Frog and Quinn: Chapter Nine (Patreon)

It took me three times as long to pack. I blame it on Quinn. I kept tossing in string bikinis and then digging them out for more modest one-pieces. Only to change my mind five minutes later and deep-sea dive into my duffel to swap them again. I have never in my life been more confused about my wardrobe choices.

I want Quinn Oliveira to think I’m hot.

It’s the only explanation I have because it’s the truth. Seeing him turned on from porn last night had me reeling. He’s a true ten-out-of-ten, and I know maybe in another life I could land someone like him, but that’s not my current reality. It’d be too messy to date another bodyguard. I still doubt two bodyguards together could romantically last. It’s a pairing that might burst up in flames.

It doesn’t mean I don’t have thoughts.

Or opinions.

And all of my thoughts and opinions scream at me that I liked turning Quinn on. It turned me on. I’m aware that Quinn got hard more from the videos and not anything I did in particular, but it doesn’t mean I can’t try to eke out that attraction again.

You should not be doing that, my moral conscience has advised me all night. It’s why I kept wavering between string bikinis and one-pieces as if my reputation depended on it.

The better part of me won out in the end. I did the responsible thing and stowed all the skimpy bathing suits back in my dresser.

When the plane lands in Florida to the sticky, muggy heat, I almost pat myself on the back. Seriously, who do I think I am? I’m not about to seduce anyone in this humid air. I’m more likely going to have a sweaty upper-lip and be combatting heat exhaustion this entire trip.

To no one’s surprise, Quinn looks like he stepped out of Sports Illustrated magazine. He wipes a rogue droplet of sweat off his temple, pushes back his thick hair, and launches a slanted smile at the receptionist. She’s already introduced herself as Hilary, and she can’t be older than her mid-twenties. She’s also having a hard time detaching her eyeballs from Quinn, even when he slides her his ID.

“We’re checking in for two rooms,” he tells her.

Luna and Donnelly are in the rental car, waiting for us to get the room keys. The less Luna has to be hanging around in public, the longer she can go without her location being leaked. So far, this impromptu trip hasn’t been blasted all over social media. Big thanks to flying private for that one.

Hilary has a pair of cute rhinestone studded sunglasses perched on her head, and she glances between Quinn and me. “Two rooms,” she repeats like she’s gathering data on the situationship between me and him. “Let me see here…” She turns to her computer screen.

I could totally tell her that Quinn and I are sharing one of those rooms, but I don’t feel like I can claim Quinn like that. It’d be wildly unfair to him. What if he finds her attractive? She has the whole Florida vibe down with a cute floral sundress and dangling seashell earrings. Though, maybe that’s a part of her wardrobe requirement for working at The Pink Palm. The kitschy boutique hotel’s exterior is Pepto Bismol pink, and the theme is carried inside to the pink receptionist desk and pink chairs. The glass coffee table is shaped like a clam.

I’ve never been to Panama City Beach before today, but it makes sense Luna and Donnelly would choose to vacation somewhere lowkey and fun over a ritzy resort in Miami. This place is so them. First impressions: I’m digging PCB. (I overheard two girls on the sidewalk calling it that ten minutes ago.)

 “Oh perfect.” Hilary smiles at Quinn. “These were our last two available rooms for the week.” She slides over two skeleton keys. “The Conch and The Sand Dollar both have one king bed and a small kitchenette that includes a mini-fridge and microwave.”

“One king bed?” Quinn asks. “Is there a couch?”

The receptionist frowns. “Yes, but it’s small and doesn’t pull out into a sleeper. It’d fit a child…”

“I can fit,” I tell Quinn.

He doesn’t even look at me when he answers, “You’re not a child.”

Hilary steeples her hands to her mouth. “We’re unfortunately out of cots.” Her eyes ping from Quinn to me. “You do have another room.”

“It’s for our friends,” I jump in. “I can just throw some couch cushions on the floor, Quinn. We’re good.” It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve been up against the “only one bed” situation, and in that scenario, Quinn always takes the floor even after I offer the bed fifteen hundred times.

So I’m unsurprised when he says, “I’ll take the floor.”

