Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 86102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
“I want one.” His sigh held so much longing that my breath caught. Maybe Quinn would be different than those boys. “You’d be such a good Daddy.”
He was right, but his opinion would matter a hell of a lot more sober. Tamping down my own want, I knelt in front of him. “Let’s get your shoes off.”
“Oh.” He made another of those pleased noises that went straight to my suddenly very awake cock as I unlaced his very sensible doctor-approved sneakers. “Thank you, Daddy.”
“You’re killing me.” Groaning, I rested my head against the bed next to him. He idly petted my hair, running his fingers along my scalp. His touch felt so damn good that I couldn’t move away.
“I don’t want to kill you. I want to kiss you. So much. And…”
Holding my breath, I waited for him to torture me even more with a wish list I wasn’t going to do a damn thing with. But instead, his hand stilled and he fell back against the bed, already snoring again.
“Good night, Quinn.” I hauled myself up off the floor, plucked his askew glasses off his face, and pulled the covers up over him. Maybe in the morning he’d finish that thought. And maybe he’d tell me what had driven him to drink. The sadness in his eyes was as compelling as any hidden kinks he had, and something in me wanted to know way more than was smart about both.
Three
Quinn
I wasn’t in my own bed. There was too much light, for one thing. My bedroom had blackout curtains—a hazard of unpredictable hours and a lifetime of insomnia. But even with my eyes shut, aggressively bright light kept filtering in. And the bed smelled woodsy and not like the lavender detergent I used because allegedly it helped with sleep, same as my pricey curtains. Ha. Neither had helped yet.
But for once, I felt as if I’d slept too much, not too little. I blinked my eyes open, trying to take stock of my situation.
“My head.” The sunlight sliced through my brain, a sharp, searing pain joined by a duller but still noisy throbbing as I attempted to sit up. Vertigo. I definitely had vertigo. I rolled my head. My ears didn’t seem clogged, so allergies were unlikely as a culprit. It was almost like I had—
A hangover.
Oh God. My eyes went painfully wide as the previous night came rushing back in snippets.
The pictures.
The crushing, unbearable sadness.
How lonely my place had felt.
The decision, evidently terrible, to go have a drink at the Rainbow Tavern.
The hot lumberjack bartender.
His banter equally as distracting as all those muscles.
I almost could have gotten a buzz, simply watching the guy work. But clearly, I’d had some stronger stuff too. There had been something sweet and chocolatey, made especially for me. And…
And there my memories got hazy. I want to kiss you. I’d said those words, but to whom? Clearly someone, especially given the strange bed. Had I hooked up with someone at the bar? I was almost fully clothed—pants, socks, no shirt, but I had a vague recollection of vomit rather than passion being involved there. No embarrassing stickiness in my pants or intimate soreness. Likely I didn’t have unprotected sex to add to my list of sins.
But where the hell was I, if not at home or with some random hookup? I was disoriented, and my lack of glasses wasn’t helping anything, keeping the room as blurry as my memories. And vertigo remained a factor in my ability to leave the bed.
“Hello?” I called, really hoping this wasn’t going to unfold like some scene in a bad horror movie.
“You’re up.” A bulky form appeared in the doorway. The room was serial-killer bare, right down to the lack of curtains and nightstand or other furniture besides the bed, but the voice was friendly, not ominous. And familiar.
I blinked, trying to get my eyes to focus sans glasses. “My…uh…I can’t see you.”
“Here. I put your glasses on the windowsill to keep them safe.” A big hand gently placed them on my face rather than in my outstretched hand. Caring. Somehow the unexpected gesture felt strangely familiar as well
I blinked again. The lenses were clean, not smudgy. Surely bad guys didn’t clean glasses. Slightly reassured, I slid my gaze up to—
The friendly bartender. Even more attractive than my hazy memories, all massive arms and tree-trunk thighs and brooding lumberjack vibes with his ginger beard, worn jeans, and plaid shirt.
“I don’t remember your name.” My voice came out a little woozy, like I was still buzzed, but the culprit here was his blinding hotness.
“It’s Adam.” Something crossed his face. Might have been disappointment. Damn it. Why couldn’t my mind have supplied that one detail?
“Sorry.” I resisted the impulse to slump back against the bed. Adam and all those sturdy muscles were pretty darn unforgettable, and he’d evidently been far kinder than I deserved. Least I could have done was held on to his name. And now my vertigo was worse. I rubbed my temple.