No Strings Attached Read online

  “I was just thinking that I’m surprised we haven’t ended up here before now.”

  “No shit,” he says, laughing. “Remember that one time we went skydiving and my chute didn’t open all the way?”

  “Yeah, you were spinning like a fucking top. I just knew I was going to be scraping your ass off the ground.”

  “Nope,” Sebastian says, shaking his head and puffing his chest out proudly. “I tucked and rolled that bitch. Didn’t even walk away with so much as a scratch.”

  “You’re the luckiest bastard I know.”

  We’re still laughing when the curtain pulls back, and my heart tries to pound out of my chest.

  What the fuck is she doing here?

  Her eyes flicker—a moment’s hesitation. She almost walks out, but then she doesn’t. She puts both hands on her hips and looks over at me with a pointed stare. “This better be legit.”

  “What the fuck?” Sebastian asks, looking at her and then back at me. We’re both staring each other down, but for different reasons. My heart is beating fast, and I can’t keep my cock in check. She’s standing there in scrubs with her brown hair twisted up in a messy bun. She looks different. There’s no sexy dress, no combat boots. Her face is the same, though, intense eyes and pouty pink lips. The glare I’ve become accustomed to is also firmly in place.

  “Look,” Sebastian says, standing up. “You need to fix his leg so we can get the hell outta here.”

  Her eyes leave my face and go to my leg. When she sees I really am injured, her expression changes, and she goes into action. “What happened?” she asks, genuine concern in her tone as she peels the soiled t-shirt away from my leg.

  I look down at the name tag that’s hanging precariously close to her fantastic tits. Roland, Quinn. I can’t help but smile. Knowing her name feels like Christmas. And she’s a fucking nurse. My shitty luck just got better. I almost forget about the huge gash on my leg because being in the same room as her and knowing her name is enough of a distraction to take away the pain.

  She’s turning my brain to mush.

  “So, what happened?” she asks again, looking back up at me when I fail to answer her. “To your leg…”

  “Oh, uh… we were mountain biking, and I lost control of my bike,” I tell her, trying to keep myself from becoming the bumbling idiot she tends to turn me into.

  “He did a fucking header down the side of a hill. I’m surprised he didn’t injure more than his leg,” Sebastian adds.

  Coming closer, she pulls a light from her pocket and shines it in my eyes. “Any dizziness or blurry vision?”

  “No,” I say, swallowing hard when her hand brushes my forehead in an examining gesture.

  “Do you need something for the pain?” she asks as she steps back and does a further assessment of my body.

  Instead of answering with my words, I merely shake my head because everything going through my mind is completely inappropriate, and I don’t want her to kick me out of her ER.

  “Okay, hold tight. I’ll be right back.”

  “What the fuck was that?” Sebastian asks after she’s gone.

  Unable to take my eyes off the curtain she just disappeared behind, I mutter, “That’s her.”

  “Her who?” he asks in confusion, until realization dawns. “Wait. You mean her her?”

  “Yep.”

  “Well, fuck me.”

  We sit in silence for a long stretch until Sebastian pats my good leg. “I’d stick around but I think you’re in good hands.” Then he makes a statement about being parched—his word, not mine—and scurries off to get something to drink. But I know what he’s really doing. He’s avoiding being around if and when I get stitches. He’s not a fan of blood. He won’t even watch The Walking Dead.

  Fucking pussy.

  “Still hanging in there?” she asks, peeking her head around the curtain. Shit, even her voice is sexy.

  I want to hear her say my name.

  “Yeah,” I say, clearing my throat and readjusting myself the best I can. She wheels a cart in beside the bed with several sterile-looking supplies. The syringe is the first thing that catches my attention. Just seeing the long needle lying there makes me feel queasy.

  Maybe I’m the fucking pussy.

  With an air of pure professionalism, she goes to work, rolling up my shorts to get a better look at the wound. When her hand brushes close to my cock, it stirs against my leg.

  He remembers too.

  How good her hands felt.

  How good she felt.

