Chapter 13 Damn Tequila
Damn Tequila
Quinn
My head is still delightfully fuzzy when we pull up to the ranch, though the food Tripp insisted I eat sobered me up some.
The cab of his pickup smells like a mixture of dirt, leather, cows—and now, bar food. Maybe not the sexiest combination, but with the windows rolled down and country music playing low on the radio it’s not exactly unwelcome.
He hums along in the driver's seat, the corded muscles of his forearms flexing as he grips the wheel. The gravel crunches under his tires before he eases the truck to a stop in front of the ranch. Then he turns toward me and leans in—and all at once my senses are bombarded by him.
The blond scruff on his face glistens from the light shining on the porch, making me wonder what it would feel like between my thighs.
That warm, smoky scent that clings to him—like old leather and something with a spicy edge—envelops me.
His T-shirt, soft and worn, rides up as he reaches into the back seat, and I have to forcibly stop myself from running my fingers over that line of hair that trails down his stomach.
He passes me a sweatshirt, and I stare at it a moment before realizing he wants me to take it.
“What are we doing?” I ask.
“I know you weren’t ready to leave Herds,” he says. “So, I thought I’d keep you company out here for a while. Maybe lay in the bed of the truck and watch the stars—for old time’s sake.”
I take in the old farmhouse glowing white under the full moon as I slip into the warmth of his sweatshirt.
Tripp grabs an old quilt from the back and spreads it across the truck bed, then braces his hands on either side of me to give me a boost onto the tailgate.
His touch lasts less than a second, but it sears into my skin.
He climbs up beside me, unbothered by the spring chill.
“Sorry you had to leave early to bring me home,” I murmur, taking a deep drink of the water he’s been pushing at me all the way home.
The good-girl perfectionist in me flushes crimson when I remember the way I’d danced on the bar. But a darker thrill lingers too—the part of me that came alive under all those eyes that drank me in with open hunger.
And then Tripp had swooped in and carried me out like a child who needed chastising. But the look of desire in his eyes when he’d set me in his truck had nearly stolen my breath away. It had been so intense it was nearly tangible, until he’d blinked it away, replacing it with only concern.
Shame winds through me, dowsing the heat of the memory like I’ve been hit with a bucket of ice water. I shouldn’t like being looked at like that, least of all by him.
“I’m sure you’d rather be in someone’s bed than making sure I get home okay,” I say, rolling my eyes. A twinge of something sour twists in my stomach.
Jealousy?
God, was I really jealous over Tripp being in some woman’s bed?
Definitely drunk. If I were sober, I wouldn’t be thinking about how good it might feel to have this cowboy in my bed.
He smiles and shakes his head. “Nah. I don’t do that anymore.”
“Do what?”
“Go home with some girl from a bar.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Well, what do you call this?”
His tongue swipes over his lower lip, and suddenly I’m mesmerized by his mouth as he says, “I call it making sure my best friend’s little sister is safe.”
My heart dips in my chest, and grim disappointment twists my stomach into knots.
To him, all I’ll ever be is Wes’ baby sister.
He bumps his knee into mine. “What were you thinking tonight, Quinnie? I’ve never seen you that drunk. Not even when you went to that party Chase threw in high school.”
“Oh God,” I groan. “I forgot about that party.”
“I didn’t,” he says. “I still remember you calling me at three a.m., begging me to come pick you girls up because you were drunk and neither of them had their licenses yet.”
“You came and saved me that night too.”
How many times over the years had Tripp been there for me when I needed him?
Too many to count.
And I knew that to him, it was nothing. He would be there for just about anyone. He was just that good—good to his core.
“Of course I did,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I wouldn’t have let you drive home with someone drunk. I wouldn’t have let any of you. Y’all are lucky I answered my phone.”
I nod as I look up at the star-filled sky. My feet dangle from his tailgate, and the fresh air sobers me bit by bit.
For as long as I can remember, Tripp’s always been there—a listening ear or a protective presence whenever I needed one.
“That was the first and only party I ever went to in high school,” I say. “I think Pops knew I was hungover the next day, ‘cause he made sure to spend the whole morning fixing something or other. The sound of that saw and hammer still lives in my nightmares.”
He snorts beside me. “So, what? You just wanted to let loose tonight? Is that it?”
“Yes? No? I don’t know.”
Maybe I wanted to let loose, but mostly I just wanted to forget. Forget how small my ex had made me feel. Forget that every part of me that should’ve felt alive with him just—didn’t.
