by Monica James
Quinn’s pointer finger gently sashays over my trembling lips and he smiles. “I thought so.”
With my eyes still lowered, I let the subject slide, because now that I know the truth, I am partially relieved. But unexpectedly, a barrel of different emotions pass over me, and one standing at the forefront is jealously.
As soon as Quinn slides his finger off my lips, and I’m free to speak, it’s out before I can stop myself.
“Well, I hope you got checked for STDs, as you’re probably a poster child for VD after consorting with that tramp.”
I quickly close my mouth, clamping my lips shut before I can say another word.
Quinn is taken aback by my comment, and I’m afraid I might have overstepped some social etiquette line.
But as he opens his sinful mouth, a laugh ruptures free, and I know I’m in the clear.
“Oh man. Beautiful and funny. Holy shit, Red,” he says between fits of laughter, his hand covering his mouth to muffle his chuckles.
Did he just call me… beautiful?
To stop myself from passing out or overanalyzing, I hurriedly ask him, “What’s with the nickname?”
Quinn shuffles a fraction closer, and his smell is mouth watering.
“Well, I think it’s fitting, seeing as you still haven’t told me your name,” he replies with a small shrug, rubbing his jaw.
I notice his fingers are lightly coated with a black substance. It looks like… charcoal. I then remember the sketchbook that was tossed onto the floor. Is Quinn the owner of those sketches I couldn’t quite make out?
I’m still staring at his delicate fingers when I question, “But why Red?”
“Well, duh… ’cause of your hair,” he replies, chuckling in enjoyment.
I am in awe of his mouth. Every time he opens it wide enough, I can see a spark of silver, a reminder of the tongue ring, which is hidden away. This time is no exception, as when he laughs, his barbell flashes me.
“Oh, of course.”
Duh indeed, I think to myself, as he explains the fairly obvious nickname.
“And your temper,” he adds quickly with a lopsided grin.
“Temper?” I ask, eyes wide. “I do not have a temper,” I declare, annoyed.
Quinn bites back a smile. “Okay.”
But I know he’s totally not buying it.
“I do not,” I repeat, pushing up on an elbow and looking down at him to emphasize my point.
“Hey, I saw you fight. I’m not arguing with you,” he replies, poking fun at me. “I’m still getting the feeling back in my hands, thanks to your ass kicking,” he adds, pulling a pained face.
I can’t believe it, but I actually laugh—again.
“Are you… laughing?” he says in mock horror.
“Well, duh,” I reply, mimicking his earlier comment.
“Wow. Call the press.” Quinn chuckles deeply.
I cock my eyebrow at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Quinn chooses his words carefully. However, if his dimpled smile is anything to go by, his next words are going to earn him a beating. “It means, if the wind changed, you’d be stuck with a permanent scowl, Red.”
I move my mouth wordlessly. Did he just insult me, and do so with a smile?
“What? No smartass reply?” he asks, chuckling loudly.
I’ll give him smartass.
I sit up promptly and punch him in the arm. It’s a playful punch with no force behind it, but he gets the message as he opens his mouth, stunned that I hit him, but a cheeky grin spreads across his glowing cheeks a second later.
“Oh, you are so going down.”
I don’t like the look in his emerald eyes as he leisurely sits up, staring at me with a mischievous grin. I quickly push up and am on my feet within a second, backing away from him.
“Quinn,” I say warningly, hands out in front of me. “Don’t do anything you’re going to regret.”
Quinn’s mouth tips up into a lopsided smirk as he pushes himself up off the ground.
“Oh, believe me, I won’t regret anything,” he replies as he stalks toward me sinisterly.
And suddenly, the thrill of the chase sends my heart into a quick pitter-patter of excitement.
I continue walking backwards, my eyes never leaving his, and as I feel the heavy door push up against my back, foiling my plans of escape, I know I’m screwed.
“Quinn.” I try and sound authoritative.
