Love Me Crazy (6 page)

“That sounds kind of fun; a break from reality.” He points the skewer end at me.

The marshmallow, cooked to a perfect light brown, smells like the candy store I’d lived near when I was young. Sugary, sweet, and smoky. I pull the hardened coating off the marshmallow and slip it in my mouth, gooey white fluff drips down my chin.

He wipes it, then licks his finger, dissolving the sugar with the heat of his tongue. Oh, to be fluff. To be on his lips. To be tasting that tongue.

I drop my gaze back to the marshmallow. “What’s the norm,” I ask, putting the focus back on his family instead of a wanting, panting me, “when you guys sit around drinking?”

“We play card games and are always one-upping each other, trying to win. Covingtons never lose, remember?”

“Someone loses.”

He shakes his head. “Not when we bend the rules.”

“Do Covingtons ever screw up?” I roll my eyes as I sling the skewer tip back over the flame. Must be nice to be sure of yourself and know you’ll win because losing isn’t an option.

“Weren’t you at dinner?” He drags a slow line over one of his tattoos. “Maybe things would’ve been different if I’d stuck around after Dad died.”

“Like what?”

“Maybe Kat wouldn’t hold a grudge against the world, and Ellie wouldn’t be so gullible.” He pauses like he’s wondering if directions are printed on his sisters’ foreheads like a box of brownie mix. Crack, liquefy, stir, and bake.

“
And if you’d stayed, what about you?” I lower my skewer, heating the sugar until it melts off.

“Life would suck.”

“So you like your life?” I prop the telescopic rod against the chair and turn toward Quinn, unsure why he’s so hard on himself. His dad died; nothing was supposed to be easy for any of them.

He nods but doesn’t look at me. Instead he stares into the darkness gathering beyond the magnolia limbs. Shadows and light dance across his face, shift his features, making him appear less omnipotent. More human. Vulnerable even.

I nibble the inside of my cheek as shadows roll across Quinn’s face. His silhouette against the faint light shares his pain, slouching as if he’s crumbling on the inside.

I should’ve kept my distance, isolated myself in turkey hell and declined dinner. I shouldn’t get involved with family drama. But I already am.

I reach across the space between us and squeeze his shoulder for comfort. “I know you hardly know me, and I’m not pretending to know what it’s like to lose someone you love, but death is
the
side effect of living. It’s not fair but moving on is part of the deal. Maybe your sisters would’ve turned out as you described regardless.” I tug on his shoulder until he turns to face me. “Maybe Kat’s angry because she doesn’t have a sounding board. Maybe attacking you is easier than dealing with her own problems. Maybe she needs someone to blame for her anger.”

“You mean me.” He squints his eyes and peers at the flame.

“I’m just saying, they might be like you described but that doesn’t necessarily mean you made them that way.” I shy away from turning this into a therapy session.

I
slip down in the chair and angle my knees to the side so they don’t touch his. I want so badly to reach out and press my fingers against his cheek, to tell him to stop letting the past affect his present so deeply. I don’t know the whole story. I don’t know how the Covingtons actually reacted to their dad’s death, though Kat’s anger at Quinn gave me a pretty clear picture in the kitchen. I don’t know what they went through. But it seems like everyone walks on eggshells so as to not disturb the grief and guilt lying below.

I push to my feet. “I need to nurse this headache with some sleep.”

He rises, too. “Wait.” He slips his hand over my hip and pulls me a step closer.

I shake my head. No, that’s not going to happen. No touching, no kissing, no—

“Cassidy,” he whispers, ducking his head closer, eyes piercing mine with a solid, intense gaze. “Thanks for the talk. For tonight.”

I roll my lips in but his breath warms my face, luring me to relax and soften. His hands, so comfortable and right, tug me closer, closing the electrified space between us, forcing wild energy into my lips, into wanting his on mine.

He drops his chin, lips inching closer, but instead of feeling their smooth heat and sculpted softness, rough stubble slides against my cheek. His hands slip up my back, encompassing me in the warmest, safest, and sexiest hug I’ve ever received.

“I should go to bed,” I mumble.

Quinn leans closer. “Sit with me a while.”

“With you?”

“If you like.”

