Kiss My Boots

  Yeah, I'm fucked. So beyond fucked I can't wait.

  19

  QUINN

  "Fast" by Luke Bryan

  - -

  "Are you sure there isn't anything I can do for this weekend?" I ask Leigh. Her flip-flop-covered feet shuffle across the shop floor as she moves toward the F1 to peer into the open door to watch me work.

  "What are you doing?" she puzzles, watching my hands as they move under the dash.

  "Workin' on the last of the wirin'. Answer me. Do you need help?"

  "No. Nope. No help."

  I sit up and lean back against the seat I installed earlier this week, enjoying the feeling of the soft leather, and study her. She showed up about ten minutes ago looking weird as hell, but remained silent while I finished up the last of the electrical I needed to do before Homer would be officially ready to fire up. With her wedding just a few days away, I wouldn't be surprised if it's just nerves.

  "What is it?"

  Her eyes flit around the room, a gesture I would normally assume means she was keeping something from me, but I have a feeling it's more to make sure there isn't anyone else around to hear her. Well, there goes the chance of this being wedding-related.

  "You've been home all week."

  Confused, I struggle to keep up with her distracting verbal train of thought. "Yeah," I confirm with a frown, having not the slightest clue where this is going.

  "You've been home alone all week," she continues, her eyes getting wonky.

  "No, I haven't. Clay's been there most of the time."

  "God, you're so infuriating sometimes!" she yelps, slapping her hands against her denim-covered thighs.

  "Unless we developed some sort of ability to read each other's minds that I wasn't aware of, you're going to have to do better than that. Spit it out, Leigh! You're makin' no damn sense."

  She pouts--full-out pouts with her lip out and everything. "I can't."

  "You can't what?" I ask sharply.

  "I can't just 'spit it out,' because a certain tall, dark, and handsome cowboy made me swear I wouldn't just 'spit it out' and that I'd let you come to me if you needed anything. But, Q, serious as all get-out, I'm this close to breakin' that promise," she huffs, holding up her fingers to show a tiny gap between them. "I need you to not have me breakin' any promises to the man I'm marryin' this weekend and get a freakin' clue and pick up what I'm puttin' down!"

  A lightbulb flickers on. "Are you tryin' to ask me what's goin' on with Tate and me?" I ask, getting a kick out of her frustration when she stomps her foot and growls at me. "Jesus Jones, Leigh. Calm yourself, girlfriend. You can stop your frettin', because Tate and I are great."

  "You been home alone all week." She repeats her earlier words through her teeth, glaring at me.

  "I sure have." I grin.

  "You didn't have any other plans? Nothing going on since the last time I saw you days ago?"

  "I don't know, Leigh, what other plans could I possibly have durin' the week when I've gotta be at work nice and early?" I hedge, fighting to keep my laughter in check.

  "You're such a pain in the ass," she finally says after a long silence spent blatantly killing me with her eyes.

  "God, you're wound tight." I laugh, tossing the empty water bottle I had sitting next to me inside the cab of the F1. "In an effort to save your sanity and help you remain an honest-ish woman before you get hitched to my brother, I can assure you that everything is fine, perfect even, with Tate and me. We've had dinner together twice since I spent the night at his place Saturday night. We've got plans to get together tonight, too. I've been home alone each night because that's my house, Leigh, and it's pretty damn normal to end up at my house to sleep."

  "Oh." She sighs. "I'm so glad you brought Tate up, Quinn. So, you've only seen him twice since Sunday mornin'?"

  I roll my eyes at her crazy ass. "Yes, Leigh, how smart of me to bring him up so we can have a girl-talk session. I have nothin' else that I should be doin' or anything. Say, you wanna run over to the corner store and get some nail polish and face masks?"

  She ignores my smart-ass comment and forges on. Now that she's in the clear of not breaking any promises to Maverick on a technicality, she's not going to give up. "No more sleepovers at his house or anything? Just dinner?"

  Well, I guess I might as well play this game since it's clear she isn't going to shut the hell up.

