And helllooooo Mark.
Mark is made of sexy-sauce. A little short for my taste, he can’t be any taller than five foot nine, but he’s delectable, for an older guy, that is.
“Mark, this is my daughter, Quinn.” My dad says, “Quinn, Mark is our newest associate. Mr. Taylor is retiring and Mark has joined us from Louisiana. He just graduated from Tulane and we’re really lucky to have him.”
Just graduated? Not that old then...
Mark smiles and extends his hand. I don't shake it.
“Quinn, don't be rude,” Dad says, his voice an irritated growl. I glare back at him.
Mark lets out a nervous laugh, but looks me up and down and allows his eyes to linger a little too long. He’s totally checking me out right in front of my dad. Gross.
“It's fine sir.” He says shoving his hands into his pockets. Mark is hot, but I get the feeling he’s a total kiss ass. His navy blue trousers are, if I'm not mistaken, pleated. And although his pink polo shirt is tight on his thick biceps (win!), it is also tucked in (ugh!). His skin is deeply tanned, and unlike my tan that comes from spending too much time in the cancer beds, it’s a gorgeous and natural. His dark brown hair is cropped short to his head, and he has just the right amount of stubble on his cheeks and chin that basically begs me to touch it. I'm taking in his cobalt eyes when I realize I’m staring at Mark way more obnoxiously than he was doing to me. What the hell is wrong with me?
“Quinn, be respectful and pay attention.” My dad interrupts my ogle fest. “You'll be helping Mark while he settles in. He’s taking over several accounts, so I need you to help him get organized. Also, he’s not familiar with the area yet, so you may need to run his errands for him. Basically do whatever he needs you to do.”
Mark’s hands are shoved in his trouser pockets, and he’s smirking. Blatantly smirking. I am not going to be this guy’s slave, no matter how delicious he may be. I fasten my hand to my hip, and am forming a rant of protest, but my dad stops me before I can even get started.
“You know your other option, Quinn,” he says. I snap my mouth shut, and feel myself deflate.
“So, you’re still in high school?” Mark asks as I follow him through the maze of halls that lead to his new office.
“Yep,” I say.
“When I was in high school, I had to flip burgers. You’re lucky your dad is letting you work here rather than doing something like that, fast food is no fun.”
“Super-duper lucky,” I mumble. Yeah, I know I’m being a brat.
“What do you do for fun?” he asks me.
“Work for my dad,” I say. The sarcasm drips from my voice. “How about you? Oh wait, let me guess. Wrestle gators and ride four-wheelers?”
Mark chuckles. “You sure are different from Lee.”
“God I hope so. That’s a good thing, right?” I say. I catch him looking me up and down again as we walk inside his office.
“That is a very good thing.”
I’m pretty sure I heard him wrong, because there is no way he said that the way I think he did.
“So, here's the stuff I need filed, and the cabinets are over there,” he says. Mark points to a row of mahogany filing cabinets that occupy an entire wall. “I know it’s a huge backlog, but the guy before me didn’t seem to be big on keeping things in order. If you have any questions, just let me know. Anyway, if you could get started, that'd be great.”
Apparently since he’s been unsuccessful with winning me over with his frat boy charm, he’s now wearing his boss hat.
I pick up the stack of filing and roll my eyes.
“Once you finish up, let me know. I’m positive I can find something else to do to keep you busy,” he says as he leaves the office.
“Rad.” I frown.
I make my way through about half of the pile before I decide to call Ben. He finally answers on the last ring, just as I’m about to hang up.
“Hey, baby. I thought you'd still be at work,” he says.
“I am,” I groan.
“How’s it going?” His voice is smooth and delicious.
“Annoying. My dad has me working for some putz from New Orleans doing lots of boring filing,” I say. I open a cabinet drawer and thumb through the files as I talk, since I’m the ultimate multi-tasker and all.
“That sucks. What time will you be out of there?” he asks. I love the hint of anxiousness in his voice—and that it’s because he’s waiting for me.
