It’s another Monday and another song flash fiction. And I’m sure everyone can guess who picked this month’s band. It’s PINCH ME by The Bare Naked Ladies. And can I just say~I love this band. LOVE. THEM. They were big back home in Toronto long before they made it big. And I love the attitude of the band members. Classy bunch of guys who are very down-to-earth.

Anyway, if you’re not familiar with the song, here’s the video. And I think the tune is freaking catchy.


“Do we have to listen to that song?”

Quinn glanced at Rogan, frowning. “Since when don’t you like the Bare Naked Ladies?”

Rogan shrugged. “Didn’t say I didn’t like them, bro. Just don’t want to listen to that damn song right now. It’s depressing.”

Quinn bit back the retort clawing to get free as he focused on the road again, barely sparing his buddy a glance as the man changed the channel, finally settling on some remixed version of a classic song. Now wasn’t the time to discuss the obvious elephant riding in the backseat. If Rogan wanted to pretend he still wasn’t torn up over his breakup with Dave—Dave the douchebag as Quinn called him—then Quinn would play along. It’s what friends did. Or at least, what he did. Because he knew if he opened his mouth, the truth would come spilling out. And he wasn’t sure if either of them were ready to hear what he had to say.

Restlessness churned in his gut, gnawing away at his sanity as they drove toward the trailhead. The first weekend free in months, and they’d somehow got roped into camping with friends. Not that Quinn didn’t love roughing it by the lake, spending the hours paddling or swimming. Talking around the campfire. But just the thought of spending forty-eight hours in the same tent as Rogan had Quinn’s damn stomach in knots. It was only a matter of time before his bravado failed, and Rogan saw the desperation Quinn knew gleamed in his eyes whenever they were together.

Hell, fuck together. Quinn was bloody desperate every minute of every godforsaken day it seemed. And pretending his heart wasn’t breaking a bit more from the strain of holding it all in was taking a toll. One he wasn’t sure he could keep paying. He’d nearly blown his damn cover the night Rogan had called him, voice thick with restrained tears, as he’d told him Dave was gone. That they’d finally split after Rogan had discovered the bastard had been cheating on him.

Fuckwit. Who the hell would cheat on a guy like Rogan? The man was six feet or sinewy muscle, the delineated lines more than evident through his clothing. He had thick brown hair that always seemed perfectly tousled, slightly longer than truly fashionable, but so utterly Rogan it made Quinn’s chest hurt. And the man’s eyes—a stunning mixture of green and hazel that appeared to change with his buddy’s mood. Like now—the dazzling jade far outweighed the amber accents, a testament to the man’s uneasy temper.

Add to that a wicked sense of humor and a genuine personality—Rogan had it all.

And Quinn was barely treading water.

“You okay?”

Quinn gave himself a mental shake, glancing at Rogan again. His buddy and furrowed his brow into an intense vee over his nose as he stared at Quinn as if he’d sprouted another head.

Quinn scoffed. “Of course, I’m fine. Why?”

Rogan shrugged. “You seem…preoccupied. Like when you’re hiding something and think I don’t notice.”

Quinn clenched his jaw. Fuck. If his damn defenses were already crumbling, how the hell was he going to get through an entire weekend rooming with the guy. He blew out his next breath then forced a smile. “You’re delusional. And if anyone’s hiding shit, it’s you.”


“Please. For the past month you’ve moped around the damn frat house, all the while insisting you’re ‘fine’. Everyone knows you’re not, Rog. Not sure who you think you’re fooling or what you have to prove. Breaking up sucks. No matter what the circumstances. No one’s going to judge you if you admit you feel like shit and wish your ex would suffer an extremely painful death in the near future.” He winked at Rogan. “I know I do.”

Rogan chuckled, pushing a hand through his hair, somehow making it sexier than it was before. “I don’t need for Dave to die. A painful injury, however…”

Quinn sighed. “I know you really liked the guy, but…he’s an ass. And blind as a fucking bat, because if he can’t see how damn amazing you are…”

He managed to catch himself and let the words fade before he’d admitted how much he cared. That somewhere between the late-night study sessions and early morning football practices, he’d fallen for Rogan. Not when they’d been friends for three years. And especially not when Quinn knew Rogan didn’t see him as anything other than one of his buddies—the sole-surviving member of the fucking friend zone.

Rogan snorted as he shook his head. “Afraid you’re the only one who seems to think that. My last few relationships haven’t exactly gone as hoped.”

That’s because you keep dating douchebags.

Quinn groaned inwardly, somehow managing not to let the words rumble free. If there was one thing Quinn had learned about Rogan since they’d met their first year of college, it’s that the man had a type. Muscular, confident, with a healthy dose of arrogant charm seemed to knock Rogan’s usually good senses for a loop. While the man’s previous conquests had been hot on every damn level, they’d also been conceded jerks who hadn’t been interested in much past a few tumble between the sheets. And Rogan, being the guy he was, couldn’t seem to see the end coming until it slapped him in the face—usually in the form of finding his boyfriend in bed with another guy.

