Chapter 28 Gettin’ Dirty
Gettin' Dirty
Quinn
Casanova
I never got to return the favor. It’s been too long since I’ve gotten to taste you.
Too bad Pops is right down the hall. I think he’d notice you in my room.
He never noticed all those other times I climbed in through your bedroom window...
Getting a little old to be climbing in bedroom windows, don’t you think?
Not if it means I get to watch you come.
I’ll see you in the morning, Casanova.
I’ve been up since five. I made Pops an egg-white omelet and listened to him complain about the “rabbit food” I put in it like he’s never eaten a vegetable in his life. He’s not usually so surly, but he hates needing help.
He’s a terrible patient. I’d rather deal with the screeching howls of a Husky than listen to Pops bark at me for hovering.
So, I’m thankful I can get outside and give him a little space while Tripp and I work on the new enclosure for Winston. I fill two travel mugs with coffee and add cream and sugar to both as I go over the to-do list in my head.
I’m out on the porch the moment I hear the rattle of the gravel under tires. Tripp climbs out of his truck with an affable grin. “Hey, Quinnie. You ready to get dirty?”
My eyes go wide, and I whip my head around, checking to make sure nobody is close by. “What are you doing?” I hiss. “Someone might hear you.”
“Easy. I’m talkin’ about getting this damn enclosure built. It’s gonna be a bitch in all this mud.”
“Oh.” I bite my bottom lip and offer him the coffee I made as reparation. “Right.”
He eyes me, wrapping his hand around the travel mug. “A little on edge this morning, are we?” he asks, dimples popping.
His lips curl over the rim of the mug, and I shouldn’t still be thinking about that kiss in the barn—or how we almost got caught. Or what I did to him in the bedroom while everyone else was right downstairs, the sounds I pulled from him, the way I made him feel as good as he made me feel.
And I’d love to say I’m not still thinking about his text from last night, but it’s been playing on a loop in my head ever since I read it. After hours of thinking about all the different ways this man could make me come, I’m a restless, horny mess when my mind should be on the task at hand.
I am the queen of compartmentalization. I should be able to tell him that no, of course I’m not on edge. I’m perfectly fine, thank you very much. Cool as a cucumber.
But I can’t shake the way he lights me up and makes me feel wanted—like I’m more than just Wes’ little sister to him now. Like I matter.
My brain trips over itself as I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. How does he make something as innocuous as drinking coffee look sexy?
He arches a brow.
“Not on edge,” I lie.
I’m hovering right on the peak ever since yesterday, a breath away from falling.
He calls me on my bullshit. “Liar.”
I pretend my hair needs refixing—taking it down and putting it back up exactly as I had it.
“I realized something last night,” I finally say.
Tripp shifts his weight, eyes narrowing slightly as his smile fades.
“What’s that?” he asks.
I take a drink of my coffee, glancing back at the yard we’re supposed to be building an enclosure in. The thought’s been weighing on me, a niggling worry at the back of my mind.
“It won’t be me Wes is mad at if he finds out. It’ll be you.”
The air between us stills, heavy and weighted.
Tripp’s eyes settle on mine, a softness lingering in his gaze as his voice cuts through the quiet. “Yeah. I figured that out before I kissed you the first time.”
I open my mouth to tell him how crazy it is—how maybe he shouldn’t jeopardize his friendship over something fleeting. But he cuts me off before I can say a word.
“I wouldn’t change a damn thing though. You’re worth it.”
I study his face. He looks so sure. So certain. Like he has no doubt that he wants this—that he wants me.
It jumbles everything in my brain, all my carefully organized compartments spilling their contents. The words I want to say are scrambled, and I’m stuck wondering if this is just physical or if our past is so tangled up in the present that emotions are bound to get involved.
I want to believe I can keep it simple. That I can keep him simple. Just sex. Just a phase. Just something to get out of my system.
But I’m kidding myself if I think anything about Tripp has ever stayed in a neat little box.
“Should we get to work?” he asks, interrupting my internal battle.
I nod, my body still buzzing.
“Yeah,” I say, trying to sound normal. “Let’s build this thing.”
We dig into the mud, sliding in the muck as we put together an enclosure fit for pot-bellied pig royalty.
