Page 85

“Quinn’s out back.”

“Great. I won’t be long, just need to drop this off.”

My gaze is drawn to the plain cardboard box in her arms, which clinks when she moves.

“What is it?” I ask curiously.

“A case of Ryan’s most popular craft beer. These babies have won awards and were responsible for a very drunken trip to Vegas where Colin woke up dressed as a showgirl and with poker chips in his sequinned knickers. Beck was in a pair of ass-less chaps, and Jesse and Deke woke up married.” Georgie drops her voice and winks. “There may be pictures.”

My mouth falls open. “Are you serious?” She nods and grins. “And I thought Miami was wild.”

“It’s got nothing on the bay.” She shifts the obviously heavy box in her arms. “Don’t even get me started on the red double-decker bus Kyan bought on a whim and named Hank. Whenever he’s over from the States, they take it out, and you seriously do not want to know the shit they get up to when they take the party bus out.”

I nod enthusiastically. “Sounds exactly like something I do want to know.”

The box wobbles in her arms again. “Did you say he was out back?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” I motion her back behind the counter and lead her through the kitchen to the back entrance and out onto a small patio area.

She drops the box on the small garden table by the door and stretches, rubbing her back. “Fuck, that shit’s heavy when you’re heaving it down that bloody big hill.”

“Hey, Georgie.” Quinn turns toward us, and I have to bite my lip from sighing out loud.

He’s wearing his worn, ripped jeans slung low, with that damn tool belt riding his hips. His Adonis belt is visible above the waistband and his chest is gloriously bare. It’s tanned and sweaty, covered in a fine dusting of blonde hair that tapers down to his belly.

“Fucking hell, Quinn!” Georgie’s eyes widen. “Put some bloody clothes on. You’ll have someone’s eye out with those pecs. I have literally no idea how you went from skinny student to He-Man.”

“What?” He grins and stands with his hip cocked and his hammer resting on his shoulder, making his bicep pop. “I like the look, it makes a statement.”

“Uh-huh. Is that statement, ‘By the power of grey skull’?”

I snort loudly again. Damn it, I really don’t want to like her.

He nods to the table. “What’s in the box?”

“Well, Brad Pitt, thank you for asking.” She reaches in and picks out a bottle, holding it up for him to see. “Never let it be said I don’t pay up.”

“Pay up?” I repeat.

“Georgie lost a bet,” Quinn says smugly.

“What was the bet?”

“It was a surfing thing.” Quinn shrugs.

“Fuck off.” Georgie wedges the lid against the edge of the table and smacks it with her palm. The beer pops open easily and she raises it to her lips, taking a long, satisfying pull while flipping him the finger with her other hand. Swallowing, she turns back toward the gate in Colin’s brand-new fence. “I’m out of here.” She unbolts it and lifts the latch. “Later.”

“Loser,” Quinn yells as the gate clangs shut.

Her voice drifts over the fence. “Fuck you. I hope Skeletor kicks your arse.”

Sniggering, Quinn crosses the small yard and plucks a beer from the box, then holds it out to me. “Want one?”

“Thanks.” I turn it over in my palm and read the label. “Tastes like Bad Decisions.”

Quinn grins. “It’s not for the fainthearted. Take a look at the alcohol content.”

My gaze scans down the label and my brows rise. “That’s a lot… for a beer.”