  "No more sleepovers, you crazy woman. He's still gettin' to know his way around his new job, I guess is the best way to put it, so he needs his sleep. He went from a busy hospital doin' deliveries and surgeries left and right to small-town lady doctor who's suddenly booked solid with appointments. Even if the actual practice isn't a huge hospital, he's seein' patients constantly, doin' the face-to-vag consultations and stuff." I wave my hand, not really sure how to explain it. He was part of a huge hospital in Georgia, and while he didn't lack patients, the smaller-practice thing is a lot more personal than what he was doing and seems to require quite a bit more time.

  "How is the small practice more exhausting? All he has to do now is make some small talk, fondle some boobies, and fiddle with some crotches."

  "It's a little more demanding than that." I laugh, going to my workbench and grabbing the tools I need to finish this baby up.

  "It doesn't bother you at all? That he's seeing women naked all day?"

  "Why would it?" I ask, genuinely confused by the thought.

  "Uh, I don't know, maybe because of all those boobies he's touchin' and the fondlin' or, more specifically, the fact that he has his hands around and in different vaginas all day."

  "It's not sexual, Leigh! Jeeze, you make it sound like he's off cheatin' on me because his medical specialty happens to be gynecology."

  She crosses her arms over her chest and looks at me sharply.

  "What? It isn't. He's a doctor. Trained to see patients in a clinical manner. He doesn't show up at the office and spend the whole day coming all over himself because there's some lady pockets in his face. It's a doctor's office, not an orgy by appointment."

  "So, you're tellin' me if you were his patient, it wouldn't be sexual?"

  My lips pucker and I huff out a puff of air. "That is completely different and you know it, Leighton James."

  "I'm not sure how it is. Look, I'm not sayin' that he's goin' to work and being some pervert. I'm just worried about you, and you not bein' with him this week had me concerned that you mighta been lookin' for ways to back away. Tryin' to find an excuse not to be with him."

  "Jesus Jones, Leigh, talk about reachin' way up there to find somethin' to worry about in the realm of never-gonna-happen-ville."

  "It wasn't that far of a reach. Most women would be insecure about their man being a gynecologist. It's a completely normal reaction, if you ask me."

  I scoff at the thought. "I'm not most women, Leigh, and that's not a normal reaction in my book."

  "That you aren't," she agrees, some of the worry bleeding from her face as she smiles. "Well, then tell me what is goin' on, then, Q. I'm just worried, you know that. You just got him back and it seemed like you both couldn't get enough of each other when we ran into you Saturday afternoon. How are you able to go almost five whole days without wantin' to be annoyingly joined at the hip with him?"

  "You make it sound like we've been avoidin' each other," I protest. "Honestly, Leigh, he's busy with patients and paperwork all day. I've been busy finishin' up Homer. We're not actively lookin' for reasons to stay apart. The exact opposite. We've had dinner a few nights, sent texts back and forth all day, each day, in between, and he even came over to the ranch last night to watch a movie--somethin' I'm sure you didn't find out in all that detective work you've clearly been doin', because Clay wasn't home to know about that one."

  "Five days, Q," she stresses.

  "Didn't you hear? Distance makes the heart grow fonder," I deadpan.

  "Oh, shut up with that shit. All you two have had is distance, and now you're tellin' me you want mo
re to grow fonder of each other? You really wadin' in the thick shit now."

  I snicker softly.

  "We were thinkin' about going to a movie or somethin' tonight. Dependin' on how we feel after workin', though, it might just be a meal again. Tomorrow he'll be with me for family dinner, and he'll be at the weddin' on Saturday. I'm figurin' since you decided on gettin' married at ten in the mornin' we might have that sleepover you seem to be so concerned about tomorrow night. But if you really want to know why we've not been eatin', sleepin', and breathin' each other, I'll let you in on a little secret."

  Her eyes light up and she claps her hands, bouncing on her stupid flip-flops.

  "We have a little bet goin' on." I smirk, thinking about how close he had been to begging for it last night while we made out on the couch like teenagers. I still can't believe he pulled away right when things were about to get interesting.

  "A bet?" Leigh asks, turning her head to the side to squint at me. I'm sure her mind is running a mile a minute trying to figure out what I could possibly mean.

