by Joey Bush
"True. But you stood out," I said.
"So does Anya. Are you going to tell me what's going on with her or not?"
I scowled and wished we were not so close to Quinn’s parents' house. "I already told you there is nothing going on between us. She would like there to be and we've flirted in the past, but I have never been interested in her that way. Don't let her get in your head."
"It’s kind of hard not to when I walk in and find you two together this morning. You admit she has the hots for you and you two spent the entire night alone together," Quinn said.
"No. We were not alone. In fact, she spent most of the night hanging out with Jasper. He'll tell you all about it," I said.
Quinn opened her door just as I stopped the car at the end of the driveway. "Fine. I believe you. It’s just one more reason this is all too complicated for me right now."
Before I could say anything else, she shut the door and walked away. I drove home and ran up the steps to my apartment two at a time. Jasper was spinning on one of the kitchen stools and chatting with a few of his odd friends.
"Hey, there he is," Jasper said.
I jerked a thumb towards the hall. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"
He looked at his phone and jumped up. "Yeah, sure, buddy, but make it quick. We've got to get out of here."
His friends cleared up their stuff and headed towards the back stairwell. I watched them go.
"They parked out back. Checking out the best way to help me move," Jasper said. "So, what's up?"
"Did anything happen with you and Anya last night?"
"Oh, whoa. She's hot, but no. We just flirted. I thought when you disappeared that something might happen, but she crashed solo on the couch."
"Would you be willing to tell Quinn that?"
"Kill a little jealousy? Sure, man, whatever you need. I'll check in and call her later," he slapped my shoulder and disappeared down the back stairwell after his friends.
I walked back into my apartment and felt the hair on the back of my neck go up. Something was off. Jasper was going to be helpful with Quinn, but why was he in such a hurry to leave?
I shook off the feeling. I had been off all day. Ever since Mr. Thomas confronted me about breaking up with Sienna, I had felt jumpy. He had said what I had always felt sick about. I had broken up with Sienna and then she committed suicide. Was I to blame?
I replayed the rest of the day in my head. At the tournament, I had thought it best to stay away from Quinn. Not only was Mr. Thomas watching my every move, but he had to have told her about it on the car ride. Only later did I realize he had said nothing to Quinn. She was the only person that did not blame me for Sienna's suicide. And I had treated her badly.
I paced around the kitchen island. I had to tell her about what her father had said. It wasn't so much that he blamed me, but that he was right in thinking the timing of our break-up affected Sienna's decision. There was no good way to broach the idea that Quinn’s sister had died because I broke her heart.
Even as I thought about it, I knew it did not feel true. Sienna had not been broken-hearted over the break-up. Things had not been right with us for a while. But if Mr. Thomas was going to try to keep Quinn away from me, it was exactly the kind of accusation he would level against me.
I picked up the phone and dialed Quinn's number. It rang and rang before her voicemail picked up. I hung up and tried again. The third time it had not yet reached her voicemail when a heavy knock shook my door. I hung up the phone.
The police were back and they pushed their way into my apartment without a word. One of the uniformed men tossed me another search warrant and they started to take the place apart.
Like my life, I thought. Everything getting knocked out of place.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Quinn
I got in the door and was relieved to find both my parents were out. My father was meeting with a client in preparation for an upcoming trial. My mother had decided to indulge in a spa package in order to relax. All I needed to relax was a pizza and the quiet house.
The only problem was after I had ordered the pizza, all I could do was pace. I still felt the rush of adrenaline from the accident scene. It played over and over in my head and each time, I was amazed. My body had reacted before my brain caught up. Then, my mind worked faster and more fluidly than it ever had during class. I made decisions quickly, recalled what I had learned in first aid training, and it had all felt so natural.
When the phone rang, I was so distracted that I did not notice the unknown caller icon. "Hello?"
"Is this Quinn Thomas?" a cheerful male voice asked.
"I'm sorry, who is this?"
