by A. E. Neal
Have dinner with me tonight at Bistro Vendome at 7?
Jaysen
She knew he was watching her through the surveillance camera as she stared at the email, reading it over again. She glanced over the top of the cubicle and searched for the camera. She spotted it on the opposite wall and the blinking red light indicated it was recording.
She grabbed a scratch piece of paper from the recycle bin, tore a square piece off and scribbled a note to him in black permanent marker. She walked across the empty office, pulled a chair from under one of the desks, stood on it, and held the note to the camera so he could see.
Jaysen's heart plummeted when he saw the note she'd written, but swore to himself that he wouldn't give up on her.
After a few seconds, he watched as she hopped off the chair, crumpled the note in her hand and tossed it in the nearest trash can. In a fit of anger, Jaysen rose, clearing his desk with one swipe of his forearm, scattering papers and files to the floor. He turned off the surveillance video and buried his head in his palms.
Quinn returned to her desk, shut the computer down and left the Beckett building wondering if she'd just made the biggest mistake of her life.
Chapter 8
The bus ride back to Quinn's apartment seemed to take twice as long as usual and as she stared out the window, she realized the last thing she wanted to do, was ruin everything she'd worked for over the last six years because of a guy...and not just any guy. Her boss.
The sun had already begun to set by the time she reached the bus stop and not that she lived in a bad neighborhood, she just didn't trust anyone. She hurried up the street passing the construction sites and her feet ached once she made it to the old brick building she called home. She fished her house keys from her purse and hurried up the stairs to the third floor.
The sound of music filled the hallway and before she could protest, her new neighbor, Nick, swung his door open carrying an overstuffed trash bag. He huffed as he heaved it over his shoulder.
She jabbed the key in the lock and turned it.
"LA from 3-A!" he called and she threw a wave over her shoulder. He laid the heavy bag down beside her before she could get the door open. The building was old, the door jam always stuck and she was forced to turn to Nick, who had a smirk on his face.
"Hey, Nick," she said, flatly.
"Need some help with that?" he asked, pointing to the door in question.
"I've managed by myself. I think I'm good. Thanks."
"Well, if you ever require my services m'lady, you know where I live." She hadn't noticed it before, but Nick was pretty handsome, gorgeous actually. His messy hair peeked out of the sides of his baseball cap and he had white paint all over his hands and arms. When he wiped his brow with the back of his hand, paint smeared all over his forehead and she laughed.
"What?"
She held her hand up and tapped his forehead with her fingertips. "You...uh...have paint all over your forehead now."
"Shit!" He took his hat off and pulled the hem of his worn t-shirt to his head exposing the most amazing six-pack she'd ever laid eyes on.
"Whoa," she said tilting her head, staring at his perfection; following the perfect v-lines that disappeared into the top of his jeans.
"Did I get it?" he asked, but he'd just made more of a mess.
"No," she laughed and shook her head. "You're just making it worse. Come on, let me help you clean up before it dries in your hair."
"Shit, I got it in my hair too?"
"Yeah," she chuckled. "Come on." Quinn gave the door a hard jab and it finally swung open.
Nick followed her into the apartment and Ziggy was instantly at his feet, nuzzling against his legs, begging for attention.
"Not now, Ziggy," she said and nudged him with her foot.
"Here," she offered, leading Nick into the kitchen as she took a towel from the drawer and ran it under warm water. "Sit."
He sat at the tiny, two-person bistro table as she wiped the paint from his face.
"I like your digs, LA. My place is still covered in boxes. I decided to paint the walls in the bedroom. They were a hideous purple color, it had to go."
She continued to wipe and laughed, "No one's lived there for a while. The last guy was in a band, I think. Played his guitar solos at all hours of the night."
"Nice."
"No, it wasn't. It drove me nuts."
Nick chuckled and grabbed her hand. She could have sworn she felt something spark between them in that instant, but she chalked it up to the quick peek of his glorious stomach in the hallway. He took the towel from her hand and dabbed some of the paint from his arms.
