Chapter 15
Mi Casa
Quinn
The earthy scent of manure seeps through my car windows, but it hardly fazes me anymore.
As a veterinarian, I’ve smelled worse. I’ve never been squeamish, and being in frilly dresses never kept me from getting covered in all kinds of unpleasant things while tagging along with Wes and Tripp at Dawson Ranch—to my mother’s dismay.
Being a girly girl and getting my hands dirty were never mutually exclusive.
My car kicks up dirt as my GPS directs me to turn onto another gravel road. My body aches from a full day in the saddle, and I can’t wait to climb into the soothing heat of the hot tub.
The idea of being alone with him sends a sudden flutter of anticipation through me. My mind keeps circling back to the conversation we had last night.
I was tired of being constantly disappointed in my relationships, of my needs and desires being brushed aside, or even laughed at.
I wanted more. I wanted to try everything, like a kid eyeing every dessert on the table.
But more than that, I wanted to try it all with someone I trusted to take care of me.
And Tripp? He was exactly the kind of man who could help me taste-test every single one of my fantasies.
Some people might worry about keeping things casual with someone they have a history with, but I’m an expert at compartmentalizing. It’s how I can operate on my favorite patients, deliver bad news with compassion, and still work beside my cheating asshole of an ex these last several months.
I pull up the long driveway toward a house that looks like a giant luxury cabin—rugged and impressive.
The house is built from rich-colored wood.
It looks warm and inviting with a huge oak tree in the front and a serviceberry tree in full bloom.
The smell of the sweet blossoms permeates the air as my car comes to a stop, drowning out every other scent.
“Wow,” I whisper, impressed despite myself.
Gravel crunches under my shoes as I step out of the car, my stomach twisting with nerves.
I still don’t know how I’m supposed to convince Tripp to add a few benefits to this friendship.
I was almost certain there was something there—an attraction, a current of tension crackling through every interaction since I’ve been back.
I just didn’t know how to take all that charged energy and give it life.
I had no plan. And I absolutely hate not having a plan.
I ring the doorbell and let out a shaky exhale, trying to dispel the anxiety winding its way through me. I shouldn’t be nervous. Tripp and I have known each other for most of our lives.
He might tease, but he would never openly mock me for asking for something I want. He’s only ever been protective and caring with me.
When he still hasn’t answered, I pound on the door, wondering if he’s still in the shower and didn’t hear me. My lower back aches, my thighs are sore, and I would love nothing more than to sink into that hot tub and not get out until morning.
Tired of waiting, I push open the large wooden door. Thank God it's not locked. I desperately need to sit somewhere that isn’t a damn saddle.
My heart lifts when the door opens into a huge foyer with high ceilings that span across the first floor. I gaze around the open living room, my breath catching in my throat as I take it all in.
Wood paneling gives the space a honeyed glow you never get from the sterile white and gray of city apartments. It feels lived-in and inviting, a stark contrast to the cold minimalism of the place I used to share with Beau.
The kitchen opens into the living room, separated by a massive island topped with tan marble. Rich wood cabinetry gives the space a cozy, grounded warmth. It looks like something straight out of Yellowstone. I’m rendered speechless.
This wasn’t what I’d expected from Tripp. I’d imagined a typical bachelor pad—something small and cluttered, maybe with dingy carpet and peeling paint. Not an expanse of pristine wood and floor-to-ceiling windows framing the rolling sandhills like a goddamn painting.
Through the glass, I finally spot him—shirtless on the deck.
The sinewy muscles on his back flex as he removes the cover from the hot tub.
Dark tattoos snake across his sun-kissed skin, and I’m suddenly struck with the urge to trace every line with my fingertips, to memorize every mark that’s been inked onto his skin.
I sink onto a stool at the kitchen island, watching him, totally unashamed.
It’s been over a decade since I’ve been lucky enough to see this man without a shirt.
And damn—these years have been kind to Tripp Matthews.
He’s rugged and cut in all the right places, and when he turns around and spots me through the glass, his surprise is plain.
He slides the door open. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“I hope you don’t mind—I let myself in when you didn’t answer the door.”
“Mi casa es su casa,” he says with a grin.
I glance around the space again. “It’s beautiful.”
“You like it?” Tripp asks, a cocky grin making his dimples pop.
“What’s not to like?”
He shrugs. “I wanted to build something that felt like home, that felt like me. And home will always be the sandhills.” He gestures out of the wall of windows toward the view.
“Well, you nailed it. It’s totally you.”
His cheeks go a faint shade of pink, and he clears his throat. “Is frozen pizza okay? I’m not much of a cook.”
“That’s perfect,” I reassure him. “I’m the one barging in to use your hot tub, remember?”
He snorts. “You can come sit in the hot tub any time you want, Quinnie. I’m sure the view will be payment enough.” He winks at me.
Heat creeps into my cheeks, and that electric crackle of energy tingles up my spine.
I know I shouldn’t take his flirting too seriously.
I don’t call the man Casanova for nothing, but I can feel the weight of his stare.
And God help me, I want his eyes on me tonight.
I want him close enough to touch, to ease this knot of tension tightening low in my stomach.
“You’re coming in the hot tub with me, right?”
His gaze sweeps over me, lingering a beat too long at the hem of my T-shirt dress where it ends, high on my thigh. Then he clears his throat and shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Might catch the end of the game,” he says, reluctance clear in his voice.
Disappointment twists in my chest, and my shoulders fall.
He groans. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Look at me all wounded—like you care whether or not I’m out there with you.”
“Maybe I like your company,” I say softly. “I want to enjoy it before I have to go back to Pops’ empty house.”
The truth is, I’m not great with free time. I was eager to have Pops back home so I could pour myself into taking care of him instead of moping around the ranch, trying to distract myself from my lack of job or love life.
Right now, I have nowhere to put all this restless energy.
He quirks a brow at me. “Alright, alright. I’ll keep you company.”
I smile at him, something warm settling in my chest as a plan finally takes form.
He didn’t say yes to what I asked him last night, and God knows I don’t want to come out and ask him again.
Not in words anyway.
But maybe I don’t need words to show him exactly what I want.