Page 81 of Seven Lost Summers
He straight-up pulls me into him, arms wrapping around me. His chest collides with mine and my entire body short-circuits. I have a full-blown internal meltdown while outwardly pretending I’m totally chill and not currently soaking through my underwear.
He smells unreal. Spice, leather, and something warm that screams bad decisions and orgasmic regret. His fingers press into the small of my back, holding me in place as if he has no intention of letting go. I want to bury my face in his shirt and stay there.
Keep it together, Quinn. It’s only a hug.
A normal, friendly, platonic fucking hug. Nothing more. But my body clearly didn’t get the memo. Heat crashes through me, pulse racing as if I’ve gone headfirst into Nate Reynolds. And for a second—one single fucking second—I let myself lean into it, sink into the solid weight of him.
He steps back, that smug smirk tugging at his lips as his hands fall casually to his sides, as if he didn’t leave me one breath away from moaning in a goddamn airport.
I’m still trying to reboot my brain when Theo moves in.
“C’mon, Quinn,” he says, voice low and full of that teasing warmth I remember far too well. “Where’s my hug?”
And fuck… if Nate was heat, Theo is fire.
He pulls me close, one arm slung low around my waist, the other pressing against me as if he’s testing how many laws of personal space he can break before I pass out. His body is solid, all lean muscle and unfair heat, and his scent is nothing like Nate’s. Darker. Heavier. Cedar and sin. The kind of cologne that clings to your clothes and haunts your pillows for a week.
My hands press against his chest, not to push him away, but more a “please God, don’t let me melt into a horny puddle right here” movement.
For a second, I forget how to speak, because Theo’s grip is a little too tight to be innocent.
I clear my throat, loudly, as if that will reset the hormones or something. After that, I step back before I end up dry humping him in front of everyone here at the airport.
Theo only grins, eyes dragging over me in a slow, filthy way that says he knows exactly what he’s doing.
I want to slap him, but knowing my luck, that might only make me hornier.
“You speechless?” Theo smirks, too pleased with himself.
I finally manage to speak. “You wish.”
He laughs, all teeth and trouble, and takes my camera bag without asking before slinging his arm around my shoulders.
The sudden weight of his arm catches me off guard. His warmth seeps into my skin, and my brain decides to stop working entirely. I tell myself to pull away. Instead, I stand there, stiff as hell, pretending I don’t notice his thumb brushing the edge of my shoulder.
God help me, I am in so much fucking trouble.
Before I can process what’s happening, Nate grabs my suitcase, fingers curling around the handle as he starts to wheel it forward. He barely makes it two steps before stopping, his brows pulling together as he takes it in properly.
“Jesus, Q. This thing’s being held together by pure willpower.”
I sigh. “Yeah, well, half my shit did a full runway lap on the conveyor belt. I’m pretty sure my panties were the headliners.”
Theo snorts. “Damn. Did they at least get a callback?”
I shoot him a glare. “Fuck you.”
He grins, hand still on my shoulder. “Perhaps later, sweetheart.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Since when are you such a flirt? I remember you used to flinch when I stared at you too long.”
He leans in, voice low and smug. “Maybe I was trying not to pop a boner.”
I blink. “Jesus, Theo.”
“What?” He shrugs, all innocence. “I’m only saying, teenage me had eyes.”
“And apparently no shame.”