  “I’m going to clean the wound first,” she says, all business-like. “It’ll probably sting a little.” The coldness hits first and then the burn. And it more than stings. It hurts like a motherfucker, but I hold still, not wanting to show weakness in front of this woman. She’s already made me weak enough by existing. If I go adding in wincing and crying due to a little cut, I might as well hand over my man card.

  To keep from thinking about it too much, I stare at her profile. Her skin looks so soft. I want to reach out and stroke her cheek, tuck the few strands of hair that have fallen out of her bun behind her ear.

  “So, mountain biking, huh?” she asks, keeping her head down as she focuses on her task.

  “Yeah. I like extreme sports,” I tell her, wanting nothing more than to keep her talking.

  The corner of her mouth rises. “Really? Are you an adrenaline junkie?” she asks, picking her head up to look at me. Our eyes meet, and I know she feels this thing between us. I can see it in the way her gaze lingers and then her breathing picks up. She’s trying hard to not feel it, but something deep inside tells me she does.

  “I’ll try anything once,” I admit.

  Eyes still locked with mine, she asks, “What other things have you done?”

  “Bungee jumping, rock climbing, skydiving… If it’s dangerous, I’ve tried it at least once,” I tell her, refusing to be the one to look away. “What about you? Any hobbies?”

  She cocks an eyebrow. “I have a few.”

  “Like what?” I ask, wanting to know everything about her, knowing there is more to her than a beautiful woman who frequents a sex club.

  She shakes her head and goes back to work on my leg. “This’ll burn,” she says as a warning before sticking me with the needle. I’m so into her that it hardly fazes me.

  As she waits for the numbing to take effect, I watch her.

  And when she begins to sew my leg up, I still refuse to take my eyes off her.

  When she’s finished with the stitches, she wraps fresh gauze around my leg and begins tidying up the cart she wheeled in, preparing to depart. I try to speak, to say something, anything to keep her here. But then she’s gone.

  Always leaving before I’m ready for her to go. Always leaving me wanting more.

  I lie back on the hospital bed and groan in frustration. She infuriates me and intrigues me and turns me the fuck on. I want her to want me like I want her, and I think she might, but she’s not letting herself. There’s something there. She refuses to acknowledge it, but I’m not going to give up. I know I said I’d forget about her, but fate just dropped her back in my lap, and I’m not letting her go.

  Chapter 6

  “Hey, Fergie. Wanna go to the park?” I ask, waiting for my blonde-haired beauty at the door.

  She slides on the hardwood floor around the corner and gallops toward me, stopping just short of plowing into me. I think she wants to go to the park. I know I do. I need some fresh air and a quiet moment to think. We don’t usually go on Sundays, but my leg is still healing, which means mountain biking is out, as well as bungee jumping and skydiving. I tried rock climbing the other day and wished I hadn’t. So, the park it is.

  I called Sebastian earlier to see if he wanted to meet up with us or grab some lunch later, but he sounded preoccupied and made up some lame-dick excuse of needing to run errands. Whatever the hell that means. He’s probably out having the time of his life but doesn’t want to tell me.


  “We’re gonna have our own fun. Aren’t we, girl? We don’t need big stinky Sebastian to have a good time.” My girl wags her tail and looks up at me with her big brown eyes in anticipation. She loves riding in the car, even though it’s a bit small for a dog her size. It’s her head out the window that she loves the most, so the size of the vehicle has no bearing on her enjoyment.

  When I bought the car, I didn’t own a dog and swore I never would, but that was until this girl showed up on my doorstep. She was so little back then. I had no idea I’d be housing a small horse one day, but dogs grow up fast. By the time she was knocking shit off tables and taking over my apartment, I was already in love. There’s no way I could give her up now. She’s who I come home to at night and who snuggles up with me while I sleep. We share a jar of peanut butter and weeknight runs. Outside of Sebastian, she’s my closest friend and the only girl I’ve wanted to have around past a few nights.

