Chapter 36 Go Eat a Dick
Go Eat a Dick
Quinn
Tripp leans against the kitchen counter like he owns the place, and I try not to get too distracted by the way his biceps flex under his tattoos as I rattle off instructions to Wes.
Pops huffs and puffs about not needing a babysitter, but I know better.
He still needs help getting up and down the stairs.
And after the comment he made about the Little Debbie cakes, I don’t trust him on his own.
I busy myself sliding the green beans into the oven, determined to ignore the way Tripp’s presence fills the kitchen. But I can feel the weight of his hungry gaze as it trails down my body until I swear I’m going to melt into a puddle on the floor.
The second I’m convinced the boys have it under control, I wave goodbye and slip out the door. I can’t get out of there fast enough. Being around Tripp when my brother’s in the room is like trying to navigate a land mine of heated glances and brushes of contact that linger a little too long.
Less than ten minutes later, I pull into the gravel lot outside Herds, already itching to unwind with Sawyer and Allie.
I spot Sawyer first, in her usual graphic tee and jeans, waving me toward one of the last high-top tables.
Herds is packed—it always is on Friday nights in a dinky town with nothing better to do.
My boots stick to the grime on the floor as I weave through the crowd. A few curious glances snag on me, and my cheeks heat at the memory of the last time I was here. I won’t be getting up on that bar again.
Allie intercepts me halfway, balancing three shot glasses. “I got the first round,” she says with a grin, setting them on the table.
“That doesn’t look like whiskey,” Sawyer complains, eyeing the drinks suspiciously.
Allie wrinkles her nose. “You know how I feel about shooting straight whiskey.”
Sawyer makes a show of rolling her eyes, so her best friend can clock her annoyance.
“What is it?” I ask, already playing peacemaker like I always used to when it was the three of us.
“Red-headed slut. In honor of this one,” Allie says, jabbing her thumb at Sawyer, whose red braid is draped over her shoulder.
“Hey, now!” Sawyer laughs and elbows Allie in the ribs.
I smile, but the moment sours quickly when I spot a group of women by the bar—the same girls who always tried to make my summers here miserable. A sense of unease worms its way through me, transforming me into the shy, nerdy girl who always felt a little like she didn’t belong anywhere.
I snag my shot from the edge of the table, and down it in one gulp.
Sawyer and Allie look at me, wide-eyed.
“Well, I was gonna suggest we toast to a girls’ night, but I guess we’re just shooting ‘em tonight,” Sawyer says.
I wince as the Jaggermeister goes down, the taste of cranberry juice tart on my tongue.
“Sorry,” I mutter.
“Don’t be,” Sawyer reassures. “I can’t imagine living with Pops has been pleasant. I’m just grateful I’m not the one having to deal with him 24/7.”
I shake my head and laugh. “It’s been a challenge, but getting a night off should help me not want to slaughter him.”
Sawyer snorts. “Good.”
“Do you have any big plans after he’s fully recovered?“ Allie asks, eyes lighting up with curiosity.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell them about my job offer, but if I tell them, then Tripp’s bound to find out one way or another. And I’m not ready for him to know yet. That would make it feel too real.
“No big plans,” I say instead. “I’m not sure where I’ll be yet.”
There. That sounded okay, and it wasn’t exactly a lie.
One of the younger servers stops by to clear the empty shot glasses. She looks like she’s in her early twenties with blond hair and a smile as big as Texas. She's vaguely familiar, and I realize belatedly she’s the girl who was dancing with Tripp when I decided to get up on top of the bar.
“Get these two girls a couple of Jolly Rancher shots and me a water, would ya?” Sawyer asks.
“Sure thing! Nice to see ya back, Quinn,” she says.
My cheeks warm, and I force a polite smile as she walks off with our empty shot glasses. I might never live down my Coyote Ugly moment.
“That’s Lilah Hart,” Allie tells me. “You probably don’t remember her. She’s quite a bit younger than us.”
“She’s like Little Miss Sunshine,” Sawyer adds, like that’s a bad thing.
I screw up my face, trying to remember why that last name is familiar. “Is she related to Wyatt?”
Allie nods.
“I helped him in 4-H that one summer when I was sixteen. He was eight and needed to work on his ring presence.“
Sawyer snorts. “And then he told everyone he was going to marry you!”
“I forgot about that," I say, laughter bubbling past my lips.
“I think I saw him here tonight somewhere,” Allie says, glancing around.
