“That’s enough,” Andy slammed down his coffee cup. “He wants to pay back his tuition, he doesn’t have to. You’re the one who’s twisted it into some sort of punishment for not toeing your line.”
“Well, what kind of person throws a perfectly good law degree away and spends his life building motorcycles? That’s just ridiculous. That’s not even art. It’s…low class.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Kellie didn’t realize she’d spoken aloud until everyone, Quinn included, turned to stare at her.
Oh God. She didn’t do this. She didn’t jump anyone’s case. Except Quinn’s the other day. And apparently anyone who put him down.
He quirked his mouth and a tiny spark flared to life in his eye, the first since he’d sat down to eat.
Well, she’d already opened her big mouth, she might as well let it all out. It wasn’t like she’d ever see these people again. “Have you seen the bikes he designs? They’re amazing! I don’t know much about motorcycles, but I do know what’s cool-looking, and his are…are…kick-butt.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying,” Angela said, after swallowing the last of her bourbon.
“Ma, not now,” he said, putting his hand over Kellie’s.
“Why not now? Is it fair to this young lady to let her waste her time with someone who’s never going to live up to his full potential?”
Kellie gasped and Quinn’s hand tightened. “Mom—”
But Angela was on a roll. “He could be well-off, capable of supporting a wife in style if he chose to.”
Kellie yanked her hand out from beneath Quinn’s. He tried to grab for her, but she was too fast for him as she stood up and faced his family.
“Quinn has a good job. He employs good people, and makes something that is beautiful and creative. He’s a businessman, and I think he’s probably going to be very successful in his own time. And as for supporting a wife—any wife worth her salt should be able to support herself.”
“He’s a mechanic,” Angela spat. “His grandfather was a mechanic and never had clean hands. Never had the money to take us to the movies, or out to dinner, or to buy dresses anywhere but Kmart.”
Now Quinn was standing, too, his hand on Kellie’s waist.
Everyone else remained seated, silently watching and listening.
“My father didn’t have jack shit, and he died with arthritis so bad he couldn’t button his own shirts.” The woman was practically foaming at the mouth.
The dog woke up and stumbled from under the table, bumping Kellie’s legs as he escaped. She tossed him a piece of toast, which he caught with amazing dexterity for one so decrepit.
Quinn spoke through his teeth. “Grandpa made enough money to send you to a good college, where you got a good education. He died knowing he’d worked hard and made an honest living.”
“Are you saying that being a lawyer isn’t an honest living?”
Carson coughed out a laugh, cut off when Rachel came to life and smacked him on the shoulder.
Their dad seemed to shrink in his chair.
“Well?” Angela gestured to the rest of the family. “Do you think lawyers are lazy thieves?”
“I think… I think I would have made a lousy lawyer,” Quinn said, finally. “Kellie, you done? Maybe we should go.”
“Um, thanks for dinner, it was delicious,” she mumbled, taking his hand and rushing down the hall behind him.
The front door opened, then closed behind them. Quinn handed her a helmet and put on his own without speaking.
“Well,” she said, straddling the seat behind him. “That certainly went well.”
He didn’t answer, but she thought she heard him laugh as he started the bike and roared out of the drive.
Chapter Twelve
Quinn tried to forget the family drama and let the ride wash away his tension. The wind and vibrations from the road calmed him, and having Kellie at his back—both literally and figuratively—helped.
The late-afternoon sun threw beams of light over the road, reminding him that time was passing. But she was still with him. For now.
He’d been thinking he’d ask if she was interested in staying in contact, but if that whole “coulda been a lawyer” and “in debt to your parents because you’re a motorcycle-building dreamer” thing was going to stand there between them, it would be better to just forget it.
He’d been down that road, although seeing Rachel and Kellie in the same room tonight drove home the point that he hadn’t lost a thing when his ex had left him.
The Masquerade came into view, and Kellie loosened her hold on Quinn’s waist.