“Not sure, around six I guess.”
“Cool. Well, come by my house when you finish up.”
My skin is tingling just at the thought of seeing him again.
As I shut the drawer, Mark comes back in and murmurs something. And this time, I know I didn't hear him wrong.
“Hey, I've got to go baby, the warden is back.” I say to Ben and snap the phone shut without saying goodbye.
“What the fuck did you just say to me?” I spin round and ask the little troll. He widens his eyes innocently. I know what he said, I just want to see if he has the huevos to repeat it.
He smirks and saunters closer to me, “I said that you look good on your knees."
“You’re an asshole,” I tell him. “And apparently not a very bright one either. Hitting on the boss’s daughter? Not a great idea.” I push past him, determined to get the hell out of here.
“That's why your dad hired me,” Mark says and his words stop me in my tracks. My stomach drops and I spin back around on the balls of my feet. What the hell is he talking about?
“I'm sorry, what?” I ask him. My voice is quivering, which it totally never does.
“When he hired me, your dad said that what he liked was that I knew how to go after what I want.” Mark says with the same arrogant grin plastered on his face that he has had since I got here.
“Well in this case, you’re definitely not getting ‘what you want’,” I say glaring at him before turning and striding out of the office.
I wasn't expecting Quinn so soon. She’s standing on my doorstep, her arms stuffed way up inside the sleeves of her sweatshirt, hugging herself. And she looks pissed.
“Tough day? Let me guess, foiled by your arch nemesis math again?” I joke. She doesn’t smile in return. Something is definitely wrong.
“What's the matter?” I ask, pulling her towards me and pressing my lips to her forehead. Quinn looks like one of those fragile girls you want to protect, until you get to know her, and you realize she doesn't need – and absolutely doesn't want – your protection. I try to remind myself of that right now, when she’s standing here looking so vulnerable that she might crack.
“This little troll at my dad's office just really got to me,” she stomps her foot when she says it, and she looks so damn cute when she’s angry that I have to fight the smirk I can feel forming on my face.
“Come on, let’s go to my room,” I say. I intertwine my fingers with hers and lead her up the stairs. My mom’s in the upstairs hall, orderly stacking towels in the linen closet. Her smile oozes southern hospitality, and is more fake and plastic than the one on a politician.
“Well hey, sugar,” Mom says to Quinn.
“Hi, Mrs Shaw,” Quinn has wiped the angry scowl off of her face and replaced it with a polite smile, “It's nice to see you again.”
My jaw clenches as I wait for my mom to say just the wrong thing that’ll send Quinn running.
“You too, darling, y’all don't stay up too late now,” she says, but as soon as Quinn goes into my room Mom frowns at me.
She doesn't like Quinn. I know this because she’s already told me repeatedly that she doesn't think Quinn is right for me. She’d prefer I found a sweet, stuck up, southern girl like all of the typical ones around here.
That one night when she was over later than she should’ve been didn’t help Quinn’s case. Quinn told Mom that her parents knew she was here, but then Mr MacPherson called looking for Quinn and Mom gave me the “if she could lie about that, what else is she lying about?” speech.
The thing is—I don't care what Quinn is or isn't lying about. I'm crazy about the girl.
“Your mom hates me!” Quinn groans, and throws her head back dramatically.
“She doesn't hate you,” I say. Hate is too strong a word. I walk up behind her, rubbing her shoulders, her back feels tense under my fingers even though she usually relaxes when I touch her.
I sit on the edge of my bed and reach for her, expecting her to curl up in my lap, but instead, she sits crossed-legged in my desk chair.
“So, whose ass do I need to kick?” I ask.
Quinn gives me an exaggerated eye roll. It's a fine line to walk— wanting to take care of someone who so desperately wants to take care of themselves.
“The new guy at my dad's office.”
“He’s a jerk?” I ask, as if her calling him a “troll” didn't already loosely imply that he wasn’t exactly likable.
