Right Man, Right Time (The Vancouver Agitators, #3)

by Meghan Quinn

“My name is Ollie. I’m in a really tough spot, and I’m so sorry, but I’m about to kiss you because I need to save face in front of my ex-boyfriend, who is now dating my nemesis. If you don’t stop me in three seconds, I’m going in.”

“Please pretend to be my boyfriend for a second. Also, you’re the best sex I’ve ever had.” That makes me smirk. “Damn, and I didn’t even have to do anything to earn the title.”

think you should at least listen to him. He did just let you sexually assault him with your mouth.”

“Did you just try to use some alpha-hero voice on me?” “Alpha-hero voice? What the hell is that?” I ask.

“Well, come on. Can’t you just be a good Samaritan and do something for a damsel in distress without needing something in return? What happened to white knights?” “Equal opportunity for all. That’s what happened,” I answer.

“You kissed an experienced man,” I point out, growing irritated. “More than I can say for your ex who looked like he still watches Rugrats on Saturday mornings.”

“What’s Rugrats?” “For fuck’s sake,”

I twist my lips to the side, thinking about what I can offer her. I have lots of fucking money, but that would be borderline prostitution, and I’m not into that.

“Guess you kissed the right man at the right time.” She smirks at me. “I guess I did.”

Ross: Are you really questioning my taste in fashion? Ollie: I’m questioning my life decisions.

“Ugh, come on, can’t you think of something? I mean, I’d offer sexual favors at this point.” He raises one brow in question. “But as we established, this is a business transaction, not a whorehouse.”

Too bad we have the no whorehouse pact.

“Oh, nice try, sir. But I’m not going to be subject to one of your jacking-off memories.” I chuckle. “If you run your hands over me, it wouldn’t be a memory. It would be a right here, right now kind of moment.” “But that will never happen because we’re not a whorehouse, remember?”

“If this agreement was a whorehouse, I would tell you to drop the towel. Not to even bother.”

“This wasn’t part of the deal,” I say. “Neither was you showing your ass in the sauna, but that happened.”

Silas: We have a no whorehouse policy.

A siren goes off, a red light flashes, and I swear on my two tits, the crowd cheers so loud that I fear the arena might collapse.

“Ollie, please, for the love of God, don’t get the man thrown in jail. It won’t look good for him.”

“I’ll pray for his safety tonight.”

After a few seconds of awkward silence, Hornsby finally asks, “Why is your dick on Posey’s knee?”

The people who hurt us are the people who are hurting inside. They hurt others because they don’t know how to deal with their hurt.

“So you two actually talk? That’s shocking since Silas’s dick is always down your throat.”