Hope on the Rocks (Rainbow Cove)

“Oh. I like that idea.” His breath came in little pants. “I could…um…also get recent test results. Like you did.”

Oh indeed. That was an unexpected offer. I worked to keep my voice even. “I trust you, baby. Get whatever makes you feel comfortable. And if you want to actually see my lab report, I took a phone pic for you. But no pressure, okay?” I tipped his head back so he could see my eyes, see how serious I was. “I meant what I said in the car yesterday. I’m not fucking around on the side. I deleted the hookup app off my phone, even.”

“Me too,” he whispered, making my chest that much warmer.

“You’re the first person I could even see going bare for real with. But I’m also not going to ask you to turn fantasy into reality. That has to be your call completely.”

“But you would if I did ask?” His voice was thoughtful, like he was turning more than just the idea of ditching condoms over in his head.

“I would, yeah.” I surprised myself with my answer. But then again, I shouldn’t be that shocked. This wasn’t about some horny impulse or even about trusting him to be truthful. “There’s not much I wouldn’t do for you, Quinn.”

“Wow.” He inhaled sharply.

“Too much?” My tone came out cautious. I’d been pretty far gone for him even before this trip, which was dangerous as I knew he was still thinking short-term fling, but he also deserved my honesty.

“No. You’re exactly perfect.” Under the blanket, he squeezed my thigh with his hand. “I wish I knew what I did to get so lucky.”

I had to laugh at that because I was the lucky one. “Love that you think I’m some catch.”

“You are,” he insisted, chuckling, but I just shook my head. “What? You don’t agree?”

“Eh. I’m not all that. You’re the one with all the degrees.” I wasn’t being falsely humble or fishing for praise. I was rather pragmatic about who and what I was. I was perfectly comfortable being a bartender, but Quinn’s frequent assertions that doctors shouldn’t do kink had me pretty sure that his rigid beliefs extended to who doctors should date and pal around with. Most doctors ran with a far fancier crowd, and that was the truth.

But Quinn was frowning and shaking his head. “You don’t need a degree to be an amazing Daddy Dom. Or a person, for that matter. You brought me here. You caught me dinner. You made the bed with my favorite kind of sheets. I’m not sure I could even dream up a better Daddy.”

“You’re sweet.” Sweetest thing I’d ever known, that was for sure. I wanted to believe him in the worst way that I was what he needed and wanted. He tipped his head farther back so he could kiss me, and I tried to push those worries aside. Maybe it was enough that I was perfect for him right now, this moment, this summer, because he sure as hell was everything I’d ever dreamed up too.

Twenty-Two

Adam

“It’s a birthday, Adam. Not a wisdom tooth extraction.” My mom’s voice crackling out of my phone had me wishing I’d spent my break texting Quinn rather than checking in with her.

“I know.” I took a long sip from my energy drink, the brand Quinn had turned me onto. The summer sun beat down on the back alley, making my choice to leave the air-conditioned tavern less than smart. “It’s just that this is our busy season.”

No one was back in school yet, and it felt like most of the state had waited for late July and early August to take their coastal vacations. We’d been overrun by families of all stripes, and while Mason crowed about being in the black, we’d also been going balls to the wall ever since I’d made it back from camping with Quinn. Even working in my mom’s requests had been hard. Having an August birthday was simply one more item on my too-full to-do list.

“And that’s what you said last year. And the year before. We didn’t even get to do a big party for your thirtieth,” she complained.

“Well, I don’t like a fuss. At least I’m consistent.” I kicked at some gravel. Down the road a piece, Curtis was putting on a chainsaw carving demonstration for a group of wide-eyed tourists. Even with a decent breeze off the ocean, he was undoubtedly sweltering and probably the reason Logan had three different kinds of cold desserts on the menu.

“But it’s on a Tuesday this year.” Mom wasn’t giving up easily. “You can give me one evening. Let me make that cake you love.”

“You do make good cake,” I allowed, resigned to not winning this round. At least if I had to celebrate my birthday, I could have her famous black forest cake with real Oregon cherries in the topping.