Quinn narrowed her eyes at Griffin. “No more beer.” She pointed her finger at him. “You’re driving my friend. One beer, that’s it. Got it?”
Griffin saluted his sister and when she walked away, lovingly flipped her the bird. “Mom promised me the bossy thing was just a phase.”
Peyton picked up the menu. “I’m starving.”
“Me, too,” Griffin said, looking over her shoulder, his eyes grazing the curve of her neck.
Peyton turned her head, and he quickly looked down. “Let’s order one of each of the desserts.” Griffin motioned for the waitress. “Are you really moving back home?”
“I’m seriously thinking about it,” he said. “What do you think?”
“It would be good to have you back.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
MEN IN SUITS descended on Reed’s project in the Warehouse District. They wanted design changes — things, of course, they’d never mentioned before — and they wanted them now. Reed tried his best to listen and hide his disgust about being pulled to work on what should’ve been a lazy Sunday afternoon. Then the suits began to talk amongst themselves about market rates and collateral mortgages, things Reed didn’t give a shit about. That was for other people to worry about — people like the suits — and Bret and his grandfather, too. Reed was the idea guy, the design guy.
Reed’s phone vibrated with a text from Bret, standing ten feet away. I hate this boring shit. Beer after? Reed shook his head. The only thing he wanted after was Peyton — and her pink full lips. He needed to find out if they were as soft as they looked. The phone vibrated again. Why not?
Reed shook his head again. He thought back to her lips. He couldn’t seem to get past them — the image of her tongue sliding across her mouth. He wanted to know what she tasted like. Maybe it was sugar from the praline or maybe chocolate from the pie or maybe it was a dash of cinnamon. And he wondered how her lips would feel, warm and wet probably, surrounding him, seeing her look up at him with her baby blue eyes. How perfect it would be, her mouth sliding him in and out. He reminded himself he’d promised to go slow, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t daydream — in and out, in and....
The phone vibrated again. Dude, where are you? Get your head out of your ass.
Reed gritted his teeth. He was tired of the suits, tired of the interruptions. He wanted his fantasy, his daydream — or wet dream — and he wanted it now, even if it had to be in a dusty old building. He typed quickly on his phone. Dinner with Peyton tonight. Then he pulled up Adelaide’s website on his phone, searching Peyton’s picture, adjusting it to crop out everyone else, especially Griffin.
Her eyes jumped out at him. She was the type of woman men built buildings for — like New Orleans’ Cornstalk Hotel designed for a homesick Iowa debutante, the Boldt Castle commissioned by a millionaire on a heart-shaped island to show his undying love for his wife, the Taj Mahal tomb built by a past emperor for his cherished wife. He traced his finger across her pink lips, perfectly accenting her pale skin, then gently followed the curve of her breasts, continuing down to her waist. She seemed the perfect package — maybe too good for him.
It suddenly occurred to him he didn’t know much about her. He only knew how he felt. He wanted to know more. He wanted to do more. He couldn’t wait to see her in a few hours.
* * *
Surrounded by piles of clothes in her closet, Peyton held up a frumpy dress against her bathrobe. “Quinn!”
Her friend ran upstairs and poked her head in. “What’s up?”
“I’m not going.”
“But we already did your hair.” Quinn gently touched Peyton’s loose curls and took a seat beside her.
Peyton lowered her head between her knees. “I think I’m going to throw up.”
Quinn patted her on the back and glanced around the beautiful closet, fit for a Southern belle, with a full length mirror, white glazed cabinetry, and crown molding. Quinn wanted to cry every time she stepped inside the closet, mostly filled with baggy shirts and sweats in every color imaginable. Long gone were the cocktail dresses, cheerleading uniforms, and designer jeans, all staples of Peyton’s past wardrobe. And the closet space for at least 50 pair of shoes now only contained five, and three were for running. To Quinn, it was such a waste of valuable fashion real estate.
“Why did I think I was ready for this?” Peyton picked up an old college sweatshirt from the floor. “Clearly, I’m not.”
“Relax, I’ve got it all taken care of.” Quinn got up, disappearing for a few seconds before returning with a box. “Just a little something to help you feel as beautiful as you are.”
