Page 136 of Love Me Fierce

“Is he sensitive about his age? You should mail order Viagra samples to him.”

“I don’t think he’s sensitive to anything. The guy is unflappable.” Viagra might be worth a try though.

“Don’t give up.”

We talk about our night ahead and rest of her visit. Quinn and I met in flight attendant training and were lucky enough to work a lot of the same routes afterwards, making us even closer. We both put inseveral years servicing the small towns of the intermountain west, moving up to the bigger routes like Japan and Mexico. She’s always down for an adventure and is rock solid in a crisis, whether it’s turbulence, a pervy passenger who thinks all flight attendants want to join the mile high club, or a broken heart.

“We have time for a margarita before the show, right?” Quinn asks.

“Or two,” I say with a giggle.

We swim to the shore and wade through the sandy shallows. The air has that alpine bite I love, even as it turns my skin to gooseflesh.

“Brr,” Quinn says, wrapping her arms around her chest. “Is it always this cold?”

“You get used to it.” I reach for my towel just as the back door of my neighbor’s house opens and a tall, broad-shouldered man in a faded charcoal gray tee and worn work jeans steps out, his baseball hat turned backwards.

He must hear us, because his jaw tenses and the second his gaze finds mine, he narrows his eyes.

Quinn makes a mild choking sound that I hope to god he can’t hear.

“Hey there!” Quinn calls.

“What are you doing?” I grit out while wrapping my towel around me.

“Just being friendly,” she says under her breath while smiling at my neighbor. She loops her arm through mine and starts leading us toward the stairway that leads to my neighbor’s deck.

“Q,” I warn.

“Let’s just say hi. So I can picture this guy when you call me to complain.”

“I’m Quinn,” Quinn says at the top of the stairs. She extends her hand, then realizes it’s wet, and rubs it against her towel, then tries again. “Meg’s friend. I’m visiting for a few days.”

He gives Quinn’s hand a wary glance, then gives it a quick pump.The motion pulls the cuff of his t-shirt back, revealing the bottom edge of his tattoo. “Linden.”

Quinn’s eyes twinkle with curiosity. “Like the president?”

Linden’s face stays completely unchanged, like we’re boring him. “No.”

I look away from his t-shirt stretched across his broad chest. “THAT’S” is printed above a faded bunch of giant yellow bananas. He has a whole collection like it with funny or mildly outrageous sayings. It hints that the wearer actually has a sense of humor, which I know to be false. Maybe Greta buys them for him.

Quinn scans the half-finished deck project and behind him, to the house, then up to the top of the A. “You do all your own carpentry, huh?”

“I do it better than any carpenter.” His dark eyes take on an edge of mischief, like he’s daring me to object.

I could, but I don’t. Instead, I cross my arms.

“Well, you’re getting my deck wet.” He gives a quick glance to where a puddle of lake water has gathered around my feet, then back up to my eyes. “So unless there’s something I can do for you....”

He arches a silky dark brow.

With a huff, I spin on my heel.

“Nice to meet you!” Quinn calls over her shoulder while scrambling after me.

We’re barely inside my house when Quinn’s mouth drops open and her eyes go wild. “Are you fucking kidding me?” She points in the direction of my neighbor. “Why are you not getting some of that?”

I roll my eyes. “Some of what?”

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