"My name is Evan. Is this the Quinn Thomas that used my mother's Hermes scarf as a sling?"
"Evan! You surprised me. How did you get this number?" I asked.
"Well, you did not accept our dinner invitation, but you did tell me your name and that you were a local so I looked you up," Evan said. "Now I understand about not wanting dinner, but my parents and I would really like to thank you."
"Please don't. It was nothing," I said. How could I explain how exhilarating I had found his accident?
"It’s not just us that thought so," Evan said. "The EMTs were pretty impressed too. We all got to talking and I think we've come up with a great suggestion."
"You talked about me on the way to the hospital?"
"All good things. So, as a thank you, my parents and I would like to offer to pay for your EMT training and certification. To be honest, we did the research and it may have cost more to take you to that five-star restaurant," Evan said. "This way, we figure our thank you will end up helping a lot more people."
I laughed. "That is very generous of you, but I cannot accept that much money from you. I'm just glad you are okay."
"Just consider it," Evan said. He gave me his number and hung up.
I was still smiling when my mother came in carrying the pizza. "I paid for it in the driveway," she said. "I hope that's okay."
"Thanks." I pulled out an extra plate and napkin for her.
"So," my mother said as she sat down at a kitchen stool, "what are you smiling about?"
She was so relaxed and calm it was hard not to feel at ease around her. "I think I know what I want to do," I said.
"Are you up for giving me details or are you going to keep it under wraps?" she asked. "Your sister always kept everything under wraps until she had it perfectly thought out. She liked the big reveal."
"Yeah, I guess that's a good idea. There are a lot of details to figure out," I said.
"Well, at least give me the general idea." My mother smiled and took a large slice of pizza.
"I think I found a way to use my talents to earn enough money to get certified in the perfect career," I said. "And the best part is I can do it all on my own. No offense."
"None taken," my mother said. "I sometimes think I would feel stronger, more steady, if I had made my own way. I don't regret marrying your father, but he pays for everything and it leaves me, I don't know, adrift."
Her eyes started to get a familiar faraway glaze. I could feel the relaxation and contentment evaporating from her. My mother's mood swings always made me nervous. I chewed my pizza carefully and wondered how to ask her about them. Did she know Sienna had the same sharp ups and downs? My mother had to know it was dangerous. She had to feel it.
"Oh, your phone's buzzing," my mother said. "I'm just going to run upstairs and get an aspirin." She disappeared up the staircase, and I had the sinking feeling I would not see her again for too long.
I looked at my phone and saw Owen's name. I froze. Part of me wanted to throw my phone across the room. Wouldn't life be simpler without Owen? I wondered. The majority of me, including my leaping heart, knew that Owen would always be the one part of my life I could count on no matter how messy things got.
"Hello?" I asked.
"Quinn, is there any way you can come over? The cops are here again an
d I feel like I need someone to be my witness," Owen said.
"The cops are at your apartment again?" I asked. I slid reluctantly off my stool and looked up the stairs after my mother. "Shouldn't you call a lawyer, instead?"
"Yes. I don't know. I don't know how to handle this. They're not finding anything and I don't want to blow it out of proportion. It would just feel better if I had someone here on my side. Besides, your father is a lawyer. You'll probably understand all this legal talk better than me."
I promised I would leave soon and went to the foot of the stairs. "Mom? Are you okay?"
"Just tired, darling. I think I'll turn in," she called down, her voice fuzzy.
"Do you mind if I run out? I'll call Father and let him know," I said.
"Sure, sure," her voice disappeared and I heard her bedroom door shut.
I was relieved to get my father's voicemail. I told him I was running out to the store to grab a few things and would be home soon. Then, I drove as quickly as I could to Owen's apartment and found three squad cars parked haphazardly outside his building.
#
I found Owen pacing the hallway outside his apartment.
"Are you okay?" I asked. I peeked around him into the open door. Four uniformed police officers were systematically searching every inch of his apartment.
