by Kayt Miller
“Okay?” Robbi repeats.
“Yeah, okay.” I look at the girls. “I’m sorry. I honestly didn’t mean to upset you guys. My phone volume was off because of work, and I was too caught up in Cooke to remember to turn it back on.” Placing my hand over my heart, I add, “It won’t happen again.”
Patsy stands first, and then the rest of the girls follow her lead. I’m expecting words from Patsy, but it’s Robbi who speaks. “They need a day or two to get over it. Then”—she winks—“we want to hear about you and that hot piece of English ass.”
“Jesus, Robbi. Sexist much?” snaps Lindsay.
It makes me giggle.
“Oh, like you don’t want to know,” Robbi snaps right back. “Cooke is the hottest man I’ve… no, we’ve”—she points at every roomie as she finishes—“ever seen, and our girl here went home with him. I want details.” She glares at Lindsay. “I know you do too.”
She shrugs. “It’s just not cool to call a guy a ‘hot piece of ass.’”
“Get over it,” Robbi grumbles. “Go—”
“Okay,” I cut in quickly before Robbi says too much. “I’m sorry. Yes, I’ll tell you all about it when you guys are ready.”
As the girls leave the room, I reach out and touch Patsy’s wrist. When she looks at me, I can tell she’s truly upset with me. “Pats?”
“Yes?” she asks, sounding very formal.
“I’m sorry.”
She sighs. “I know. I was worried, that’s all.”
“I get that. I had no idea.” What? No idea they cared? No, I knew they cared; it’s just a surprise to see the extent. I feel a connection to these girls, especially now that Kara is out of the picture. Which reminds me. “I talked to Gage last night.”
“Gage?” She looks confused. “The cop?”
I nod. “I think you should know that Kara is the one that ran over my scooter.”
“Shit,” she mutters, looking back into the room. “Sus,” she says absently. “I’ll need to call Mom. Does Kara know we know?”
“I’m not sure. I’m going to the station today to fill out papers. They charged her with hit-and-run.”
“Fuck.”
I know she’s worried about her mom’s job. “I’ll let you know what else I find out, okay?”
“Yeah. Okay.” She steps away from me, then turns back. “You do whatever you need to do, Quinn. Kara deserves to be punished. What she’s said and done to you is bullshit. I’ll let my mom know so she can be prepared, just in case.”
“Oh. Right.” I sure hope her mom doesn’t get fired because of me.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
I’m late for class. Again. Luckily, my ceramics professor is cool. Not so lucky that being the last to arrive to class means I’m forced to use the crappy wheel in the way-way back of the room. The one with the kick-wheel instead of an electric pedal. I much prefer the electric one, because I can’t seem to throw a pot and use my foot to make the thing run all at the same time. I’m just not that coordinated.
Case in point, we were supposed to be working on a simple cup shape. One you could drink from, or if you add a handle to it, it could be a coffee mug. But mine didn’t quite turn out that way. I’d say mine was more of a, well, a plate. No worries, I still have time to make another one next class period. I’ll just have to leave extra early for class next time. Cooke won’t be here, so I’ll have all the time in the world. The thought makes my heart drop in my chest. I’m going to miss him so much, and we just met.
At a few minutes past eleven, I rush into the Hub in search of the man himself. When I spy him, he’s standing at a tall table near the window talking to someone. Not just someone, a woman. And not just any woman. She’s drop-dead gorgeous. I’ve seen her before, and I’m positive she’s in a sorority, but not only that, I’ve seen her in Iowa State cheer squad gear. She’s a cheerleader. I take one step back to watch them interact. Cooke is smiling and nodding at something she’s saying. He looks interested. When he laughs, I feel my heart slip down further than before.
Of course he’d be interested in what she’s saying. Why wouldn’t he?
I’m about to turn and walk away when his attention moves from the beautiful blonde woman to me. I catch my breath at the smile on his face. When he raises his palm to wave me over, I push my shoulders back and take one step, then another, until I reach his table. The woman, whoever she is, turns her head to look at me. I don’t know what I expect her to do, but she only blinks a few times before her attention returns to Cooke. “So, anyway…,” she starts.
