I WOKE THE following day with the most severe case of morning wood I'd probably ever had.

I wasn't delusional enough to think it had anything to do with my high morning testosterone levels. No, it had everything to do with Quinn Castle and the thoughts that plagued me when we finally parted ways last night—when I got into my bed and realized that my sheets smelled like her.

They smelled like the fucking sun. I wasn't sure how that was possible, but Quinn smelled like a quintessential summer day. Like creamy coconut with a hint of citrus. 

Every time I rolled over, I was reminded of how she'd slept next to me that first night. Her soft little snores and flicker of her long lashes as she drifted into a restless sleep. Her warm body snug beside mine, even though there were blankets, clothes, and everything between us.

But honestly, it was more torturous to have her in the room next door than to have her in my bed. That night she slept next to me, she'd been drunkenly passed out, and all I'd been focused on was making sure she didn't choke on her own vomit. I'd kept myself in check, including my thoughts.

Tonight, though, my mind couldn't help but wander to places it shouldn't. No doubt a result of how my conversations with Quinn always seemed to end in thinly veiled sexual innuendos and close proximities.

God, I wished I could just shut off that part of my brain so we could get through this little interview experience. But it was useless, and all the thoughts I shouldn't be thinking extended into my sleep last night, weaving into my dreams.

That had to be the reason for how fucking hard I was when I woke, thoughts of Quinn on the brain.

I stared at the ceiling, trying to tame the desire to wrap my hand around my cock. It was wrong, so wrong, to do that when Quinn was probably still sleeping on the other side of my bedroom wall. It was even worse to do it while remembering how she'd pressed so close to me in the shower, steam and slick skin all around us.

Fuck.

I stared at the ceiling instead, at the slatted wooden boards covering it. I concentrated on them. On how some of them had little knots disrupting the grain pattern. On how some of the knots were darker than others. And then, once I was finished thoroughly inspecting the slates, I counted them. Forty-nine. There were forty-nine across my bedroom ceiling.

Fuck.

No matter how long I stared at the ceiling, my blood still ran hot. Apparently, ceiling wood was not a cure for morning wood.

But I couldn't put off getting out of bed much longer. I needed to hop on a call soon, so if I wanted to be a good host and ensure Quinn had coffee and breakfast, I had to get up.

Surprisingly, when I padded out into the hallway, the smell of coffee wafted through the air. Sure enough, when I rounded the corner to the kitchen, I spotted an already brewed pot on the countertop.

I did a once-over of the main level of my house, searching for the reporter. But I didn't see her and decided maybe she'd made coffee and then retreated with it back into her room. Either way, I was glad she'd made herself at home and helped herself this morning.

After pouring myself a cup, I wandered to the front windows of the house, wanting to catch a glimpse of the ocean waves. I wouldn't have time to take my board out before my meeting, but I could still admire the swells.

And the almost-naked reporter lying out on my deck.

Jesus Christ.

I nearly spat out my coffee when my eyes landed on Quinn in that tiny yellow bikini. Was she trying to give me a heart attack? Shit, maybe she figured that she'd get out of writing this article and trailing me around all day if she just fucking killed me.

She must have just applied tanning lotion or oil or something because her skin looked so goddamn dewy. She practically shone as she crossed one leg over the other, a cup of coffee in one hand and some kind of reading tablet in the other.

At this point, I should have just stayed in bed, counting the boards on my ceiling.

Although, there probably wasn't any point in bothering with that. Not with Quinn hanging around, wearing that bikini. I seemed doomed to have recurring, spontaneous reactions from now until I finally got rid of her.

I groaned before cursing when my phone buzzed–a reminder that I had a meeting in ten minutes.

A meeting Quinn claimed she wanted to attend. But I'd told her what time the call was, and she didn't seem all that interested now. She seemed way more curious about whatever was happening in that book of hers.

I debated, wondering if I should step onto the deck and remind Quinn about the meeting or leave her to her book. It would be way easier to get through business today with her asking a million questions. Still, at the same time, the sooner she got the answers she was looking for and had material to write about, the sooner she'd be walking out the door and heading back to the big apple.

The sooner I could be free from this fucking torture.

So I grabbed my laptop from the table and stepped out on the deck, sucking in a deep breath.

"Castle."

She jumped slightly at the sound of my voice, twisting in her chair, and dear God, being around her while she wore literal scraps of fabric had to be detrimental to my blood pressure.

She grinned, a slight chuckle leaving her lips that I was sure meant to mock me somehow.

"Well, hello August. Good morning to you, too."

August.

I liked it when she called me by my first name.

I cleared my throat. "I have that meeting in a few minutes if you still want to join."

"Oh!" She jumped again, startled as she glanced down at her watch. I inwardly groaned, trying not to react to how her swimsuit top shifted to a dangerous angle. Dangerous for my fucking sanity. I jerked my eyes to Quinn's face, only to catch her frown. "But I thought the meeting was at ten o'clock."

I shook my head. "No, it's at nine."

Her frown deepened. "I could have sworn you told me it was at ten."

"Definitely didn't. But you don't have to come. I just wanted to remind you in case you were still interested."

"I'm still interested," she said, pushing off the lounge chair. "Even though I'm pretty sure you told me the wrong time as a ploy for me to miss the meeting, and I'm pretty sure you don't want me there."