"No. I'm not okay. I know you're not going to want to hear this, but I have a theory about why this is happening," Owen said.
"Why wouldn't I want to hear your theory?" I crossed my arms and leaned against the hallway wall.
"Because I think somehow your father is using his connections to create these search warrants and send the cops over here." He saw my face and held up his hands. "Hey, I said you didn't want to hear it, but think about it. He doesn't want me around you. He'd be happy to discredit me in any way possible."
"That doesn't mean he would stoop to illegal measures," I said.
"That's why I think it makes sense that it’s him. He can do all of this and make it seem perfectly legal," Owen said.
I ran both hands through my hair and had to strain not to pull any out. "So, you brought me over here to throw me in the middle of some psychotic made-up dispute between you and my father?" I asked.
Owen stopped pacing and pried my hands off my head. "No. And it’s not psychotic. Your father blames me for a lot of things, now more than ever."
"He can't blame you for me quitting my nursing program. And even if he did, this would make no sense as retaliation," I said.
"I don't think it’s about the nursing program," Owen said. He bit his lip.
"You mean you think this is about what happened with Sienna? He blames you for her death?" I pulled away. "Look, Owen, this isn't what I needed tonight. I'm sorry this is happening to you, but I am certain it has nothing to do with my father."
He caught my hands and pulled me back. "You're right, I know. I'm sorry. I just have no idea who else would be after me like this."
"Didn't we already talk about it and you thought it could be another player literally trying to throw you off your game?" I asked. "Or, to counter your insane accusation of my father, why don't I point out that it could very well be Anya. A little jealousy might go a long way. She seems like the type that would pay a powerful lawyer."
Owen looked as if he had swallowed a tack and then he cleared his throat. "But the first time happened before Anya started acting jealous, so it couldn't be her. And I'm sorry to mention your father, but it could be possible."
I was glad when the police filed out of the apartment because it stopped us talking. They walked by without even speaking to Owen, so it was obvious they did not find what they were looking for inside. It took three whole minutes of pounding silence before either of us moved to enter the now-abandoned apartment.
"Do you have any idea what they were looking for?" I asked. "Last time they brought in a K-9, right? They're searching for drugs?"
"Yes," Owen said. He came inside and shut the door firmly behind him. "Someone must be tipping them off that I'm using drugs."
"So, it makes sense if it’s one of your neighbors, doesn't it?" I asked.
"I've never had any issues with my neighbors. I'm on a first name basis with everyone, including the landlord," Owen said. "The only complaint I've ever heard was that we get a lot of visitors."
"What did you say to that?"
"I pointed out that Jasper and I were both young, single men with active social lives. It was a reasonable explanation," Owen said.
I tried to lighten the mood. "So, you had a steady stream of interesting visitors, huh?" I wagged my eyebrows at Owen, but he was not amused.
"Friends, gamers, and people Jasper works with," he said. "They were never loud or stomping around at inconsiderate hours."
"So, regular friends. Except for the random clients and freelancers that Jasper brings by, right?" I asked. "You once told me you had not seen him with the same person twice for a month."
"Yeah." Owen shrugged. "Jasper meets a lot of people."
"And, they never stay around for long, do they?" I asked. "They hang out here for a bit and then head off to a bar or somewhere, right? Do you ever go with them to the bar?"
"It’s not really my scene," Owen said.
"So, you don't know if he goes off and actually hangs out with these people or if they just leave at the same time?"
"What are you getting at?"
"Well, from the outside, it would be easy to think you or Jasper were dealing drugs out of your apartment," I said. "A steady stream of ever-changing people that never really stick around for long. I could see that being something I would think if it was happening at my neighbor’s."
Owen stretched both hands out on the kitchen island and pressed down hard. "I knew it was going to be something like that. No matter what, people are always going to think I smoke marijuana or do drugs just because I play video games. I swear to God, the stereotypes are the worst part about my career. Even at the tournament, I heard over and over again how surprised people were at how I look. They hear gamer and they think stoner wearing sweatpants and hanging out in a basement."