“Red,” he parrots, continuing his stalking.
My hands are slung by my sides, flush against the door, and in a situation where I would normally flinch or fight for dear life to flee, I welcome him.
I’m anticipating his next move.
I don’t understand my reaction to him.
But I like it. I feel alive.
As he approaches me, he stops within inches of my face and body.
He peers into my wide, animated eyes as he tugs on his lower lip, and I witness his gaze fall down my body in obvious appraisal of my torso. My chest begins rising and falling quickly, and my breathing is coming out in embarrassingly loud pants.
As he glides his hands up the door and places them by my head, imprisoning me within his strong frame, my heartbeat launches into a deafening thud.
But he doesn’t touch me. Our bodies are a hair’s breadth away from connecting, but he doesn’t stir. The air between our bodies is filled with a charged static, and this is the most erotic moment of my life.
He slowly slithers his hands down the door, inches away from my body, tracing my torso with the descent, but he never lays a finger on me.
And I realize… I want him to.
“Truce?” he whispers as he rests his hands by my waist, still denying me any contact.
I peer up at him as he is easily 6’3”, and nod, “Truce.”
The candlelight casts dark shadows over his face, veiling most of his features, but I can see a sliver of his bright green eye, peering at me from under his dark, lengthy hair, and the look leaves me breathless.
I have never seen that look in the eyes of another, elicited because of… me.
Is this what I’ve seen in the movies? Where boy meets girl, and they share a single moment, and nothing will ever be the same from that point forward?
I lower my eyes because I feel him indecently undressing me with his. My cheeks heat and I lay a wager that a bright pink hue is spreading over my chest and up my neck, giving me away.
“You’re an enigma,” he whispers, and it’s barely audible, so I have misgivings if I actually heard him correctly.
But as he lifts his hand, extending his finger, and embarks on tracing a line across my cheek with barely a touch, I know I haven’t misheard him.
I close my eyes, unable to stand still under his intense gaze. My skin feels like it’s been torn open, bleeding out wanton need with his gentle touch. My breath catches in my throat, and I’m certain Quinn can see my heart beating out of my chest.
But he lets his hand fall before I have a chance to appreciate his touch.
I may be a virgin, but I have shared a few kisses before. Nothing earth shattering, or anything I would want to experience with the same person twice. Well, that’s not true. There is only one person I have kissed twice, and that’s Justin Miller, the only guy who didn’t treat me like a leper in high school, because he too, was a fellow freak.
But the other kisses I’ve shared are nothing like the ones I’ve seen in movies like Casablanca or Gone with the Wind.
When they kiss… I feel it. I feel what you’re meant to experience when connecting with another.
The few lackluster kisses I’ve experienced have been disappointing and… indecent.
But as my eyes feast on Quinn’s perfect lips, I know kissing him would be flawless.
I am miles away, spellbound by Quinn’s mouth and the way he’s tugging at his piercing when the door behind me suddenly flies open, interrupting my improper thoughts.
Falling forward, I tumble stra
ight into Quinn, who steadies me by placing his warm hands around my waist. The moment we make contact, all I can focus on is the way his hands feel on my body. And although it may only be through my top, my skin is still on fire.
I feel even smaller, dwarfed by his huge frame, and almost dainty and… girly. And that thought scares the shit out of me.
“Paige?”
I don’t need to turn around to know that Tristan is behind me.
I miss the feel of Quinn’s hands on me as he unhurriedly lets me go.
“Hi, Tristan,” I reply and turn to face him.
“Is everything okay?” he asks, looking more at Quinn than at me.
“Yup, all good, bro,” Quinn replies as he takes a step away from me, but I can still see him out of the corner of my eye.
“You okay, Paige?” Tristan questions, making sure what Quinn has told him is the truth.
I wonder why that is.
“Yes, all good,” I reply, nodding quickly.
I feel like my insides are about ready to explode.
“Cool. Did you find the bathroom?” Tristan asks, looking at me and then up at Quinn.