“Oh God,” I mumble as Lilah drops the shots and water off at our table and quickly slips off to the next one.
Allie waves someone over, and I down my shot, fighting the urge to sink down in my seat as a man struts in from another table. Dirty blond hair, average height, jeans and a western shirt—the unofficial Friday night uniform around here.
“Allie, how’s your night?” he asks.
“Hey, Wyatt. We were just talking about the summer Quinn helped you out with your showmanship in 4-H. Do you remember?”
Allie’s smirk is devious, and Sawyer stays uncharacteristically quiet, taking measured sips from her ice water.
Wyatt’s gaze falls on me, and his cheeks go a deep shade of red. “Of course. Hard to forget when you profess your undying love to a woman only to have her laugh in your face.”
“I did not laugh in your face,” I protest.
“There was a distinct giggle.”
“You were eight. I thought it was sweet.”
He gives a self-deprecating chuckle. “Yeah, well, I have always had a thing for older women.”
Sawyer coughs like she just inhaled her water instead of swallowing it. I flush pink as his eyes linger a touch too long on mine.
“I think I need another drink,” I say quickly.
“What’re you drinking? I’ll get it for you.”
“Oh, um, thanks. Tequila and tonic.”
“You've got it.” He flashes a sheepish smile and heads for the bar.
The second he’s gone, I elbow Allie in the ribs. “What are you doing?”
She grins at me—utterly unrepentant. “I thought the boy toy might be a little fun while you’re in town.”
I open my mouth to argue, then snap it shut—swallowing the retort about not needing any help in that department. Allie definitely doesn’t need to know that her brother’s been keeping me plied with regular orgasms for the past couple of weeks.
“I don’t think Wyatt’s interested.”
“Right. And Linda Andreasen isn’t the biggest gossip in town,” Sawyer says, tone dripping with sarcasm.
“You look hot as hell tonight, Quinn. Every man in the bar has been checking you out since you walked through the door.”
“Here you are, my lady,” Wyatt says, sliding the drink toward me with a bow.
Sawyer’s eyes roll. “Christ, Wyatt.”
“Smooth,” Allie jokes.
I bite back my smile, not wanting to embarrass him more, but he just shakes his head at them and plops down in the chair next to me.
“So, what have you been up to the past—” he glances up at the ceiling like he’s calculating—“decade or so?”
I take a deep pull from my glass before I answer. “Working as a veterinarian in Rapid City.”
“Can’t say I’m surprised. You always did have a way with the animals.”
I clear my throat, uncomfortable at the way he’s looking at me and suddenly wishing Tripp were here. I miss the steadiness of his presence and the warmth of his hand on my thigh.
Wyatt launches into a story about working at his family’s ranch, one that’s bigger than Dawson Ranch in both acres and head of cattle.
I half-listen, sipping my drink and nodding at the right moments.
Sawyer and Allie are deep in their own quiet conversation, leaving me on my own with Wyatt in a way that feels purposeful.
Wyatt’s arm lands on the back of my chair as he talks, and my stomach curls in on itself.
It feels wrong to be sitting here with Wyatt when the man I’ve been sneaking around with is nowhere to be found.
It feels like I’m cheating, even though we never set specific parameters for what’s happening between us.
I shift in discomfort and am two seconds from lurching from my chair and excusing myself when a too-sweet voice cuts through whatever Wyatt is saying.
“Excuse me,” Tish Winters says, stepping up to the table with Britney and Mandy flanking her like cronies.
She’s still blonde. Still smug. Still has that permanent mean-girl smile etched onto her face.
At thirty-two, I shouldn’t care what they say or think about me. And yet my insecurities are already filtering to the surface.
“Quinn,” she croons, “I can’t believe you showed your face here again after that little show you put on a few weeks ago on top of the bar.”
Wyatt shifts uncomfortably beside me. Allie gives me a questioning look, but Sawyer’s lip curls as she stabs her straw into her drink.
I grit my teeth. Heat creeps up my neck, shame prickling under my skin, but I meet her gaze, not letting it show. If they weren’t going to let it go, I might as well own it.
“Guess I should be flattered you’re still thinking about that,” I say lightly. “My little show must have left quite the impression.”
“Go eat a dick, Tish. Your jealousy is showing,” Sawyer says flatly.
Tish laughs, her smile turning a little more feral. “Jealous? Of a skank so desperate for attention she dances on a bar? Tripp had to carry her out of here because she was so drunk.”
I will myself not to flinch as Allie’s brows shoot up. Clearly, she hadn’t heard about that part.
