Chapter 12 Who Was This Girl
Who Was This Girl
Tripp
Iwalk into Herds, the best of the small selection of local bars, determined to put Quinn out of my mind.
When I stopped to say hi this morning, she’d been wearing cutoff shorts that showed off her perfect legs with an old sweatshirt thrown on top. She’d looked cute as hell with no makeup on and her hair thrown up haphazardly in a knot on the top of her head.
I’d done my damnedest not to stare while I was working, but I’d stolen too many glimpses of her today. Watching her kneel in the grass, tugging weeds from Grams’ flower beds. Catching little peeks of the bare skin right above her navel when she’d shed her sweatshirt to reveal a cropped T-shirt.
And now here I was, nursing the mental image of her legs when I should’ve been nursing a beer.
The conversation we’d had the other day about her ex hadn’t helped.
Single.
Available.
Off-limits.
I shouldn’t even be thinking about it—shouldn’t be curious in the least.
Wes would kill me if he knew where my mind had been all day, which is why I’m here trying to think about any woman other than the one who had so quickly taken over every passing thought.
The bar’s loud, pulsing with laughter and music as I slide onto a stool. Paula greets me with a smile.
“What can I get for ya, Tripp?” she asks.
“Beer. Start me a tab.”
I’m reaching for my wallet when a loud whoop cuts through the music. I glance over—and damn if it isn’t Quinn—here to wreck what little sanity I have left. Hands in the air, hips shaking, hair flying loose as she spins like she doesn’t have a care in the world.
I can’t escape her. She’s everywhere I turn.
Something heavy drops into the pit of my stomach when I see who she’s dancing with.
Kyle Jensen.
The guy is a womanizing piece of shit, and he doesn’t take no for an answer, especially when he’s been drinking.
Paula slides me my beer. “She came in a couple hours ago.”
“Alone?”
She shakes her head. “Kyle brought her.”
I take a deep pull from the bottle and lean back, resting my elbows on the bar while I watch Quinn and Kyle dance. The beer tastes sour on my tongue, and I’d like nothing more than to stomp off so I don’t have to see this. But someone has to keep an eye on her.
“She said Pops is in the nursing home?” Paula questions.
“Uh, yeah," I say, tearing my gaze away from Quinn. "They wanted to make sure he got a bit stronger before they let him come back home. You can guess how he took that.”
“Like a bear whose fish got stolen from its paws, I imagine.”
“Exactly.”
Lilah Hart sidles up next to me and rests her elbows on the bar.
“Hey, Tripp," she says, eyes twinkling. "You wanna dance?”
She’s cute—big brown eyes, jeans hugging her curves—but ten years younger and brimming with confidence. And right now, I’m still aching from seeing Quinn in those damn shorts this morning.
A little dancing with a girl who isn’t totally off-limits might be a good idea. I can still keep an eye on Quinn with Lilah on my arm.
I force a smile. “Sure, let’s dance.”
She slips her hand into mine and pulls me to the dance floor, the two of us sliding into the line right as the next upbeat song starts up, the beat blaring from the speakers. I fall into the rhythm quickly, muscle memory taking over.
My parents used to love dancing at these types of things. They’d always head straight for the floor, dragging me and Allie out with them to teach us the grapevine. It was one of those simple things we always took for granted.
When ALS took away my dad’s ability to dance, he’d still urge me to drag Mom out there. Said he liked watching her face light up when she laughed.
My throat goes a little tight at the memory, but I nail the first spin and throw a little extra flair on the hip pivot, making Lilah’s brows shoot up.
“Well, damn,” she laughs, eyes going wide. “You’re gonna make my dancing look bad if you keep that up, Tripp.”
“Nah. I couldn’t make you look bad if I tried,” I say, shooting her a wink before I even realize what I’m doing.
Her smile widens. “Keep talkin’ like that and I might think you’re flirting.”
I let out a low chuckle. “Might be.”
It’s not a lie. I am flirting—sort of. Enough to keep my eyes anywhere but where Quinn is dancing with Kyle.
The music picks up and Lilah spins beneath my arm. That’s when movement across the room snags my attention and my breath catches in my throat.
Quinn.
Dancing Coyote-Ugly-style on top of the bar.
A chorus of catcalls and whistling echo through the bar as her blond hair tumbles over her shoulders and her hips sway with way too much confidence.
Shit.
I’d taken my eyes off her for five minutes.
My feet stop moving before I even realize it, and I make some lame excuse to Lilah, leaving her alone on the dance floor without a second thought.
Not only are the men at the bar all watching, but a few of them are trying to cop a feel whenever she dances by.
