17. Seventeen
Seventeen
Quinn
“Someone’s excited,” I laugh as Jasmine bounces in my arms, her tiny hands clapping at every plane that passes overhead. We’re standing on the private tarmac of JAX, waiting for the Wild’s jet to land, and my stomach is doing its own kind of nervous dance.
“She’s not the only one,” Lacey teases beside me, her diamond engagement ring catching the Florida sunlight. “You’ve been checking your phone every thirty seconds.”
I shoot her a look but can’t deny it. After a week of nothing but FaceTime calls and texts, I’m practically vibrating with anticipation. “Says the movie star who’s been pacing for the last twenty minutes.”
“Hey, I freely admit I’m desperate to see my fiancé.” Lacey’s smile is genuine, reminding me again why I adore having her as a client. Despite being Hollywood’s current darling, she’s refreshingly real. “Though I think if Jasmine could walk, she’d beat us both to them when that plane lands.”
As if on cue, Jasmine lets out an excited squeal, pointing at an approaching jet. Grace steps closer, adjusting the baby’s sun hat. “That’s daddy’s plane, sweet girl.”
My heart kicks up a notch as the jet taxis toward us. This past week has been confusing. Every call, every text from Vince has left me more uncertain about where we stand. The way he looks at me through the screen, how his voice softens when we talk late at night—it feels like more than just friendship, more than our professional relationship.
But this is Vince Savage we’re talking about. Rock god, notorious playboy, my client. And now, somehow, one of my closest friends.
“Here we go,” Lacey murmurs as the jet’s door opens.
Nate appears first, his usually stoic expression breaking into a rare smile when he spots Lacey. She’s moving before I can blink, practically launching herself into his arms. It’s still strange seeing the band’s most reserved member so openly affectionate, but love looks good on them both.
The rest of the band follows, each heading toward waiting cars. But I barely notice them because there he is—Vince, guitar case slung over one shoulder, looking somehow better than I remembered in worn jeans and a black t-shirt that hugs every muscle.
Jasmine spots him at the same moment, her whole body wiggling with excitement as she reaches for him.
His face lights up, and something in my chest clenches at the pure joy in his expression. He drops his guitar case, crossing the distance between us in long strides.
“There’s my baby girl,” he says, but his eyes meet mine first, intense and full of something I’m afraid to name. Then he’s taking Jasmine from my arms, pressing kisses to her cheeks as she giggles and grabs at his face.
The transformation still amazes me—how naturally he’s taken to fatherhood, how completely this tiny person seems to have changed him. A few months ago, he was the band’s wild child, the one most likely to make headlines for outrageous behavior. Now he’s...
He pulls me into a one-armed hug, Jasmine between us, and my thoughts scatter. He smells like leather and something uniquely him, and I have to stop myself from burying my face in his neck.
“Missed you,” he murmurs so quietly I almost think I imagined it.
Before I can respond, Grace clears her throat. “Welcome home, Mr. Vince. Should I take Jasmine while you sort out your luggage?”
“Actually,” Vince shifts Jasmine to his hip, “take the rest of the day off, Grace. Hell, take tomorrow off, too. I’ve got some catching up to do.”
“Thank you,” Grace asks with a knowing look in my direction that makes me blush.
Vince’s arm is still around my waist, his thumb tracing small circles against my hip. “Thanks for being here to welcome me home, Quinn,” he says, his voice rough.
And God help me, the way he says my name makes me want things I absolutely shouldn’t.
“Of course.” I step back, trying to create some professional distance, but Jasmine has other ideas. She reaches for me with one chubby hand while keeping her other fist wrapped firmly in Vince’s t-shirt.
“Looks like someone doesn’t want to let either of us go,” Vince says, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “What do you say, Red? Want to come back to the house? I was thinking of grilling something for dinner.”
My heart does a little flip at the casual domesticity of his invitation. “I should probably get back to work—“
“Please?” The way he’s looking at me makes it hard to think straight. “I know for a fact your schedule’s clear. I might have checked your online schedule.”
Of course, he did. “Planning ahead, Vince?”
“Maybe.” His grin is unrepentant. “Is it working?”
Before I can answer, Lacey appears at my elbow. “Quinn, have fun at dinner. Just remember Vince is always looking for his future ex-wife.”
I raise an eyebrow at her as Vince grimaces and turns a little red. “And you think that will make me want to accept his invite?”
“Not really.” She winks at Vince. “Just giving Vince a little payback for past remarks.” She turns and gestures to Jasmine, who’s now contentedly playing with Vince’s chain necklace. “But on second thought, watching him with Jasmine. How can you say no to that?”
“That’s fighting dirty, Lacey,” I laugh, but she’s right. Between Jasmine’s sweet face and Vince’s hopeful expression, I’m already wavering.
“She learned from the best,” Nate says with a smug smile at Vince, clearly amused at watching the entire exchange. Nate then wraps a loving arm around Lacey, and they head towards her waiting car. “Have fun, you three,” he calls back over his shoulder.
I watch them go, suddenly aware that we’re nearly alone on the tarmac—just me, Vince, and Jasmine—like a little family.
The thought sends a shiver of both longing and fear through me. This is dangerous thinking. I’m getting too comfortable, letting myself imagine things that can’t happen. Vince might be different now and might be an amazing father, but that doesn’t mean he’s ready for anything more.
“Quinn?” His voice pulls me back. “You still with me?”