Peyton ripped open the box, and her jaw dropped. “You didn’t?” She jumped up from the floor, holding the emerald green dress against her body. “Thank you!” She gave Quinn a huge hug then walked in front of the mirror, her excitement turning to caution.
“Reed will love it,” Quinn assured her.
“It’s too much,” Peyton said, turning to the side to examine herself.
“Money?”
“Yes, but not just that.” Peyton held the dress out to Quinn. “Way beyond my comfort zone.”
Quinn pushed the dress back to her. “It’s time to leave that zone. Just a little, at least.”
“I thought you didn’t even like Reed?”
“If he makes you happy, then I’m happy.” Quinn winked at her. “You have to put it on. You really must!”
Peyton pushed Quinn out and shut the closet door. She held up the emerald dress again, staring at herself in the mirror for over a minute, her stomach twisted in knots. But she knew she had to try it on; she owed Quinn that much. She slipped off her robe.
Quinn plopped down on Peyton’s bed and ran her hands over the plush comforter and pillows, admiring the rosettes and linen-covered headboard. “I need your kind of headboard,” Quinn called out. “If Bret bangs my head one more time against his wooden one, I may suffer serious brain damage.”
“I can see the obituary now. ‘Banged to death.’ Your parents will be so proud.”
“I guess I could tie him up and bang him until his head hurts.” Quinn wrinkled her nose. “What’s taking so long?”
Peyton emerged from the closet, tugging at the hem in a desperate attempt to lengthen the dress.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” Quinn cried. “Sister Barbara would have you kneeling on rice!” Quinn knew when a dress was too short, having failed the high school skirt check more times than she could count.
Peyton threw her arms in the air. “Now what? He’ll be here in like ten minutes. And I want you and Bret gone.”
“Crap. I forgot Bret was downstairs, too.” Quinn scurried to the ground and reached under Peyton’s bed.
“What are you doing down there?”
Quinn pulled out another box. “Try this one.”
“My God, Quinn, did you buy the whole store? And when did you start storing things under my bed?”
“We can talk later!” Quinn nudged Peyton back to the closet. “Hurry up!”
Peyton took the box and prayed this one was decent, a periwinkle blue maxi dress — cute, not sexy, and just loose enough to be comfortable. She came out with a big smile.
“I knew that one would work,” Quinn said. “I’ll take the emerald one back.”
“Thank you so much. You’re the best.” Peyton looked down at her dress, twirling her locket.
“Just one more thing.” Quinn handed Peyton a little pouch. “Put this in your purse.”
“What’s this?”
“It’s called a ‘Shame on You’ kit. It’s got a toothbrush, couple condoms, a fresh pair of panties, and some aspirin.”
Peyton laughed then threw it at her. “I don’t need all that.”
“OK. Just the condoms.”
“This is our first date! I certainly don’t need those.”
“Just take it. It will make me feel better.” Quinn shoved it in her purse. “Reed is used to his nights ending a certain way.”
“He promised he wouldn’t rush things between us.”
“And I’ve promised my parents I’m a virgin.” Quinn pulled Peyton into the bathroom, nearly dragging her along the marble tile, past the cast iron clawfoot tub. “You just need a touch of blush.” Quinn dug through her own makeup case. “Nars makes this one. It’s called Orgasm. I think that’s perfect for a date with Reed.” She dabbed a brush on the palette.
“Stop talking about condoms and orgasms! It’s not happening!”
Quinn put down the brush and took Peyton’s hands. “I just want you to be safe — protected.” Peyton nodded and offered a brave smile. “Reed doesn’t know what happened, does he?”
“Of course not.” Peyton reached for her locket. “It’s not exactly the first thing I tell people.”
Quinn took a step back, looked Peyton up and down, and flashed a confident smile, knowing Peyton needed to get back in the game. “You’re ready.” Peyton gave a slight nod.
A knock on the bedroom door startled them both. “We better get going,” Bret yelled, “before Reed shows up.”
Quinn opened up. “Just finished.”
“Hey, Bugs!” Peyton teased.
