Quinn stands back, listening to the engine with his hands on his hips, deep in concentration. He motions with his hands to cut the engine, which Hank does. Scratching his chin briefly, he then pokes his head back under the hood, blindly reaching for a tool near him.
The farther he extends into the car, the more I can’t stop staring at how good his butt looks and the way his back muscles ripple under his tight T-shirt with each of his movements. Inadvertently, I lean farther and farther over the sink until my forehead basically rests against the curtain to get a closer view.
Thanks to Betty and her knack for interior decorating, I can totally ogle Quinn without him knowing I’m so checking him out right now.
Or so I thought.
He slowly turns at the waist and peers over his shoulder, stari