Quinn blew out a slow breath, glancing at Rogan again before taking the next exit ramp. Just another fifteen minutes and they’d be at the parking lot. And Quinn’s forty-eight hours of fucking torture would begin.

He gave Rogan another forced smile. “My sister keeps insisting all men are jerks. Maybe she’s right.”

Rogan shrugged. “You’re not.”

Quinn’s stomach fucking flip-flopped at the deep, sexy done in Rogan’s voice. He slowed as they turned onto the gravel road leading to the trailhead. “Yeah, and it’s worked out so well for me.”

“Hey, I’ve seen plenty of guys strike out with you. Thinking you’re the one who doesn’t want to commit.”

Oh, he wanted to commit, all right. Commit himself to a damn psych ward for thinking he could spend a weekend with the one man he couldn’t have. “Maybe I’m just looking for someone who wants more than a round of sex.”

“Or maybe you’re hung up on someone and don’t want to admit it.”

Quinn coughed, skidding around the next corner, nearly driving off the damn road before getting himself and the Jeep under control.

Rogan gave Quinn a light punch in the shoulder. “You don’t have to kill us because I’m right.”

“You’re not right. You’re a distraction.”

“You just keep telling yourself that, buddy. But I know I’m right. You’re pining. You’ve got all signs—you don’t do anything more than first dates. You have a laundry list of excuses on speed dial should a prospective lover ask you out and you submerse yourself in work and school. Face it. You’re hooked on some guy you think you can’t have. You just don’t want to tell me who.”

Quinn stared straight ahead. “You think you got me all figured out, huh?”

“Please, you’re not that hard to read.”

Except for the part where the jackass I can’t have is you.

Quinn snorted. “Well, neither are you, Rog. And as long as we’re being honest—maybe your love life wouldn’t suck so much if you tried dating a guy that wanted you for more than just your ass.” He slowed the vehicle to a halt beside a handful of other cars, shoving it into first gear before cutting the engine. He turned to Rogan, noting the wary look in his friend’s eyes. “What?”

“God, I’m right, aren’t I? You really are hung up on some guy. Shit, I was just guessing, but… You’ve got it bad.”

“Yeah, well, luckily for me, he doesn’t know I exist.”

He opened his door and stepped out. Gravel crunched beneath his feet as the heady scent of pine infused the air. He grabbed his backpack out of the rear seat, shuffling it onto his shoulders as he looked across at Rogan. “Are we going to do this or what?”

Rogan eased out of his seat, snagging his bag and tossing it across his back. “You should tell the guy. At least then you’d know how he felt.”

Quinn met Rogan’s expectant gaze. “And if he doesn’t feel the same? If it blows up in my face, then what?”

“Why would that matter unless…” Rogan’s voice trailed off as his brow furrowed again.

Quinn mumbled a curse, turning toward the path before Rogan saw the truth on his face. This was quickly becoming a fucking disaster. Like being stuck in a damn dream he couldn’t wake up from. He pinched his arm, the slight pain a sad reminder it was all too real. He pocketed the keys, taking a few heavy steps away. “You coming?”


Quinn glanced back at Rogan. “Got a couple of miles to go before we reach the campsite. Don’t want to waste the sunlight.”

Rogan moved around to Quinn’s side of the car, stopping far too close. “Fuck the sunlight. There something you need to tell me?”

Panic beaded a cold sweat along Quinn’s skin as he tried to hold himself together. Now wasn’t the time. Fuck, there’d never be a time. Not for this. He wasn’t close to Rogan’s type. Hadn’t gotten so much as a hint that the other man had any kind of feelings for him other than friendship. And admitting how he felt…he’d screw everything they had up. And for what? A chance he never had?

He quirked his mouth. “Yeah, your shoelace is undone. Now, are you coming or what?”

Quinn struck off, getting to the tree line before Rogan’s hand tightened around Quinn’s arm, spinning him around. He stumbled sideways, tripping into a tree before Rogan yanked him forward. Quinn collided with Rogan’s chest, his hands instinctively fisting around the other man’s shirt in an attempt to anchor himself just as Rogan trapped him against the trunk, his body pressed hard against his. An emotion Quinn hadn’t seen before flared in Rogan’s eyes as he leaned in close, his breath ruffling Quinn’s collar.

Rogan arched a brow, his gaze dropping the length of Quinn’s body then up again, focusing on his mouth before finally climbing to his eyes. “Let’s try this again. Who, exactly, are you hung up on?”


And that’s it for me, folks. Check out the other ladies for their brilliant works.

Bronwyn Green  |  Jessica Jarman  |  Paige Prince




  1. That was sweet and lovely and I want to know more. I want to see what he says…does it admit his feelings….ARGH….
    You complain about my depressing stuff, but you leave us hanging…. ALOT. Just saying.

    1. Depressing and cliff hangery aren’t quite the same. And I know the gist of the song is supposed to be on the depressing side, but it never makes me feel that way.

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