QUINN

Two. I lasted two whole days before I started having withdrawals and it's damn pathetic, I swear.

One night, I was completely hypnotized by a rerun of a true crime investigative documentary. The one I watched with Cash a while back, to be precise. And guess what? The old lady killed the neighbor. I was right and that shifty asshat didn't even tell me!

In my complete state of shock and betrayal, I turned to smack his arm and scold him for keeping this very important, life altering, information from me. But he wasn't there. I was quite confused when the back of my hand hit the soft fabric of a throw pillow instead.

Ten minutes were spent apologizing to it to make sure it doesn't turn on me like the rest of this demonic apartment has.

The next day? Yeah, I didn't focus on a damn thing during class except the lack of notifications on my phone. Every few minutes, I swear it would vibrate. But then, when I picked it up, nothing.

I showed up at the club the next night during a moment of weakness, just to find that Cash wasn't there. Gio tried to wave me over to the bar, but I went to Rita instead. I'm not mad at him, but I'm certainly choosing to blame him for my state of deprivation.

Okay, so I know I could have just texted him, but it appears my fingers wouldn't cooperate with my brain. Brain would keep saying "Do it! Text him!" and fingers were all like "No! We don't work for you!"

It was exhausting just listening to them go back and forth. I've concluded that my fingers aren't team players. I should really look into replacing them if they aren't willing to go above and beyond for the greater good.

My Friday class was a blur of awkward glances from Ethan and polite smiles from Angie, the girl who saved me from snotting all over myself that one time by supplying a tissue. Did you know the glands in our noses and throats produce four to eight cups of mucus every day? We swallow most of it. Humans are friggin gross.

Found out Angie isn't a big fan of Oreos, but she does like oatmeal raisin cookies. That pretty much makes her a terrorist, but we all have our flaws, so I'm choosing to overlook it. The good she did for me outweighs the evil residing in her tastebud's soul.

After class, I drag myself along the sidewalk on the way home, my bookbag feeling ten pounds heavier than usual. I'm so fixated on counting the cracks in the concrete that I almost miss the state Hot Mama is in as I pass by her. I halt mid-step and almost trip as I try to turn around.

"Cash!" I squeal while jogging toward him, my arms wrapping around his waist from behind before he gets a chance to react.

I guess I came in a little too hot because his body jolts forward and he makes an oomph sound before his head bounces off the hood of the car he was hunched under.

"Shit." He hisses, his hand flying up to shield his skull from further damage.

Slowly, he turns around to face me. His lips are pulled back in a grimace and his eye is squinted like he's trying to grit through the pain I caused. There's a bit of blood gathering around his sutures. Guess I maaay have reopened the wound just a little, so I allow my guilt to force me back a step.

"Sorry." I mumble, staring down at my untied shoelace.

"All good."

He reaches out and wraps his hand around the back of my head, gradually drawing me in closer to him. I manage to meet his unreadable gaze and take a minute to admire the shades the good lord painted his irises with. A walking masterpiece if I've ever seen one.

"You done avoiding me?" He whispers, sounding amused.

"I wasn't – well I didn't mean to – avoiding is a bit dramatic – yes. I'm done." I stammer, struggling to find an answer that will unhurt him. There isn't one. The damage is done.

"Good." He states bluntly, dropping his lips to mine.

My body refuses to cooperate for the first two seconds, stunned into a paralyzed state over his reaction. I thought there might be yelling or a lecture or a breakup speech.

Instead, his teeth are capturing my lip, and his hands are planted firmly on my ass, lifting me so I have to stand on my toes as he drags me in even closer.

"I fucking missed you." He growls against my mouth before diving back in.

And I can feel just how much he means that through his jeans as our bodies attempt melding together. As much as I'd love to, I can't lead him up to my apartment and let my freeloader fingers venture every inch of him.

Not while I'm keeping secrets.

I force myself to take an oxygen break, unraveling from Cash's arms.

"I need to tell you something."

He leans against the front bumper and takes both my hands in his, walking me forward until I'm standing between his legs. His fingers run through my hair, stroking it back until all the strands are removed from my face.

"Tell me." He encourages softly, examining each of my eyes.

"It's...about your dad. Kind of. I guess."

He winces like I physically struck him but corrects himself almost immediately, defaulting back to his usual indifferent expression. The one I always desperately wanted to understand back then. The expression I still can't decipher.

"I don't really wanna talk about him, to be honest."

I don't know what to say to that. I feel like I can't move forward without telling him what I've learned, without explaining the reason I've been keeping my distance.

"Cash," I start hesitantly, "I have to tell you."

He sighs before hanging his head.

"Look, I've had a decent week so far. I've been keeping my mind on other shit instead of dwelling on what happened. I feel like I can manage going back to work soon and be able to face my family again and I just...I don't want to ruin that, okay? Not yet."

No, no, no. I can't just keep this to myself. It'll drive me absolutely insane.

Cash stands up and turns back to face Hot Mama's internal organs again before changing the subject.

"All the parts came in this past week, so I managed to replace most of it. Thought I'd be done sooner, but it's been a long time since I've worked on an old boxer engine."

"Boxer engine?" I mumble absentmindedly, not truly processing a single word he's saying.