"So, you think some neighbor found out what you do for a living and just assumed you must be a drug dealer, too?" I asked. "Think about it, there has to be more to it than that."
"No, there doesn't, and that's what really bothers me," Owen said.
"Well, then do something about it," I said. I could not help but be impatient with him. We were just standing around complaining when nothing bad had actually happened to him. Plus, I was working on my own theory that I was shocked he had not even considered.
"What am I supposed to do about it?" Owen asked.
"Do an interview talking about stereotypes. Write a blog post. Get your fellow gamers into a discussion of how negative stereotypes affect them too," I said. "It would give a little balance to the whole 'cops searching your apartment' side of the story."
Owen leaned further down on the island and buried his head in his hands. "It sounds like you think I need to build up a case to prove I'm innocent."
"Well, it wouldn't hurt because obviously someone thinks there’s suspicious activity here at your apartment." I reached out and brushed his hair out of his face. "Too bad they don't see everything that goes on here."
"I'm sorry I accused your father, Quinn. I just feel like someone is out to get me," he said. He stood up and joined me on the other side of the kitchen island.
"Or maybe they are trying to pin it on you," I said. Owen did not take my hint. His hands were too busy sliding around my waist.
He pulled me in for a fierce hug. "Thank you for coming. I know I'm probably the last person you wanted to see tonight. I thought maybe your father had convinced you I was no good and that made me think I should give you space at the tournament. I didn't mean to ignore your success or make you feel bad."
"So maybe it wasn't our best day," I said. "Some good came out of it." I wanted to tell him about the rush I felt helping people
at the accident scene. I want to confess my idea of becoming an EMT. He could help me sign up for tournaments that paid cash prizes and I would be able to fund the training and certification myself.
Instead, I hugged him and stayed quiet. Owen's mind was too bogged down in his own problems to hear what I had to say. Sienna used to get like that, distant and absorbed in her own world. I remembered the best way to pull her out was to compliment her. Making her remember all her good traits turned her thoughts around.
"For one thing, I had the brilliant idea for you to start a new publicity campaign. Changing the stereotypes of gamers is just the sort of thing you would be the perfect poster boy for," I said. "Handsome, fit, living above ground, and not a single pimple to be seen."
"You'd be better," Owen said. "Young, female, well-educated, well-adjusted, and gorgeous. I know you want to break into the business side of it. Maybe that's just the thing to get you noticed."
"I'm not sure I need to be noticed by anyone besides you."
A slow smile curved his lips. "So, you're not mad at me anymore?"
I traced a teasing circle around his smiling mouth. "Oh, no, I am. But maybe you can think of some way to make it up to me."
He kissed my fingers and the sensation shot up my arm and tingled down my spine. Owen noticed my shiver of delight and caught my hand. He licked his lips and delivered a light yet sizzling kiss to the tip of each finger in turn.
Then, he opened the palm of my hand and dropped a warm, lingering kiss in the middle. I felt his tongue swirl a tight circle and the heat of it unfurled something deep in my core.
"That's all you've got?" I whispered.
Owen smiled as his blue eyes met mine. I felt the magnetized pull of him, but tried to hold back. The anticipation was like tiny fireworks all along my skin, and I wanted to feel more.
He brushed my sleeve back and straightened my bare arm. His warm lips traced a light, skimming path up to the crease of my elbow. There, he let his breath and tongue tickle me until I tried to wriggle free. I did not try so hard that he let go though.
Instead, he reached for the loose neckline of my shirt and pulled it aside. His lips seared the sensitive skin at the side of my neck. I dropped my head to one side, brushing back my hair and baring more for him to devour. Owen took his time tasting my skin, lingering to breathe tingling breaths over the warmth his kisses left behind.