She shakes her head. “He’s a complete perv. He was totally hitting on me today.”
I work my jaw back and forth a few times. I don’t want to seem like a possessive asshole, and as much as I don’t like it, I can’t really blame the guy, she is freakin’ incredible.
“Well, everyone hits on you, baby,” I say, before what she just said really dawns on me. “Wait, your new boss? How old is this creep?”
Quinn starts spinning in circles in the chair.
“I don't know, twenty four-ish, I guess.” Her voice is unruffled, but I can feel the blood burning under my own skin.
“Did you tell your Dad?” I’m wasting my breath, I already know the answer.
She slows the rotations momentarily so she can catch my eye. “Um, negative. He wouldn’t believe me even if I did.” A minute passes, before she adds, “Besides, I can take care of myself.”
Noted.
“Quinn...” I start to speak, but I can tell she’s tuning me out. She continues to spin in circles. It’s obvious that she’s uncomfortable with me daring to question if she can handle herself, or showing how much I care about her. When she finally stops the chair, Quinn riffles through my desk drawers until she finds a pencil and then pulls her long brown hair back into a knot on the back of her head and shoves the pencil through the knot to hold it in place. Why is it that everything she does, even the simplest of things, seems like magic to me?
“So, I didn’t get a chance to ask you earlier, what'd you think of school?” she asks.
The conversation is apparently switching gears now. It's not easy to be sucked into someone's drama, get yourself all worked up and then have them drop it like it's no longer important. It’s becoming a bit of a routine with Quinn, and I’m finding it increasingly difficult to deal with. But there’s something going on deep inside Quinn, she isn’t just hiding pain, she’s actively building walls to keep people out. Her parents have really done a number on her.
“School was fine,” I sigh, conceding that her work situation is now off limits.
“Did you meet any hot girls?” She jokes. I can tell she’s trying to keep the conversation light, and, as always, away from her.
“A few.” I smile back.
She grins and leans in toward me Her lips form a natural pout, even when she is happy, so being able to actually make her smile, is like winning an award. But sometimes, it’s become a fight. She pulls me in and lets me get so close to her, before she starts pushing back.
Her mouth is on mine and instantly, I’m at a loss as to what we were just talking about. The right thing to do would be to pull away from her lips, to try to make her finish talking to me. But the right thing was off the table as soon as her hot mouth finds mine.
“Come here,” I say.
I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her onto my lap. I suck in a sharp breath through my teeth when she nips playfully at my earlobe.
“You’re gonna get yourself in trouble,” Quinn says with a hint of tease as my hand moves up her thigh.
She tightens her legs around me and giggles.
“You started it,” I say.
I need to tell her that we have to stop. That my parents are home. But every hot, wet lick of her tongue makes me swallow my words.
I slide one hand up the back of her shirt and unhook her bra, causing her shirt to slink down off of one shoulder. I press my lips to the patch of flesh left exposed, I have to taste her skin.
Her phone vibrates on the bed next to us. Quinn pulls back slightly and cuts her eyes toward the display.
“Don’t even think about it,” I groan.
“I have to,” Quinn says. “It’s Mason.”
Quinn is barely out the door before my mom comes in with her lecture.
“You know, it’s okay if you don’t see each other every single day, Ben.” she says.
“We go to the same school Mom, it’s kind of inevitable.” I toss a few rolls of film into my camera bag.
“You know what I mean, Quinn’s always here, or you’re at her place – it’s just too much.”
“Mom, really, you need to let it go.”
“I don’t think you realize how serious this is, Ben. A girl like that, she could ruin everything for you. Just watch her turn up pregnant.” My mom clutches her chest as if her own words make her physically ill.
I grab my camera bag off of my bed.
“Don’t be ridiculous! I’m going out.”
The school is completely deserted except for my brother, sitting on the front steps. Alone. Pitiful. He has a book on his lap, but he’s not looking at it. Instead, he’s staring off into space, rolling a baseball in his right palm. His face is creased with what looks like a mix of worry, sadness, and annoyance. Too much for a kid his age.
