by Monica James
“Don’t drop me,” I squeak. “It’s a long way down.”
Quinn chuckles. “I’ll try, but if you keep choking me, I can’t guarantee I’m going to get very far without passing out.”
“Oh shit! Sorry!” I yelp, loosening my grip on his neck. He chuckles and I squirm when I feel his Adam’s apple bob with the movement.
“It’s okay, Red. I like you holding on so tight. Shows me you care,” he teases.
I ponder on his comment and realize I haven’t even expressed that I do care—a lot.
“Thank you,” I whisper, his hair tickling my cheeks as I lean forward against him.
“Thank you?” he questions as he walks casually.
“Yeah, thank you, for this. For everything. There isn’t anyone else I would rather be a fugitive with,” I say, trying to poke fun at our situation without getting too heavy.
Quinn takes a breath before replying, “Ditto, Red. Life’s what you make it. And you make it unforgettable.”
I blush at his admission and don’t know how to respond, so I don’t. I simply enjoy the ambiance of the magical buildings and the divine smelling foods while perched on the back of someone who changes everything.
After endless minutes of demanding Quinn to put me down, which of course, falls on deaf ears, we roll into the French Quarter.
And I thought the scenery was amazing twenty minutes ago.
I’ve heard stories about this place, but actually seeing it before me is beyond description. With an old, historic feel, mixed with a slight modern touch, I feel like I’m in another world. The narrow streets are filled with people with no real hurry to their step. Some tourists, while others locals, they all seem to want to absorb this soulful beauty for as long as possible.
I continue my gawking, and I have the best seat in the house, perched on Quinn’s back.
“Put me down.” I giggle when Quinn stops in front of a street band, consisting of five members and a dog, and begins jiggling around like he’s about to break out into a dance routine.
He chuckles and bends, setting me on my feet, which wobble slightly. Reaching forward quickly, Quinn places his hand around my middle to steady me, and the response is natural to us both. It’s scary how comfortable we’re becoming with one another.
We stand and watch the musicians, who are playing some killer jazz tunes, for a few minutes. Quinn throws a ten into their open guitar case and takes my hand, leading me down the busy street.
My eyes take in the brilliance before them, and I’ve decided that I love New Orleans. From the romantic, long-standing architecture, to the laid back nature of its inhabitants, it feels like magic exists here.
“You like it here?” Quinn says, catching me admiring a local French inspired bakery, which smells divine.
I nod, unable to wipe the smile off my face. “It’s beautiful. Thank you for bringing me here.”
He smirks. “Oh, we’re not done yet.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, confused, sidestepping a couple who are walking hand in hand without a care in the world.
“We’re going to stay here for a couple of days,” he replies, reaching for my hand when I catch up to him.
“Yeah?” I ask, not able to contain the excitement in my voice.
“Yup,” he replies, returning my smile, but looking a lot more mischievous than I.
“What are you up to?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at him with a smile.
“What makes you think I’m up to something?” he says, grinning further, squeezing my hand lightly.
“Ah, that shit-eating grin is a dead giveaway,” I reply, shaking my head and elbowing him in the ribs.
He clutches his side dramatically, laughing. “Vicious, Red. You need to come with a warning.”
I laugh because it’s kind of ironic, as that’s exactly how I feel about him.
Quinn stops in front of a huge building while I continue walking on in my own little world. However when he doesn’t follow, and his hand snags in mine. I turn at the waist to look at him.
“Whatcha doing?” I ask, watching him tip his head to the side as if examining the mammoth white hotel in front of him.
“Just checking out our abode,” he replies, not looking at me as he lets go of my hand, crossing his arms across his broad chest.
“What?” I ask stunned, mimicking him and gazing up at the French inspired palace in front of us. “We’re staying here?” I gasp, taking in the endless stories which extend into the sky.
“We sure are,” he answers with a smile. “I bet they have a twenty-four hour buffet,” he adds, licking his lips like a cartoon character.