"You got any plans later?" he asked.
"Why?"
"Answer the question, LA."
"Maybe."
"Maybe isn't an answer."
"I might, why?"
"I don't know anyone around here and I was thinking we could hang out and watch a movie. Drink some beer, you know? Get to know each other."
"Thanks, but you're not really my type."
"Ha!" he laughed. "I'm not asking you out, LA. Just thought it'd be nice to hang out with you."
"Sure. That's what all guys say. First it's just friends, then it turns into a complicated relationship with emotional attachment and sex."
"Whoa. Slow down. I asked if you wanted to watch a movie and have a few beers, there was no mention of sex or any of that other bullshit. Christ woman." He flashed his big blue eyes at her and frowned.
"Seriously? You don't have any ulterior motives?"
"I'm beginning to think you might have trust issues," he joked, but she took his comment personally. She really did have trust issues and having him point it out made her feel worse.
"Sure," she said. "I'll watch a movie with you. But you try anything and I'll cut your balls off and staple them to your neck. Understood?"
"Feisty too. I like it."
"I'm serious."
"Fine. Movie, beer and pizza. I won't even try to feel you up, LA. I kinda like my balls right where they are," he said as he adjusted himself.
They both laughed. Something about Nick made her feel at ease. He was funny and charming, but not overly full of himself and it was refreshing.
"You better not, I'm not kidding about the stapling thing."
"I don't doubt it. You seem pretty tightly wound."
"Shut up, I am not," she scolded.
"Yeah, you kinda are. Hall monitor by day, Buffalo Bill by night." Nick was getting a kick out of her defensiveness and she made him laugh, something he hadn't done in a long time.
"I am not like Buffalo Bill, he's a serial killer and I am most definitely not a serial killer."
"You're right, a serial killer wouldn't have Hello Kitty pillows on her couch."
"They're one of a kind, I'll have you know. I had to special order them from Japan. I love my Hello Kitty pillows," she huffed.
Nick let out a deep, low rumble from his belly and he threw his head back and laughed.
"Oh, shut up."
He rose, pushed his chair under the table and handed the towel back to her. "Thanks for cleaning me up, neighbor."
"Anytime, Nick from 3-C."
He chuckled and stuck his hand out.
She took it in her grasp and shook lightly. "Quinn."
"Holy shit, she has a name," he teased her.
"Yes, I have a name. Although, I'm not gonna lie, I was really beginning to think LA would catch on. I was even thinking I might change it legally, you know, make it official and all."
"Nah, I like Quinn better. It suits you."
"Thanks, Nick."
He opened the front door, thanked her again and retreated into his apartment across the hall. As soon as his door closed behind him, she heard the music blare again and rolled her eyes.
After a quick shower, Quinn put on a pair of sweat pants and a tank top. She figured her 'friendship' with Nick didn't require her to get dressed up or the need for any make-up. It was a quarte
r till seven as she pulled a bottle of wine out of the cabinet, grabbed a corkscrew and headed over to Nick's.
Ziggy meowed in protest since she usually spent her Friday nights snuggling on the couch with him.
"Sorry, bud. Not tonight." She bent down and scratched between his ears as he purred happily.
Quinn knocked on Nick's door and when he didn't respond, she knocked again, thinking she was too early, but figured he'd be home. She wrapped her fingers around the doorknob and twisted. Unlike her front door, his swung open freely and she peered inside.
"Nick?" she called, but no answer.
She contemplated waiting outside, but after a moment of reasoning, she stepped inside and closed the door. His apartment was much smaller than hers and the kitchen was practically next to the front door. She set the wine on the counter and decided to make herself at home. He was right, boxes were stacked floor to ceiling in the living room, not leaving much room to maneuver around them. The smell of fresh paint tickled her nose as she walked inside cautiously. A small, leather love seat sat in the middle facing a huge flat screen television.
