She shook her head and glanced over. “Can I crash with you again?”

Nick kept his eyes on the steering wheel and didn’t say anything. He’d let her spend the night once, after Gabriel had cut her self-esteem to shreds by making a bunch of cracks about her weight. Quinn had been so full of rage and self-hatred that Nick had been worried she’d go home and find a set of razor blades or something.

He’d never let a girl spend the night before.

He’d never wanted to.

He didn’t want to now.

Besides, if Michael found her there, he’d make damn sure she left, and he’d probably make it as humiliating as possible, just to be sure Nick wouldn’t try to sneak a girl in again.

But maybe sharing his bed with Quinn again was exactly what he should do, just to shake loose all the indecisions rattling around inside his head.

And she obviously didn’t want to go home.

“Please?” she whispered.

Nick let a breath out through his teeth. His thoughts felt stuck on a spinning roulette wheel, bouncing along, never settling where he expected, leaving him half-hoping it would keep spinning—and half-hoping it would stop.

Quinn read too much into his hesitation. She crawled across the cab to climb into his lap, until she was pinned between him and the steering wheel. Her hands traced their way up his chest, and she whispered against his lips. “Need convincing?”

Maybe he did.

Nick kissed her, tasting her lips, teasing her mouth with his tongue. Her waist fit between his hands perfectly, and in the close confines of the truck cab, he was very aware of every motion of her body. She was warm and smelled like sugar cookies, and it was . . . pleasant.

It was always pleasant.

Not just with Quinn—with any girl. Not great, not electrifying, not earth-moving.

Pleasant.

When he was younger, he’d thought maybe it was a maturity thing. Gabriel had barely been thirteen when he started talking about boobs and  p**n  and whatever else he ran on at the mouth about. And of course he’d shared everything with Nick.

Nick hadn’t really cared. He’d pretended to care, because their parents were gone and he was so desperately terrified of losing anyone else, especially his twin, so he’d done everything he could to live up to his brothers’ expectations of him. He’d gone along with it, thinking that hormones would catch up at some point, that one day he’d wake up imagining cheerleaders soaping up in the shower or something.

He never did.

His imagination was perfectly content to feed him other ideas, however. Ideas that Nick shoved out of his head practically upon thinking them.

Ideas that would definitely drive a wedge between him and his brothers, if they knew.

So he kept dating girls, still hoping that one day he’d wake up with new ideas.

Sometimes he could get into it, could seek out bare skin with his hands and mouth, could let them half undress him and explore his body in the darkness. Like now, with everything cloaked in shadow and a tongue stroking his, a strong body pressing into him, fingers in his hair.

Nick made a small sound in his throat. Like this, he could pretend he was with—

Stop.

No, he couldn’t. He couldn’t pretend anything. He couldn’t even let himself think it. He shoved those thoughts from his brain and told that roulette wheel to keep f**king spinning and settle somewhere else.

Quinn must have felt the change in his body, the sudden tension, because she drew back. The inside of the truck was stifling hot. “What’s wrong?” she whispered.

Everything. “Nothing. It’s just—nothing.” He paused, trying to breathe. Him! Fighting for air! And words. He choked on half of them. “Just—you don’t need to sleep with me if you want me to help you, Quinn.”

She went still. “You think I’m trying to sleep with you so I can get a place to stay?”

He gave her a look. Her hand was still on the button to his jeans, for god’s sake. “Aren’t you?”

She shoved herself off him and grabbed her bag.

Nick caught her arm. “Hey,” he said gently. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—I’ll help you because I’m your friend.”

Friend. It was the wrong thing to say, and he knew it instantly. She was still poised to shove the truck door open, but she looked at him over her shoulder. Her eyes were so striking, even bluer than his were. “Why don’t you want to sleep with me?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Right now? Because we’re in a parking lot.”

“No,” she said quietly. “I mean, why don’t you want to sleep with me ever?”

Nick drew back and let go of her arm. He gave her his easy smile. “Maybe I’m a gentleman.”

Quinn didn’t smile back. “I know I’m not as hot as the girls you usually date, Nick.” She paused. “Are you just taking a break or something? Using me as a filler girlfriend so you have time to let the chafing heal?”

“Wow.” He dragged the word into three syllables.

“Or is this like a favor for Becca? Did Chris tell you to give me a little attention—”

“Are we seriously having this conversation?”

“No. Forget it—no.” Then she was out of the truck.

He was behind her in a heartbeat, trailing her up the steps. “Quinn. Stop. I don’t—”

“Go away, Nick.”

She was crying; the air told him that much. Crying because he hadn’t tried to have sex with her in the cab of his brother’s truck.