I raised a brow and sat at the patio table, opening my laptop. "If I didn't want you there, why would I have reminded you about it?"

Quinn's lips drew together in an adorably irritated pout. She ignored my question–likely because she knew I was right. "I'm going to grab my computer to take notes during the meeting. Are you sitting outside for it?"

I nodded and pointed at her sun-tanning spot. "You're welcome to just sit where you were before and listen in."

In other words, as far away from me as physically possible. Because I swore every time we got within a few feet of each other, words came out of my mouth that only made this harder.

Literally.

"You don't want me to introduce myself to anyone?" Quinn cocked her head to the side. "Hop in to let them know I'm technically on the call?"

I understood what she was saying; she wanted transparency around her presence as a reporter who'd be taking notes on the going-ons of our business. But still...no.

"I will let them know you've joined us, but no, I don't want you to...hop in."

I would prefer she did zero hopping, no hopping at all.

Not in what she was wearing.

"Why not?"

"You're wearing a bikini, Castle," I sighed, waving a hand in her general direction while I kept my eyes strictly on the laptop as I found the correct link in my calendar. "I don't need to derail the entire video conference before it begins. The guys are easily distractible."

I felt like a hypocrite saying that, considering how easily distractible I was, too.

Quinn rolled her eyes. "Fine. I will go grab some clothes and my computer. Happy?"

"Sure."

No.

No, I wasn't happy.

Because if Quinn introduced herself to the other guys, even with clothes on, the conversation would likely shift. It was one thing to tell everyone that she was here and another thing entirely to show them. I wouldn't be surprised if they'd seen pictures of Quinn Castle before, but pictures didn't fully convey who she was and how fucking addicting she could be.

The last thing I needed was for other people to get addicted to Quinn, too.

But when Quinn returned to the deck wearing a yellow sundress, she sat at the other end of the table, away from me and the camera. And once everyone had hopped on the call and said their morning pleasantries, she still hadn't moved over to slide into the frame. Relieved, I made to quickly introduce her, so we could move onto business. 

"I have a Warriors reporter staying with me this week, and–"

"Oh, is it the one you like?"

Goddamn, Finn. He was one of my best friends and the only one I trusted to partner with on this project. But he didn't fucking know how to keep his mouth shut sometimes.

"Yes," I said tersely, "it's the one I like."

I mean, Quinn must know that I liked her. She was the only reporter I ever let interview me, and while there was a reason for that that went outside who Quinn was as a person, it also had a lot to do with who Quinn was as a person. She had to know I liked her; it wasn't a secret. People brought it up all the time.

They just didn't typically bring it up in front of her.

"What I was going to say was that Ms. Castle is here, listening in on the call," I added, staring at Finn through the computer screen and hoping he'd get the fucking message to close his trap. 

"Right..." he muttered before mouthing, "Sorry."

I shrugged, trying not to look at Quinn across the table. I didn't need to know her reaction to that little side conversation. I'd rather pretend it didn't happen.

"So let's get into it," I said, leaning forward onto my elbows.

Besides Finny, there were three other people on the call. Kolson, who was a project manager for the city of Evergreen Isle, and Soren and Zoey, who headed the community's youth programs. Together, we were building a new community sports complex on the island that would target family wellness and open up more youth sports opportunities.

Right now, kids have limited opportunities to play on organized teams and get that kind of exposure to athletics at a young age, and I wanted to change that. And since I was funding it, Kolson, Soren, and Zoey were on board. They'd grumbled a little bit when I insisted on Finn taking the head contractor job instead of the city guy they wanted to use, but ultimately, they gave in.

It was that, or it wasn't happening.

I listened as Finn gave us an update on construction, which was wrapping up this week, and then the five of us talked a bit more about the next steps.

When we wrapped up the call, I closed the laptop to find Quinn giving me a funny look.

"What?"

Her eyes were wide as she mimicked me, closing her laptop slowly.

"How much is all of this costing you?"

I sat back with a frown, crossing my arms over my chest. "I don't want that going in the article."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm not doing this to showboat my wealth or parade how I'm using it to be charitable."

Quinn's expression softened.  "That's...very noble of you, August."

August.

There it was again.

Regardless of the way she said my name, my frown deepened. "I'm not doing it to be noble."

"Why are you doing it?"

I sighed.

Quinn had been surprisingly quiet during the meeting. She'd just sat across from me, her keys clicking as she typed rapidly. For a second, I'd imagined I might get away without answering a bunch of questions, but I should have known better.

Too bad I didn't really have time for questions right now.

"Can we talk more about this later?" I asked. "I have to get to Sunny's."

"Oh!" She perked up. "Why are we going to Sunny's?"

God, she was persistent.

"You don't have to come," I said, figuring it was worth a try.

She lifted a brow. "We've been over this."

"Fine," I relented before sweeping my gaze over her sundress. "But wear something that you don't mind getting dirty."

Her lips curved up, and goddamnit, she was going to say something that would make it hard to sleep tonight. I just knew it.

"We gettin' dirty tonight, Fletcher?"

God, I wished.

"Just–" I groaned inwardly, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Go change. We need to leave in fifteen."

She smiled that brilliant smile.

"I'll be ready."

Too bad I couldn't say the same.

☀️

a/n:

heading back to the bar. bottoms up!

thanks for reading!
xoxo amelie