“Love?” Cooke moves around the table to stand next to me. The second he reaches me, he leans down and kisses me softly on my lips. “Quinn, meet… uh?”
“Krissy. With a K.”
“Right.” Cooke nods. “Krissy with a K, this is Quinn, my girl.”
His girl. Wow, I love the sound of that.
“Really?” Krissy with a K sounds surprised.
Cooke wraps his arm around me until his palm is on my hip. “Really.” Looking down at me, he smirks. “Shall we? We don’t want to be late.”
“Sure.” Late for what? “Nice meeting you, Krissy with a K,” I say as Cooke picks up my backpack and slings it over his shoulder.
“Christ, woman, what’ve you got in here, an anvil?”
It surprises me, making me laugh. I took a jewelry making class. I know what an anvil is. “No. I’ve got my mostly ruined textbook in there, plus some art supplies.” Not to mention the rest of the things a student needs throughout the day.
I follow him out the door and around the building to the street that runs perpendicular to the Hub. It’s also impossible to park there without getting a ticket. Actually, there’s never parking on campus. But not for Cooke. Nope. His little black sports car is parked right there. I walk around the front to see if he has a ticket yet.
“How did you get away without a ticket?” I frown at him, though I shouldn’t. It’s not his fault.
“I spoke with the traffic warden, and she—”
“She?” I roll my eyes.
“Hm, yes.” He looks at me, perplexed. “She told me I had one hour.”
I roll my eyes again. “Only you would get away with that.”
“How do you mean, love?”
“I just mean….” I look up at him, and his brows are scrunched up in the middle of his face. It’s worry. “Nothing. I’m glad you got such a great spot.” I step closer to the passenger side. “Back home, we call this rock star parking.” I open the door and slide inside, waiting for him to do the same.
Cooke chuckles. “Now you can call it rugby star parking.”
Giggling, I gently slap his thigh as he slides down in the car. “I will.” I snap my seat belt on. “So, if we’re not doing the campus tour, where are we going?”
“It’s your surprise. Don’t ask questions.”
He pulls out onto the street, moving slowly past the main administrative building, Beardshear, and then the Memorial Union. As he drives, I point toward the large grassy area. “That day we were talking on the phone, I was sitting right over there.”
“Aye, I recognized the clock tower.”
“The Campanile. There’s a story that says you’re not a true Iowa Stater unless you’ve been kissed under the Campanile at midnight.”
He turns his head slowly toward me. “Are you a true Iowa Stater?”
“No, sadly.”
“Maybe we can remedy that tonight. Another first?”
I blush at his reference to last night. It can’t be helped.
“Cooke? Why are we here?” He’s pulled into a parking lot next to what looks like an old school located a little west of Beedle Drive.
He winks at me as he pushes his door open. “You’ll see.” I follow him into the building to an office with an elegant marble plagued on the door that reads Leasing Office. Inside, I listen to him ask for someone named Connie.
“You must be Cooke,” says an older lady as she comes out from som
ewhere in the back.
He shakes her outstretched hand. “I am. Pleasure.” He moves aside and places his palm on my lower back. “And this is Quinn.”
“Quinn.” She holds out her hand to me. “What a lovely name.”
“Thanks.” What the hell is going on?
Holding her arm out in the direction of the door, she says cheerily, “Shall we look at the condominium now?”
“The condominium?” I repeat.
Cooke sounds practically giddy when he shouts, “Surprise!”
“Surprise?”
“Just wait.”
My God, seeing the man excited is something else. He’s like a kid on Christmas morning, so I keep my mouth shut as I follow Connie and Cooke down a long hallway, past an indoor pool, a gym, and a large party room.
“This used to be the elementary school,” Connie explains. “It’s been unused for forty years, so the owners bought the building and turned it into beautiful condominiums, as you’ll see, Quinn. They’ve added unique touches in each unit; for example, a portion of an original chalkboard hangs in each entryway.