Bret cocked his head. “Bugs?” Quinn bit her tongue not to laugh and turned all shades of red. “Like the bunny?” He looked at his girlfriend for help. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Quinn kissed him on the cheek. “Just a private girl joke, baby.” Quinn gave Peyton a look she’d definitely get her back, before bursting into laughter.
* * *
Reed parked in front of Peyton’s house under a sprawling magnolia tree. He had no trouble finding the house. He’d actually grown up just a few streets away. As a young boy, he rode his bike on her street and stalked the ice cream truck there, too. He’d probably even seen Peyton as a young girl — maybe as a teenager — but because of the four year age difference, he wasn’t paying attention. She certainly had his attention now.
He unbuckled his seat belt and looked out at the huge Garden District house, the very embodiment of Southern charm, with its swing and two rocking chairs on a wrap-around porch, the magnolia tree shading a perfectly manicured garden. He made his way along a cobblestone path towards the porch, not a weed or flaking paint in sight. He couldn’t remember the last time he went on a real date — let alone a first date. The front door suddenly opened, and Reed froze.
“We’re leaving,” Bret called out. “Pretend we weren’t here.” He tried to lead Quinn towards his car across the street, but she was already headed straight for Reed.
“What are you guys doing here?” Reed asked.
“I live here,” Quinn snapped. “Better get used to seeing me around.”
“She was just helping Peyton get ready,” Bret said sympathetically, as Reed continued down the path.
Quinn put up her hand. “Hold on a minute!”
“Oh shit,” Bret mouthed.
“I’ve heard all the warnings and bullshit from Bret,” Reed said. “I don’t need to hear them from you, Quinn.”
“Good. So you know that if you hurt my friend, your dick is coming right off.”
Reed gave a sharp glance to his friend, hoping he’d at least try to control Quinn, but Bret gave only a helpless little shrug, while looking like he wanted to run and hide. Reed then turned to Quinn, wondering why she was so protective, more like a mother than a friend. It made no sense: Peyton was strong and tough and certainly able to take care of herself. He had a mind to tell Quinn to back off but didn’t want to start the night that way or embarrass Bret any further.
“Let’s make a deal,” Reed said. “I won’t hurt Peyton if you don’t make Bret go dancing.”
“I’ve actually been getting better,” Bret said.
Quinn rolled her eyes. “I’m not about to make deals with you, Reed.” She walked a small circle around him, eyeing his dark jeans, pale blue shirt, and navy sport coat. “You look OK, but why didn’t you bring flowers, candy, or something?” Quinn put her hands on her hips. “You think you can just show up empty-handed?”
“Quinn Prudence Dupuis!” Peyton called out from her porch. They all turned to look at her, the shining sun beaming from her blue dress.
Reed and Bret eyed each other. “Prudence?” they asked aloud, chuckling.
Quinn turned bright red. “Shut up, both of you!” She grabbed Bret’s hand and stormed off, giving one last look of encouragement to Peyton. Then she offered a silent prayer to Peyton’s parents and grandfather to watch out for her, knowing she herself had failed her friend before.
* * *
Reed waited until Bret and Quinn drove off before making his way towards Peyton. He’d never before seen her in anything other than baggy clothes and an apron, so finding her in a stunning blue dress, even though it was loose fitting, was a pleasant surprise. He flashed a huge smile. He could tell she was nervous, looking down as he approached, fidgeting ever so slightly with her dress.
Peyton felt her stomach flip as he came towards her, unsure whether to greet him with a hug or a peck on the cheek, or neither, or whether to invite him inside. She didn’t know what was the proper greeting for a first date; she couldn’t even remember her last date. She’d worried so much about the end of the date that she hadn’t prepared herself for the beginning. Reed reached the top step.
She opened her mouth to say “hello,” but he kept coming. Her head began to spin. She wasn’t in control. She couldn’t relegate him to a table anymore. Quinn couldn’t run interference anymore. He was right in front of her, then his mouth was on hers, soft and warm, brushing her lips with his, sliding his arms around her waist. He pushed her up against the front door and parted her lips, caressing her tongue slowly, her entire body exploding into a tapestry of fireworks, every nerve in her body released from sad and lonely hibernation. Her legs grew weak, and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders for support then pulled him tighter and tighter into her body. His hand went to the back of her neck, drawing her mouth harder to his. Her body trembling, Peyton released a purring sound and gently pushed him away, hoping the distance would decrease the desire.