"Yeah. The pistons lay horizontal in boxer engines. Subaru and Porsche are big on using them but, other than that, they're not super common. It's pretty cool, though. Gives the car a smoother ride."

I hear him saying words. Hell, he's basically spewing fact-porn that my brain should be having multiple orgasms over right now. And I'm trying my best to store this information in one of my millions of fact files, but I forget each word as soon as he says it. And now I'm not even listening at all.

"I know who Sonny is." I mumble, hoping the breeze will transport my quiet words to his ears.

He keeps rambling about engines.

"Cash, I know who Sonny is." I repeat, louder this time.

He pauses mid-sentence, and his hands grip the sides of the car as he leans over it.

"I'd love to say it's good as new, but it's an old car, so you'll probably still have a few kinks you'll have to deal with. But it'll be a lot safer than it was."

"Did you hear me?"

"Yeah, Quinn, I heard you."

"And?"

He twirls around and stares at me like I'm a stranger, his eyes void of emotion as he takes his seat against the bumper again. Is he shutting himself off like I do at mama's house?

"And what?" He shrugs and looks truly unaffected by what I just blurted out.

"What – I don't know! Don't you want me to tell you who it is? Talk about it? Something?" I shriek, flailing my hands around like a maniac.

"I'll go with the something option." He says with a chuckle.

Okay, I don't even know the significance of Sonny, but I know it's important. Probably very substantial to whatever demons Cash is in an all-out war with lately. So why doesn't he want the weapon I'm trying to forge for him?

"Don't you want to know who it is?" I scrunch my brows, so lost in this conversation that I don't even know how to back out at this point.

"No. I don't wanna know. It doesn't matter."

When he drags me between his legs once again, my breathing grows shallow.

"What does matter, is that you came back to me. You disappeared for a bit, but you found your way back." He whispers against my throat before his lips brush up to my earlobe.

"Okay. Yep. Let's go upstairs." I choke out, slowly melting under Cash's heated mouth.

I mean, I told him what I know. He didn't want to know what I know. But I did my job, so I think I'm entitled to some kind of reward. In the form of Cash's penis, to be specific. I take off for the building, pulling him by his hand behind me.

"Oh, where you goin' with the big fella?" I hear Tanya's crackled voice ring out through the shop.

Damn it! I don't want her molesting him right now. That's my job.

I turn and shoot her a sweet, innocent smile, praying she doesn't embarrass me too much.

"We're just going to study, Miss Tanya."

"Studyin' what, exactly? You in a women's studies class? Explorin' the power of the pussy?"

Cash begins shaking with laughter as he buries his mouth against his fist while my eyes grow wide with terror at her colorful vocabulary. He's really not going to help me with this? Not even a little backup? I'm stuck here, gaping like a fish out of water.

"Tanya!" I finally manage to scold her. "Shouldn't you be cleaning or something? If you've got time to lean, you've got time to clean!" I repeat her favorite mantra to use on her lazier employees.

"Ain't nothin clean about this place." She taunts with a wink.

"Okay, we're leaving." I squeak, trying to pull Cash along again.

"Did ya ask him if I can borrow him yet?!" Tanya yells after us, the smile evident in her voice.

I choose to ignore her and zoom up the stairs while the big oaf behind me continues his hysterical, muffled laughter.

"Yeah, please don't ever give me to her." He finally spits out, wiping a tear from his eye.

"I thought about sacrificing you before, but I don't think I could do it. You're mine." I say once the door is shut behind us, basically pouncing on him.

His eyes seem to spark to life at that. He catches me and leans against the door while I wrap myself up in him. My legs tangle around his waist, my hands roaming through his hair, and I can't even comprehend why I kept him away all this time.

The high I experience with him makes the shit I was snorting off the table at Shadow seem like low-grade trash cut with baby powder. Don't tell Joey I said that, though. He takes great pride in supplying top of the line narcotics, stimulants, and hallucinogens, and I don't particularly care to hurt his feelings.

"Quinn?" Cash's raspy whisper melts me from the inside out.

"Hmm?" I manage to respond while his lips leave a fiery trail across the sensitive skin on my neck.

"I love you."

The words sear my flesh, like I'm being permanently branded by his admission.

Okay.

It's fine.

I'm alright.

He's allowed to say things. He's a human being with a mouth and that mouth says things sometimes. I mean, that's kind of its job, after all. To do mouth things, like talk.

What the actual fudge crackers?! I'm freaking out.

His biceps flex, keeping me trapped within the confines of his arms. There's no escape. When I try to wriggle away, it just causes my hips to propel forward, and my Colosseum meets his Roman Gladiator. I almost completely forget what I was panicking about right then and there.

Almost, but I don't. No amount of penile hypnotism is enough to erase that memory right now.

"Can we uh...put a pin in that? Circle back to it at a later date?" I strain to get the words out, past the heatwave still terrorizing my body.

"Yep."

Without another word, he carries on feeling up my body like it's an unbreakable treasure he needs to both ravage and savor for all eternity. Caressing every inch of me he can get his hands on, like this will be his first and last time ever experiencing me.

And that's how it's felt every time so far.

A girl could get used to this. Like...really used to it.