I study the cushy loveseat situated under the far edge of the magnolia. “Okay, but just for a bit.” Honestly, I feel like I’d regret saying no. Besides, I’m supposed to use my manners right?
“
Yes, thank you” and “Of course I’ll sit with you. Where do you want me? Right on your lap? Well, of course” come to mind.

The gap between us, a mere foot of space, feels like a canyon. A never-ending abyss. I know I should stay away, but an article I read on magnetic attraction keeps popping into my head. It said physical looks and personality have nothing to do with a person’s draw to another, that attraction is energy-based. That would mean I could sit down beside anyone and they could be
the one
.

I definitely feel something urging me to scoot a little closer.

I take several deep breaths to discourage falling closer and becoming another statistic to support the article’s claim.

“Come here,” he says. He wraps his arm around my shoulder and doubles the urge for me to move it on closer.

He shifts my hair to the side and brushes a finger down my cheek. My heart beats like a rabbit thumping its foot in warning. I should take it as a warning. Instead, I turn into his touch like a needy cat and purr. My eyes pop open. I purred? What the heck.

I move to stand but he pulls my hips over, causing me to fall into his lap. Instead of fighting it—because I rather enjoy my current position—I push into my hands to get more comfortable, or try, but the only couch to push into is between his legs. My fingers brush against his thigh and I’m pretty sure his jewels.

“Oh God.” I. Could. Die.

“Nope. All one-hundred percent me.”

“Sorry.” I collapse back against him and cross both hands securely over my chest.

He
traces a finger down my knee, down my bare leg. I glance at the path figuring on seeing a red, hot burn in its wake, an illuminated trail of oranges and reds and singed skin because it feels so damn hot and so damn good.

His fingers drop lower, toward my skirt which has bunched around my hips and is an inch away from showing off my barely-there panties. He hooks my skirt. My eyes go wide and the breath in my chest literally solidifies into yes-please-touch-me hope. He drags the hem of my skirt up my leg, farther and farther away from my panties. Farther from the warm tingles surging to life.

I grab his hand, my skirt, and hold it in place mid-thigh.

“Cassidy,” he calls.

I angle my chin up to see his face. His lips come down, gentle but aggressive. I part mine in surprise and he takes that as an invitation—and sure, yeah, welcome in or whatever—and his tongue! So smooth, so warm, so perfect. He explores slowly but deftly—like a ninja. I lift into the kiss, wanting to taste more of him. He doesn’t give in so I reach my arm around his neck and hoist myself a little higher.

His hand slips down my leg and kneads my thigh. Don’t know if the subtle squeeze is persuasion for me to invite him in down there, too, or his restraint, but my legs slips apart of their own volition. I’m hungry for him, starved for his touch. Maybe it’s the alcohol. Maybe I’d be starved for anyone’s touch, but right now, it’s him.

His fingers graze my panties and the sudden heat makes me thrust upward. He chuckles into our kiss. The edge of my panties roll to the side as he strokes beneath it. I moan into our kiss and reach for his shirt, pulling him tighter. Closer. His fingers caress my desire, teasing me and keeping me on the edge. Keeping me wanting more.

I
reach between us to his hardened cock, wishing to feel it in my hands, skin on skin instead of through his shorts. The zipper, stuck beneath fabric, me and the awkward position we’re in, can’t be undone, so I stroke him through his shorts, smoothing my hand up his length as best I can, matching his tempo like we’re dancing.

The sudden entry of his finger makes me suck in a pleased breath. Our lips part as the throbbing tingles down below grows stronger. I work my hips as he works his fingers, settling my forehead against his chin to focus on the feel and the thrill and the complete loss of power I have over myself. I shift, allowing him better access. He adds another finger and brushes against me. There’s no turning back, not that I’d want to.

A moan escapes on my exhale. I roll closer to him.

His lips track down my temple to my ear. “Come for me, Cassidy.”

The sound of his voice on top of his breath tickling my ear, his heart thudding against my chest, and his fingers pumping inside me sensitize my entire body, allowing a thousand flickers of light to be turned on simultaneously. The glow starts deep, working toward his fingers, toward orgasm.

“
Mmmm
,” I hum into the ecstasy. “Yes, God, yes.”