Reed wanted more but knew he needed to stop, knowing he’d already broken his promise to go slowly. But he saw her smile slightly, turning her big blue eyes away from him, blushing, and figured she’d probably forgiven him. He reached out to her, intertwining their fingers.
“You look beautiful,” he said. “Ready?”
* * *
Bret gripped the steering wheel tightly, the veins in his hands bulging from aggravation and embarrassment. He glanced at Quinn, sitting quietly, tapping her fingers on her legs in some rhythmic fashion. He didn’t know what was bothering her and frankly didn’t care. If it was still about Reed, she needed to get over it. He released the steering wheel for a moment and flexed his hands.
“Quinn, I asked you to be nice. What the hell was that back there?” She didn’t respond, just kept tapping her fingers on her legs. “If you can’t get along with Reed, we are going to have problems.” She didn’t respond again and just kept tapping. “I think it’s best if I take you back to your house tonight.” He looked at her, hoping for some response, some explanation, but there was nothing, just more tapping, faster and faster. “Whatever.” He jammed his foot on the brakes, quickly switching lanes. He checked his blind spot to make an illegal U-turn and spotted a tear rolling down her cheek, her bottom lip quivering. “Are you OK?”
“Pull the car over,” she said quietly.
Bret patted her knee. “I’m sorry I snapped, but ....”
“Please pull the car over.” Quinn frantically dug through her purse.
He eased into a tow away zone in front of a stop sign then opened the sun roof to let in some fresh air. “Baby, what’s wrong? Please don’t cry.”
“I need my phone! I need to call Peyton!”
Bret covered her hand with his. “Why? We just left her. She’s fine.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.�
��
“I think I do. She was fine when you left her a few minutes ago. I was there, too.”
Quinn paused for a moment, soaking in what he’d said. “That’s just it. I left her once before, and....”
“And what?”
Tears flowed down her face in full stream. “I left her,” she said, her voice cracking, debating whether to tell him, “and she was raped.”
“What?” Bret fell back in his seat like he’d just been shot. “When was this? Who?”
Quinn dropped her head in her hands. “I left her alone. It’s my fault.”
“It’s not your fault,” Bret said, tilting up her chin. “I’m sure Peyton doesn’t blame you.”
“She’s too good to do that,” Quinn said, forcing a smile. “She’s the most beautiful person in the world.”
“Has she told Reed?”
“No,” she said sternly, “and you can’t tell him, either.”
“I can’t keep something like this from him. He has a right to know what he’s dealing with here.”
She pulled at his collar with both her hands. “Swear to me you won’t tell him! This is too private. Peyton will tell him if and when she’s ready. Please, Bret, this is Peyton’s story to share. I shouldn’t have even told you.”
Bret looked out the window, torn between his best friend and girlfriend, pissed that Peyton already had so much taken from her — and now this. The stop sign caught his eye. He wouldn’t take anything else. “I won’t say a word to Reed or anyone.”
“Thanks, babe,” Quinn whispered, nuzzling into his neck. “I’m sorry I was rude to Reed again.”
“Just know he’s not going to hurt her.”
“It’s not so much about him. I’ve watched her in pain for almost four years and just don’t want to see it anymore.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
OVER THE PAST few days, Reed had spent several hours thinking about where to go. He considered taking Peyton to a “buffet” — perhaps the huge spread at Harrah’s near the Riverwalk — but decided that would only be funny for a few minutes, and then they’d be stuck in a loud, smoky restaurant surrounded by cocktail waitresses in tiny tops, many of whom had no business wearing them. He also considered taking her downtown to the Canal Place Theater, which didn’t allow annoying teens or kids to bother them, where they could dine from the high-brow menu while taking in a movie in high back leather chairs. But a movie seemed so trite, so ordinary, and he wanted to make a good impression and try to get to know Peyton, so two or three hours in a dark, quiet theater wouldn’t allow for that. Sure, they could make out during the movie, but they could do that anywhere.
Perfectly Broken Page 5
