.”
She’d baked one batch of sugar cookies—one—since she’d arrived, and apparently he’d picked up on the fuss she’d made about how to properly cool them. Newspaper, her go-to choice, hadn’t been available.
Suppressing her astonishment, she said, “I have bad news, Sparky. No flour.”
He held up a finger. “But wait!” His delivery reminded her of a TV pitchman.
She watched his retreating back as he jogged toward the garage. Minutes later, he reappeared hefting a huge-ass bag of flour, and her mouth dropped open of its own accord.
He set it down. “I scored a twenty-five-pounder!”
Before she knew what she was doing, she flew to him and looped her arms around his solid neck. Oh God, his hard body felt even better than she’d imagined. Not that she’d looked that closely. Oh hell, who was she kidding? She noticed every damn time he was around.
For a nanosecond, he rocked backward, arms at his sides. Then he swept her to him and hugged her back. He fit her beautifully.
What the hell am I doing? Recovering her lost senses, she shoved herself away. “Um, thank you.” Then she broke out in a smirk. “A little self-serving, isn’t it?”
He looked dazed and stared at her for a beat before putting all his attention on the still-full brown bags. Keeping his head down, he began emptying them. “How so?”
She ignored the tingles racing up and down her limbs. “Well, you’re the biggest cookie consumer in this house …”
“You noticed that, huh?” He raised his head, and a half-smile that managed to show off his dimples quirked. He patted his firm stomach “Since you started staying here, I’ve packed on an extra ten.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” she huffed. She was trying to sound annoyed, she really was, but her hip-hopping hormones got in the way. And honestly? He didn’t look—or feel—as though he had an ounce of fat on him.
She swallowed. “Anyway, thank you. That was really thoughtful of you.”
His head dipped, and he returned to his unpacking. “I know, huh? Sometimes I even surprise myself.”
Without another word, she planted herself beside him and helped unload the bags. They worked side by side, putting away the foodie treasures. Finally, she said, “You really shouldn’t have gone. You’re exposing yourself to COVID every time you step into a store.”
He flapped a dismissive hand. “Pfft. I’m a big, strong hockey player, remember? I don’t get sick.”
“Yeah, well, other big, strong hockey players are getting sick, so don’t think you’re immune. Whatever happened with that tweeze-head reporter, by the way?”
“I
