by Monica James
Quinn’s mouth tips up into a small smile, but he allows me to continue.
“But I know you won’t leave me, and you know that I don’t want you to go,” I confess. “What you’ve done for me, no one has ever done for me before.”
“Red,” Quinn says, but I place my finger over his lips, silencing him as I need to get this out.
“Quinn, you are in here.” I remove my hand from his luscious mouth, placing my palm over my chest. “No one will ever, ever, take your place. No one. I promise you. So please, just please, can you try and tolerate Justin? I’m not asking you to like him, hell, you don’t even have to talk to him, it’s probably better if you don’t. But can you, for me, can we just get to Canada and—”
But this time, Quinn is the one to silence me as he places his finger over my lips, mid-speech.
“Okay,” he replies, his warm eyes meeting mine.
“Yeah?” I ask around his finger, hopeful he’ll say yes.
“Yeah,” he confirms with a nod, his finger slowly sashaying across my wet lips.
“Thank you, Quinn.”
Quinn nods, his eyes transfixed on his finger as he plays with my lower lip.
“You’re in here, too,” Quinn replies softly, reaching for my palm and placing it over his warm chest.
His beating heart drums steadily underneath my hand, and the feeling is the most comforting one I have ever had. Knowing that his heart beats for me makes all of this, all this bullshit worthwhile.
“Kiss me,” I whisper, my palm still resting against his chest.
At my suggestion, I can feel his heart rate speed up, and it’s nice to know his heart is beating as fast as mine.
Chapter 22
Unlucky
It’s now 7:30 a.m., and we’re checked out and ready to hit the road.
After our chat, I feel like Quinn and I reached some kind of agreement, and we also made some headway with what’s going on with us. There’s no doubt in my mind that I’m falling for Quinn, and falling hard. And for once, I’m not scared or confused by it. I feel alive.
Justin has been quiet, and I really want to ask what’s up, but I have a feeling he wouldn’t tell me. There’s more to Justin, and Quinn is right, what do I really know about him? The Justin I now know has changed from the Justin I knew in high school. This Justin is guarded, and this Justin is definitely hiding something.
I just don’t know what.
“So, where we headed?” I ask, jumping into the passenger seat with Lucky sitting on my lap.
“Wisconsin,” Justin replies, placing his paper coffee cup in the cup holder and starting the engine.
“Cool,” I reply, even though I have no clue what happens in Wisconsin.
Quinn chuckles, and I love that the air has cleared somewhat. I don’t expect Quinn and Justin to become best friends, but if they can at least tolerate one another, then I’ll settle for that.
***
“Wakey, wakey, Sleeping Beauty.”
If that voice was anyone’s other than Quinn’s, they would be receiving a headbutt to the nose for waking me up from a very nice dream.
The dream, of course, was starring the man who is currently kissing my neck softly.
“Go away,” I mumble in a sleepy voice.
“You don’t mean that,” Quinn chuckles huskily.
“I do too,” I reply, eyes still closed tight.
“I know how to wake you up.” I feel a familiar hand walk down my shoulder and gently cup my right breast.
My eyes snap open, afraid Quinn is feeling me up with Justin nearby.
Quinn laughs, and I turn to face him as he’s leaning forward from the backseat, his huge frame filling the truck.
“You don’t play fair,” I pout, pushing my bottom lip out playfully.
“Fair is boring,” Quinn replies, thumbing my bottom lip.
The instant his finger touches my lip, a zap courses through my body, and I shiver in desire. Quinn can visibly see the response my body has toward him, and judging by the way he’s nibbling on his lip ring with a heated stare, I dare say he feels it too.
“Okay guys, let’s eat,” Justin says as he opens the driver’s door after visiting the restroom.
Shrinking back, slightly embarrassed to be caught out panting in need from Quinn’s touch, I give Justin a small smile.
“Sounds great,” I reply, sounding breathless.
Justin looks at me, giving me a genuine smile, and for once, I smile back.
