“Do not use our Lord’s name in vain!” she huffs as I pull into a parking space.
Yep, its official, I liked you much better when you were fat.
I barely put the car in park before she jumps out, adjusts her tailored linen pencil skirt, and storms away from my car.
For a moment, I just sit there, trying to figure out what the hell just happened. And then I decide I really don’t care.
The school parking lot is nearly full despite the fact that I got here incredibly early for once. Droves of enthusiastic freshmen are huddled together on the front steps, sporting their new duds and nervous smiles.
It’s only the first day of school, and I’m already over it. I can’t wait to be done with high school. And frankly, this morning’s chat with Tessa didn’t make me any more eager to be here. Maybe I should make one of those paper chains that you tear off a loop of paper everyday until you reach the end. I laugh to myself at the image of paper loops covering every surface of my room. This year won’t be as bad as previous years, I guess. I don’t have to take a math class, and I have Ben-who looks at me like…
“Hey baby.” Ben’s raspy voice startles me. I spin around to face him. Who looks at me like I am perfect.
“Hey yourself,” I say, leaning in to him. He wraps a muscular arm around my waist and pulls me in even closer.
“You look nice,” he says. I know he’s full of shit because, unlike the eager freshmen, I did not put on a dazzling new outfit. My gym shorts and sweatshirt are a testament both to how little I care, and to how late I snuck in from his house last night. If only my damn parents hadn’t been waiting up for me.
Daniel (my germ-fighting-ex) appears out of nowhere.
“Hey sexy,” he says, with a freakishly white, toothy grin as he walks behind Ben and I. I scowl back at him. Ben laughs. I love that I can always make him laugh.
Yep, maybe this year won’t be so bad after all.
Chapter Nine
Ben
“So, you’ve met Sydney and Grant, now you just have to meet Tessa,” Quinn says. I notice that she rolls her eyes when she says Tessa’s name, and laugh.
She pulls a pillow off of my bed and clutches it to her chest. I brush a long piece of hair out of her face.
Quinn has decent friends. Sydney is a girl my mom would approve of, with her sweet, Southern smile-and Grant is the first guy I’d met today that I hadn’t caught checking Quinn out. But even though they seem close, Quinn isn’t the same with her friends as she is with me. She is guarded or something. She doesn’t talk about her parents being total dicks. In fact, she paints a picture that the whole family is golden. I really don’t understand it. During lunch, Quinn even acted excited about having to work for her dad; not letting on that it is actually a punishment.
“So, what’s wrong with Tessa?” I ask. I shut my index finger in my math book to mark my page.
“Oh, you’ll see.” Quinn smirks, then kisses me lightly. “How can you stand that?” She motions to the heavy book.
I shrug. “It’s like with you and cooking, I’m just good at it, so I enjoy it.”
“No, that’s not the same thing at all. Cooking is like a hobby, and math is just, gross.”
I can’t help but chuckle at her extreme hatred of numbers.
“Speaking of math, how much time do you have before you have to go?”
She glances at the oversized watch on her dainty wrist. The heavy metal looks like it should weigh her entire body down.
She grimaces, “Eff, thanks for reminding me. I’ve got to take off, the douchelord will lose his shit if I’m late.”
I run my hand over her leg that’s stretched across my lap. Every time I look at her I’m amazed at how completely out of my league she is.
“Are you coming back over when you’re finished tonight?” I try not to sound as eager as I actually am.
“Maybe,” she says, with a grin. She replaces the pillow against my headboard, and fluffs it lightly before stopping abruptly.
“Benjamin Shaw! What is this?” she asks. Her eyes are wide as she produces the large, leather-bound book from behind my pillows. A small stack of matte black-and-white prints slip out of the inner flap when she cracks the book open.
“Oh…” I laugh.
“Is this what I think it is?” she asks, with a sly grin.
“I’d forgotten that was back there.” I run my hand through my hair nervously.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-” she closes the book quickly; her smile becomes a thin, straight line.