  "A bet," I confirm. "I'm not even sure how it came up, to be honest, but all I know is he said somethin' that challenged me, and you know I can't back down when someone throws a dare my way."

  "Oh, shit. He's so doomed." She giggles.

  "Without a doubt."

  "Well, don't leave me hangin'. What's the bet?"

  I wish I could see my expression, because whatever is showing on my face must be clue enough that I'm up to no good, because Leigh's eyes widen instantly.

  "That he'll be on his knees beggin' for me before I'll be the one to beg him."

  "You didn't," she gasps.

  "Oh, I did."

  "You're crazy," she says on a choked laugh. "Certifiable without a doubt."

  "Probably. Lord knows if he can make my body sing from a kiss alone, he's going to stop my heart when he finally fucks me."

  Her lip curls up and she groans. "Sometimes I wonder if you're really a girl."

  "Would you rather I say 'make love'?" I ask in a girly-as-hell singsong voice.

  She nods. "Seein' as that's what it'll be, yeah. Plus, it sounds so impersonal and meaningless when you say he'll fuck you."

  I full-out belly-laugh at that. "Oh, I meant to say it just like that, Leigh. Not because it's meaningless or impersonal. It's been nine years since that man has been inside me. A long damn time, and while we might not have remained celibate over the years apart, we haven't had each other, and that makes all the difference in the world. It wouldn't matter if we had been with someone else months, days, or even minutes before. When we finally get that, us connectin' in the most intimate and vulnerable of ways, it's goin' to be so beyond 'makin' love.' It's gonna be hard, messy, loud, and probably a little painful--in the yummy way. You don't get your second chance with your forever often, and there's no way it won't start with a frenzied, desperation-fueled boom to it."

  She fans herself. "Jesus, Q. That was uncomfortable hot to think about."

  "Consider it payback for all those times you talked about my brother's little dude," I jest, pointing to my crotch while wagging my brows.

  The hand waving air into her face stops and she gives me a wink. "Ginormous. And beautiful. Don't mix up the adjectives when talkin' about that work of art."

  "Maybe we should sign you up for boundaries classes with Jana."

  "Whatever." She giggles. "Now, enough about your brother's sexy manhood. I've got an idea. Actually a damn good one, if I do say so myself."

  "I'm not sure I want to know what your mind is hatchin'," I say warily.

  "Oh, trust me, you do."

  I walk to the passenger side of Homer and open the door, waving toward the cab with a dramatic bow. "Well then, step into my office and tell me about this grand plan of yours."

  - -

  This is the most insanely brilliant thing I've ever done.

  I'm actually shocked as hell that Leigh thought of it before I did. Hell, I probably would have thought of it five days ago when I made Tate take me home after spending the night, but in my defense, I had been trying to talk myself out of forcing him to take me right then and there in the kitchen.

  But this--this is insane.

  Pure lunacy.

  And I'm so turned on right now I'm pretty sure all it would take is me walking the wrong way, my jeans rubbing against my slick and needy sex, and boom, I would be crying out just like that.

  Maybe this isn't a good idea, but Jesus Jones, how much longer am I supposed to deprive him of my pleasure? I laugh at my joke, the noise echoing around Ness's cab, and I jump in my seat.

  Okay, so I'm a tad nervous.

  It isn't like he's a stranger that I've never slept with before and that I'm not sure wants me. I know he wants me. It isn't even close to the quick hookups I've had over the years--the ones I was ashamed of when they made me feel like my mama. None of that is why I'm a nervous bundle of uncertainty--regardless of the plan being pretty awesome.

  It doesn't matter to me how long he's been back or even how long we've officially been together. None of that bullshit about not feeling the same now that we're adults is even in the realm of possibilities, and honestly, it never was.

  All it took was one day with him and I felt all that time vanish. Sure, we'll still have moments in the future where we're faced with reminders of what we missed being apart, but that's so tiny and inconsequential in relation to the bigger picture. We've got the rest of our damn lives to discover everything we missed, and at this point, I don't want to waste a second more. Those breakthrough moments when each of us discovers something about the other person that was new in the last nine years will just be a bonus in our crazy roller-coaster romance. We'll make new memories while uncovering the old.