Maybe things are looking up.
***
Justin suggests Quinn and I do some sightseeing while he checks in with work. He still hasn’t elaborated what his work involves, but I don’t question him, as I have a feeling I just may not like the answer.
Quinn and I are walking hand in hand, strolling the city streets with Lucky sauntering by my side. I know we should be keeping a low profile, but I’m getting a severe case of cabin fever, or should I say car fever.
It’s so nice to be outdoors, I just wish the circumstances were different.
There’s a lot to do here, and it’s a shame we don’t have enough time to explore the sights and sounds of such a wonderful place. There’s one thing I want to do, and as soon as I see it, I yank on Quinn’s hand, leading him into the direction of where I know he wants to be.
An art gallery.
It’s nothing fancy, and quite frankly looks like a rundown factory, but I know it’s what’s inside that counts.
Quinn follows, chuckling at my enthusiasm, but this is something I know he will enjoy. That night, all those months ago when I stumbled into Quinn’s room by mistake, and saw all of his drawings pinned to his wall, I remember thinking his work needs to be in a gallery somewhere, where people come from all corners of the globe to appreciate his talent.
One day, I can only hope that becomes a reality for him.
Tying Lucky to a pole just outside the building, we climb the stairs, and when we enter, I gasp, as the works are like nothing I’ve ever seen before. The huge warehouse is painted a bright white with spotlights showcasing the paintings and photographs hanging on the walls. The carpet is light beige, and black stools are positioned in front of the artwork, allowing one to sit and admire each piece for hours. And that’s it. It’s plain, but so effective, as there is no need for fancy ornaments, or knickknacks, because one is not there to admire the furniture or surroundings. They are there to appreciate the art.
It’s so quiet in here, I feel like I’m in a library, so I speak to Quinn in a whisper. “There’s so much to see,” I say, raising my eyes to the second story balcony where more artwork adorn the walls.
“Why are you whispering?” Quinn says, matching my low tone.
“I don’t know,” I reply, and laugh softly.
As Quinn takes in the beauty before us, I know dragging him in here was a great decision. I remain silent, and allow Quinn to lead me, as I want him to discover every inch of this place.
We reach the first painting, it’s an explosion of color. There are random shapes scattered within the dark shading, and if you look close enough, you can make out images which are subjective to the beholder.
It makes no sense to me, as it looks like a bunch of chaotic squares and lines, but by the way Quinn tilts his head to the side, his intense eyes taking it all in, I know there is more there than meets the eye.
Kind of like Quinn.
As we move from painting to painting, they all seem a little repetitive, but I don’t say a word, as I know Quinn is absorbing it all.
Thankfully, the abstract art section ends, and we get to a section of charcoal sketches. Now this stuff, I get. This is the stuff that reminds me of Quinn’s work.
The elegant lines, which appear careless and messy, are far from being unplanned, as I know each stroke was done with intent, making the picture whole.
We pass pictures of every topic an artist could paint: animals, fruit, cars, even a lamp, and they are, all in their own way, unique and beautifu
l. But when we reach a picture, which is no bigger than a postcard, I gasp, because this picture is my most favorite of all.
It’s of a man and woman, both bare, entwined around one another so tightly that their form becomes one. The painting is called, ‘Love Blurs.’
Quinn takes a seat in front of it, pulling me to sit on his lap. I move effortlessly, as there is no comfier seat in the world.
Leaning back into his warm embrace, his lips touch my ear as he says, “It’s brilliant the way they’ve used cross hatching to follow the contours of their torsos. It really creates a richer feel to the drawing. It gives the picture a different dimension,” he explains, using his hand, stroking over the lines in the air.
His hypnotic voice lulls me into a sleepy bubble and I nod in response, even though I have no idea what he’s talking about.
“Your stuff should be hanging in here,” I say with sincerity.
Quinn chuckles, his lips resting against my hair. “My stuff is far from being ready to display in a gallery such as this.”
