Chapter 35

35

Quinn

M y family was driving me berserk.

It had been three months since the crazy bitch, Dana Lowe, shot at me and everyone was still harping on it.

She shot at me, she didn't shoot me.

God knows, I love them all but they were exhausting me.

My father was the worst of the bunch. He was so over-the-top my mom had a talk with him. Especially after I told him I was moving out. Now, one may ask why an almost twenty-four-year-old woman was still living at home with her mom and dad. The answer was easy, my mom was a good cook.

Okay, so that was part of the reason. The truth was I'd had some trouble finding myself. My family called me a free spirit, my dad called me flighty. That may sound mean, but he meant it in the nicest way you could mean it, calling someone irresponsible.

He'd been a little right. I'd taken my sweet ass time finding what I wanted to do with my life because I had what most of my friends didn't. A tribe. A support team around me that loved me unconditionally. And as much as my dad joked about me living with him until I had to put him in a nursing home—a thought that never meshed with the image of Jasper Walker—he'd been beside himself when I told him I'd found an apartment.

Then he went into crazy, overprotective dad mode and insisted he check out my new place before he'd "allow" me to move in.

So now my parents were officially empty-nesters after having a kid or kids in the house the last thirty-two years. And to say my parents were taking advantage of their childless home was an understatement. It hadn't even been twenty-fours after I'd moved the last of my stuff out when I went home and walked in on something no child should ever see. Thankfully I'd heard what I'd heard and stopped dead in my tracks before I'd turned and marched my happy ass right back out.

But I'd heard enough to turn me off sex for at least five years, and I'd need double that in intense psychotherapy.

I was walking up the stairs to my apartment, one of the many things Dad hated about my building. There was no security. All of the apartments were in clusters of eight. Four downstairs and four up. One set of uncovered, out-in-the-open stairs led to a landing. Two apartments on one side and two on the other side. I kinda liked I only shared one wall with a neighbor. I also had a kickass balcony that had a view of the wooded area behind the building.

Another safety hazard according to my dad—I lived in the back of the complex. But that was why I chose this unit. All the others either looked at the parking lot, the pool, or the clubhouse. And as cool as a view of the pool would be, I didn't want to hear people swimming.

I was carrying five bags of groceries, not wanting to make a second trip down to my car, when my foot slipped. I was teetering back, getting ready to whirlwind my arms in a circle, but with the weight of the bags, I'd get them above my head.

Shit.

"Whoa, there, darlin'. I gotcha."

A strong arm came around to steady me, warm, minty breath fanned across my cheek and the back of my neck, and lastly, but certainly not least, a wall of muscle pressed against my back as the mystery man behind me braced my would-be fall.

"Holy hell. I think you just saved my life," I muttered.

The man behind me stiffened and I turned to look over my shoulder and we came face-to-face.

Face-to-face . Nose only inches away from none other than Brice Lancaster.

Hot guy firefighter who worked with my best friend Jackson at the 57.

Now, I'd known Brice for a few years—he was a man-whore to top all man-whores. I didn't know what he was doing here and I prayed he wasn't visiting one of his babes because that would suck. Not that the relationship would last, considering, as I'd mentioned, he was a dawg. But no girl wanted to see the hot guy firefighter she'd been drooling over, even if it was in a distant, too bad you're a dog because you are hawt , sorta way, dating some other girl in her apartment complex.

"Quinn?"

"Uh, yeah." My brows shot up because he was looking at me with such a startled expression it was kind of funny. "You okay?"

"Are you?"

"Well, yeah, thanks to you."

He still hadn't let me go and I wasn't sure if he was cognizant of the fact his hand was on my stomach and he was pressing in. I should've asked him to move his hand, since according to Jackson it'd been all sorts of places I was very positive were unsanitary, therefore I wasn't sure I wanted it on me. But I'd decided to push that out of my head and enjoy the feel of him.

He smelled freshly showered with a hint of manly cologne. In short, he smelled divine. And now that I knew who was behind me, I could confirm the wall of muscle that was pressed to my back was a wall . A big, cinderblock wall with rebar reinforcement. I'd seen him shirtless. I knew what I was talking about. There was so much to talk about, if anyone could lift my five-year ban of sex since I'd heard my parents doing it, it was Brice.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

Ugh. He was probably checking to make sure I wasn't friends with his latest piece. Jackson had also been helpful in enlightening me that Brice never slept with a friend of a friend. Business and pleasure are always separate . That's what Jackson told me Brice had said. It was better than the typical male saying of, ‘I don't shit where I eat', because come on, that was just downright disgusting. And I didn't feel that needed to be a "saying"—wasn't that just plain old common sense?

I mean, who the hell shit where they ate? No one did. Gross.

"Quinn?"

"Oh. Sorry. I live here. Just moved in a few days ago."

"Here?" Now his brows were knitted in confusion.

"Yep. Apartment fifty-one A."

"You always tell strangers your apartment number?"

"What's wrong with you? You're not a stranger." He didn't say anything so I asked, "Why are you here?"

"I live here."

"You do?"

"Yep. We're neighbors."

Oh, no.

I could control myself around Brice because I only caught sight of him every blue moon. A Brice sighting was damn near as fabled as seeing a sasquatch. It was rare, it was only in passing, and normally lasted only a blink of an eye. And no one got a picture. And I'd seen him working out at the station, if there'd been any way human or otherworldly to snap a photo, I would've.

But alas, he was elusive and normally bolted the second I was around.

Him being my neighbor was not going to be good. Even knowing his reputation of blowing through women.

"Welp. This should be fun," I muttered.

"It's gonna be something, Quinn."

His deep voice rumbled and my body shivered.

No, this was not going to be good at all.