“Cool.” It really does sound cool. But I’m still wondering why we’re here. I have my suspicions, but I’m afraid to ask.
We approach a brushed stainless-steel elevator and wait as Connie presses the button. Cooke hums as we wait. It doesn’t take long for the ding to sound, and we all enter the small box. Cooke’s size makes it feel much smaller than it really is. Hell, Cooke’s size makes me feel much smaller than I am. It’s nice for a change.
When we reach the fourth floor, the doors open, and Connie gestures for us to get out first. “To the right, please. It’s number 410.”
We move to 410 and wait for her to unlock it. When she pushes the door open, I gasp. From here I can see floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook Ames. It’s not a New York City or even a Chicago skyline, but it’s still pretty. As I step into the entry, I see the chalkboard she mentioned. It’s framed in old wood to look original. On it, someone has written “Welcome” in chalk. It’s clever.
Moving through the entry hallway, I gasp again when we reach a huge open space with the kitchen of my dreams, a living room with a fireplace, and a spot for a television. The room itself is small but there’s plenty of space for the sofa and chairs they’ve used to stage the place. To the left of the kitchen is a small dining nook.
“There are two bedrooms and two full baths. I’ll wait here in the kitchen while you two explore.”
I slowly turn around, looking up and down. It’s mostly white, but the ceiling is high, maybe twelve feet or more. Part of it is exposed pipes, but part of it is finished in charcoal and white. There’s exposed brick on one wall in the living room, and as we walk around, I see the same brick in both bedrooms as well. But it’s the bathrooms that take my breath away. Both are enormous with attached walk-in closets about the size of my bedroom at the Beedle house. There’s a bathtub and a shower in one and a giant shower with multiple showerheads in the other. I don’t know which one is the best, to be honest. All the finishes are white, and the counters are all white marble like the sign downstairs.
“What do you think, love?”
I choke out a laugh. “It’s frigging gorgeous.”
“You like it?”
I look up at him. “What’s not to like?” I step closer so Connie doesn’t hear me. “But what are we doing here?”
He places his palms on each of my shoulders. He beams as he whispers, “I’m glad you like it, because I’m buying this apartment. For you.”
This time I really do choke. “Huh?” I squeak and cough and sputter all at once. It’s not pretty. “No. You’re not.”
“Yes.” He blinks. “Wait. What?” He looks sincerely confused.
“You’re not buying me a condo.” I feel my chin start to quiver, and then my bottom lip does the same. I can’t control it, damn it.
“Love, you can’t continue to live in that house. It’s not safe.”
My chin wobbling has intensified, and tears threaten to fall. I focus on his face and will them back. “It’s not?”
“Quinn? Love? Are you upset?”
I shrug because I’m not sure why. “It’s… I….” One tear slides down my cheek just as I hear the door close. Connie has stepped out. Good thing, because I’m about to start rambling unintelligibly, and it’s going to be embarrassing enough with only Cooke to see.
“Come here.” Cooke takes my hand and leads me to a fancy sofa that they used to stage the place. He sits, pulling me with him.
When I end up on his lap, I choke, “I’m too heavy.”
“Shh. Now tell me what’s wrong, Quinn.”
So I do. Without taking a breath, I tell him how much I appreciate the offer and that it’s about the nicest, sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me, but I like living with the girls even though my bedroom isn’t private, and I’m hoping the owners will do something about the basement, especially since there’s still standing water in some spots down there.
“The water is exactly why it’s not safe. My guess is mold has already begun to grow. Have you called the landlord about it again? Because they should’ve already had that sorted out, love. It’s been almost a week.”
I look into Cooke’s golden brown eyes. Sniffling, I ask, “You really think it’s not safe?” Because I hadn’t given that much thought. I know mold can be dangerous, but it depends on the mold, right?
