Chapter 4
CHAPTER
FOUR
Charli
Why does he have to smell so good?
Even in my drunkenness, I can see the dangers in what I just did. First off, he flat-out smells yummy, like a slice of the outdoors I want to eat like a cookie. A tree cookie, if you will, but one that tastes like chocolate.
Okay, that makes me giggle.
I don’t know where I was going with this…
“What’s so funny?” Camden asks from the back seat.
“Nothing I can share with you. It’s a girl secret,” I insist, spinning around in my seat as best I can, considering I’m strapped in. My brother’s eyes are a touch glassy, but he’s definitely not nearly as intoxicated as I am.
Quinn climbs in the driver’s seat and starts the truck. “Ready, kids?”
“Try not to wreck and kill us,” I blurt out, even though I know he’s a safe driver.
“I’ll see what I can do,” he deadpans, rolling his eyes.
“You do that, Mr. Uber.” Again, that makes me giggle.
Man, I didn’t realize how funny I am…
“Gonna be a long ride to her place,” Camden mutters, halting my laughter.
Glancing back, I state, “I think we should have a sing-along.”
“No.” My brother narrows his eyes, hoping this’ll be the end of this particular conversation. Unfortunately for him, it will not.
“Q, cue up some Backstreet Boys.” And then I giggle again at my little funny. Q…cue. Get it?
“Umm, sorry, no Backstreet Boys in here,” Quinn informs me without even trying.
I huff out a deep breath and start flipping through satellite radio. “I can’t believe the Backstreet Boys don’t have their own channel. Like Backstreet all the time.”
Quinn cracks the faintest hint of a smile. “That sounds terrible.”
“Thank you!” my brother hollers from the back seat.
“Oh, you zip it.” Then, I start belting out the lyrics to my favorite song. When I glance back and he’s not singing with me, I stop and narrow my eyes. “Why aren’t you singing?”
“Because I’m not four.”
“You loved this song, sang it with me all the time!”
“I. Was. Four.” His words are practically a growl.
Ignoring his negativity, I continue singing, knowing he’ll jump in when I get to the chorus.
That was always his favorite part, and he’d start dancing just like Nick, AJ, Brian, Howie, and Kevin did in the music video.
I start to move, singing at the top of my lungs and pretending I’m a backup dancer on stage.
I fling my arms, whacking Quinn in the side of the head. “Jeez, Charli, watch it,” he says, ducking his head and trying to get away from me.
“Oops!” I stop singing and laugh.
Unfortunately, the sing-along comes to an end because we reach my condo.
It’s a nice two-bedroom, two-bath place not too far from where Quinn lives.
My neighbors own both units, an older couple who moved into town after living in the country most of their married life.
They wanted to be closer to everything and have less yard and house to maintain and rented the other unit to me after they closed.
“Let’s go,” Camden mutters, climbing from the back seat.
“He’s just mad because I outed him for singing the Backstreet Boys when he was little,” I say, suddenly feeling very tired. I close my eyes, unable to keep them open.
“Charli?”
“Hmm?”
I hear Quinn’s gravelly chuckle, followed by a door opening and closing. He starts talking, but I’m having a hard time processing it. I just need sleep.
But then another door is opened and a wave of air slaps me across the face. It feels amazing, and I find myself turning toward the coolness.
“Come on, Charli.” It’s Quinn’s voice and his hands that carefully help me from the front seat.
“I’ll get the front door,” Camden states.
I don’t have to worry about opening my door because he has the code.
The condo has one of those keyless entry pads on both the front and back door, and Collin helped me set them with new codes when I moved in.
He made sure each of my brothers have the code, just as I have a copy of their keys or codes to their doors.
“Can you walk?” Quinn’s question is soft, his breath warm as it brushes across my cheek.
“Yep,” I insist, even if I can’t seem to open my eyes. No way am I going to allow him to carry me inside my home, despite that suddenly sounding like a very good idea.
Forcing my eyes open, I walk with as much confidence and fortitude as I can. Of course, stability is seriously lacking, and I find myself leaning into Quinn a little more than I should. That could also be the fact he smells amazing.
“I’ll grab her some water and pain pills,” Camden says as we breach the threshold.
“I’m not dead, asshole. You don’t have to talk around me.”
“Charli, I’m going to grab you some water and pain pills for your melon,” he sasses.
“Thank you,” I mutter, unable to keep sarcasm out of my voice. Sarcasm is like a second language to me. I speak it fluently and often.
Quinn turns to close the door, and I gently push off him. “I’m good,” I insist, walking to my bedroom, dropping my wristlet on the floor along the way.