"Nick?" she called again and listened carefully. The water in the bathroom was running and a distinctive male voice was belting out the lyrics to Back in Black.
Quinn stifled a laugh with her palm and curiously followed the sound into his bedroom. Leftover painting supplies were strewn about, his bed was covered with a drop cloth and so were the wooden floors. He wasn't kidding about the purple. Now, most people would choose a soothing color for their bedroom walls and when you think purple, usually it's a nice calm shade of lavender. The color on the wall was a hideous neon purple with green trim. It really was awful and she couldn't imagine spending time in the room longer than she had to.
She picked up a lone brush from the floor, dipped it into the edge of the paint can and lifted it to the wall. After a few strokes, she knew it was going to take more than a coat or two to get the purple covered, so she continued, listening to Nick's renditions of classic eighties rock. She found it amusing. Several paint strokes later, she had painted half the wall and although there were still two others to finish, she reveled in her accomplishment.
"LA," Nick said from the doorway of the bathroom, causing her to jump, almost tossing the paint brush in the air.
Quinn turned to face him and he stood, damp with beads of water on his tanned flesh with nothing, but a towel around his waist. She instantly covered her eyes with her hand and fumbled around on the floor for the paint tray.
"I'm sorry, I didn't even hear the water turn off."
He laughed as she tried to hide her curiosity and wandering gaze. "Do you always let yourself into your neighbor's apartment and start painting?"
With her hand still over her eyes, down on her knees, feeling around on the floor for anything she could put the brush in, Nick laughed again.
"Shit," she cursed as she hit the edge of the wall with her elbow.
Suddenly he was at her side. She felt him grasp her shoulders and she stopped squirming.
"Open your eyes, dummy. I don't wanna be responsible if you knock yourself out on one of the end tables."
Hesitant to do as he asked, she slowly lowered her hand and found herself face to face with his crotch, which was covered with only a thin towel. Again, she slapped a hand over her eyes.
"Jesus, will you go put some clothes on, please?"
He laughed, released her shoulders and padded across the room. Between the slits she'd made through her fingers, she watched as he dropped the towel to the floor and pulled on a pair of boxer briefs. She could feel the heat spread across her cheeks and knew she shouldn't have been watching him, but there was no way she could look away. Not even the Hulk could pry her away from watching Nick's muscles flex over his buttocks and back, oh how she wanted to run her fingertips over them.
A pair of lounge pants and a worn Dave Matthews Band t-shirt later, she was sure the ache between her legs wasn't just a cramp from kneeling for so long and she pleaded with her body to make it go away, but it still lingered.
"All dressed," he said turning back around, this time fully clothed.
She removed her hand again and tossed the paint brush into the pan on the floor.
"Sorry, I'm a little OCD when it comes to stuff like this."
"It's cool. I was just giving you shit, you know?"
"Yeah, I know," she laughed and rose to her wobbly feet.
After not having male contact in so long, she was beginning to think her new perfume must have had an added pheromone to it with all the attention she'd gotten in the last twelve hours.
Nick wandered out into the kitchen and she took a deep breath, repeating to herself that she would not be attracted to him, she wouldn't sleep with him and definitely wouldn't get drunk with him around, because she knew what would happen then.
"You brought wine, Aww how sweet," he teased her.
"I'm not much of a beer drinker."
"Well, I'm not much of a wine guy, so do me a solid and take this sissy shit back to your place. Who actually drinks pink Moscato anyway?" He pushed the bottle into her chest dramatically and she stood staring at him with her mouth open.
"Seriously?"
"Yeah," he said waving his hand at her. "Go."
Quinn huffed and went back to her place, dropped the wine bottle off and grabbed a bottle of Irish whiskey from the cabinet instead.
"Damn him," she muttered under her breath as her phone chimed, indicating a new message.
She dug around in the bottomless purse until she found it, flipped it open and saw that she had three missed calls from an unknown number and a voicemail. "What the hell?" she asked herself and held it up to listen to the message.
