Page 49 of The Barn: Frost and Q
“Ditto, amigo,” Carson nodded toward the pull-down machine. “Go for it. I have five minutes left.”
“Good deal.” He grinned, grabbing his towel to wipe down the treadmill.
He didn’t really want to go back to work, but with these guys watching Q’s back, he knew he could.
Fifteen
“Q! Look at you coming down for supper!” Tug waved Quentin over to where he and Boone were having pre-dinner drinks. “Good to see you out and about.”
“Frost made me promise I would, and Carson threatened to break in and kidnap me in my chair.”
He hated when people touched his chair without permission.
“Do you want a drink?”
“Yeah, I’ll take a beer.” It wasn’t like he was driving. Okay, he kind of was, but the worst thing that could happen was he was going to get lost going to the elevator.
Tug lifted a finger for a waiter, and before he even got the digit all the way up, there was an eager-looking little sub there.
“Can I help you, Sir?”
“You can, kiddo, I need a beer for my friend here. Plus, I want fried pickles with ranch.”
They blinked at him. Both of them, him and Boone together.
“Since when do you eat fried food?” Boone asked.
“Since when does he eat ranch?” Q knew Tug was on a diet, perpetually. It was like a thing. The man couldn’t weigh seventy-six pounds soaking wet. In fact, Q was relatively sure that even his skinny ass could toss Tug like a javelin.
A really short javelin with a Stetson. They all joked that the only thing holding those silver buckles up was Tug’s giant dick.
Tug arched an eyebrow. “I didn’t say I was going to eat them. I said I wanted them.”
“So what, you’re going to sit here and watch us see them?”
“Yep.”
Q grinned with the confidence that only a man who was a co-owner of the club could. Then he looked at Tug, leaned close, and whispered, “Masochist.”
“Don’t make me kick your ass, sweet pea.”
Quentin snorted and rolled his eyes. “This is my worried face.”
Boone snorted. “Worst sub ever.”
“Well duh.” What he had with Frost was unique in all the world, and he knew it. Quentin wasn’t particularly good at being submissive to anybody, but he was only ever gonna try with Frost. On good days.
On bad days, he didn’t even try.
“So how’s our Frosty? Is he having a ball?”
Quentin rolled his eyes. “That man was born to run around in the forest with fires chasing him. He is happy as a pig in shit.”
“Does it wig you out?” Boone asked.
He took a sip of the glass of water that was sitting there on the table, pondering the question. Did he? He didn’t think so. “Only that I’m not there telling him where to go. We met working.” He hadn’t been a professional firefighter, not really. He was more of a logistics guy, but he had been out there in the field running things from the ground for a long time.
“Do you miss it?”