“And why not?” I ask defensively, twisting my neck to look at him over my shoulder.
Quinn smirks, his arms tightening around my middle. “It just isn’t.”
“Who says?” I rebuke, ready to fight him if he doesn’t accept the fact he is brilliant.
“I say,” he replies, kissing my nose playfully.
“Well, I disagree. Your stuff is as good as these. Maybe even better,” I add. “I mean, did you see that lamp?” and I pull a face, shaking my head.
Quinn chuckles and the sound warms my insides.
Turning back around and looking at the picture while Quinn cocoons my body with his, I ask, “When you were younger, what did you want to be?”
Suddenly, I want to know everything there is about Quinn. He has shared bits and pieces, but now, I want to know it all.
“A paleontologist,” he replies with a small chuckle.
“Huh? Did you just make that up?” I question, not able to wipe the smile off my face.
Quinn laughs, his chest rumbling with his chuckles. “Nope. It’s the nerdy truth. Don’t judge me,” he says, still laughing softly.
“Sheesh, I never knew you were an overachiever,” I joke, while Quinn playfully nips my shoulder.
“I loved the idea of getting my hands dirty, and finding the next undiscovered dinosaur,” Quinn states, nuzzling my neck.
“What changed?” I ask sleepily, instinctually tilting my head to the side to give him better access to my flesh.
“I found out the chances of that happening takes years. Or maybe never,” he replies, sucking the underside of my neck, his lip piercing chilling my skin.
“And I’m not that patient,” he adds against my skin, biting my chin softly.
I shiver at the contact, heated by his words, as I wonder if he’s referring to something else.
“And now?” I ask with a hitch in my throat when his lips rest against my racing pulse.
“Now what?” he questions. I feel his tongue dart out and quickly lick my heated skin.
“Now that you’ve grown up, what do you want to be?” I clarify, my eyes slipping shut.
There is silence for a moment, and I can feel Quinn thinking over his answer before he replies.
“Now… now I just want to be a good man,” he finally answers, and the truth behind his words hurts my heart.
“You are a good man, Quinn,” I reply, turning around so I can meet his eyes.
“Thanks, Red. I’m glad you think so,” he says in return. His eyes focus on the drawing on the wall, not able to meet my probing stare.
I think so? What about him? What does he think he is? A bad man? That is so far from the truth, and I need him to believe that.
“Quinn,” but he silences me as he reaches for my chin, arching my head back and capturing my lips with his.
I know this is his way of putting an end to our conversation, and it’s a clever derailment, because I can never say no to a kiss from Quinn. We sit, making out for a while, and I could stay this way forever. Well, that is until my bladder rudely screams at me to make a bathroom stop.
“I have to use the bathroom,” I say begrudgingly, sliding off Quinn’s lap.
Quinn makes an attempt to move, but I place my hand on his shoulder to stop him. “No, stay. I’ll be right back.” I know he’s enjoying his time in here, and not ready to leave just yet.
“You sure?” he asks with uncertainty.
“You bet,” I reply, giving him a quick kiss on the lips. I hurry over to the restrooms only to be greeted by a sign saying they’re under renovation, but I’m welcome to use the port-a-potty out back. Great. An outdoor toilet in the winter! Nature calls, however, so out I go.
The cool December breeze hits my cheeks, and today is one of those days where magic is in the air. It could just be all the frantic shoppers buying last minute Christmas gifts, but whatever it is, it makes me feel fortunate to be alive.
I enter the plastic green box, hoping to finish quickly. My bladder thanks me, but I can’t wait to get back inside and continue where Quinn and I left off.
As I’m about to clean up, I hear a gentle whispering catch on the cool, winter breeze. It’s so faint; I have to strain my hearing to confirm I’m not imaging things. But as I raise my head upward, positioning my ear under the vent above the toilet, I hear it again.
I can’t make out what they’re saying, but the voices belong to men. I listen closely, blocking out all other noise, and focus on the hushed voices. The moment I hear the voice of one of the men, my stomach rolls in nausea, and my skin prickles in goose bumps.