My hips move faster. His fingers massage deeper. His thumb presses against my clit and God, I see brilliance. I arch my back, pulling myself away from him but deepening the sensations below so they travel throughout me. He presses into the magic spot and I jolt into him as if he’s electrified me a second time.

My breath, a powerhouse of huffs and puffs, begins to slow. As does his. I collapse against him, still reeling from the power that ran through me and rendered me completely useless.

He
slips my panties back into place and smooths my skirt over my legs, making it so I’m not only safe but also tucked into him. For sleep. I want . . . sleep.

“That was...”

“Beautiful,” he finishes.

“
Mmmm
,” is all I can manage. Beautifully perfect and oh so wrong at the same time.

Chapter
5

Quinn

Awake for an hour, I still haven’t managed to roll out of bed. I can’t think of anything but Cassidy and the way she lost her inhibitions because of me. After two days of not running into her, I’d be a dumbass to think she’d still be high on her orgasm and ready to knight me Sir Please Me Again, but I can hope.

Once she’d fallen asleep, I carried her to her room, sure she’d feel less awkward waking up without me staring at her. Because that’s what I did. For two hours. I watched her lips bob open on her exhales, just in the center, and press softly together on her inhales.

That was the first time I’d seen her without her armor. I’m not sure why she thinks she needs one around me—unlike around Mom, who necessitates full battle gear—but if it makes me less threatening in her eyes, fine. I’ll figure out a way around it eventually.

My
phone dings. I read the text from my boss and frown. Fired? I’m fired? My unexpected journey home wasn’t supposed to last longer than a day, two at most. Fly in, grab the truck without running into a soul, fly out. I had tried to reschedule my photography scouting trip to Arizona and Utah, but deadlines were too close and the filming industry isn’t forgiving when it comes to schedules. I had to call in a favor. Guess my sub didn’t impress.

I stretch and ready for one of Ellie’s meetings. I’d had her put everything into my calendar so I knew when and where I could potentially run into Cassidy. A little selfish? Maybe.

I text my sister and tell her to meet me out front. After she puts her face on and strolls down the front steps as if we’ve got all day, we jump in the truck and head to the address she gives me.

“You didn’t have to bring me. Dean’s back in town and perfectly capable.” She won’t unfold her arms. Hasn’t since she got in the truck.

“What’s wrong?”

“You and Kat. I just don’t think you’re trying hard enough with her.”

“I can’t work a miracle overnight.” I glance over at my sister. “I’ll work on it, I promise, but I’m not going to push her to reconcile when she has no reason to want to.”

Ellie shakes her head and peers out the side window. “If I can forgive, surely she can.”

“You were eighteen, she was twelve. I expected you to understand.”

“Understand what?” She fiddles with the air vent.

“How bad off Mom was. Think about it; had we stayed, Mom may’ve never returned to work. Leaving forced her to take care of Kat. We aren’t her parents, Ellie.”

She sighs heavily. I pat her hand and give it a good squeeze until she returns it.

“
I know, but you weren’t there for the big stuff and I think that bothers her most. She needed your backbone when it came to Momma.”

“She seems to have one. Maybe two.” I pull up to the curb.

“That’s one too many sometimes.” Ellie adjusts her dress over her knees and takes a deep breath. “Hope you’re ready for this.” She peers at the cake shop through the car window. “I hate these meetings. Mom’s so . . .”

“Unaccepting? Overbearing?”

“Putting it mildly.” She opens her door. “Come on; don’t want to be late or you’ll have to add scolding to that list.”

The bell hanging from the doorknob chimes as we step into the bakery. Scents of sugary sweets mix in the air. The glass counter displays intricate chocolate sculptures, mini molded fruits, and delicate candy flowers mimicking hand-blown glass.

“Morning.” I nod to the shop owner and then add a smile when Cassidy stands to greet us.

“Oh, good. We aren’t late.” Ellie drops her purse into a chair and pushes her bangs out of her face. She glances out the windows and down the street in both directions. “Where is Annabeth? I swear, if she misses one more meeting, I’m going to go nuts.”

“Annabeth is coming?” I ask. I tug at my shirt, which suddenly feels a little tight.

“She’s my maid of honor, of course she’s coming.” Ellie sigh and turns toward Cassidy. “Oh, well, let’s get started, maybe we can finish before Mom gets here.”