Sawyer’s glass hits the table with a muted thunk.
“You’re pathetic,” Sawyer bites out. “So bored with your little life—two kids and a husband that can’t get it up for you anymore—that you have to make everyone else miserable.”
Each word hits Tish like a slap. I have no idea how Sawyer does that, but I could learn a few things from her.
Tish bristles, but Allie leans in, tone bright and her eyes gleaming with venom.
“It’s almost like you never got over the fact that Quinn wiped the floor with you at every 4-H event that mattered—trail class, showmanship, horsemanship—and she only came here for summers.” She grins. “I think it’s time you let it go. She’s just better than you, Tish.”
I smirk, some small amount of pride reemerging at the mention of my ability to always show her up in the arena.
Tish’s face goes red.
“Walk away, Tish,” Sawyer warns, her voice all steel. “Before I lose my patience and throw this drink in your face.”
Tish opens her mouth, thinks better of it, and finally turns on her heel, dragging her sidekicks with her.
I exhale slowly as they walk away, pulse still racing. “Remind me to buy you both a drink,” I tell Sawyer and Allie. “And maybe a medal.”
“Well, that was... something,” Wyatt says awkwardly.
I wince. Somehow, I’d completely forgotten he was still sitting there.
“Don’t let them get to you,” Allie says. “They’ve always been jealous.”
“I don’t know why,” I murmur, resting my chin on my hand as I take a deep pull of my drink.
Sawyer gestures at me with her straw. “Because you’re smarter, hotter, and you’re a natural in the saddle.”
Wyatt nods in agreement. “Everyone knows they’re bitter with nothing better to do. Just ignore them.”
I give him a small smile.
“You wanna dance?” he asks, jumping at the opening. “It’ll take your mind off the miserable bitches.”
I glance around, searching for a lifeline—a reason to say no—but I’m out of luck.
Sawyer and Allie are smiling and nodding, their eyes all soft and hazy like they’ve set up the sweetest couple they’ve ever seen.
And they have no reason to think otherwise.
I’m not about to tell them I’ve had an entirely different cowboy on my mind all night.
After an uncomfortably long silence, I finally answer. “Sure. Let’s dance.”
Wyatt perks up and hops down from the stool, offering me his hand. I take it and let him lead me to the dance floor.
A slow country song croons from the speakers, and he pulls me close. I try to let go of what just happened at the table, but I can’t quite shake the shot to my newfound confidence.
“Hey.” Wyatt dips his head, trying to meet my far-off gaze.
“Sorry. Did you say something?”
My thoughts are already back at Dawson Ranch with Tripp—probably still laughing with Wes and Pops, not thinking twice about me. The thought shouldn’t sting, but it does.
Wyatt winces at my question, but he’s not easily deterred. “I was asking when the clinic expects you back.”
“Oh. They don’t. I sort of quit without notice before coming here.”
“Huh. Well, I’m sure you won’t have a hard time finding something else when you’re ready.”
I really don’t want to talk about work. If I do, I’ll start thinking about the job offer, about all the reasons I should take it—and the one reason I don’t want to. And I am not going there tonight.
“So,” I say quickly, “how many head of cattle did you say you have on your ranch?”
Wyatt has no issue talking about his ranch until the music changes to something faster paced. And then we’re too busy keeping up with the steps to talk. I smile and keep dancing. I don’t want Tish and her minions to think her words affected me.
He spins me and I stumble, the alcohol making me a little wobbly on my feet. He laughs, and I do too, but it feels hollow. If it were Tripp dancing with me right now, I might actually be having fun instead of just pretending.
It’s nothing against Wyatt. He’s nice. A gentleman. But tonight, the only man’s hands I want are Tripp’s.
I’m about to excuse myself, so I can get some air when a familiar voice cuts through the sound of the music. “Can I cut in?”
Wyatt glances at me. Whatever look is on my face must give away my complete and utter relief because he steps aside without hesitation.
“Sure,” Wyatt says.
“Thanks for the dance, Wyatt,” I say, offering a soft smile.
He tips his hat in response, a resigned expression on his face.
I glance back at Tripp. His gaze is fixed on me. Eyes dark. Nostrils flaring. Jaw ticking.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen whatever this version of Tripp is. But God help me, I want him like this. Dark and growly and possessive.
His hand settles on my hip, and he pulls me tight against him—much closer than Wyatt was holding me. His body moves, and I instinctively follow, finally feeling steady and grounded in a way I haven’t felt all night.