That’s not the only thing I remove either. I kick off my shoes, leaving them in the short hallway as I stumble toward my bed. I don’t even care about my nightly bedtime routine. All I want is my bed and about eight hours of uninterrupted sleep.
My first client isn’t until ten, which gives me plenty of time to get up, grab some coffee, and get to the salon where my studio is located. I fall onto my bed, not bothering to remove any of my clothes.
“Here, take this.”
I groan but do as instructed. I know Camden is right, and I need to take something for my head and drink more water, or tomorrow is going to be painful. Once I suck down the pill and half the glass of water, I hand back the glass and ask, “Happy?”
“Yes,” he states with a smile, placing the glass on my bedside table. “Take this one when you get up in the morning.”
“Yes, Mommy,” I mutter, sliding my body beneath the comforter. My sheets are cool and feel amazing, but it still feels like a million degrees.
Tossing off the comforter, I pull my shirt off my head and throw it.
“What the fuck?” Camden barks out.
“I’m hot.”
“Stop stripping,” he demands when I reach for the button on my jeans.
“Get out of my bedroom,” I retort, shimmying out of the denim while still lying on the mattress.
“Jesus, Charli,” Camden mutters, rubbing his head and shielding his eyes. “I’m going to refill her water,” he adds, clearly talking to Quinn as he snatches up the half-full glass and exits the room.
I glance over and see Quinn looking down.
Or at least I think he’s looking down, but to be honest, he might very well be sneaking a peek.
Usually, I’d insist he get the fuck out of the room too, but for some reason completely out of my control, that’s not what I do.
For the first time in my life, the thought of his eyes being on me sends a thrill through my veins.
No, Charli. You do not want Quinn to watch you strip.
The alcohol is clearly affecting my brain.
When I get my jeans off, I toss them on the floor and climb back under the comforter. “Much better.”
“Do you need anything before we go?” Quinn asks, still standing across the room. His posture is rigid, like it was earlier. I can tell something’s wrong.
“What’d you do to your back?” I ask.
He doesn’t reply for a few seconds but eventually looks up and meets my gaze. “Just sore from being bent over all day. I’ll be fine.”
“You should get a massage,” I blurt out.
He cracks a smile, his dark eyes shining with something I can’t dissect. “You told me you’d never touch me with a ten-foot pole.”
I bark out a laugh, remembering that conversation.
It was right after I completed my schooling and was officially licensed in massage therapy.
All my family requested an appointment, Quinn included.
However, I told him no. “I did say that, but if you hurt, I can give you a massage. They help.” I ignore the way my entire body hums to life at the thought of putting my hands on him.
Yep, definitely the booze talking…
He shrugs. “I’ll just make an appointment at that big place over in North Ridge.”
I sit straight up, forgetting about my shirtlessness. The comforter falls, and I don’t miss the way Quinn’s eyes drop to my bra. They divert quickly, a blush crossing his face mixed with guilt. “Stop with the virgin act. It’s the same as my swimsuit.”
He meets my gaze, those brown orbs pulsing with electricity. “I try not to look at you when you’re in a swimsuit.”
“Why?”
He swallows hard and glances to his right as my brother returns to the room. “Jesus, Charli, cover up.”
“It’s the same as a bathing suit,” I argue, flopping back down on the bed and pulling the comforter over my chest. Even though I’m warm, suddenly my nipples are hard, and I really don’t want to think about the reason why.
I exhale. “Cam, Quinn said he was going to make an appointment at the massage studio in North Ridge.”
“So? He’s been going there for years,” my brother states innocently.
“What?” I ask, my eyes shooting daggers at Quinn. “You have?”
He shrugs. “Like I said, you told me no, so I’ve been going to Selena at Massage Paradise.”
“Fuck that,” I grumble. “You’ll be at my studio tomorrow at two.” I know I have four hour-long appointments tomorrow, the last one scheduled at one.
“It’s fine, Charli,” Quinn states, moving toward the door.
“It’s not. If you need a massage, you call me. Not that other place.”
He sighs and shakes his head. “Fine.”
“Fine,” I repeat. I don’t know why I’m so damn annoyed. I did tell him I wouldn’t touch him, but that was mostly because I classified him as the annoying little brother’s best friend at the time.
“We’ll let you get to sleep,” Camden says.
I mumble a reply, but I’m not sure it actually came out as words.
“What time do you want your alarm set for?” he asks, digging my phone out of the pocket of my jeans.
“Eight.”
“I’ll lock up behind us,” Cam adds.
“Thanks for getting me home safe,” I murmur, my eyes suddenly too heavy to open.
“You’re welcome,” Quinn replies softly.