Kiss My Boots (Coming Home #2)

“Right.” He gurgles with suppressed laughter. “See ya in a bit, Quinn.”

He disconnects the call before I have a chance to say anything else, and I replay our conversation. The second I realize I just invited him over, I freak. I didn’t exactly plan this out thinking we would have this conversation face-to-face, but sure enough, that’s how it came out to him. Now I need to hike up my britches and deal with it, because I no longer have the phone to hide behind.

“Holy shit, I’m gonna freak the hell out,” I groan, then do exactly that.

- -

Seventeen minutes later, after a panic session involving four more Pop-Tarts and a hell of a lot of pacing back and forth, I see him pull into the lot. I had moved to the front reception slash waiting-room area after I managed to stop yelling at myself and waving my arms in the air, figuring it would be better to have somewhere we could sit down, but then rethought my strategy. I’ve basically done nothing but pace since I walked up here and saw the only option is a leather love seat. I really need to replace those stupid single chairs I made Tank toss because they made this place look like a thrift store.

A sharp knock against the front glass makes me jump, scream, and spin around—stupid sugar high.

“I’m so screwed,” I groan, shuffling on my booted feet to the door to unlock it and let him in. My inner voice screaming the same thing, only with a whole different meaning.

“Hey, Grease,” he greets in a low, smooth voice—one that doesn’t sound any less sensual off the phone.

“I’m screwed,” I scream aloud. “Totally and completely screwed!” Then, because I’m clearly two seconds away from losing it, I start pacing, incoherent gibberish that I’m powerless to stop spewing from my lips. I look over my shoulder at him, only to feel my brows knit and my eyes narrow, my mind picking up right where it left off, only now the gibberish is coming out more like I’m speaking in tongues.

“Whoa,” he calls out, grabbing my shoulders softly, halting me mid-stomp. “What’s goin’ through your mind, Quinn?” His eyes search my face as he tries to understand what’s going on, and his thumbs rub soothing circles against the exposed skin.

Note to self: Wear tank tops whenever he’s within touching distance.

“You scare me more than a rattlesnake about to strike,” I whisper. “Right down to my marrow, Tate Montgomery.”

His face softens and his eyes spark knowingly. He knows that by admitting that, I’ve all but signed myself over to him. Wholly and completely.

“You’ve got nothin’ to worry about when it comes to me, darlin’.”

“I think . . .” I take a deep breath. “I think that might take me some time to realize.”

“Well, aren’t you in luck? Seems I’ve recently found myself with nothin’ but time.”

I close my eyes and drop my forehead to his chest, the rapid beating of his heart hitting me the second I make contact, and I realize he’s feeling this a whole lot more than his calm demeanor is letting on. For whatever reason, the knowledge that he’s as deeply affected by this as I am washes over me like an instant dose of calm.

“Wanna see Homer?”

“Who?”

I laugh as I pull my head off his chest, the ice broken just like that. The second our eyes connect, my laughter stalls in my throat and I give him the truth of my heart.

“I’ve missed you.” I reach up, pushing some wavy hair that had fallen over his forehead toward his temple. “If I didn’t feel each one of those years you’ve been gone in my bones, I would think not a day’s gone by since you were last here, this lazy man’s hair fallin’ into your eyes.”

“It’s supposed to make me look rugged yet sexy,” he says keeping a straight face for a beat before his lips twitch. “I missed you too, darlin’, more than I could ever explain.”

I nod, feeling the air starting to shake around me with our vulnerable admissions. Not wanting to break down like a baby, I grab his hand and take him to meet Homer.

Hopefully that’ll give me some time to get my mind straight and tell the man that broke my heart in two once in my life already that I’m giving him the power to do it again.

Jesus Jones.





12


QUINN


“Like I’m Gonna Lose You” by Meghan Trainor

- -

“Whoa.”

I smile when I hear it. The pure reaction of shock and wonder that I just knew Homer would incite from people. He’s that perfect.

“Yeah,” I breathe, lost in the trance that is Homer. “He should be ready soon. I finished up the interior wirin’ earlier today; I’ll install the rest of the interior finishes tomorrow, get the windows installed, and then I’ll move on to the bed. I’ve got the most beautiful deep mahogany wood for it that will set off the red in the paint.”

“You got all this done already?”

I turn to face him when I hear the disbelief in his voice, feeling the pride I take in my work inflating my ego. “Yup,” I say, popping the p. “I kinda know my way around F1’s,” I smirk, and then point over my shoulder at my girl. “I’ve been tinkerin’ with Bertha for about a year now. Took me a while because it was a side project I did in any extra time I had around the custom projects I had come in. Or I would take weeks off at a time because she’s a cranky bitch that gave me a whole lot more frustrations than Homer did.”

Tate whistles under his breath, looking from Bertha to Homer. He repeats the process a few times before settling those mesmerizing eyes on me. “Homer and Bertha?”

“It isn’t nice to put your hands under someone’s hood if you aren’t at least on a first-name basis.”

“Of course it isn’t,” he agrees, lips twitching.

“Homer’s an expensive date, you know,” I joke.

“I don’t doubt that, Grease. Worth every fuckin’ penny.”

“As much as I hate havin’ this talk here at the shop, I’m not sure I trust myself goin’ anywhere else. For one thing, Clay’s at home, I’m sure, and I would rather delay any chat he may want to have with you until I have a better understandin’ of what’s happenin’ here. And to be completely honest, I know if we took things to your place I’m not sure you could resist this,” I tell him, waving my hand down my body, in hopes of keeping things lighthearted, but I know instantly that my joke had the wrong impression on him. His eyes darken and his nostrils flare as he burns a path of awareness down my body. “So anyway, here at the shop is our only option.” I rush the words out, wanting nothing more than to press my thighs together to attempt to ease the ache building between them.

“Here’s got potential,” he murmurs, patting the shiny hood of Homer before advancing.

“Hey now, snap outta it!” My hand meets his chest when he’s just a few feet in front of me. My fingers curl, the soft material of his black button-down shirt rasping against my skin. Shit, did I just purr?