Page 32 of Seven Lost Summers (Broken Oasis #3)

Bianca used to whisper things about the three of them. She’d lean in close, voice low, teasing. I’d roll my eyes and pretend I didn’t care, but I wanted to know.

I wanted to ask her how it started. What they did. What it was like. How good the boys were at it.

But I never asked. I didn’t want to pry.

Still, I used to think about Nate.

About those hands. I caught the stories back in school, the whispers from girls who swore he could pull an orgasm from them without even trying. A single look, a touch, a few filthy words in the right tone and they were done.

And Theo.

I wondered about him too. If the boy who once hid under a hoodie came alive in the dark. If he knew how to take his time. If he could wreck someone with nothing more than his mouth and a grin.

I knew I wasn’t supposed to think about them that way. They were Bianca’s boys.

But fuck—I was jealous.

I still am.

Not only for the way they made her ache.

Though that alone was enough to burn itself into my memory and stay there.

It was more than that. I envied the way they looked at her, the way they reached for her, gave her their time, their focus, their everything.

She got to be the center of that storm, caught between them, while I stood on the sidelines and watched.

Always the best friend. Always looking in.

Back in those days, I told myself it didn’t matter. That I wasn’t into Nate.

But the truth is, I liked the energy that simmered between us—the teasing, the smirks, the way he always had something cocky to throw my way so I could shoot him down. It meant something, even if I pretended it didn’t.

But once Bianca came into the picture, everything shifted. Nate stopped with the flirting. Pulled back, shut it down. And I missed it. I missed Theo too. Missed the easy rhythm between us, the way we’d talk for hours about nothing, how he’d always say something dumb simply to make me laugh.

She was my best friend. I kept telling myself I was fine, that having them in my life was enough. I was happy being near them. Being part of their orbit. Even if I wanted more. And hated myself for it.

But seeing them now…

Nate’s watching the phone, head tilted, that smirk tugging at his mouth, the one that always got under my skin.

Theo has that same wicked spark he always carried, but now it’s carved deeper. More dangerous. He doesn’t fidget or glance around the way he used to. He stands steady, sure of himself.

Nate lifts his head first. His sharp blue eyes catch mine, and that lazy, confident smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth. It’s pure sin, slow and full of promise, the kind of smile that unravels common sense and replaces it with heat.

My stomach clenches, and I shift my weight to hide the way my thighs tighten. He doesn’t need words to make me feel it. That mouth alone could wreck me.

I grip the handle of my suitcase harder, forcing myself to stay grounded.

That’s when Theo moves.

He slides his phone into his pocket, eyes locked on me, a wicked grin spreading across his face. His tattooed arms flex as he steps forward, broad shoulders rolling with a confidence that steals the breath from my lungs.

I should walk over, say something, close the space between us. But my feet stay planted. My heart pounds, each beat louder than the last. Every part of me betrays the logic I carried in here, heat crawling through me from the inside out.

Because it’s them. And my body remembers.

Heat rolls low, straight to my pussy, a slow, relentless throb that makes my legs seem less like limbs and more like caution signs.

I should say something. Do something. Move.

For fuck’s sake, blink at least. But no.

I only grip the handle of my suitcase harder, heart pounding like it’s trying to stage an escape, fully aware I’m in way over my fucking head.

Nate steps up first, closing the distance with zero effort, as if he hasn’t already turned my brain into a puddle with one cocky glance.

“Hey, Q,” he says, voice smooth and familiar.

And suddenly… fuck, he hugs me.

He straight-up pulls me into him, arms wrapping around me. His chest collides with mine and my entire body short-circuits. I have a full-blown internal meltdown while outwardly pretending I’m totally chill and not currently soaking through my underwear.

He smells unreal. Spice, leather, and something warm that screams bad decisions and orgasmic regret. His fingers press into the small of my back, holding me in place as if he has no intention of letting go. I want to bury my face in his shirt and stay there.

Keep it together, Quinn. It’s only a hug.

A normal, friendly, platonic fucking hug. Nothing more. But my body clearly didn’t get the memo. Heat crashes through me, pulse racing as if I’ve gone headfirst into Nate Reynolds. And for a second—one single fucking second—I let myself lean into it, sink into the solid weight of him.

He steps back, that smug smirk tugging at his lips as his hands fall casually to his sides, as if he didn’t leave me one breath away from moaning in a goddamn airport.

I’m still trying to reboot my brain when Theo moves in.

“C’mon, Quinn,” he says, voice low and full of that teasing warmth I remember far too well. “Where’s my hug?”

And fuck… if Nate was heat, Theo is fire.

He pulls me close, one arm slung low around my waist, the other pressing against me as if he’s testing how many laws of personal space he can break before I pass out.

His body is solid, all lean muscle and unfair heat, and his scent is nothing like Nate’s.

Darker. Heavier. Cedar and sin. The kind of cologne that clings to your clothes and haunts your pillows for a week.

My hands press against his chest, not to push him away, but more a “please God, don’t let me melt into a horny puddle right here” movement.

For a second, I forget how to speak, because Theo’s grip is a little too tight to be innocent.

I clear my throat, loudly, as if that will reset the hormones or something. After that, I step back before I end up dry humping him in front of everyone here at the airport.

Theo only grins, eyes dragging over me in a slow, filthy way that says he knows exactly what he’s doing.