I meet his gaze and find him watching me intently like he’s trying to read my thoughts. “Yeah,” I say softly. “I’m with you.”
The smile he gives me makes my knees weak. “Good. Because I’ve got plans for us tonight.”
And there goes my heart again, racing ahead of my common sense, hoping his plans might match the ones I’ve been trying not to dream about.
The afternoon unfolds with an easy rhythm. While Jasmine naps, I help Vince unpack, trying not to notice how domestic it feels, watching him put away his clothes and organize his things as he tells me details about his trip. When she wakes, we head out to the deck overlooking the ocean. The salt breeze carries away the lingering Florida heat as Vince fires up the grill.
He’s set up Jasmine’s swing where she can watch him cook, and her delighted giggles mix with the sound of waves crashing below. I can’t help but marvel at how different he is now—the way he naturally shifts between checking the steaks and making silly faces at his daughter, how he seems completely content in this role of father and home chef.
“She’s really missed you,” I say, watching him lift Jasmine from the swing to dance her around the deck.
“Just her?” His eyes meet mine over Jasmine’s head, and my breath catches at the intensity there.
Before I can answer, Jasmine’s hand knocks over his drink; the tension breaks into laughter as he scrambles to catch it before it spills.
While the steaks rest, Vince moves around his kitchen with surprising grace, preparing a salad while Jasmine watches from her perch in my arms. I find myself mesmerized by the play of muscles in his arms as he chops vegetables and the confident way he handles the knife.
“You’re staring,” he says without looking up, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.
“Just surprised you know your way around a kitchen.”
He grins. “I’m full of surprises, Quinn.” The way he says my name sends shivers down my spine.
We eat on the deck, the setting sun painting the ocean in gold and pink. The steaks are perfect, but it’s the easy conversation, the way Jasmine babbles happily between us, the whole scene that makes my heart ache with want. This feels right. Too right.
After dinner, we give Jasmine her bath together. She’s clearly exhausted from all the excitement, barely making it through her bedtime story before her eyes start to close.
“Sweet dreams, Jazzy girl,” Vince whispers, kissing her forehead. The tenderness in his voice makes my heart ache.
We stand there for a moment, watching her sleep, and I realize I’m going to have to leave soon. The thought feels wrong somehow like I’m supposed to be here.
“Wine?” Vince asks as we head downstairs. “I’ve got that red you like.”
I should say no. Should make my excuses and leave before this perfect day becomes something complicated. But...
“Sure,” I hear myself say. “One glass.”
He smiles, and I know I’m in trouble.
We settle into the lounge chairs on the deck. The ocean breeze feels good against my already heated skin. Vince hands me a glass of wine, his fingers brushing mine deliberately. The contact sends electricity through my body, and I take a quick sip to steady myself.
“Thank you,” he says, his voice suddenly low and serious. “For being here, for helping with Jasmine. For...” He runs a hand through his hair, a familiar sign of his uncertainty. “For seeing me, I guess. The real me.”
The vulnerability in his voice makes my heart flutter. “You’re a good father. You’re amazing with her.”
“Thanks.” He shifts closer, and I catch the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with the salty air. “You help make it easy.”
“Vince—“
“Quinn.” His hand finds mine, thumb tracing circles on my palm. “These past months, I can’t stop thinking about you. About—us.”
My pulse races as he leans in, his intention clear in the darkening of his eyes. I should stop this. I should remind him of all the reasons this is a bad idea. But then his lips brush mine, soft and questioning, and every rational thought dissolves.
The kiss deepens, his hand tangling in my hair as he pulls me closer. I’m drowning in sensation, in the taste of wine on his tongue, in the solid warmth of his body against mine—
A sharp cry from the baby monitor jerks us apart.
We stare at each other, both breathing hard. Reality crashes back in as Jasmine’s cries grow louder.
“I should check on her,” Vince says, his voice rough.
“And I should go.” I stand quickly, gathering my purse.
“Quinn, wait—“
“This was a mistake, Vince.”
“It wasn’t.” He catches my wrist. “Look, I’ve been thinking about this—about us—for weeks. Hell, I haven’t even looked at another woman in almost two months—let alone... Hell, this is the longest I’ve ever—“
I jerk my hand away, his words hitting like a slap. “Wow. Two whole months? What a sacrifice.”
“That’s not what I meant—“
“Really? Because it sounds like you think you deserve a medal for not hooking up with random women.” The hurt transforms into anger. “Am I supposed to be impressed that you managed to control yourself for a few weeks?”
“Quinn—“
“Or maybe you’re just looking for a convenient way to end your dry spell?” The words taste bitter. “Sorry, but I’m not interested in helping you scratch an itch.”
His face darkens. “That’s not fair. You know me better than that.”
“Do I? Because the Vince I thought I knew wouldn’t brag about his celibacy like it makes him some kind of hero.”
Jasmine’s cries grow more insistent.
“Go take care of your daughter,” I say, already heading for the door. “I’m leaving.”
“Quinn, please—“
But I’m already gone, tears burning my eyes as I practically run to my car. Because the worst part isn’t his arrogant assumption or the casual way he treated his restraint like some grand gesture.
The worst part is that I almost fell for it. Almost let myself believe this could be more than what it is—a rockstar looking for his next conquest.
And I refuse to be just another notch on Vince Savage’s bedpost. Besides, reformed bad-boy rockstars couldn’t be satisfied with just one woman—especially an ordinary girl like me.