Page 37 of Seven Lost Summers (Broken Oasis #3)

Nate

W

hat

the

fuck

is

wrong with Quinn?

I know she’s nervous, but that was some fucking Oscar-worthy, full-throttle meltdown.

One second she’s standing in front of me, stiff and twitchy like she’s buffering in real time, and the next she’s tearing out of the room so fast you’d swear I’d dropped my pants and asked her to rate my cock on a scale from one to ten.

Honestly, I’ve seen drunk fans hold themselves together better, and they’re usually wearing my face on a T-shirt and crying into their vodka Red Bull.

I glance at Theo.

He’s still planted in the kitchen, staring after Quinn like she hadn’t launched herself into the hallway with the grace of a drunk gazelle. A smirk tugs at his mouth, the kind of smug, shit-eating curve that makes my hands itch to lob something at his stupid head.

He finally turns and locks eyes with me.

“What?” I ask, lifting my cup. I go to take a sip but freeze halfway when I catch the way his grin deepens, savoring some private joke where I’m the punchline. My eyes narrow. “What the fuck are you smiling at?”

“Nothing,” he says, still smirking like the asshole he is. “Just an interesting morning, that’s all.”

“Yeah. No fucking shit. You know what that was all about?” I nod toward the door, eyes locked on Theo, hoping he’ll quit dragging things out and finally tell me what the hell went down with Quinn.

He takes a slow sip of his coffee, acting as if he’s got all the time in the world to be a smug little shit.

I grit my teeth. “Theo.”

“What?”

I scoff. “What the fuck does that mean?”

His grin stretches, and I swear to God, if I didn’t have this cup in my hand I’d be ready to punch him.

“You really don’t know?” he says, clearly enjoying himself. “This from the guy who spent high school fucking his way through every girl with a pulse.”

“Yeah, and?”

“And now a girl’s practically short-circuiting in front of you, and you’re standing here blinking like a confused golden retriever. What happened to the guy who could smell a crush from a mile away and seal the deal before lunch?”

I glare at him. “You done?”

“Not even close,” Theo retorts, laughing. “Either you lost your game or your dick’s out of service. Might wanna get that shit checked.”

I stand frozen, confused as fuck. I wait for him to explain, but he remains there, grinning as if this is the goddamn highlight of his week.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

He doesn’t bother hiding a thing. “Immensely. Honestly, I haven’t had this much fun since that groupie called you my name mid-blowjob.”

I blink. “That never happened.”

He shrugs, smug as ever. “You were too busy choking on your ego to catch it.”

I take a sip from my cup and move around the bench, dropping onto one of the stools.

Theo goes back to cracking eggs into a bowl, calm as ever.

My eyes track him as he fishes out a piece of shell and flicks the fragment into the sink before he finally looks up.

“How do you think she’ll go today?” I ask.

“Quinn will be fine," Theo says. "You’ve seen the way she captures shit. Moments no one else even notices. She’ll get one of Ace being the usual grumpy bastard that he is. His resting asshole face will do half the work for her. What I’m really hoping for is that she finally gets a shot of Pretty-boy that makes him look like the rest of us.

Sweaty. Slightly pissed off. Maybe caught mid-sneeze. ”

I shake my head, laughing now. “You really want to knock Xander off his pedestal.”

“Someone’s got to do it,” Theo says, dead serious. “Every time I see one of those glossy posters, I give him a makeover. Dicks on the jawline, devil horns, the occasional lazy eye. You know, artistic expression.”

I grin, already picturing it.

Theo’s been on a quiet mission for years to take Xander down a peg, usually by defiling his posters with dicks in various positions.

Theo grins. “It’s a public service, really. Makes people stop treating him like he pisses Chanel.”

I snort into my cup. “So are you going to tell me what you said to make Quinn freak the fuck out?”

He doesn’t flinch, just keeps whisking. “Nah. You’ll work it out soon enough. These are ready to cook now.”

I eye the eggs, after that I eye him. I know Theo. Give it five seconds and he’ll get distracted by something shiny and burn the whole damn pan. So I slide off the stool and take over, cracking the skillet to life.

We move around each other easily. No words needed. It’s been that way for years. Through the chaos, the tours, the late-night arguments that nearly split us down the middle, we always find our way back to this—breakfast, eggs, coffee, smartass comments, and a rhythm that works.

Still, I glance toward the hallway, wondering what the fuck Quinn sees that I don’t.

It’s 9:03.