I roll my eyes and swipe the keys off the desk. “Where are the rooms?”

“Both are located on the second floor. Next door to each other.” She points down a hallway and toward a staircase we can take. No elevator. I’m just glad we’re at least next door to Luna and Donnelly. It’s less of a security risk than being on different floors.

I’m about to leave when Hilary holds up a hand for us to wait. “We have breakfast in the dining room from six to nine. The pool closes at eleven p.m. sharp. No exceptions. That includes the hot tub. We have pool floaties and beach chairs for rent at the poolside cabana. The beach access is labeled. You can’t miss it. If you need anything else…” She scribbles her number on the backside of a coupon for a half-off a Sharkarita at a place called Sharkey’s. She passes the coupon directly to Quinn. “I’m happy to give any recommendations in the area.” Oh, she’s good. I’d applaud the boldness if it didn’t come at the expense of my churning stomach.

Quinn flashes an even more dazzling smile. “Thanks. I’ll do that.” He gives her a head nod in goodbye, and I trail after him. Are we sure I’m not a child? Because the growing green ball of envy inside me feels immature at the moment.

I shouldn’t be upset if Quinn decides to sleep around or even start dating again. It’d be a good thing for him to move on from his ex, and I’m conflicted because I want that for him. But I also hate the idea of him being able to date and move on from his bad past relationship faster than I can even accomplish a simple task like losing my virginity. I feel behind. Maybe I felt that since the moment I joined the security team so young. I’m playing catch up in a field of men who’ve been doing this years longer than me. 

We climb the staircase. A faint smell of sea salt and…maybe mold…infiltrates my nose. “You always take the floor if there’s one bed,” I tell Quinn. “It’s my turn.” 

“We can talk about it tonight.” He unlocks the door with a plaque that reads “The Sand Dollar” and I’m immediately hit with a wave of cucumber scent. Even Quinn has to take a physical step back.

“Oh my God. It’s Cucumber Melon,” I say, my mouth agape in shock.

Quinn looks at me like I’ve lost it. 

“You don’t recognize that smell?” I question. “My mom was obsessed with it when I was a kid. She bought the candles, the bathroom spray, the fucking soap. I think when she dies, I might spritz it all over her body before they lower her into the ground. It’s only fair.”

He’s still confused.

So I say, “Bath & Body Works.” I’m about to mention how I worked there for a couple months in Buffalo, and I totally plan to leave out the part where I stole Cucumber Melon foam soap for my mom.

But then he says, “Yeah, that makes sense. Nessa loved that place. I think her favorite scent was some sort of vanilla.”

I’m very shocked by this, considering I saw her expensive French shampoo in our bathroom. I didn’t think she’d shop at Bath & Body Works. I also don’t love sharing something in common with Nessa. I would have been happy never knowing we both love that store.

He doesn’t meet my eyes when he talks about her. Nessa. Scooter. Two names that deplete the oxygen out of the air. I’m not going to let our exes ruin this trip. It might be Luna and Donnelly’s vacation, but that doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy our time in PCB too.

We enter Cucumber Melon—I mean, The Sand Dollar—and inspect the room. Checking for bugs (not the literal kind) though I’m hoping we don’t have any roaches. There have been certain instances where some bodyguards have found listening devices in picture frames or recording devices in shower heads. Horrible things that most people would never know happened to them, but if a client gets recorded it’d be leaked online in a heartbeat.

Luckily, I’ve never found any such bugs during my time on the security team.

The silence as we walk around the room gets to me, so I just blurt out, “I never had a favorite scent. I like to rotate them.”

Quinn hangs a painting of a dolphin back on the wall. “Good to know for future Christmas presents.” He tilts his head at me. Some shaggier pieces of his hair falling in his eyes, and he pushes them back with a hand. “How was homework last night?”

Homework.

Our code word for masturbating flushes my cheeks, and I can’t stop the giddy excitement swarming my stomach. I thought maybe he’d never bring it up and push last night under the rug like it never happened. The fact that it’s an actual topic of conversation in Quinn’s eyes has me spinning. Literally, I do a little three-sixty, pretending to take a scan of the room. When I land back to face him, I say, “I failed my homework. Not that it’s super surprising. Homework and I have a turbulent history.”