  Who wants perfect? Not me. I want real.

  I need this. He needs this. We need this.

  With every second that passes, the hole inside me comes closer to being full, so much so that if I jumped, I might slosh some of its contents over the edges. It's as simple as that. He's given that to me and I hope I've given him the same. Call it crazy, but when you hold that sort of connection with anyone, it will never matter how much time you're apart: your subconscious is automatically ready for you to pick up the pieces and begin your journey together again. It's as simple as that.

  "You got this, Quinn," I tell my reflection in the rearview mirror. "You so have this. You march in there and make him end this stupid bet. Then you can both enjoy the prize."

  I nod and pull my long hair from the bun I had it twisted in, thankful that it looks like purposeful waves that are meant to be there and not a crinkly mess from being up on top of my head since seven this morning.

  The second my boots hit the ground, a renewed burst of nervous bubbles starts fizzing in my gut. I ignore them, shut the door, and give Ness a pat on the side panel before walking toward the front door of the old house Fisher Ford turned his office into.

  Gladys is the only one in the front waiting room, her gray head sticking up over the front-desk check-in area. She flashes me a weathered smile. Given that it's so close to business hours ending, I'm not shocked that there isn't another person waiting to be seen.

  "Howdy, Quinn!" she calls with a wave. "What brings you in, sweetheart?"

  "Hey, Ms. Gladys." I walk over to the little window cut into the wall and tell myself to stick to the plan. "I was wonderin' if you could get me in today. I know it's late and all, but I'm not sure I can go another night with this pain when I use the potty. It hurts mighty bad when I move around, too."

  If it wasn't for the fact that she's been working this same job for as long as the practice has been open, I'm pretty sure she wouldn't have been able to catch the shock that flashes over her face as quickly as she does. There one minute, gone before you could blink. Hell, I probably would have missed it, but I'm in hyperaware mode right now.

  "Uh, let me see what I can do," she answers, looking down at the old-fashioned appointment book in fron
t of her. "Dr. Lyons is still here and hasn't had a patient for an hour now. I'm sure he could fit you in before he leaves."

  I'm shaking my head before she finishes and she looks up with a frown. "It has to be Tate. I mean Dr. Montgomery."

  This time she fails to hide her shock. Doesn't even try to. "Quinn, honey," she whispers, looking behind her when someone enters the front-desk area.

  "Hey Claire," I greet, smiling sweetly at the receptionist.

  "Hey Quinn." She's so meek and shy that I almost don't hear her. "Ms. Gladys, I'm gonna head home now," she tells the older woman, still looking at me sheepishly.

  "Sure, sweet girl. I hope that headache gets better."

  Claire nods, barely, and grabs her purse from a cabinet next to what I assume is her desk.

  Gladys waits for Claire to leave before addressing me again. "Quinn, honey," she says hesitantly, "I know it isn't my business, but don't you think Dr. Lyons would be a better option?"

  I shake my head. "Nothin' against him, Ms. Gladys, but I only want Dr. Montgomery."

  "But--" She stops and checks the area around us again, lowering her voice even further as she resumes speaking. "But Quinn, honey, you don't really want him dealin' with your . . . issues, do you? It's no secret y'all are datin'. I heard about the other night at the diner when y'all were just sittin' there neckin' the whole time, not payin' any mind to your dinner once. Do you want your new beau to know your intimate details?"

  I bite my cheek so that I don't burst out laughing and ruin this whole thing. No way I'm getting this far and having it all go to hell because I can't keep a straight face.

  I lean toward the older woman. "Ms. Gladys, can you keep a secret?"

  This time she doesn't look shocked. Nope, not Ms. Gladys, best friend to self-appointed town busybody Marybeth Perkins. Her face sparks with excitement and she nods instantly.

  "Well, between us girls and all, I figured it should be him fixin' me up since he's most likely the reason it hurts so much . . . down there. That man." I make a dramatic show of whistling and rolling my eyes in bliss. "Well, bein' the fine doctor for ladies that he is, you would think he'd know how to entertain one without bruisin' her . . ." I pause, lean in even closer, and whisper, "Deep inside, if you know what I mean."