I bite my lip to stop from laughing. “But we can’t stay here,” I say, looking at the snooty people who are pulling up to the sidewalk in their expensive looking cars.
“Why not?” Quinn questions, turning to look at me, his unkempt hair blowing in the breeze.
Pondering on his question, I know the answer lies in the fact that tomorrow, Hank will be placed into the ground. A hole six feet under, which in no way could provide him any warmth, or comfort like that of our ritzy hotel. So why do I deserve something as extravagant as this?
I don’t.
“I don’t des—” I begin, but Quinn cuts me off by placing his finger over my lips yet again.
“Do I need to gag you? Or carry you over my shoulder again?” he questions with a twinkle in his eye.
I know he’s not kidding as I recall, quite vividly, the memory of being dragged, kicking and screaming over his shoulder in South Carolina. However, I open my mouth, but Quinn shakes his head, his finger still poised on my lips, warning me not to speak.
“You’re so bossy,” I mutter from under his finger.
He cocks an eyebrow. “Oh, you have no idea.”
Flushing a bright scarlet at his admission, I feel he is speaking about something entirely else.
“C’mon Red.” I take his outstretched hand, realizing my nickname has just taken on another meaning.
As we stroll up the undercover walkway to the foyer, we get the worst, sideways looks by patrons walking toward us. One lady with a peacock feather in her big, floppy hat curls her lip up at me in disgust, leaning into her husband’s arm to prevent any accidental touching.
I look down at my tattered blue jeans, which have a small hole in the knee, and my stripy baggy sweater, which hangs off one shoulder, and realize I probably look like a homeless person. I guess my black Hat-imal cat hat, with attached paws doesn’t help. If I knew we’d be staying at a ten star hotel, I would have lost the hat.
I attempt to remove it, embarrassed, but Quinn ceases my movement, grabbing onto my wrist softly. “Don’t change who you are for people who don’t even know who they are. You’re beautiful, inside and out.”
His comment stuns me, and I blindly nod, touched he would say something so sweet.
“You know, you can be really sweet when you want to be,” I say, looking over at him as the kind concierge holds the glass door open for us.
As we step into the amazing foyer which looks like the ballroom out of Beauty and the Beast, Quinn turns to me and whispers out of the side of his mouth. “No man wants to hear he’s sweet, Red. Masculine, brutish, dangerous, yes. But sweet?” He pulls a face, shaking his head.
“Well, you’re all those things… and sweet,” I add with a mischievous smile.
He turns to me and huffs dramatically, flicking his hair out of his eyes playfully. “Fine, and sweet. But don’t tell anyone.”
I snort laugh as we approach the front desk, but my laugh dies when I see the pretentious, older woman behind the counter.
“What can I do for you?” she says curtly, looking down her nose at me and Quinn while tightening her aqua scarf.
“A room, please,” Quinn replies, purposely leaning onto the counter to invade her personal space.
As she nervously fiddles with her name tag, I notice her name is Janet. “There are no common rooms available,” she replies, leaning a
way from Quinn, repulsed by the way he’s nibbling on his hoop, while I can’t stop looking at it in hunger.
“Any room is fine,” he replies with a sickly sweet smile.
She huffs but decides to humor us as she taps her French manicured fingernails on the keyboard under the wooden desk. As I hear the keys whining under her punishing fingers, I take in my surroundings. It’s really beautiful in here, and I love it because it’s not obnoxious like some of the other snobby hotels I’ve seen in L.A. It’s actually vintage, like real vintage, and I’m pretty sure the huge spiral staircase in the center of the room, leading to who knows where, is an original article from when this place was built.
“The only suite we have is the Empire Wing,” Janet says, ruining my moment of serenity.
“That’ll do,” Quinn says quickly, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet.
Janet cackles. “I mean no disrespect, but that room is $1000 dollars… a night.”
Quinn grins, loving the fact that Janet is about to have a coronary. “Well, in that case, we’ll stay for two nights.”
My eyes widen, and I shake my head, as that’s just too much money to spend on a room. But he ignores me and slaps a wad of cash onto the counter with a loud thud.