I want to slap him, but knowing my luck, that might only make me hornier.

“You speechless?” Theo smirks, too pleased with himself.

I finally manage to speak. “You wish.”

He laughs, all teeth and trouble, and takes my camera bag without asking before slinging his arm around my shoulders.

The sudden weight of his arm catches me off guard. His warmth seeps into my skin, and my brain decides to stop working entirely. I tell myself to pull away. Instead, I stand there, stiff as hell, pretending I don’t notice his thumb brushing the edge of my shoulder.

God help me, I am in so much fucking trouble.

Before I can process what’s happening, Nate grabs my suitcase, fingers curling around the handle as he starts to wheel it forward. He barely makes it two steps before stopping, his brows pulling together as he takes it in properly.

“Jesus, Q. This thing’s being held together by pure willpower.”

I sigh. “Yeah, well, half my shit did a full runway lap on the conveyor belt. I’m pretty sure my panties were the headliners.”

Theo snorts. “Damn. Did they at least get a callback?”

I shoot him a glare. “Fuck you.”

He grins, hand still on my shoulder. “Perhaps later, sweetheart.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Since when are you such a flirt? I remember you used to flinch when I stared at you too long.”

He leans in, voice low and smug. “Maybe I was trying not to pop a boner.”

I blink. “Jesus, Theo.”

“What?” He shrugs, all innocence. “I’m only saying, teenage me had eyes.”

“And apparently no shame.”

“None,” he agrees, eyes dropping briefly to my mouth before dragging back up.

I roll my eyes. “God, your ego.”

He grins. “Please, you love it.”

“I tolerate it.”

He pulls me tight against his side, resting his cheek on the top of my head. “God, I’ve missed this.”

I swallow hard. “Missed annoying the shit out of me?”

His laugh rumbles through me. “No, Quinn. I missed you.”

Up ahead, Nate takes hold of my disaster of a suitcase and wheels it forward, moving ahead while Theo and I fall in behind him.

And fuck, my eyes go to Nate.

I can’t stop them.

The way he moves. That body. Those shoulders.

His jeans hang low on his hips, fabric worn and tight in all the right places, clinging to an ass that should be illegal.

Muscles shift beneath his shirt, tattoos winding up his arms and spilling from his sleeves.

Silver rings flash on his fingers. Every inch of him screams trouble.

Back in the day, he almost broke me.

One night. One look. That’s all it took to make me falter.

I nearly gave in when he stared too long, when his mouth curled the right way.

I’d heard the rumors. They were everywhere.

Girls whispered about him in the bathrooms, in the halls, drunk and glassy-eyed after a night tangled up with Nate Reynolds.

They said he fucked with purpose, with something to prove.

That he needed to own you. That he got off on watching you fall apart beneath him.

That the sound of his name on your lips was what he wanted more than anything.

Others said he was unforgettable. The kind of fuck that brands itself into your memory and ruins every other man who comes after.

And for one fleeting second, I wanted to know what it was like to have him.

But I didn’t go there.

Because I knew exactly what I’d be after it was over.

Another fuck.

Another girl forgotten by Nate Reynolds.

Theo’s voice cuts through my Nate-induced coma, low and smug against my ear.

“You gonna need a minute, or should I start wiping the drool now?”

The heat in his tone catches me off guard.

I glance over, and there it is—that fucking smirk.

“I guess being in a band gave you a whole new personality,” I say, arching a brow. “The Theo I remember didn’t flirt as if he were trying to land in someone’s panties.”

“I’m still the same guy, Quinn. I only upgraded. I still talk shit, and now I can multi-task too.”

I laugh, shaking my head at how fucking confident he is. It’s effortless now, the way he carries himself, how he fucking owns it.

We step into the car park, late afternoon sun glaring off the pavement. Nate grabs my suitcase, still barely holding itself together, and hauls it into the trunk like it isn’t seconds from exploding again.

“You sure this thing’s safe to be out in public?” he asks, shutting the lid.

“No,” I say. “But I’m hoping it doesn’t flash anyone else today.”

Theo swings my camera bag off his shoulder. “What a shame. I was looking forward to Act Two: The Panty Parade.”

“Keep dreaming,” I mutter.

He opens the passenger door with a flourish. “Your throne, my lady.”

I raise a brow. “What are you doing?”

“Multi-tasking,” he says, giving me a wink.

I climb in and mutter something about idiots and dignity.

He shuts the door behind me with far too much enthusiasm before climbing into the backseat as if we’re chauffeuring him to a red carpet.

Nate slides behind the wheel and starts the engine.

Theo sprawls out behind me, one arm slung over the headrest like he’s in the middle of a moody rockstar promo shoot.

“So, Quinn,” he says, voice smooth as fucking silk, “you ever been to LA before?”

I catch his dark eyes glinting in the rearview mirror.

“No,” I answer, shifting in my seat. “Not really.”

Theo tilts his head. “Not really? What does that mean? You drove past it once and waved?”

“I watched Clueless on repeat. Pretty much a local now.”

Nate snorts as he pulls out of the lot. “Hope LA’s ready.”

I roll my eyes and stare out the windshield as the skyline sharpens ahead.

Day one, and they’re already pushing every fucking button I’ve got.

This is going to be hell.