“Maybe you should have thought of that before you decided to act like such a spoiled little drama queen!”

Her mother was yelling full out, now. Those stupid tears were still biting at Quinn’s eyes. She didn’t know how the woman could do this every time, just say a few slurred words and cut Quinn to her knees. Effortlessly.

Then her bedroom door swung open and Jake came out. He was shirtless and barefoot, loose drawstring pants hanging from his hips.

He walked right between Quinn and their mother, ignoring the clear cord of tension connecting them. He grabbed a box of Ho Hos from the cabinet and then a bag of popcorn, too.

When he was walking back, he smacked Quinn on the ass. “I’d offer you some, little sis, but I know you’re working on that.”

Quinn grabbed the food and tore it out of his hands. “Fuck you, Jake!” she screamed, as the bag tore and popcorn went everywhere. “God, I hate you.”

“Get out!” her mother screamed. “Get out of here!”

Quinn couldn’t move fast enough. She slammed the door behind her so hard that the little old man on the second floor opened his front door to peer out curiously.

She didn’t even spare him a glance, just swiped tears from her eyes and kept running.

She had her phone, a sweatshirt, and about ten dollars.

It was freezing outside.

God, she hated everyone.

With nowhere else to go, she ducked into the 7-Eleven at the end of the street, the one that shared a building with a rundown old liquor store. There was no one in the convenience store except the bored cashier, but the Pakistani guy must have been used to half-hysterical girls coming in late at night because he barely gave her a glance.

I’d offer you some, but I know you’re working on that.

What an ass**le.

But the worst part was, she couldn’t stop thinking about those Ho Hos. How there was a box, right there on the shelf in front of her. How she just wanted to shove them all in her mouth and feel better.

Well, what else did she have to do?

Quinn took the box to the counter and paid. She’d eaten two before she made it out the door.

The chocolate, the filling, the sugar rush—Quinn felt better and worse immediately. Cold air caught the tears on her cheeks and set her face to stinging.

“Hey, baby. Time for a chocolate fix?”

Quinn paused before she could shove the third one into her mouth. Two guys sat straddling motorcycles in front of the bar. She didn’t recognize them, but they weren’t very old. Probably not high school, but not much beyond that. Dark clothes, heavy boots, cool gazes.

The one with dark hair and calculating eyes took a drink from an honest-to-god flask, then gave her a clear up-and-down. His gaze barely went north of her neck. “I like your shorts, cutie. Cold night, huh?”

She should be afraid. She knew she should. But it was so nice to have someone look at her with a shred of desire that she didn’t care. It wasn’t like anyone would give a crap if she disappeared anyway.

She licked the chocolate off her fingers. “I’m all right.”

He laughed, low and masculine and genuinely amused. “I’ll say.”

She sauntered over to them and glanced at the flask. “Care to share?”

He seemed startled—but then he handed it over. She took a sip. The liquid burned her tongue and then her throat. She had no idea what it was, and she didn’t care.

The other one, with lighter hair and brown eyes, leaned forward against the handlebars on his bike. Despite his rough appearance, his eyes were kind—and he was actually looking at her, not just her assets. “What are you doing out here?”

“Same thing you are,” she said. “Just looking to have some fun.”

The dark one laughed. “We can help you with that.” He patted the seat behind him. “Want a ride?”

His voice promised something more than just a ride on the back of his motorcycle.

Reason smacked Quinn across the face, and she hesitated. Then the light-haired one shook his head. “No way. If she comes along, she’s riding with me.”

And because his eyes were kinder, because Quinn had nowhere to go and no one to call, she swung her leg over the back of his motorcycle and scooched up real close to him. He didn’t smell like liquor at all—and she would know—but instead some mixture of leather and sweat and a faint whiff of an intoxicating cologne.

She didn’t even know his name, but she didn’t care. He was warm, and she wrapped her arms around his chest.

He glanced over his shoulder. “You sure are friendly.”

No. Lonely.

“You complaining?” she said.

“Not at all.” He started the ignition on his bike and revved the engine. The vibration rolled through her body and she held on, thriving on the adrenaline.

They went to Sandy Point, driving around the barriers and down to the beach. Clear trespassing. They didn’t care, and she sure didn’t give a crap. She learned her driver’s name was Matt, he was twenty, and just like her brother, he was home from college for a few days.

She didn’t like thinking of Jake, or of Nick for that matter, so when they asked if she had a boyfriend, she said no and took another long drink from their flask. A fleece blanket appeared from a compartment on Matt’s bike, and she lay back to look at the stars while her head spun from the liquor.

This was probably the stupidest thing she’d ever done.

But hey, she wasn’t lonely now, and they weren’t trying to get in her pants or anything. And what if they did want her for sex? At least someone wanted her for something.