This whole conversation is nothing short of awkward. And I wonder what the creepy glances between Quinn and Tristan are all about.
“Nope, and speaking of… I better go find it,” I say, wanting to get the hell away from this uncomfortable situation.
“I’ll show you,” Tristan says quickly, still looking at Quinn, and there’s an unreadable message passing between them.
Their body language is a little standoffish, and I don’t understand why.
Tristan gives Quinn one last look, before he looks down at me with a strained smile. “Okay, let’s go,” and he turns his back, hastily walking out the door.
Taking a step to follow, Quinn latches onto my hand, pulling me toward him abruptly.
My back is pressed to his front, and he still has a firm grip on my hand when he whispers in a quickened breath, millimeters away from the shell of my ear, “I like Red better.”
And only then does he let me go.
I don’t turn to face him, but I run out the door like a coward, because if his face matches his heated words… then I’m not sure I would be able to leave.
***
After the party, I come back to the motel in desperate need of a shower—a cold one.
I don’t know what that was with Quinn, but I’m not totally naive to know that I’m attracted to him, both inside and out. But this attraction is unreasonable. I don’t even know him, but I desperately want to. The little insight he gave me tonight was one I know well. It’s one I face every day. He has his share of secrets, as I do mine, but is it wrong that I don’t care?
I know it is wrong, and for that reason, I need to keep away from him, because Quinn is smart. I can see that about him. Sooner or later, he’ll figure out my secret, and I don’t want to be here when that happens.
I have to stay away from him.
But why is that going to be a lot harder than it sounds?
Chapter 15
Heat in the Kitchen
The vacuum cleaner is scrambling my brain. The loud buzzing noise isn’t one I want to hear after a few hours of restless sleep.
But I promised Grandpa I’d be here, and I’m not going back on my word. And anyway, I’m not working at the diner today, so I can nap if I’m dog tired later on.
I pat my back pocket, feeling the piece of paper with my mom’s details written on it. I’m never letting it go. Just to be safe, I’ve written her details down at least half a dozen times, just in case I lose this piece of paper.
I can’t believe I found her. It feels wrong that it was so easy, because nothing in my life ever has been.
But I’m not ready.
Not yet.
I’ve been here for close to a week, and I’m a day away from receiving my first pay check, so going to see my mom has to wait. And that’s because firstly, I don’t have enough money for a flight to Canada. And secondly, I’m not turning up on my mother’s doorstep sixteen years after she left me alone with my dad, presuming she’ll welcome me back with open arms. She’s the one that left me, remember? I don’t know what to expect when I see her again. But I’m not that naive enough to think it’ll be an Oprah moment.
When I go see my mom, I’ll have enough cash to up and leave if things get rough, and be able to support myself, because I rely on no one.
It’s the only thing I know how to do.
“How was last night, Paige?”
Letting out a small yelp, I jump five inches off the ground when I see Grandpa waddle into the room, his arthritic hands full of mail.
“Holy shit! You scared me,” I say breathlessly, clutching my chest and shutting the vacuum cleaner off with my boot.
“Sorry, child,” Grandpa apologizes. “I just wanted to give you this.” He smiles, his wiry grey hair standing up at an odd angle, like he fell asleep with it wet.
Narrowing my eyes, I notice he looks a little off color. I wonder if it has anything to do with the letter he was reading yesterday.
I look at his outstretched hand, which is holding a white envelope.
“What is it?” I ask, eyeing it with suspicion.
“Your pay check,” he replies, moving the envelope from side to side playfully.
“But it hasn’t been a week yet,” I respond, confused.
“That doesn’t matter. Take it.” He places the envelope into my palm.
I look down at it, and then back up at him.
“Thank you, Hank… I really appreciate it,” I say with sincerity, as this is my step toward my new life.
