“Are you trying to get me drunk so you can get into my panties?” she blurted.
A sly grin—complete with devastating dimples—slowly spread across his stubbled face. “Sweetheart, if I decided to get into your panties, I wouldn’t need to get you drunk.”
Now she remembered why he was a jerk. She hadn’t had that much to drink. “Right. You’d have to knock me unconscious instead because that’s the only way you’d score.”
He let out a guffaw.
“What? You think I’m kidding?” she snapped.
“Not at all,” he wheezed between chuckles.
“I forgot. I’m not your type.” She gathered up the cards and began shuffling.
He pointed at the stack of cards in her hand. “Hey, you just dealt!”
Whoops. “I didn’t like the look of that hand,” she countered. He seemed to accept her explanation because he shut up and watched while she shuffled again. She dashed a look his way. “My brother says you like them young and dumb.”
“Your brother should mind his own damn business. Seriously, do you guys tell each other everything?”He had a cute little smirk on his face.
“Ew, no.” She slapped the stack of cards down and pointed. “Cut.”
“Well, you’re definitely not dumb.” His pronouncement completely blindsided her. “And you’re not exactly old either.”
What the hell does that mean? She couldn’t quite figure out what he was saying … if he was, in fact, saying anything logical. “I’m older than you, Sparky.” Now she just sounded like a stupid kid. Damn it! Why did she care whatshe sounded like in front of him? A question for a more sober moment.
He cut the cards. “By five years. That’s not older. It’s just downright hot.”
She couldn’t hide her surprise when she flicked her eyes to him. “Excuse me?”
The smirk she expected was gone. Instead, he was fidgeting again, as if he were embarrassed. “You gonna deal?” He ran one of his big hands—with his long, strong fingers—through that thick head of rock-star hair.
Why the hell am I noticing his hair? Not to mention his hands. At least I’m not focused on his broad shoulders or muscular chest. Probably because I memorized them already. Shit.
Keeping her head down, she did deal, but she felt his eyes boring into her the entire time, watching her every move. Either his sudden intensity was making chills rush up and down her spine or she was coming down with COVID-19. Either option was bad, bad, bad.
They settled quietly back into the game, though she was having a hard time concentrating on her cards. Shit. What do these numbers add up to?
“So, uh, I’m curious what happened with you and Wolf that’s got you worried he might come to Denver,” he ventured. “If you’re up for telling me. But you don’t have to.” He tipped the beer bottle to his lips and guzzled.
Sarah appraised him for a beat. “Gage didn’t tell you?”
He shrugged. “Just said you guys broke up.”
She let out a little hmph. “More like imploded. Detonated. A nuclear meltdown.” She tried to imitate the sound of an exploding bomb.
Quinn chuckled. “You sound like something’s stuck in your throat. This is how it’s supposed to sound.” He performed an epic imitation of an exploding bomb.
She clapped. “That’s really good. Bet you do great car sounds too.”
He nodded.
“I wish I could, but I think I need a penis. Being able to make realistic sounds is like a perk God throws into the package to compensate for men’s … uh …” She had no idea what word to plug into the blank.
His eyes danced with mischief. “Charisma is the word you’re looking for, toots. And it complements, not compensates.”
“Does that pick up bullshit actually work? Please say it isn’t so because I’m going to have to revoke my membership in the girl’s club.”
“And do what?” he laughed. “Join the boy’s club?” He swept his eyes over her body, twice, lingering longer each time. “That would be a downright shame—and a waste of woman.” His gravelly voice zapped her nerve endings, leaving her flustered. Between the timbre of his voice and the heated look in his eyes, her panties were about to go up in flames. He was giving off all the wrong signals, and her reactions were equally wrong. The alcohol merely added fuel to the fire. Damn!
She rose, teetered, shoved his rock-hard shoulder in the process of trying to balance, and swayed toward the bathroom.
“Wow! I try to be nice, and she pushes me.”
She pivoted in time to see him throw his hands out to the side in mock outrage. “Because you’re not being nice. You’re being a self-serving dick who smiles too much.”
He pointed at her. “Got it. I’ll stop smiling.”
Nearly tripping, she stumbled backward into the bathroom, where she untangled herself and turned around. Slammed the door behind her. Eyed her reflection in the mirror. “Sarah Sunshine, what the hell are you doing?”
Chapter 15
Let the Games Continue
Despite the five-alarm fire bells clanging in Quinn’s head, he waited. Anticipated. When would Sarah emerge from the bathroom? Warnings—run the hell away, as fast as possible!—came roaring into his consciousness. But she’d been a bit unsteady, and he told himself he needed to be sure she didn’t slip and hit her head on the sink. Didn’t most home accidents happen in the bathroom?
“Arch,” he hissed at the dog, “is your master—owner—mom—okay?”
The dog lazily lifted his head and gave Quinn an “I’m-sleeping-here” look, which should have clued Quinn that Sarah was fine. Archer would have been at the bathroom door if he had the slightest inkling she was in danger of keeling over onto the bathroom floor. That dog was damn smart. Unlike him.
When Sarah did come out, Quinn finally relaxed. She wobbled her way over to him—or maybe it was his eyesight doing the wobbling—and plopped her cute ass on the couch. Damn