Janet’s eyes broaden wider than mine, and she clears her throat, her face changing instantly as she probably thinks we’re two spoiled rich kids, splurging on our daddy’s money.
“Wonderful,” she claps. “Please forgive me if I came across as—”
A pretentious bitch, I adlib to myself, while subtly rolling my eyes.
“A Negative Nancy,” she continues, reaching for the money greedily. “Okay, so you’re paid up for two nights,” she says happily after counting the mountain of cash. “I just need some I.D. or a credit card. It’s hotel policy. I know it’s silly,” she says with a sweet smile.
Oh, fuck. I.D? This will not end well.
I begin to panic as we’re meant to be keeping a low profile, and not leaving any tracks. Leaving any form of I.D. is just as good as broadcasting to the police where we are.
My heart begins to quicken and my palms are suddenly coated in sweat. I rub them onto my jeans, hoping I don’t give us away, but I’m not doing a very good job of it, as my breathing is rapidly increasing, and I know I have paled, whiter than a ghost.
Quinn senses my instant terror, and suddenly, his whole demeanor changes.
“Is this your daughter?” he asks, gesturing with his chin to a photo in a silver frame, sitting on the desk.
The photograph is of Janet and a young girl, aged no older than five. There is no way she’s her mother, and I bite the inside of my cheek, suddenly catching onto Quinn’s ingenious plan. Even though I can’t STAND the idea of him flirting with her, I know this is actually a pretty good plan to help dodge the whole I.D. situation.
Janet giggles, (yes, giggles), as she places her hand over her annoying mouth, which I preferred when it was scowling at me.
“Oh no,” she says, her southern drawl coming through, which makes me think her aristocratic accent is staged. “She’s my grandbaby.”
Yup, definitely fake.
“No way!” Quinn says, mocking surprise. “You’re way too young to be a grandma, sweetheart.” And he gives her a panty dropping smile.
Both Janet and I are stunned by his comment, our mouths dropping to the floor. I’m just about to stand on his foot and tell him to chill it with the compliments, but Janet begins giggling again, and playfully slaps Quinn on the arm, making sure to feel his muscled biceps, which are defined through his tight blue t-shirt.
My eyes narrow on her fingers, and I tell myself to calm down, as he’s only doing this for me, but I hate seeing it. It makes me sick to my stomach. It was bad enough back in South Carolina with the Titty Triplets, but now I don’t think I can hold my tongue.
“So, how about we forget about the I.D.?” he says, subtly slipping her a hundred dollar note.
She quickly extends her fingers forward, and her hand overlaps Quinn’s. “I really shouldn’t…” she bats her eyelashes, “but sshh, it’ll be our secret.” She giggles-again.
She has five seconds to get her hands off Quinn, before I rip her fingernails out, one by one.
“Thanks darlin’,” Quinn says, cleverly sliding his hand out from under her viper grip.
She reaches under the counter, producing a swipe card, and a business card. “If I can do anything…” she emphasizes the word anything, “don’t hesitate to call. That there,” she purrs, her fingernail tapping the card, “is my direct line. You call me, any time. Day or night.”
That’s the final straw. I turn around and leave before I vomit or strangle the bitch. My boots thump onto the marbled tiles as I storm toward the elevator, chewing my fingernails tensely. I know biting my nails is a bad habit, but so is ramming my fist down Janet’s throat.
I’m jealous. I am so freakin’ jealous I want to throw Quinn down onto Janet’s desk and indecently grope him in front of her. I now understand why animals piss on things to mark their territory.
Just as I’m contemplating that premise, Quinn approaches me unhurriedly. “Ready to go?” he says with a small smile.
“You’re sick,” I utter, kicking back off the wall and stabbing the call button for the elevator continuously.
“What?” Quinn says innocently, laughing when I punch him lightly in the guts.
Crossing my arms over my chest and ignoring his laughs, I occupy myself with the elevator’s progress with my eyes raised, watching for its arrival.