I bend over, propping the hog panel onto the post we’ve already set. Hand outstretched, I wait for Tripp to pass me the screw gun. When nothing lands in my palm, I give a little shake to get his attention.
Still empty.
I glance back—and catch him openly checking me out.
“You gonna help or stare at my ass all day?”
He gives me a cocky grin. “I’m perfectly capable of doing both.”
I look pointedly at my waiting hand. “Are you? ‘Cause I’ve been waiting for that screw gun, and you still haven’t handed it to me.”
He continues to stare while reaching for the screw gun where it rests on the post next to him. I kick into the puddle by my feet, splattering a bit of mud on his jeans.
“Hey!” He jumps backward, a grin tugging on his lips. “What the hell?”
“Better pay attention or you might end up getting dirtier than you anticipated.”
“Aw, honey, you know I like getting dirty. I wouldn’t wanna leave you out, though.” He digs his hand into the mud and lobs it at my feet, splashing muddy water onto my jeans. “I know you like to get dirty too.”
I gasp, “Tripp!” Cold seeps through the denim, and I glare at his smug smile.
That smile only lasts as long as it takes me to scoop up some thick slop and retaliate, nailing him in the chest.
He cocks his head to the side. “Oh, it’s on.”
My eyes go wide as he reaches for me, and I take off, boots sliding through the muck.
He shadows me, and I dodge out of his reach. “Is this what you meant when you put ‘make it dirty’ on your list, Quinnie?”
A grin splits my face. “Not exactly what I had in mind, but I’m not opposed.” I toss another mud ball in his direction, but he ducks out of the way.
“Christ,” he mutters.
I sprint past the line of apple trees in full blossom. Mud flies at me, finding its mark on my lower back.
I spin around, ready to throw again, but he’s already closing in—mud-slick and grinning like the devil.
My breath catches. I try to dart away, but I’m too slow.
He lunges for me, and I squeal when his hand clamps around my waist. And then his foot slips and we both go down in the mud laughing, flushed and breathless.
Tripp’s body is pressed on top of mine, but he’s holding his weight off me, his forearms planted by my head.
Cold hits my skin as the mud seeps into the material of my shirt. Our laughter dies, and I’m held—suspended in this moment as our eyes lock.
His chest rises and falls, but he doesn’t say a word. Just stares as he gently lifts his hand, swiping a streak of mud with his thumb.
His lips find mine, and he kisses me. Slow and deliberate.
I can feel the hard press of him against my thigh, and my breath hitches in my throat. My body floods with arousal as muddy hands slide over the bare skin of my stomach, up my ribs, and push their way under my shirt.
"God, you're perfect, honey."
My chest tightens with something warm and traitorous, something I’ve been trying not to name.
"We can't," I gasp. He pulls back, his eyes wide and searching.
This moment feels loaded. It’s too much after spending years pretending these feelings didn’t exist. I promised that this would be casual, but with the way he’s looking at me now.
.. I’m milliseconds from tumbling headfirst into something I swore I’d never let myself feel for him.
And that would mean risking something I’m not sure either of us is ready to risk—not only his friendship with Wes but my friendship with him as well.
I turn my head, slamming the door on the jumble of old and new feelings threatening to spill over, and swallow past the dryness in my throat.
“We can’t do this here.”
Tripp may think I’m worth it, but I’m definitely not. And as turned on as I am right now—I’m not willing to risk the fallout when I know the one who will suffer Wes’ wrath will be Tripp, and Tripp alone.
He pushes up onto his knees with a quiet chuckle. “Then stop undressing me with your eyes.”
He gets up, and the loss of his warmth is like a missing limb. I ache from its disappearance, shivering as the adrenaline from the chase dissipates—the cold water and mud seeping through my T-shirt to my skin.
“Go shower and get warmed up. I can finish on my own.”
I quirk a brow and my lips twitch. “What if I wanted to help you finish?”
I can’t help it. I turn into a hormonal teenager around him, finding double entendres in everything he says.
He barks out a laugh and gives me a playful swat on my butt. “Get your ass inside and warm up, trouble—before I take you up on that offer right here and now.”
My smile widens as relief floods through me. I know how to handle this playful side of Tripp. This is the side I’m used to seeing. It’s the earnest, tender Tripp I have a hard time keeping my heart in check for.