My heart pounds wildly and adrenaline pumps through my veins as I rush up to the bar where she’s putting on a damn good show, sundress lifting just enough to make my pulse jump as she spins.
I had no idea she had moves like that in her arsenal. She’s always been so sweet and innocent. This is a wild side I’ve never seen from her, and while I’d love to watch the show, I don’t want any of these other assholes seeing it.
Relief is clear on Paula’s face when I finally make it through the crowd surrounding the bar. I slap my palm on the bar top and raise my voice over the music.
“Quinn! Time to go!”
A bunch of the guys let out groans of disappointment. My jaw clenches as I shoot them all a daggered stare.
Quinn’s smile hits me right in the chest. “Why? I’m having fun,” she says, words slurred.
She nearly tumbles off the bar, saved by Chase’s quick grip. His hands vanish a second later—probably remembering how things went down the last time he crossed me.
“You got some food you can throw in a bag for us to go, Paula?” I ask.
Herds isn’t known for its high-end fare, but the greasy bar food is perfect for soaking up some bad decisions.
“Comin’ right up, sweetie,” Paula says, already moving.
I tilt my head toward Quinn. “Come on, Quinnie. Let’s get some food in you.”
She pouts but eventually starts toward me. I reach up and take her hand in mine, steadying her with the other on her hip as she hops off the bar. My pulse skyrockets as her warm body presses against mine, but I smother the desire flaring inside me.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Kyle demands behind me.
“Taking her home,” I grind out, not in the mood to deal with his brand of asshole.
“She came here with me. If anyone’s taking her home, it's gonna be me.”
I give him a quick once-over. He’s taller. Broader. And could probably take me in a fight. I don’t give a damn.
“If you think I’m letting my best friend’s little sister anywhere near you when she can’t even walk straight, you’re even stupider than I thought.”
I don’t trust him with Quinn as far as I can spit.
This guy had already been too handsy with Sawyer once. She’d handled it herself, dousing him in bourbon after he didn’t back off. But Quinn? She’s in no shape to deal with someone like him.
“I don’t want to go home,” she whines, dragging out her words.
Damn adorable.
I step toward her, and Kyle mutters something under his breath, but he doesn’t make a move toward me. At least he’s not completely brain-dead.
“I know, honey. But you’re drunk as a skunk. It’s time to go.”
She gnaws on her bottom lip like she’s about to argue. I don’t wait for her to start. I just want to get her out of here—away from the lewd stares of the guys at the bar. So, I hoist her over my shoulder, one hand holding her dress down so that some of her dignity remains intact.
“Tripp! Oh my God,” she giggles. “Put me down.”
I ignore her protest as Paula slides a brown paper bag across the bar.
“There are a couple of water bottles in the bag too,” she says.
“Thanks, Paula. Is it okay if I come pay my tab tomorrow? Add whatever she had to mine.”
“No problem. You take care of that one.” She gives Quinn a look, half amused, half concerned. “Seems like some latent wild streak’s been lit.”
And damn if that doesn’t make me even more intrigued.
This wasn’t the Quinn I remembered—the girl who once cried over a 3.9 GPA and grounded herself after sneaking out to a single party. Now she’s quitting jobs, moving back to the farmhouse, and dancing drunk on a bar.
Who was this girl?
The Quinn I remembered was softer. Quieter.
A girl who made lists and followed the rules, who didn't rock the boat. But every now and then, I’d catch a flicker of something else—a restless side, wanting to come out to play.
Like the night she called me in the middle of the night when she was sixteen.
Sixteen Years Ago
My phone rings in my pocket, and I reluctantly pull away from the girl I went home with. We’d gone out dancing, and I’d been eager to get her somewhere alone. Lucky for me she has her own apartment, since I’m still stuck living at home with my parents.
The name flashing across the screen pulls me up short. If it had been nearly anyone else, I’d have ignored the call and slipped it back in my pocket.
“Yeah?” I answer, sharper than I usually am with her.
“Tripp?” Quinn’s voice comes through loud, muffled by shouts and raucous noise. “Are you busy?”
I eye the blonde in front of me and wince apologetically. “What do you need?”
“Sooo, I maybe drove Allie and Sawyer to this party but now I think maybe I—uh—shouldn’t drive anymore.”
“Shit.” My stomach drops. I’ve never seen Quinn drink a single drop of alcohol.
“Sawyer swears she can handle it, but last I checked, they don’t give out licenses at fifteen.”
“What party?”
“They got invited to Chase’s party and asked me to come.”
“You don’t drink,” I snap. This isn’t her. She’s a rule-follower to her core.
“Yeah,” she says, voice wobbling. “Well, I did tonight.”
I exhale hard through my nose. “Where are you?”