It can’t be.
It can’t be him.
Jumping up onto the toilet lid in an instant, I’m just tall enough to peer through the vent, but I don’t see anyone.
Am I going crazy?
Am I imaging the voice of my… father?
Turning my head from left to right, my frantic eyes search for the face of the man I want dead. But it’s useless. There’s no place for him to hide, as this window overlooks an open courtyard.
So where is the whispering coming from then?
Softly lowering my feet onto the plastic floor, I crouch low and reach silently into my boot for my knife. If he’s out there, then I’m facing him, armed and ready for battle.
I flick open the blade, but accidentally fumble, slicing across the length of my palm when I hear his voice echo off the dirty walls.
“Mia… It’s only a matter of time.”
I slam my back against the door, knife in hand, ready to attack as I alternate from looking above me from left to right. My heartbeat is pounding so loudly in fear, it is almost deafening, and I only just resist the urge to cover my ears because I can’t concentrate on what to do next.
Why do I have to be in a plastic box? No doubt if my father really is here, then Phil isn’t too far behind. Therefore, I have to look over both shoulders, as I have not only one psychopath after me, but two.
How could I have been so careless? I should have scoped out my surroundings before I entered. If they’re coming for me, then fuck me going down in a cubical no bigger than a sardine can.
Taking three deep breaths, I listen at the door. I can’t hear the whispering any longer.
Giving myself a pep talk and internally counting to five, I slowly unhinge the lock and push open the creaky door with my boot, completely on guard with my knife poised in front of me. Ducking my head from left to right, I see that the coast is clear.
As I wedge my body through the door, my entire frame is shaking with pure adrenalin and fear. Taking my first step toward freedom is not freedom at all, as something squishes under my boot.
Looking down I gasp, and the color drains from my face in a second.
Staring back at me is a blue dog collar, with a silver tag that reads “Lucky.” Bile rises into my throat as I bend down to pick it up while biting onto my bloodied, clenched fist to stop my scream.
The col
lar is covered in matted fur, and the scream bubbles from my throat like acidic poison. Where is my dog?
Running out of the port-a-potty faster than my feet can carry me, frantic to find Lucky, I run straight into a solid chest. I’m hysterical, and don’t realize I’m screaming at the top of my lungs and pounding on flesh until I hear my name.
“Mia! Stop it. Mia, it’s Justin. It’s okay.”
But I can’t stop. I need to get away from him. I need to find my dog.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
My body slackens the instant I hear his voice, and I sag against Justin, who wraps a hand loosely around my waist.
“Get your hands off her!” Quinn snarls, and I’m ripped from Justin’s arms, hugged into his familiar embrace.
As I bury my head into Quinn’s chest, inhaling his comforting scent, Quinn screams, “What the fuck did you do to her?” His chest rumbles in red hot fury.
His hand is running down my back, attempting to calm me down, but the rage seeping from every pore in his body is anything but calm.
“Nothing, man. She just came running out the bathroom, screaming. I did nothing!” Justin says, backing away from a livid Quinn, hands raised in surrender.
“Don’t fucking lie to me!” Quinn growls, reaching for Justin, while pulling me with him.
I have to stop this, and now that my hysteria has simmered, I can focus on what’s important.
“Quinn, stop,” I quiver, my voice hiccupping in fear.
But Quinn continues to stalk toward Justin, deaf to reason.
“Quinn, Lucky!” is all I say, holding out my fist, his blue collar peeking through my fingers.
That stops Quinn as he reaches for my hand, extending my right palm open.
Gasping when he sees the collar, he quickly asks, “Red, what happened?” He softly removes me from his embrace, calmly gripping my upper arm and shaking me lightly to get an answer.
“I found it,” I manage to choke out. “In the bathroom, on the floor. And I heard—” I pause, covering my clenched fist over my mouth, not wanting to expel the venom that Quinn needs to know.