He missed her embrace.
What would happen now? Was their time together over? He didn’t want it to be. He didn’t want to watch her wander off into the hotel and out of his life.
They pulled into the parking garage and rolled into the space designated for bikes. Kellie dismounted behind him like an old pro, taking off her helmet and shaking out her long brown hair.
She looked like she belonged on the back of his bike, even in her conservative skirt and top.
Now she’d give him the big heave-ho. He should probably scoot before she did, but he couldn’t bring himself to go. Not until she told him to.
He had to speak before she could say good-bye. “So…you want to get a drink or something?”
“I…I guess so.”
“Is something wrong?”
“I don’t know. No. Maybe.” She shook her head. “Let’s go get a drink.”
They settled into the sushi bar where they’d met her friends just forty-eight hours before, at a small table next to a big group of women who were talking about sumo wrestlers being smaller than they expected. It was a testament to the fact that he’d been at this romance convention long enough that he wondered if they were discussing body mass or penis length. He decided he didn’t want to know and focused on Kellie and her unreadable expression.
He decided to start. “Sorry about all of that. I didn’t expect my family to go full-on drama for you today,” he said, as soon as the waiter had their drink orders. “I thought taking you with me might keep them on good behavior—that wasn’t fair to you.”
She stared at him blankly for a minute, then began to laugh.
“What’s so funny?”
“I was trying to find the right words to apologize for going all psycho nutjob on your mom.”
Something loosened in his chest. He laughed, and it felt good. Really good. “You don’t have to apologize for that.”
“I made everything worse. I couldn’t not say something, but I should have said it differently.”
He hesitated, then said, “I wouldn’t want you to say anything you didn’t mean.”
Those big green eyes widened and took him in—Quinn felt like he was stripped naked. “I meant every word. I think you’re brilliant. Seriously. If you weren’t designing and building motorcycles, the world of bikerdom would be a darker, uglier place.”
Jesus, she believed what she was saying, and she had him convinced, too. What the hell? He’d started out this weekend determined to make the little writer give herself a chance, and here she was, working to reinforce a decision he’d already committed to.
“If I even get this thing off the ground. It’s going to take forever before I’m financially stable.”
“So?”
Of course she wouldn’t care. She was leaving.
“If things get tough, there are always fast-food jobs to fill the refrigerator.” She grinned.
Okay. Maybe she cared, and her glass was half full. “Would you quit the bookstore if you could make it as a writer?”
She sighed, looking across the restaurant to the lobby, where readers and authors moved back and forth, celebrating their romances. “I don’t know. The bookstore—it’s been in my family for years. My first job was there, reading to the kids in the neighborhood. As the demographics changed, it became a positive place, somewhere for kids who might not oth
erwise ever get to know how fun books can be. But now that the new development is pushing people aside, I feel like I can’t close up, no matter what.”
He was struck by her passion.
“Except…sometimes it’s exhausting. Constantly fighting with my landlord, who wants to shut me down, trying to keep enough paying business in to make rent…”
“Doesn’t sound like that leaves you much time and energy for writing.”
“Not so much. The writing? That’s what gives me the energy to keep the bookstore going.”
She ran a hand through her hair. He followed up by tucking a loose strand behind her ear. She smiled at the gesture.
“I feel like, if I sold a manuscript to a publisher, even for a tiny advance, I might have hope and keep going. If a miracle occurred, and I made some real money, I could keep Rocky, my assistant, and write more, which would keep the wheels turning. But I’m having so much trouble finishing this story…and everything else I’ve ever written is in a very sturdy file with a million nice rejection letters. I don’t think I’ve got what it takes.”
“Maybe you’re writing the wrong stories.”
She smiled mischievously, and the spark was back in her eye. “You’re right. I probably need to write about bisexual pirates. Or alien bikers. Or—”
“Sheesh! What happened to boy meets girl?”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” She feigned horror. “That’s just—you can’t do that. You have to have a hook.”