I relax my posture, and shake my head. “No, it’s fine. Go ahead.”
She purses her lips, as if she still isn’t sure I mean it. I’ve never shown anyone this book before. Not Caroline, not even my parents. They may not even know it exists. Sure my mom has seen me with a camera, but I don’t think she knows how much I love it. Photography isn’t a practical thing to do; it would just be a time waster as far as my parents would be concerned.
Quinn carefully opens the magnetic clasp again and runs her hand over the first page. Slowly, she turns page after page until she looks up with the most captivating smile I’ve ever seen.
“You did all of these?” she asks. Her eyes are wide and surprised.
I nod.
“And these ones, too?” She holds up the small stack of black and whites that had slipped out. The top one on the pile is a photo of an old black barn surrounded by barren, snow covered trees near our old house in Kentucky.
“This is amazing. Why didn’t you tell me you about all of this?”
“I’ve never really shown anyone. It’s just something to keep my mind occupied anyway.”
“No, these are like, really, really good.” She flips a few more pages in the book before stopping abruptly. “Who is this?” Quinn points to a photo of Caroline. Her long hair was blowing across her pale face; her freckles playing hide-and-go-seek under the wild blonde strands. Caroline never even knew I had snapped the picture.
I rub my cheek, my palm scratching against the stubble.
“That would be Caroline,” I answer.
Quinn shifts her weight away from me-I don’t like that. I wrap my arm over her lap and pull her right back.
“You know you have nothing to worry about, right?”
“She’s really pretty,” Quinn says.
“She’s not you.”
Quinn glances up and her tightly pressed lips morph in to a small smile that slowly creeps across her face.
“Good answer,” she says. My relief that she isn’t upset is palpable.
“Now, if you really want to see something embarrassing, check this out.” I reach across her legs and pull open my nightstand drawer. I hesitate with the drawer open for a second, before I grab a small piece of old cloth. The material is unraveling at each end, and the image of a sheep that once decorated the front is now long faded beyond recognition. I only know it was there from its appearance in old photographs.
“Wait, is that-”
“Yep, this is my baby blanket.” I laugh. “My grandmother made it for me before I was even born.”
“And you still have it?”
“Well, it’s not exactly something you throw away, Quinn.”
“Okay, I get that. But you sleep with it right here by your bed? Are you scared? Do I need to come and stay over to protect you?”
I know she isn’t trying to embarrass me; she’s just having a good time. That’s the whole reason I showed it to her. I didn’t want her leaving and have the last thought be about the photograph of Caroline.
“Please! You, protect me?” I make a muscle before shoving the blanket back into the drawer. Her laughter turns hysterical as I roll on top of her, pinning her to the bed playfully.
“Of course not, you’re very strong,” she says, with a wink.
“What, is your baby blanket crammed in a box in your basement or something?”
“I never had a special baby blanket, or a baby book, or a first curl saved
in a sweet little box-or any of that cheesy stuff. My childhood was way better than that,” she says, heavy on the sarcasm.
“Mom was always in and out of rehab when Carter and I were young. We spent most of our time being shuttled back and forth between random family members because my dad was always working.” She stares at her fingernails, a nervous habit I’ve seen her do frequently when she talks about herself.
“What about Mason?” I ask.
“Oh, things have calmed down a lot since he was born. Mom did all that stuff for him-he is the golden child after all.” She bites her bottom lip as if she’s contemplating whether she has shared too much with me or not.
I decide not to press any further, and I pull the blanket back out of its hiding place. “So, do you think I’m a total douche for this?”
“No,” she says. She kisses my ear before she whispers in it. “You’re not at all what I expected when I first saw you.”
I laugh quietly and pull back to look at her beautiful, olive face.
“So, is that a good thing, or a bad thing?” I ask.
“Definitely a good thing.” She burrows up against my chest. “You’re so much better.”
I don’t know what I was expecting when I met her, but one thing is certain to me now. I’m totally falling in love with this girl.
