Page 40 of Roommate's Guide to Love

Instead of asking me for her normal order of a beer or vodka tonic, she leans up on the bar, which I’m sure is sticky as hell on a night like tonight, but she doesn’t seem to notice. I raise my eyebrows at her actions, but she only answers me with a curl of her finger, signaling for me to come closer. I reluctantly do, because I know if I’m that close to her, I’m going to be a high school boy and look down her shirt.

God, her tits are perfect.

“You know what I want tonight?”

Her whispered drunk talk makes me laugh. “What’s that?”

“I want chicken wings.”

My hushed laugh is now full body. “You needed to tell me that you want chicken wings as a big secret? Hurricane, how much have you had to drink tonight?”

“Not that much,” she defends. “And plus, I don’t want chicken wings. I want chicken wings.”

Why is she putting a weird emphasis on chicken wings and now wagging her eyebrows? Also, she’s trying to wink, but I don’t think she can. “Okay… The cook’s still here. I can put in an order for you. What flavor do you want?”

Quinn shakes her head and asks someone sitting down on a barstool if they can move so she can climb on it. Just when I think she’s going to climb onto my bar and start dancing, I realize she’s just sitting on her knees, allowing her to get closer to me.

God, she smells good…

“You. The flavor is you.”

She might’ve whispered the word, but even in the loud as fuck bar, I hear it crystal clear.

I pull back a little bit so I can get a good look at her. I need to make sure that's actually what I heard.

“Yeah?”

She nods slowly, and even though she's drunk, I know she has every faculty about her right now.

“Okay then. Chicken wings. I’ll have them ready at closing time.”

I give her a wink that I’ve given plenty of times to women at this bar over my life, only I know this one’s a little different.

Because that came with a smile. A smile that I’m pretty sure only Quinn Banks brings out in me.

That night I rank in the top three of hottest nights of my life. Our first time together was a little more emotional. A little sloppy. We were drunk and sad and just wanted to feel. The hottest was probably a random summer night about four years ago when we couldn’t wait and I fucked her outside the bar.

But the night I’m remembering? I knew when I walked up to my front porch and I saw Quinn sitting on my steps, a devilish grin on her face and her shirt unbuttoned, that it was going to be a good night.

And it was. Holy shit was it ever.

I smile and move to slightly readjust myself when I’m blinded by the light of the bar door swinging open, letting in the piercing sun from the midsummer May day. From where I’m sitting at the corner of the bar, I can’t see who’s walking in. Once my eyes adjust after the door closes, I can tell it’s a slender woman, but that’s about it.

I get up to walk behind the bar and assume my position. As she comes closer, I’m starting to get a better look at her. Long brown hair that’s slightly covering her face. Even if I could see all of her, I’d know she doesn’t live in Rolling Hills. I know every person in this town, and she’s never sat at one of my bar stools. Yet, at the same time, there’s something familiar.

“Welcome in. What can I get ya?” I ask, grabbing a cocktail napkin.

“Hey, big brother.”

Her words shake me. Because the only person who would call me that lives in Indiana, and I still think of as a two-year-old. That’s when I really look at her—and recognize the emerald green eyes she got from my mother.

“Missy?” I blink a few more times, everything now in focus as I stand in front of my estranged half-sister.

“Surprise?”

I can’t even laugh. I’m speechless. I have so many questions sprinting through my head right now I don’t even know where the hell to start.

I’m not lying when I say the last time I saw Missy she was a toddler, which was the last year I saw my mom as part of court-ordered custody visitation. Funny enough, that was the last time I saw Mom, too.

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