The waiter arrived with their drinks, and they were quiet for a minute, sipping.
The bitter hops in his beer chased the first half of the day from his mouth and gave him a chance to think about what might come next.
“So,” he said, taking a breath. He felt like a sophomore in high school. “What happens when you go back to Georgia?”
Her eyes pivoted to his face, and he glimpsed—fear?—in her eyes.
Was she interested in what he was going to suggest? Or dreading it?
Better to just get it out there. If she said no, well then…
“I go back to Georgia and sell kiddie books.”
“I meant—”
She twisted around in her seat and pointed toward the lobby. “Oh, wow! I forgot all about the masquerade ball!”
…
“Huh?” Quinn’s brow wrinkled.
Kellie felt like the biggest chicken in the world, but she couldn’t think right now. He was going to suggest they keep in touch after she left Vegas, and… Maybe she should revise her self-imposed rule. Maybe Quinn was different from the guys she’d met online. She’d met him in person before getting involved, or whatever this was, so she knew who he was: a really nice, fun guy, with his own business—one that he was honest about and that he truly loved.
But she’d been in a relationship like this one. He’d seemed like a perfectly good guy, too. When he graduated from college and moved across the country to work at his father’s firm, they planned for her to move out there after she finished school. She spent her whole senior year arranging her plans to follow him. A week before graduation, she got a “Dear Kellie” letter, leaving her hopes and dreams in the dust. Out of sight, out of mind. She told herself it was just as well. What was the point of a relationship with someone you only saw once every five years? Neither of them had the money to hop on a plane more often than that.
So no, she wasn’t going to try that again. But darn it, there were still twenty-four hours left in her visit, and she wanted to spend them with him. The ball was the perfect excuse.
“Hey, do you want to stick around and go to this masquerade ball thing with me? I wasn’t going to go, but—”
He paused. “A masquerade ball? Like in another costume?”
She shrugged. “It doesn’t have to be fancy. I had just planned to wear the kitty-cat ears and tail that I had for last Halloween at the bookstore.”
He smiled in what she thought was supposed to be a leer, but didn’t quite look skeevy enough. “Do you have one of those stretchy suits that sticks to every nook and cranny of your body?”
Every nook and cranny of her body flushed with heat when his gaze raked over her. “Um, yeah.”
“Maybe I should be a lion tamer.”
“Oh, boy.” The mental images she got did not involve the two of them doing the Electric Slide in a crowded room of romance fans.
He laughed. “As long as I don’t have to wear Toby’s leather pants again, I’m good.”
A commotion at the entrance had them both looking up.
“Oh, Kellie! Thank God you’re here.” Brae rushed the table with the finesse of an offensive lineman. Her face was white, except for the mascara tracks running down her cheeks.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s Tobeeeeeeeeey,” she wailed. “We broke uuuuuuup!”
Quinn looked like he’d eaten bad sushi. Kellie didn’t blame him, so she said, “Why don’t you go check out the costume situation in the shops. I’ll catch up with you soon?”
…
Quinn wandered through the casino, watching people. He didn’t have anything to wager today. Except, possibly, his heart.
Why had it been so hard to ask a girl if he could call her? He’d already slept with her. But even though that had been an amazing physical experience, he felt like his heart was involved today. It actually mattered to him if she thought he was a good catch, even without a lucrative law career.
“Hey, Quinn.” Toby, the heartbreaker of the hour, stood next to a roulette wheel, despondently holding a fistful of chips. “You any good at this game?”
“No one’s good at this game,” he told the man, taking his arm and leading him away from the table. Kellie and he might have done okay yesterday, but today? No, Toby didn’t need to be playing roulette.
“I don’t really care about winning. I don’t have anything anymore. Brae left me. Or kicked me out. Whatever.”
“Well—” What did he expect? He’d left a party with another woman and hadn’t come home all night, as far as anyone knew. “Do you want to get a beer and tell me about it?”