However, as I take hold of the envelope, it feels a lot thicker than it should be. Raising an eyebrow at him, I quickly open it up before he can dodge me. Staring back at me are a few extra green bills.
“Stop right there!” I demand as Grandpa is subtly scuffling toward the door.
“Hank, this is too much. We never agreed on this amount. I can’t accept it. Here, take this back,” I say, shuffling through the bills, pulling out the extra amount and handing it over to him.
“No, I will not accept it. You earned that.”
“No, I really didn’t. This is way too much for a few easy hours of work, and you’ve given me a roof over my head. Please. I can’t,” I say, pushing the money out toward him.
But Grandpa, being Grandpa, raises his hands in protest. “You’re not going to offend an old man now, are you?” he replies, his warm eyes shining with mischief.
“Oh, old man my foot! I’ve seen you get around when you think no one is looking,” I tease, knowing he won’t accept the money.
He lets out a cough/laugh and it echoes deep within his chest. At a guess, I’d say Grandpa is pushing seventy-five, and he’s not in the best of health.
I remember him mentioning a wife, but when he spoke of her, it was in the past tense. I wonder what happened to her, and I also wonder if they were happy together.
Looking at Grandpa with his toothless smile and warm grey eyes, I know he would make anyone happy.
“Whatcha doing tonight?” I ask casually.
Grandpa shrugs. “Just going to watch some TV. The game is on tonight.”
“Please don’t tell me you’re going to eat that junk I saw you eating yesterday?” I ask, referring to the slop he was eating for dinner last night.
He nods. “Nothing wrong with it,” he replies gruffly. “It was on sale.”
“That’s because they couldn’t even give it away,” I reply with a smirk.
Hank laughs heartily. “When it’s just me, child, there’s no point cooking.”
“Fair call, and that’s why I’m cooking you dinner tonight,” I respond happily.
I couldn’t think of a better way to spend my first pay check.
“You don’t have to do that,” he says, waving me off. “You’ve got better things to do than cook an old man dinner.”
“Actually, no, I don’t,” I rep
ly. “Don’t argue, it’s happening.” I smile sweetly at him, making it clear this is not up for discussion.
Grandpa’s eyes begin to water, but he doesn’t cry. He understands that this is something I need to do, to say thank you for everything he has done for me in such a short period of knowing me.
“Thank you, Paige. I can’t remember the last time I had a home cooked meal.”
“Don’t thank me just yet, as I haven’t cooked in, well… ever. So, we may end up ordering Chinese,” I tease.
Hank laughs. “Either way, it don’t matter. It’s the thought that counts.”
“It’s the least I can do. I owe you.” I smile genuinely, my eyes meeting his.
Hank doesn’t realize how much his kindness has meant to me. Someone who never received an ounce of kindness from her own kin is now receiving it in bucket loads from a complete stranger.
Hank shuffles to me, placing his soft hand on my shoulder, squeezing lightly.
“You owe me nothing, child. You’re a good girl and I’d be proud to call you my own.”
My eyes water at his choice of words. No one has ever been proud of me. How could they? I haven’t done anything in my life to be proud of.
But that’s going to change.
I’m going to change.
I am changing every day. I’m changing into the person I’ve always wanted to become.
“Thank you, Hank,” I reply softly, not able to meet his eyes.
I thank the day I got taken off destiny’s shit list, and fate was finally kind to me, leading me to this remarkable man.
***
I’m zipping around the supermarket, looking at my list of ingredients to make pork chops with apple sauce, green beans, and potatoes. Looking up and down the aisles of random shoppers making a simple chore look normal, I totally envy them.
How do they make this look so easy?
I have been looking at the ingredient fresh nutmeg, scribbled on my list, for the past twenty minutes, wondering where the hell it’s kept. I have walked past the packet stuff about ten times, but I’m unsure if there’s a difference between fresh and packet. So I decide to follow the ingredients, just in case.
Not looking where I’m going because I just want to get the hell outta here A-SAP, I totally run over someone.