“One of my mates lived in a house with mold, and he became very ill. It took months for him to recover.” As Cooke talks, I run my fingers through his hair. He must like it, because his eyes close at my touch. “Would it make a difference if I told you this flat would be an investment?”
“Cooke,” I say, placing my palm on his cheek. “You’re so sweet, but I like living with the girls on Beedle.” I lean in and kiss him softly. “What if I promise you that I’ll call the landlord first thing tomorrow and ask about the basement? I’ll message you with the results.” Since he’ll be gone, damn it.
“If they don’t get to it this week, you need to leave that place.” He kisses me back. “You all do. It’s not safe for your mates either.”
That’s true. “Right.” I slide off his legs and hope he can still walk. I’m also hoping that this idea of buying a condo for me is done. Changing the subject is the way to go. “Don’t forget, we need to go to the police station soon. I’ll text Gage when we get in the car.”
“Why don’t you do that now? I’ll have a word with Connie.”
I nod as I pull out my phone. I search for old calls and find his number listed on the date of the horrible, terrible, worst fucking day ever.
Well, it can’t be that bad. It brought Cooke to me, so there’s that.
I message Gage that we’d like to come in now, and he informs me that he’s already at the station, which is good. I want to get this over with.
Out in the hall, Cooke is still chatting with Connie. I’m tempted to move closer, but I don’t because that would be weird. I don’t need to eavesdrop on Cooke. When they’re done, he turns to me with a smile. “Ready?”
I nod. “Gage is already there. I told him we were on the way.”
I hear Cooke grumbling, and I’m sure I heard the name “Gage” in the mix.
Chapter Thirty
“You’re just in time,” says Gage, shaking my hand. His eyes pan to the man behind me, and then he grimaces.
“Gage, this is Cooke.” I turn to Cooke. “Cooke, this is Officer Gage Golden. He’s the one who investigated my moped, erm, accident.” Even though it wasn’t an accident.
Before I can say another word, I feel Cooke’s big warm hand slide across my back and wrap around to my hip. He tugs a little, enough for the momentum to make me move closer to him. It’s also obvious that Gage notices. Interesting. Men are weird.
“Right. Well, Kara’s father is here, along with an attorney. They’re talking with the captain.”
I want to roll my eyes. Of course he brought
an attorney. “What does that mean?” My eyes pan the police station. “Is she here?”
“She’s not here. At least not yet.” I feel Cooke give my hip a squeeze.
“Why are they here?” asks Cooke in a husky voice.
“Most likely?” Gage runs his fingers through his light hair. It gives me the opportunity to look at him. He’s cute in his street clothes of dark jeans and an Iowa State University tee. “They want the charges dropped.”
“Will you? Drop the charges, I mean?” I ask.
Gage scowls. “I hope not. That woman is a menace; I made sure the captain knew about her earlier assault.”
Assault. It’s such a serious word, but I guess that’s what it was. What else would you call it?
“What do we need to do to ensure this girl stays away from Quinn?”
Gage’s head turns slowly to Cooke. “Cooke, is it? In what capacity are you here with Quinn?”
“In what capacity?” Cooke’s face is priceless—part sneer, part confusion. “She’s my….”
There’s quite an uncomfortable silence that I end with “We’re friends.”
“Bollocks.” Cooke grunts. “We’re more than friends, love.”
“Anyway….” I look at Gage. “You can talk to him. He knows the whole story.” Cooke squeezes my hip again, and I want to giggle but keep my mouth shut. And good thing because right then, a door opens behind Gage and three men walk out. I’m guessing one of them is Kara’s father. All three of us watch as two of the men shake the other’s hand, presumably the captain. They look happy, which makes me curious about their conversation. Then the captain points in our direction. Since he doesn’t know who I am, I’m guessing he’s pointing at Gage.
“Shit,” mutters Gage. Turning to me, he smiles weakly. “Give me a second.” He walks directly to the captain and the two men.
“What do you think they’re saying?” I ask Cooke softly.
Cooke growls, “Probably making a fucking deal. That guy in the dark suit looks loaded.”