“It worked, didn’t it?” he says, stepping in front of me and unfolding my arms.
I struggle, but don’t stand a chance against his strong hands. He may have succeeded in getting my arms uncrossed, but that doesn’t mean I have to look at him. I move my head from side to side as he dips his face, attempting to make eye contact with me. Thankfully, our elevator arrives. I storm in, leaning back against the silver railing as Quinn casually strolls in, swiping the card and pushing our floor number.
Some cocky businessman shouts at us to hold open the door, but Quinn presses the button, resulting in the elevator sliding shut. He gives the disgruntled suit a sarcastic wave through the closing doors, and normally, I would find his defiant behavior comical, but now, I’m in no mood to laugh. And that’s because—who knew—I’m a jealous person. And not just a little jealous. I get a bad case of the green-eyed monster when Quinn is involved.
I hate the fact that ladies nearly triple his age would happily drop their panties for him. I know the reason behind it was for our benefit, but it still pisses me off. I have this stupid ownership over Quinn, and I have no right to. It’s not like we’re dating or together. I mean, I still don’t even know where we stand, and that thought scares the shit out of me. I don’t like this feeling of uncertainty, and I certainly don’t like this feeling of raging jealousy I experience every time a member of the opposite sex ogles Quinn—which is all the time.
I don’t realize I’m grinding down on my jaw until the cart stops with a jerk and I fall forward.
Snapping out of my daze, I meet Quinn’s gaze. “W-what happened?” I stutter, meeting his penetrating stare.
“I stopped the elevator,” he replies coolly, crossing his arms over his chest, and leaning up against the mirrored wall.
“Why?” I ask, matching his stare, but feeling anything but calm.
“Because we’re not going anywhere until you tell me what’s wrong,” he answers.
“Nothing is wrong,” I retort, making a reach for the control panel to start up the elevator.
Quinn slaps my hand away. “Bullshit. Tell me,” he demands, taking a step toward me while I take a step back.
“Nothing,” I stubbornly huff, my back hitting the wall. I’m trapped as he advances forward.
“You think I liked her?” he questions, curling his lip in disgust. He braces his hands on either side of my head, searching my eyes.
“No,” I mumble
, looking away, as I can’t meet his eyes because I’m being so stupid.
“Then what is it?” he says, leaning his body into mine, our chests inches apart.
“I—” I breathe out, my heart beginning to gallop at the possibility of him closing the distance between us.
“You what, Red?” he questions, placing his finger under my chin, forcing me to look at him.
I see nothing but concern reflected in his deep jade eyes, and I feel horrible for getting angry at him. He’s doing all of this for us.
For me.
“I’m jealous,” I finally admit with a blush.
“Of the granny?!” he asks in disbelief, pulling a repulsed face.
“No. Yes. I don’t know,” I reply. “Start up the elevator,” I say, attempting to push him aside, but he won’t budge.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he says, his breath fanning over my heated cheeks.
I know he won’t let this go, and I owe him the truth. “I’m jealous of every girl looking at you, all right? Happy?” I snap, narrowing my eyes at him.
Quinn nibbles on his hoop, head tilted to the side. He’s obviously not happy with my response. “Why?” he pushes. “Why are you jealous, Red?”
He wants me to say it. He wants me to tell him… that he’s mine.
Fine, he wants the truth. Well, I’m going to throw it at him until he chokes on it.
“Because you’re m—” I yell, but am interrupted by a nasally voice, screeching at us through the intercom.
“Excuse me. This is reception. Is everything okay in there?”
No! I internally scream, but settle for, “Yes.”
“Your cart seems to have stopped. We’re getting maintenance to have a look. Sit tight,” the annoying voice says through the speakers.
Looking at Quinn from under my lashes, I slowly reach around him to push the emergency button, and the elevator resumes its journey like nothing happened.
But it did.
And now I have to deal with the consequences.
***
I can see why they call this suite the Empire Suite. This room could easily house a large family and a few dogs, cats, and a few dozen birds.