I sigh, my gaze dropping to my lap as everything from the last few months rushes to the surface.
Beau had been perfect on paper—handsome, successful, and ran a thriving vet clinic.
We liked the same things, moved in the same circles.
At first, he’d been attentive, even doting.
But our sex life had been uninspired. And when I’d tried to create more of a spark, I was met with indifference.
I’d started to feel like I was just a pretty thing to have on his arm.
Mom had loved him, of course. He was exactly what she wanted for me—buttoned-up, prim, proper.
He was also a lying, cheating asshole.
And I couldn’t help but wonder what that said about me.
Tripp nudges me with his knee again, and my skin pebbles from the brief contact.
“I think you know better than you’re letting on, Quinnie the Pooh,” he says, voice low.
I roll my eyes at the childhood nickname and give up all pretense.
To hell with it all.
I’ve known Tripp since I was a toddler.
If I were sober, there’s no way I’d be talking to him about this, but with liquid courage in my veins, maybe I can finally satisfy a lingering question that’s haunted me.
“You’ve been with a lot of girls, right?”
He chokes on the water he just sipped, coughing so hard his cheeks are stained red by the time he’s done.
“What?” he croaks out.
“I mean... I’ve heard the stories. You were on the rodeo circuit for years. You were always a bit of a player. I imagine the buckle bunnies gave you plenty of opportunities to sow your wild oats or whatever.”
This time he laughs. “Good God. Have you been taking lessons from Pops on how to say the most inappropriate shit?”
“No,” I mumble. “There’s a point to the question other than embarrassing you.”
He lifts his Stetson up and scratches his head. “I mean, yeah, I used to be that guy. Like I said, I don’t do that anymore. I haven’t been with anyone in... well, a while.”
Hm, we'll put a pin in that last part. It makes me curious, but I’ve got a different question in mind.
“Have you ever been with a woman who couldn’t...” I force myself past the embarrassment heating my cheeks. “You know... Orgasm?”
The way his head immediately snaps in my direction is comical. “Like at all?”
“Like during sex.”
He tips his head in thought, then shrugs. “I think they all left my bed satisfied. Some of them took more effort, but... yeah.” His eyes narrow slightly. “Why?”
I groan and fall back onto the blanket. “This is so embarrassing.”
Tripp grips my arm gently and gives it a little shake. “Don’t be embarrassed, Quinnie. It’s just me. Tell me.”
“I’ve never... how’d you put it?” I swallow hard. “Left a man’s bed satisfied.”
His brows shoot up. “Never?”
I shake my head.
“You’re not a virgin, are you?”
“Ugh. No!” I throw my arms over my face. “This is humiliating.”
I might not be virginal, but I also didn’t have a ton of experience. I’d spent most of my high school and college years with my nose in books, and after that, I worked myself to the bone to become one of the best veterinarians in the state specializing in emergency and critical care.
I’d barely had time to get myself off, let alone teach someone else how to do it.
At thirty-two, no man has ever made me come. And that thought makes me want to cry from sheer frustration.
“Clearly, it’s a me problem,” I mutter. “Since you’ve had such a large sample size and none of them had issues.“
He tugs at my arm again. “Maybe they were just Oscar-worthy actresses,” he says, then flashes me a brilliant smile. “Or maybe I’m just that good.”
He winks, and I groan. “I really should’ve kept my mouth shut.”
Damn tequila.
“How long are you going to give me shit about this?” I ask warily.
He tilts his hand back and forth and screws up his face like he’s thinking hard. “Endlessly,” he promises.
I grimace.
“Until the day you die.”
A low whine escapes my throat.
“Probably will give you shit about it in the afterlife too, if I’m being honest.”
“You’re such an ass.” I smack his chest, but he just laughs. I take a playful swing at him, but he catches my hand midair and laces his fingers through mine.
The sound of his deep chuckle makes my body hum, and I don’t bother pulling away.
“Giving people shit is my love language, Quinnie. You’d best get used to it if you’re sticking around here for long.”
The embarrassment is still sharp in my chest, making me want to curl in on myself. Tears sting the back of my eyes.
Why am I being so weepy?
Oh, right. Tequila.
Damn bitch.
“Quinn?” Tripp pokes me in the side. “Are you crying?”
“No,” I say, sounding like a blubbering mess.
Tripp pulls me to his chest and envelops me in his warmth.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I’m not helping.”
“Yeah, tell me about it.”
He huffs out a small laugh, and I lay my head on his chest, taking in the black sky decorated with thousands of stars that shine brighter than diamonds.