Chapter Ten
Quinn
Dad’s office is on the top floor of an obnoxious, all glass building. He has two beyond ancient partners, and one of their decrepit wives was channeling her inner Martha (when instead, she should have stuck to pretending to have a job at the Junior League) when the lobby was decorated. Gold tassels and heavy floral fabrics are abundant, and I’m seriously considering bringing an EpiPen with me next time, in the event that I should have an allergic reaction to its gaudiness.
The receptionist, Ms. Mary Mack (she is dressed all in black too, I shit you not!) tells me that Dad is wrapping up an interview and will be with me in a few minutes. My dad is hiring a new secretary-again. He makes his way through a few every year. I can understand why they fail to stick around-with him being the world’s biggest prick and all. Dad has this way of looking at you that screams, “Iamsuperiorandyouareafuckingimbecile”.
“Well, it was very nice to meet you. You will definitely be hearing from me,” Dad says to a blonde chick. (I’d call her a lady, but no lady wears pleather for any occasion-especially a job interview.) She can’t be more than a couple of years older than me. Dad is looking her up and down in a sleazy guy way. Either pleather-lover doesn’t notice, or she doesn’t care. Regardless, I throw up in my mouth a little. He walks her to the glass doors and then turns to me.
“Are you ready to crunch some numbers, kiddo?” he says to me in his fake, fatherly voice.
I force a laugh for Ms. Mary’s sake. Dad and I both smile our matching faux father-daughter grins, and I march obediently behind him to his office. As soon as the door clicks shut behind us, his smiling face transforms in to “the look” and he motions to my clothes.
“Jesus Christ Quinn, you couldn’t have worn something a little nicer? This is a professional office,” he says.
I stare blankly at him. Or at least I let him think I’m staring at him. I’m actually looking at a small piece of beige paint that is peeling just to the right of his head. I’m surprised he hasn’t noticed it yet, he will freak the fuck out when he does. Arguing with him about my clothes will do me no good, trust me, I’ve tried, so I remain silent.
Dad’s office is immaculate, like in a creepy Sleeping with the Enemy way. His paintings and diplomas are all hung at precisely the same level, in identical teak wood frames. There is literally no clutter in the entire room. The wastebasket is empty. The windows overlooking the city are clear of all finger prints or smudge marks. Everything has a perfect, well thought out, specific place. The inbox on his desk is empty. Not because the firm doesn’t have a lot of work, but because Dad is just so damn efficient. All of his pencils and pens are laid out on a small tray on his desk. Each one is turned the same way, grouped by brand, and probably in some complex, and specific order that I would never understand. I bet it would physically hurt him if I reached over and rearranged them. I contemplate this, and smile.
“What would you like me to do, daddy?” I ask him. I can tell he recognizes my condescending tone by the glare he shoots back at me while pressing a button on his phone.
“Mark, it’s Lee, can you come to my office, please,” he says into the intercom.
“Yes sir,” a deep male voice answers. I tap my fingers impatiently on the arm of the chair, wondering who the hell Mark is.
There is a knock as the door simultaneously opens. I’ve never quite understood this concept. Why bother to knock if you’re just going to let yourself in anyway? You wouldn’t exactly have enough warning to hide an indiscretion when someone is knocking and opening at the same time.
And helllooooo Mark. Mark is made of sexy-sauce. A little short for my taste, he can’t be any taller than 5′9″ but he’s delectable, for an older guy, that is.
“Mark, this is my daughter, Quinn. Quinn, Mark is our newest associate. Mr. Taylor is retiring and Mark has joined us from Louisiana. He just graduated from Tulane and we’re really lucky to have him.” Just graduated? Not that old.
Mark smiles and extends his hand. I don’t shake it.
“Quinn, don’t be rude,” Dad says, his voice an irritated growl. I glare back at him. Mark lets out a nervous laugh, but looks me up and down and allows his eyes to linger a little too long. He’s totally checking me out right in front of my dad. Gross.