He crosses his arms over his chest. His shirt pulling tight over his pec muscles. “How do you mean failed?”

“It took me three hours to pack,” I explain. “As soon as I hit the mattress, I fell asleep. I did have a sex dream though. The porn must’ve gotten in my head.” I smile wide. “What if I had an orgasm in my sleep? Does that count?”

His eyes are full of charm as he says a firm, “No.”

Getting under his skin is way too fun. I rock on my heels. “So how am I supposed to complete my homework this week?” I ask him. It’s different living in an apartment with two bedrooms than sharing a hotel room with one bed.

“We’ll make time.”

We’ll. I’ve been hoping he still sees this as a group project, and I’m just happy that I don’t have to figure this all out on my own. There’s something fun about sexual exploration when I can converse with another person. Am I needy? That I need to have someone to talk to about…everything. I realize it’s why I fell so hard for Scooter so fast. I needed a person, and he happened to be in the right place at the right time. When I felt a little like a shell of myself and I didn’t know who to turn to, the tattooist with a charismatic smile was there to sweep me off my feet.

Quinn is different though. He’s not Scooter.

He’s not a boyfriend.

He’s not someone I’m sleeping with.

Maybe all of this only works if we keep it that way. I’m not sure I could stomach realizing that Quinn and I are as toxic of a pairing as me and my ex. It’d destroy me.

Friends. We have to remain friends.

We quickly check The Conch room too and confirm that it also smells like someone lit a never-ending Cucumber Melon candle. Quinn sneezes a couple times from it, but I don’t hate the smell. It reminds me too much of my mom, which reminds me that I haven’t spoken to her in a couple weeks. I always forget to call, and she does too. We’re busy, we always apologize when we get on the phone together.

Then we talk about our current obsessions. The trendy Mary Jane Espadrilles that are taking over the summer and how Tom Cruise might be a vampire that doesn’t age. I love talking to my mom. Living with her is a completely different story.

I don’t miss the nights she forced me to open my purse and spill the contents on the table.

I don’t miss the constant questions about a new lip gloss or set of earrings.

I don’t miss having to tuck my phone in a potted plant at Starbucks because she would obsessively track my location. 

I was a problem child for her, which is why she sent me to Auntie Mint’s. But when we talk on the phone, it’s almost like we both choose to forget those parts of our history together and just focus on what we share: a love of fashion, pop-culture, and gossip.

The Conch and The Sand Dollar are given the all-clear, and we head back down to the parking lot to get the luggage and Luna.

With the powerful AC blasting through The Pink Palm, I almost forgot about the heat, but I’m quickly reminded as soon as we take one step outside.

“I’m going to melt,” I tell Quinn. “Dorothy didn’t need to throw a bucket of water on the Wicked Witch, she just needed to bring her to Florida.”

He laughs. “I still can’t believe this is your first time in the state.”

“Why would I come all the way out here when I had a thing called Lake Erie?”

He gapes. “You did not just compare the beaches of Florida to Lake fucking Erie.”

“I don’t know, Quinn. I’ve never seen the beaches of Florida. Are they made of soft, luscious powder?”

“We’re going to the beach. Immediately.”

“Cool, except, we have to work.”

“This is where we convince our client to immediately go to the beach so you can, at the very fucking least, put your toes in the sand.”

“Ew,” I cringe. “Why would I want to do that?”

“Because.” That’s all he says. Just because.

I have to accept the answer since we make it to the car.

Thank you so much for reading another chapter from our cuties Frog & Quinn. We love these two so much, and getting to focus on them has been such a joy. We're here for all the summer things on their spontaneous summer trip. Also being able to bring PCB to the KBR universe is a treat!! ☀️⛱️

We appreciate your patronage so much during this "between" time before the Cobalt Empire begins, and we hope you're loving the content so far. We'll have more content in June -- which is just around the corner!

xoxo Krista & Becca

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MUSIC: We listened to "Past Lives - slowed + reverb" by sapientdreams while writing this chapter.

“Frog and Quinn," Copyright © 2025 by K.B. Ritchie