  Girlfriends have just never been my thing. Up until a couple of months ago, I didn’t want the attachment, but then Quinn Roland flipped my world upside down. Now, I don’t know if I need to wind my ass or scratch my watch. She has me so worked up, and the fact that she still won’t give me the time of day pisses me the hell off.

  Now that I know where she works, I’ve been back once. I walked in with confidence, straight up to the nurses’ station in the emergency room. Quinn didn’t come see me, but she sent a message with another nurse, telling me not to come to her place of work again.

  It wasn’t my finest moment.

  Cruising down the street, I look over and smile at Fergie, who has her big head stuck out the window and her tongue flapping in the wind. Glancing back at the road, I reach over and scratch her neck right behind her collar, just like she likes.

  When we pull up to the park, I hook Fergie’s leash onto her collar, and she follows me out of the car. After we make it safely into the gated area, I release her, and she takes off.

  Picture the chick from The Sound of Music running the hillside singing, except make her a dog and turn the singing into barking, and that’s Fergie right now.

  I find a free bench where I can keep an eye on her, stretch my bum leg out in front of me, and watch her run and play with a few other dogs. It must feel great to finally be able to cut loose after being cooped up in an apartment all week. I mean, I take her out for bathroom breaks and walks, but she doesn’t get to do this every day.

  Maybe I should look into buying a house with a yard.

  That thought catches me off guard. Who the fuck am I?

  A few years ago, if you’d have asked me if I’d ever have a house with a yard, I would’ve said fuck no, because that’s for pussy-whipped dudes who are attached to a ball and chain. Houses with yards are not for single guys like me who enjoy playing the field and living life on the edge. Sure, I’m not the most extreme dude around, and I don’t get nearly as much action as a lot of guys. Sebastian. But I live my life the way I want, no strings attached.

  I have no reason to not want the bonds of matrimony and all that bullshit. My parents have been happily married for thirty-five years. My sister is also happily hitched. I just prefer to not be. I like adventure. I like trying new things. I like variety. I like space.

  I also like Quinn Roland.

  Why the fuck she just entered my mind while thinking about love and marriage, I have no idea. She’s somehow worked her way into every facet of my mind without even trying. Usually, women are the clingers. They’re the ones hanging around, wanting more. The fact that I can’t get her out of my thoughts is troubling. I’ve tried everything. I’ve tried getting laid but couldn’t go through with it. I’ve tried drinking her away, but it only made me want her more. That night, I tried to talk Sebastian into driving me to the hospital and pretending like I was sick. He wouldn’t. Thank fuck. That might warrant a restraining order. I’m really not this messed up… or I wasn’t, until her.

  I let out a deep breath and try to think of something besides Quinn. I came out here to clear my head, but I’m not doing a very good job of that.

  Scanning the large field for Fergie, I see her sniffing what I hope is just a patch of grass, when a little boy walks up to her and squats down beside her. I sit up a little, ready to go intercept if things get sketchy.

  She’s been great with the few kids she’s been in contact with, but I don’t know what this little dude’s agenda is. He looks like he’s talking to her and she begins to wag her tail, so I let them be for a few minutes.

  The kid starts scratching behind Fergie’s ears, and she licks him in the face. I wonder if he knows he’s just made a friend for life. Her obsessive licking makes the kid fall on his back, but I can hear his laughter from here, so I know he’s okay. Just in case, I decide to go over and check on him anyway.

  Walking over, I call out, “Fergie.” That gets her attention and she stops licking the poor kid. When I get to them, I look down and see a mess of brown hair and two large brown eyes squinting up at me.

  He’s a really cute kid. “Hey, buddy. You okay?” I ask, bending over to get a closer look.

  “Yeah, she was just licking me.”

  “I saw that. She really likes for people to scratch behind her ears. She was just showing her appreciation.”

  “Yeah, I like her.”

  The kid can’t be more than five or six. There are freckles splattered across his nose, and he has a big dimple in one of his cheeks. I glance around to see if an adult is looking for him because he seems too young to be unattended. That’s when I see her—wild brown hair and a frantic look on her face. “Henry!” she yells, shielding her eyes from the sun.

