Page 63 of Fragile

“I’ll drag you there,” she says way too sweetly.

“Savage.”

“Listen, I might be smaller than you, but I’m getting you to that food bank today. We can’t go home this year since my parents are taking a lame cruise, which means we’re not having my mom’s amazing cooking.” She frowns, pushing out that plump bottom lip of hers that gets me every single time. “So, I need to do something to help. That includes you.”

“You’re wound too tight today.” I push back the covers so I can take all of her in properly. Her hands firmly planted on her hips digging into the soft skin there as she stares down at me with a quirked eyebrow. “I can help unwind you.”

The way her eyes take in every inch of my body, eyes drifting over each tattoo, the roses, trailing seductively down the vines over my chest, and settling on the compass on the left, makes me think she wants something more, but I don’t push. “What would help me is if you get out of bed yourself, and I don’t break my back trying to do it for you.”

I exhale in defeat. We both know as soon as she gave me the pout, I was in. “Fine.” Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I try to adjust my morning wood, but it’s harder to do that when my version of a wet dream is standing and giving me orders at the ass crack of dawn. “I’m up.”Quite literally.

Her green eyes darken the longer she stares at me, and when her tongue peeks out to wet her bottom lip, I almost lose it. “Oh,” she says as her gaze lands on the tent in my boxers. “I can go.”

“Leaving is the exact opposite of what I want you to do right now, especially when you look so fucking hot.”

Quinn lights up like a beacon. “Hot? Me?” She brushes her hands down her perfect, softly curved body before beaming at me. “Thanks.”

Standing up, I stretch my body out and watch her take in every inch of me, and I’m not ashamed. I work hard for my body, andI like having her eyes on me. “Yes, Queenie. You.” I lower my arms, palming my dick over my boxers to relieve some of the pressure. “If you hadn’t barged in here, I would’ve been thinking about you while I took care of this,” I growl.

Her throat bobs as she swallows, and then the sweetest little gasp leaves her lips as our eyes lock. “Y-you think about me?”

Fuck. This girl.

“Yeah,” I reply gruffly as I step toward her. “I think about the noises you made that night in the hallway when you were coming all over my leg. I think about those perfectly soft lips wrapping around me and taking everything I give you. I think about having you underneath me, on top of me, all over me, because now I can’t see or think about anyone else but you.”

Her breath leaves her mouth on a stuttered exhale, and I wonder if I’ve pushed too far. But as soon as she flicks those green depths to me, they’re swirling with intrigue. “Anyone but me?” she whispers, licking her lips.

“Anyone but you, Queenie,” I confirm and I hold her stare for a beat to make sure she knows I’m serious. And then it takes all my self-control to get dressed and not think about undressing her this morning.

***

Driving through the narrow, winding streets of Cedar Lakes, our small college town slowly gives way to more spread-out residential areas near the lakes. Quinn hums along to the radio, her fingers tapping a rhythm on the dashboard. I steal glances at her as I drive my pickup, her red hair, tied loosely with a pink bow today, the loose strands catching the light in a way that makes her look like some kind of angel. And fuck, have I ever thought about a girl like that?

“It’s just up there,” Quinn says, pointing to a building that reads:Cedar Lakes Food Bank. I pull into the gravel parking lot and shut off the engine. Quinn gives me a quick smile before hopping out of the car. I follow suit, feeling the crunch of gravel under my boots as we head toward the entrance.

“Luna should be inside,” Quinn says as she pushes open the door. The smell of fresh bread and spices immediately hits me, a comforting scent that reminds me of home. Not mine, but the Dawson’s home and her mom’s cooking. God, I miss her cooking.

As we step inside, a woman with dark purple hair pulled back in a braid leaps out from behind the counter. “Quinn! It's so good to see you!”

She embraces Quinn, and when they let go, she turns to me. “Luna, this is my friend, Miles,” Quinn says, and there’s that word again.Friend. Damn, why does that bother me? “Miles, this is Luna. She's the heart and soul of this place.”

I extend my hand, and Luna shakes it firmly. “Nice to meet you, Miles. Any friend of Quinn's is a friend of mine.” She looks between the two of us, and then directs her attention to me. “Think you can help haul some food out of the truck? We’ve got a big delivery today.”

“Absolutely,” I reply with a smile. Quinn gives me an encouraging nod as I follow Luna to the back door, where a large truck is parked. The driver opens the back, revealing stacks of boxes filled with non-perishable foods and fresh produce.

“Just start with these,” Luna says, pointing to the closest stack. “If you put them near the entrance, the cooks can unload them. I’ll be back in fifteen. Thanks, Miles!” she says as she wanders back inside.

By the time the truck is empty, my shirt is sticking to my back, and my arms feel like they're made of lead. Luna didn’t make it back, so I decide to go in search of my girl. Walking into themain room, the AC hits washes over me, chilling the sweat on my body. Around me, tables are being set up, each one lined with neatly organized rows of canned goods, bread, and fresh vegetables. It’s a well-oiled machine, everyone knowing exactly what to do and where to go.

“Okay, doors open in ten minutes,” Luna announces from across the room. “Remember, first round is for food collection, and then in two hours, the second round begins for the soup drive.”

I take a moment to catch my breath, wiping the sweat from my forehead, just as I spot Quinn stacking cans on one of the tables, her movements quick and efficient. Walking toward her, I drop my head to her ear and whisper, “There are two rounds?”

She jumps as I brush my hand down her arm. “Oh my god! Make more noise!” Caught off guard, she knocks a can of soup from the table, but I dart out to catch it before it hits the floor.

“Caught it,” I say, passing it back to her. “Sorry, I like making you squeal, though.”

Quinn folds her lips inward, hiding her smile, and just before I can reach over to release her pink lips, the front doors swing open, taking our attention. A few people start to trickle in, the first wave of the many who rely on the food bank.

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