We’re three minutes late, and I already know Kit or Xander will be riding our asses for it. Probably both.

We head toward Ace’s place, the morning heat pressing down, clinging to my skin. Today’s going to be a long one in the studio—the kind that scrapes at your patience and doesn’t let up.

Our sound isn’t what it was when we first started. It’s rougher now, jagged in places, tighter in others. It hits harder. There’s grit in every note. That’s what happens when time beats the shit out of you. Things shift. Bands either evolve or burn out trying to stay the same.

Still, underneath all of it, the foundation holds. The rhythm, the weight, the pulse—it’s all there. Wrapped in newer scars and louder truths.

Quinn walks between us, quiet, eyes on the ground, stuck deep in her own head. Her camera bounces against her chest with every step, fingers twitching against the strap. She’s nervous. Anyone with half a brain could see that.

I should be focused on the day. On the music. On the set list and the shit we still need to tighten. But all I can think about is her.

I shouldn’t be looking at Quinn the way I am. Shouldn’t be catching how her tank top hugs her tits beneath that open shirt, or how those fucking cutoffs cling to her hips, riding high, showing off legs a man could spend all fucking day between.

But I do.

And once the thought lands, it doesn’t fade. It multiplies. Fucks with my focus. Strips everything else down to static.

I picture her stripped bare, laid out between me and Theo, skin flushed, chest rising fast, those pretty lips parted on a gasp as we touch her.

My hands gripping her thighs, holding her open, spreading her wide.

Theo’s mouth trailing down her body, dragging every shiver out of her with nothing but his tongue and that cocky grin he wears when he knows he’s got someone right on the edge.

He’d start with her nipple, teasing it, sucking it into his mouth while she moans, hands fisting in the sheets, begging for more. And I’d be taking in every second. Seeing her come apart under him. Catching the way he drags it out.

My hand wrapped around my cock, stroking slowly, keeping pace with every sound she makes. Theo’s mouth would move lower, kissing across her stomach, grinning against her skin when she whimpers. And I’d be right there, hard as fuck, knowing exactly what’s coming.

Theo would tease her first.

Of course he would.

The fucker lives for that. That smug bastard would make her beg, hold back to watch her unravel.

His fingers would ghost over her clit, barely grazing, enough to make her squirm, to make her hips lift off the bed in a silent plea for more.

He’d smirk, knowing exactly what he’s doing, and drag it out even longer.

Whispering filth in her ear, telling her how fucking beautiful she looks when she’s needy, when she’s right there on the edge, falling apart for us.

I’d slide my fingers inside her, taking in the way her body grips me, tight and wet.

She’d be so fucking soft, so ready, and I’d take my time with it.

Curling my fingers perfectly, dragging over every spot that makes her gasp.

Her legs would open wider, thighs trembling, mouth parting with those little breathless sounds that drive me fucking insane.

She wouldn’t need words. Her body would say it all.

Theo wouldn’t leave her hanging for long.

He’d kiss his way down her body, dragging his mouth over every inch of skin he can reach, sucking bruises into her thigh purely to watch her squirm.

After that he’d settle between her legs, eyes dark, fingers digging into her hips to hold her in place while his mouth hovers, close enough that she can sense the heat of it but not close enough to give her what she needs.

When he finally does, he wouldn’t be gentle. He’d groan into her, licking her clit like he owns her, as if it’s his favorite fucking meal. Wet, messy, relentless.

I’d be right there beside him, fucking her with my fingers, keeping perfect rhythm with his mouth, watching the way her whole body responds. Taking in every twist and pant, her hands clawing at his hair, head thrown back as she gets closer and closer.

And right when she’s on the fucking edge, we’d stop.

Pull back. Make her feel the loss, make her whimper for it, make her ache so bad she forgets how to think.

Because we don’t want her merely coming. We want her feral for it. Needy. Shaking. Broken open and begging for more. And she will. Fuck, she will.

I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek, cock already fucking throbbing simply from the thought.

I know I shouldn’t be thinking about Quinn this way.

Shouldn’t let it crawl under my skin and take over.

But fuck, if she gave me even the smallest sign she wanted it, I’d make every filthy thought I’ve kept locked away since high school come true.

This is Quinn Thomas.

The girl I’ve wanted to fuck since I was seventeen.

The one I used to think about in the shower, hand wrapped tight around my cock, groaning her name while I picture her on her knees, lips parted, eyes wide, looking up at me as if I was the only thing she ever fucking needed.