“Hey, Mason!” I roll down the window and call to him. He gathers up his books and backpack and jogs to my car. “How was school?”
Mason shrugs, but doesn’t reply.
Once he settles into the passenger seat and I’m pulling away from the school, the lines smooth out and he gives me a half smile. “Sorry to bug you,” he says.
“Are you kidding? No big deal. What happened, anyway? Who was supposed to pick you up today?”
“Mom,” Mason says around a heavy sigh. And that weighted sigh tells me that he knows way more than he lets on. He knows that this wasn’t a simple mistake, Mom didn’t just simply lose track of time and not get here in time to pick him up from school. He knows she’s likely curled up crying somewhere in the house, or totally comatose thanks to her meds.
“I’m sure she feels terrible, Mason.”
“Okay,” he answers. “She forgot me last week, too.”
“She’s just…” I search my brain for the best word. The best excuse that won’t hurt Mason, but I can’t come up with anything. “She’s just tired.”
“I know.”
I don’t want him to know. I don’t want him to understand. I don’t want sitting outside of school alone once a week to be Mason’s norm. It’s days like today that remind me why I can’t just tell my parents to go to hell and leave. Go crash at Carter’s place in California, or anywhere but here. I just can’t leave Mason.
“Are you hungry?” I ask.
Mason nods.
“Okay. I’ve got gym and then I have to work. But we can pick something up for you to eat on the way home. What sounds good?”
“Whatever’s fine,” Mason says. “But I don’t want to go home.”
I don’t blame him. “Sure thing, Mase.”
I grab my iPhone out of the center console and call the first person I can think of in this situation. Which is ironic since on most days she annoys the piss out of me, but in this situation, she’s the one I can count on the most.
Tessa answers on the first ring.
“Hey, Tess, I know you’re probably busy with church stuff or something—”
“Actually, you caught me at a good time, what’s up Quinn? You don’t ever call me.”
I ignore the dig, but I immediately feel guilty. I don’t want to be one of those frien
ds that only calls when she needs something. It wasn’t always like this. We used to be real friends. Tessa used to help me babysit Mason when we were growing up. Mason always took to her, and if he had the choice, he’d always choose to do whatever Tessa suggested over me. She was the only one that could get him to finish his snack, or turn the TV off, or go to bed. She was like the sister he always wanted, but instead, got crappy me.
“Right. Um, I have Mason with me—”
“Bring him on over,” Tessa says.
“I didn’t even ask you yet.”
“I know. But I know you. Bring him over, I’ll run him home on my way to youth group.”
“Thanks, Tess. Seriously.”
“No problem.”
Sometimes, even the people I least expect to surprise me, find a way to. Right now, I’m glad to have Tess in my life.
I’ve been going to Sam’s Gymnastics Academy for about ten years now. My parents originally signed me up after witnessing how bad I was at any organized sport that required a ball or a team. I guess I’ve never played well with others. My best friend, Sydney, had been doing gymnastics for a while, and was doing really well, so my parents decided I should try it too. Syd and I trained together for years, but now I just come in a couple of times a week to get out of the house. Sydney takes it really seriously though, and has won loads of medals and stuff.
Even though I’ve often thought about quitting, gym is like my get out of jail free card. The parents are really big on sports so I’m always allowed to leave the house if I say I’m going to go to gymnastics – I could have just robbed a liquor store, and they would still let me off the hook to train. It’s not that I don’t like gymnastics, I really do and sometimes it’s a great way to forget about all the other shit in my life. But the difference between me and Sydney, is she actually cares. I know I could compete at a higher level. I know that I could travel the country and probably win medals like Syd. The problem is I just don’t want that. I don’t care if I do well. I don’t care if I get recognition. Plus, I just happen to be a bit of an underachiever. Still, the reality of it is, I just don’t want to commit myself to anything.
Risk the Fall Page 21
