As he and Archer wandered along the trail, he let his thoughts roam a different sort of path. He pondered how caring for his mom and Sarah made him feel useful. Helpful. Valuable. Like he felt when he played for his team. A giver instead of a taker. He’d been a taker his whole life, and right now he could have been performing some sort of cosmic balancing act to offset those times. Not that the little he was doing could truly put everything on a level playing field, but it was a start. He liked that.
“Quinn?” A voice behind him pulled him from his mind’s meanderings.
He stopped and turned. A woman he didn’t recognize was jogging toward him in tight running clothes, though she was apparently missing a sports bra because her tits bounced jauntily in time with her jarring steps. As she drew closer, alarms tripped in his head.
“I thought that was you!” she panted. “What a coincidence. I happened to be out for a run, and you’re—I didn’t know you had a dog.”
Coincidence my ass! “Dory, how’ve you been?”
She bent over to pet Archer in an obvious play to flash her impressive cleavage. Archer backed up and flung his head, as if avoiding her touch. Whoa! That dog loved everyone; Quinn had never seen him back away before.
Dory shrugged and straightened, giving Quinn a flirty smile. “I’m doing well. Except for being sad a certain someone hasn’t returned my calls.” Striking a pouty face, she placed her index finger against one corner of her mouth and tugged it down.
He stared at her while a shit ton of detritus swirled through his head. This chick looks way better in the dark after I’ve consumed a fifth of rum. Sarah’s got beautiful skin and even prettier eyes. Is Dory stalking me?
“Sorry. I’ve been, uh, busy … The virus and all. I haven’t checked messages lately.” If I had, I’d have blocked you.
Dory crossed her arms over her chest, pushing her boobage upward and outward. He hadn’t meant to dip his gaze there, but the motion had been dramatic enough to catch his attention. His eyes shot back up to hers. She sported a little smirk. She knows exactly what she’s doing.
“But your team’s not playing,” she complained. “I thought with you having more time on your hands, we could be together more.” The flirty smile transformed into a downright scary one—probably her failed attempt at cagey.
I fucked this girl—twice—why? Liquor. Libido. Lunacy.
He snaked his fingers through his hair. “Well, actually, I’ve been spending lots of time with … with my mom and …”
She shot out a hip and perched her fist on it. If she was going for sexy, she’d failed at that too because her posture resembled a gimpy flamingo. “Who else have you been spending time with?” This came out in a decidedly possessive, less friendly tone. She narrowed her eyes on Archer. “You still haven’t told me where you got the dog.”
“Well, he’s not really my dog.”
“You son of a bitch!”
He rocked backward as if she’d slapped him. She closed the distance. “No closer than six feet!” he blurted like a total idiot.
She ignored his dumbass declaration. “You have a new girlfriend, don’t you?” Her voice had soared upward by a few decibels.
He threw out a hand in an apologetic gesture. “Dory, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“Don’t you touch me, you, you … two-timing prick!”
Heads turned. Quinn tried to duck his. “I wasn’t trying to touch you.”
Archer gave off a series of sharp barks and shifted his weight from leg to leg. Whatever the dog was doing, it diverted Dory’s attention from Quinn for a moment, and he took in the audience surrounding them like spokes arranged at six-foot intervals.
Dory lasered her focus back on Quinn and wagged a finger at him. “We’re done, Quinn Hadley! And don’t think you can call me and smooth this over!”
Before he could protest that he hadn’t called her—wasn’t that what she was just griping about?—she pivoted on her heel and stomped away. Quinn blew out a relieved breath and tugged on Archer’s leash. The dog seemed as anxious as he to get away from Dory, the green belt, and its clustered spectators.
God, I hope no one caught that on camera. In the next breathless instant, he understood being taped might be the least of his worries. Minutes later, when he and Archer were safely ensconced at home, he texted Paige Miller, who’d helped him find this rental house in the first place: About the defunct security system. What would it take to fire it up again?
Sarah tossed and turned. She fought demons escaping out of a hole in the ground she couldn’t seal up. They were coming for her, snatching at her to offer her up as a meal to a pack of hungry wolves. Sometimes it was one lone wolf.
Quinn hovered on the edge of her nightmares, concern etched in his oh-so-handsome features as he force-fed her fluids. She had a blurry recollection of him saying her fever was one-oh-two and that she was not sick enough to be taken to the hospital. Good, because she liked her room; the bed was big enough for her to thrash in while she went from hot to cold and back again.
She didn’t care that her clothes were sweaty, she was sweaty, and her hair was pancaked to her head. Quinn would hand her fresh, oversized T-shirts that smelled like him, mumbling about wearing his stuff because he didn’t want to rifle through hers. Everything he said came out garbled, as if he spoke in tongues, but the distinct word “babe” sometimes pierced the veil of her consciousness. She might have even let out a little sigh at hearing it.
Archer seemed to be bedside
