They looked at each other and then Mick’s hands went from the tile to her hips, his fingers spread wide, his thumbs brushing beneath the hem of her shirt to graze along her bare skin.
“I want peace on earth and to end world hunger,” she said, biting back a moan as his mouth settled at the crook of her neck. “I want my job to be more mine, not my parents’—I want—” She broke off to gasp when he nibbled his way along her collarbone and slid one of his denim-clad thighs between hers.
“What else?” he murmured against her skin.
“Um . . .” She struggled to breathe, much less think. “I want Tilly safe and happy, and I want her to like me—although I’m pretty sure that’s a pipe dream.” She clutched his shoulders, digging her fingers into him. “But what I really want is for you to take off your shirt so I can lick you like a lollipop.”
Instead he pulled off her shirt. She got his shoved up and he had one hand inside her bra and another in her panties when her phone rang.
They both stilled.
She dropped her forehead to his chest, so hot and bothered she wanted to cry. “It might be important.”
“I know.” He pulled free and handed over her phone. “It’s Tilly.”
“You picking me up or what?” the teen asked.
“From where?” Quinn asked. “Aren’t you right next door at Chuck’s?”
“On Sundays I work half a day at the hospital reading to old people. I’m done now and it’s too hot to walk home.”
Quinn sighed and watched Mick pull his shirt back on. “I’ll be right there.” She disconnected and met Mick’s gaze. “I feel like I should call my mom and apologize for ever being a teenager.”
His eyes smiled, but his mouth remained serious as it brushed a kiss over hers. It was a really great kiss, but unlike the ones before it, it wasn’t going anywhere.
“You’ve got this, Quinn,” he said.
She appreciated the faith and could only hope he was even half right. She turned to the door, but he caught her. “I’m sorry but I’ve really got to—”
“Your shirt,” he said and dropped it over her head, laughing at her.
“Gah!” She pulled her shirt back into place and wished she could screw her head into place as well.
Chapter 22
When kids scream in public, I always want to say you have no real problems, it should be ME screaming . . .
—from “The Mixed-Up Files of Tilly Adams’s Journal”
Tilly walked out of the hospital and stopped short at the sight of Quinn right up front, waiting for her at the entrance. Great. Yeah, she’d called for a ride, but suddenly she wished she hadn’t. “Anyone ever tell you that teenagers don’t like to be picked up where anyone can see?” she asked when she got into the Lexus. “It makes us not cool.”
Quinn’s brows went up. “I can pretend not to like you, if that helps.”
“Or you could just not talk to me. Can I drive?”
“Thought we weren’t talking,” Quinn said dryly.
Huh. Her sister was a smart-ass too. Guess they did have something in common after all. “I’d make an exception if you let me drive home,” she said hopefully.
“Do I look like I just fell off a turnip truck?” Quinn asked.
“No, but you talk like you did.”
Quinn pulled off an impressive eye roll. “Do you have a learner’s permit?”
“Yes,” Tilly said.
“That’s a lie.”
“How can you tell?”
Quinn smiled. “Practice. You’re pretty good, but I’m better.”
Tilly sighed. “You’re going over the speed limit.”
“Am not.”
“Are too,” Tilly said. “On this stretch of road, cattle and other livestock get loose sometimes. The county lowered the speed limit because people kept hitting cows and totaling their vehicles.”
Quinn gaped at her. “Cows can total a car?”
“Well, duh.”
“That’s ridiculous, they’re huge. How do people not see them from a mile away and steer accordingly?”
Tilly shrugged.
Quinn shook her head and let off the gas pedal a little bit but not quickly enough, because like clockwork, a cow ambled into the middle of the road right in front of them.
Quinn slammed on the brakes, which had them executing one perfect spin, directly into . . .
A mailbox.
“Omigod,” Quinn gasped when the car shuddered to a sudden halt. “Are you okay?”
Tilly looked down at herself. “I think so.” Craning her neck, she took in the back of the car, from which the mailbox proudly protruded. “But I think you just gave your car a colonoscopy without anesthesia.”
Thirty minutes later, Quinn had talked to the owner of the property and promised to replace the mailbox, and they were back on the road, none the worse for wear.
With the exception of the very large, mailbox-size dent in the back bumper.
“So,” Tilly said casually. “People can see a cow from a mile away and steer accordingly?”
Quinn moaned. “I don’t suppose you could forget that happened?”
“I don’t suppose,” Tilly said, suddenly feeling almost downright cheerful for a change.
TEN MINUTES LATER, they pulled up to the house and Tilly’s momentary happiness faded behind a block of nerves and anxiety. “So what’s the plan here?”
“The plan is our trial period.” Quinn glanced over at her. “Don’t panic on me, it’s just temporary.”
Tilly had no idea why that set her off so badly. Wait, yes, she did know. It was because she wanted Quinn to want her, dammit. “So you’ve said.”
“I was just reiterating,” Quinn said.
Yes, well, she’d reiterated it enough and Tilly had gotten the message, thank you very much. It was only temporary. It was just a trial period. She got it loud and clear—Quinn needed an out clause.
Tilly’s entire life was an out clause. “What happens if it doesn’t work out?” she asked.
Quinn looked at her again. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
“But what if it does?” she pressed, needing to know. What if Quinn decided she was too much trouble, like when a puppy became more annoying than cute? Would she get rid of Tilly? Ship her off? Because she was tired of being an extra. Unwanted. A mouth to feed.
Quinn turned off her fancy-ass car and turned to Tilly. “You know,” she said. “You may decide you don’t like me. Maybe you’ll think I’m a pain in the ass. It goes both ways, Tilly.”
This surprised Tilly into momentary silence. “I already don’t like you and think you’re a pain in the ass,” she finally said.
Quinn let out a low laugh. “Shock.”
Their gazes met and Quinn snorted, and Tilly thought the sound so ridiculous that she snorted too, and just like that they were united in ridiculousness. But Tilly sobered quickly enough. She intended to stand firm on her Not-Liking-Quinn stance, but something was eating at her.
“What?” Quinn asked.
“I need to apologize to you about something,” Tilly admitted, not happy about it but her mom had drummed in the point of basic kindness.
“For what, letting me catch all the chickens by myself?” Quinn asked. “For laughing at my underwear when I was in the throes of anaphylactic shock? For putting it out there on Instagram that I almost burned down the café? For—”