"Quinn, I assume the reason you aren't answering is because you screen your calls, which is understandable. What I don't understand is, why I'm sitting by myself at this restaurant. I'd really like to know if you're just running late or if I'm being stood up. You have my number now, so please call me back." The message ended and Quinn stared at the phone blankly for what seemed like minutes. She was sure the note she'd written had come across pretty loud and clear, but apparently he didn't think so. Usually the words, "NOT A CHANCE IN HELL," would get the point across. Apparently not.
She glanced at the clock, it was seven thirty and she really didn't want to call Jaysen back just to argue her point, which was completely valid. Instead, she tossed the phone onto the table and headed back to Nick's.
Quinn returned, holding the bottle over her head. "Happy now?"
"What took you so long?" he asked as a smile crept across his face when he saw the bottle in her hand. "A woman after me own heart," he mocked in his best Irish accent and she giggled.
"You promised to behave," she reminded him, although she was beginning to feel guilty since she'd seen his backside in all its naked glory and here she was standing in his kitchen in sweat pants.
"Come on, let's get this party started," he said pouring two shots of whiskey.
"Can I get one of those beers?" she asked.
"Yep." He pulled out two beers, popped the caps off and handed her one along with the shot.
"What do we drink to?"
He held up his shot glass. "Here's to being single, drinking double...and seeing triple. Cheers."
"Ha! Cheers." They tapped their glasses together and downed the whiskey. Thankfully, Quinn's tolerance for hard liquor hadn't changed much since she was with Trenton, but she knew if she had too many, she'd revert back to party-like-a-rock-star-Quinn and they'd both be in trouble.
Quinn followed Nick into the living room and snuggled down on the cool leather sofa. He pulled a box from one of the numerous stacks and opened it.
"What'll it be, LA? You probably like that romantic comedy crap, don't you?" He eyed her warily and she shrugged. "Well, I'm sorry to inform you, that I do not own any such movie, nor will I ever volunteer to subject myself to one."
"So, I'm guessing you don't want to watch T
he Notebook?" she asked, playfully.
"You're a funny girl. How do you feel about Bruce Willis?"
A huge smile crept across her face and she giggled a little as Nick turned to her with Die Hard in his hand. Her love for Bruce Willis had no boundaries. He was the sexiest older man she had ever laid eyes on and she'd seen every one of his movies at least twenty times.
"Please don't start licking my TV," he teased her.
"That's disgusting," she said and chucked a pillow at him.
"Bruce Willis it is," he said catching the pillow with one hand before tossing it back at her.
Nick came up with a silly drinking game while watching the movie. Every time John McClane said, "Yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker," they had to take a drink. A few shots, a couple of beers later, Quinn was beginning to feel herself loosen up around him quite a bit. It'd been a long time since she'd just drank with someone for the sole reason of it being Friday night and nothing else. It felt good.
"He said it again! Drink up!" Nick shouted.
"Are you trying to get me drunk?"
"That is the point of a drinking game, princess."
Princess? That name...she hated it more than she hated stubbing her toe, more than lima beans and more than fingernails across a chalkboard.
"I hate that fucking name."
Nick turned to face Quinn as she held her beer to her lips. "Princess?"
She cringed again.
"What's wrong with it?"
"I just hate it, so please don't call me that. Ever." She felt her throat swell a bit as she said it and the word itself evoked pain in her chest.
"Yeah, okay. If it bothers you that much, I won't say it ever again. You okay?"
Quinn took a deep breath as the blood drained from her face and her happy night began to turn into a nightmare as memories flooded her brain. Memories of Trenton and his temper. It was always the moment when his eyes darkened and he bared his teeth, the words would slip out of his mouth and she always knew what came next. Where do you think you're goin', princess? There wasn't anything she could do, she couldn't run, couldn't hide, so she'd fall to her knees, curl into a fetal position and wait for the blows to come.