“I’m having Coke. Alcohol got me into this mess.”
“Alcohol does that sometimes,” Quinn agreed, thinking of his mother. He flagged down a passing waitress and ordered them each a soda, and found them a couple of seats next to slot machines.
“I got shanghaied last night.”
Quinn paused in the middle of putting a quarter into the slot. “How so?”
“I honestly thought we were going to talk business.” Toby’s big blue eyes were as innocent as a lamb’s when he said, “Joyce Rodgers told me she wanted to talk to me about a Web series she’s starting up. About hiring Brae as the head writer and me as the star. I was going to surprise Brae, but instead…” He shook his head.
“What happened?” Quinn found himself dying to know. Something about the way Toby looked had him convinced the guy had a legitimate story to tell. Of course, he was an actor.
“She wanted me to come to her suite because she had some sample scripts there. And when I got to her room, she tried to kiss me. I wanted to be nice, to remind her that I was engaged, but before I knew it”—he shook his head—“she unbuttoned my pants and grabbed me.”
“Ugh.” Quinn pictured the dragon lady from dinner last night.
“I know. I should have left before it got to that point, but I still thought I could rescue the situation.”
Could the guy really be this naive? Because he didn’t seem like that good of an actor.
Toby shuddered. “Fortunately, she passed out and I left before I had to fight her off. But then I felt so weird about what happened that I came down here and played blackjack all night. And now Brae doesn’t believe what happened. She thinks Joyce had her wicked way with me, decided I wasn’t what she was looking for, and cut me loose, so I came back to Brae. When it’s the complete opposite. Brae’s the love of my life.”
“How were you not suspicious when she asked you to her ro
om? Doesn’t sleazy stuff like that happen in Hollyweird all the time?”
“I guess so, but…” He blushed. “I got my start on the Disney Channel. My mom handled my career. When I moved on to series TV and other adult stuff, it just made sense that she keep managing my career. I never had to deal with anyone like that. But when I met Brae, I kind of fired my mom. Told her I needed to do things on my own.”
“Oops.”
“Yeah. It made Mother’s Day a little awkward.”
They sat for a minute, staring into their drinks.
“How am I gonna get her back?”
Quinn barked out a laugh. “Buddy, I have no idea.”
Toby laughed, too, but it was bitter. There was more soda-bubble gazing, and then he spoke again. “Here’s the real messed-up thing. I signed a contract to act in the first season of webisodes just to get Brae the writing gig—and now she won’t have anything to do with me, or with Joyce’s project.”
“Dude.” Quinn shook his head, then said, “I know someone who can take a look, see if you can back out of the contract.”
“Really? That would be great. Thanks. The career hoops we jump through just to keep women happy, huh?”
Not him. He’d found one who didn’t seem to mind that his prospects were less than reliable. Except she didn’t seem interested in pursuing things after this weekend.
Chapter Thirteen
It took a hot fudge sundae and a jumbo frozen margarita for Brae to get the whole story out. She was devastated, because she thought she was responsible for Toby’s downfall as a real-life specimen of hero-osity.
“Let me get this straight. You’re not upset because you think he cheated on you. You’re upset because he tried to cheat on you and failed?” Kellie was a little dizzy—and she’d limited herself to a virgin margarita and some cheese sticks.
“I’m upset because I’m not worthy of him,” Brae admitted. “I’m just not that good of a writer.”
“You’re certainly good enough to get a movie made from your book. And you’re a good enough human that a good man did something really stupid to please you.”
“That’s a great point!” She brightened. “You are such an awesome friend to me. I need you so much in my life. As a matter of fact, I need a personal assistant. It’s a part-time job, only about twenty hours a week, to do promo and administrative stuff. If you took the job, you’d have time to double down on your own writing and sell that ridiculous bookstore.”
Accidentally in Love With the Biker (What Happens in Vegas) Page 10