  I look back down at the kid and offer him my hand to help him up. “Are you Henry?”

  He nods and smiles as he pets Fergie again.

  I smile back at him because it seems as if the universe is on my side for a second time today. “He’s over here,” I call out, and the look on her face when recognition hits is priceless. She’s in limbo between pissed and relieved.

  “Hey,” she says tersely, but her arms wrap protectively around the kid.

  “Hey,” I reply, watching them intently.

  “Hey, buddy.” She kneels down in front of him and holds his hands in hers. “You can’t run away like that. Remember we talked about how if you can’t see me, then I can’t see you, and that’s not okay?”

  He nods his head, and his hair falls into his eyes. “Sorry.” The tone in his voice is remorseful. “I just wanted to pet her,” he says, pointing to Fergie, who is sitting on her hind legs, panting as she watches the three of us.

  “She seems like a very nice dog,” Quinn says, looking down at Fergie and then back up at me.

  I nod my head and smile. “She is.”

  “Can I play with her?” Henry asks, pleading with his big brown eyes. I have no idea how anyone says no to that. I look back up at Quinn to see what she’s going to do, and I can tell she’s battling with what he wants versus what she wants.

  “For five minutes,” she tells him, and he and Fergie are off like rockets. I toss the ball over to him and tell him to play fetch with her.

  “What are you doing here?” she asks, crossing her arms over her chest.

  I laugh at her absurd question. “This is still a free country, and this happens to be our regular hang-out.” I motion across the large green field.

  “I’ve never seen you here before.”

  “Well, I’ve never seen you here before either.” Because if I had, I’d be here every day in hopes of seeing you.

  “We come here every Sunday,” she says, watching Henry and Fergie play, and I add that to my Important Things to Know About Quinn Roland file. So far, it consists of: beautiful, guarded, drives a beat-up Volkswagen, wears combat boots, and goes to the dog park on Sundays.

  “We usually come on Saturdays,” I confess. She stands there, not offering up any more conversation, so I take it upon myself to do so. “Usually, Sebastian and I ride our bikes on Sundays o
r go skydiving or some shit like that, but I can’t with my leg all fucked up. So, here we are.”

  “Language.”

  “What?”

  “Watch your language.” I look over at her, and she still has her eyes trained on Henry and Fergie, watching them like a hawk, or maybe she’s just avoiding me.

  “He can’t hear me all the way over there.”

  She huffs, and I can’t see her eyes, but I can imagine she just rolled them at me. “So you didn’t follow me here?” she asks, her tone still a bit abrasive.

  “No.” I laugh again, because it sounds ridiculous, but when I think about my behavior over the past month, I can see where she might think I’d stoop that low. “Listen, I’m sorry for showing up at the hospital. I really just wanted to see you, and I thought if I approached you somewhere besides the club, you might agree to see me.”

  Her head whips around, and her brown eyes bore into me. “Don’t bring that up in front of him either.”

  “Does he have some sort of special power I don’t know about?” I ask, quirking my eyebrow. Sure, he’s not too far from us, but he’s completely preoccupied with my dog right now, and I doubt he can hear anything we’re saying.

  A small smile breaks across her face, and I feel myself relax a little. “No,” she says, shaking her head and looking down at her feet. “Sorry, just a little paranoid about that stuff, I guess.”

  I smile, because this more vulnerable Quinn is different from anything I’ve seen from her before, and I like it. “Your secret is safe with me.”

  “She really does seem like a great dog.”

  “She is, and she loves kids.”

  “Do you have kids?” she asks, her voice softening.

  I laugh again. “Uh, no.”

  “Henry loves dogs,” she says.

  “Do you have kids?” I ask, afraid to assume anything when it comes to her. She could be the big sister or babysitter.

  “You’re looking at him.”

  “Right, of course.” I can see a stark resemblance—same messy brown hair, same big brown eyes. “He’s yours.” It’s not a question or a judgment, just a realization. Things about Quinn start to make more sense—the wall she has up, her defensiveness.