“It’s fine sir.” He shoves his hands into his pockets. Mark is hot, but I get the feeling he’s a total kiss ass. His navy blue pants are, if I’m not mistaken, pleated. And although his pink polo shirt is tight on his thick biceps, (win!) it is also tucked in. Ugh. Mark’s skin is deeply tanned, not like my tan that comes from spending too much time in the cancer beds; it’s a gorgeous, natural tan. His dark brown hair is cropped short to his head, and he has just the right amount of stubble on his cheeks and chin that basically begs me to touch it. I’m taking in his cobalt eyes when I realize I’m staring at him way more obnoxiously than he was doing to me. What the hell is wrong with me?
“Quinn, be respectful and pay attention.” My dad interrupts my ogle fest. “You’ll be helping Mark get settled in. We’re giving him several accounts to take over, so I need you to help him get organized. Also, he’s not familiar with the area yet, so you may need to run his errands for him. Basically do whatever he needs you to do.”
Mark’s hands are shoved in his trouser pockets, and he’s smirking. Blatantly smirking. I am not going to be this guy’s slave, no matter how delicious he may be. I fasten my hand to my hip, and am forming a rant of protest, but my dad stops me before I can even get started.
“You know your other option, Quinn,” he says. I snap my mouth shut, and feel myself deflate.
“So, you’re still in high school?” Mark asks as I follow him through the maze of halls that lead to his new office.
“Yep,” I say.
“When I was in high school, I had to flip burgers. You’re lucky your dad is letting you work here rather than doing something like that, fast food is no fun.”
“Super-duper lucky,” I mumble. Yeah, I know that I’m being a brat.
“What do you do for fun?” he asks.
“Work for my dad,” I say, the sarcasm dripping from my voice. “How about you? Oh wait, let me guess. Wrestle gators and ride four-wheelers?”
He chuckles. “You sure are different from Lee,” Mark says.
“God I hope so. That’s a good thing, right?” I say. I catch him looking me up and down again as we walk inside his office.
“That is a very good thing.”
I’m pretty sure I heard him wrong because there is no way he said that the way I think he did, right?
“So, here’s the stuff I need filed, and the cabinets are over there,” he says, p
ointing to a row of mahogany filing cabinets that occupy an entire wall. “I know it’s a huge backlog, so if you have any questions, just let me know. Anyway, if you could get started, that’d be great.”
Apparently since he’s been unsuccessful with winning me over with his frat boy charm, he’s now wearing his boss hat.
I pick up the stack of filing and roll my eyes.
“Once you finish up, let me know. I’m positive I can find something else to do to keep you busy,” he says.
“Rad.” I frown.
I make my way through about half of the pile before I decide to call Ben. He finally answers on the last ring, just as I’m about to hang up.
“Hey baby. I thought you’d still be at work,” he says.
“I am-I just called to shoot the shit.”
“How’s it going?” His voice is smooth and delicious.
“Annoying. My dad has me working for some putz from New Orleans,” I say. I open a cabinet drawer and thumb through the files as I talk, since I’m the ultimate multi-tasker and all.
“That sucks. What time will you be out of there?” he asks. I love the hint of anxiousness in his voice-and that it’s because he is waiting for me.
“Not sure, around six I guess.”
“Cool. Well, come by when you finish up.” My skin is tingling just at the thought of seeing him again.
As I shut the drawer, Mark comes back in and murmurs something. This time, I know I didn’t hear him wrong.
“I will. Hey, I’ve got to go baby, the warden is back,” I snap the phone shut without saying goodbye, and turn to face Captain Cajun.
“What the fuck did you just say to me?” I ask the little troll. He widens his eyes innocently. I know what he said, I just want to see if he has the huevos to repeat it.
“I said,” He smirks and saunters closer to me, “That you look good on your knees.” He’s obviously pretty proud of his unoriginal remark.
“You’re an asshole,” I tell him. “And apparently, not a very bright one either. Hitting on the boss’s daughter?” I push past him, determined to get the hell out of here.
Grounding Quinn Page 4
