Something Like Love

by Monica James

  “Death penalty?” I spit, my voice rising in concern. “Please explain why your dad thinks that’s a good idea.”

  As I see Quinn’s mouth pop open, I calm down—only just.

  “In most circumstances, Canada will only allow extradition if the person is not going to receive the death penalty. My dad had to push for that sentence so you can stay in Canada. Even if the Canadian police capture you, you’ll be safer in Canada than you would be here.”

  “How so?” I question.

  “Well, seeing as you’re dubbed Bonnie and Clyde by the press, they’re out for blood.”

  I rub my temples, my head about ready to explode. “So, I guess this is good news?”

  Tabitha sighs. “It’s as good as it gets for moment, I’m afraid. Dad has ensured me that you’re safe in Canada, but make sure you keep a low profile.”

  I close my eyes and sigh, sick of all the hiding.

  “We’re nearly there. Dad said it’s only a matter of time. They’re building a strong case against Phil, and my dad said it’s only a matter of weeks until they open a can of whoop ass on your dad.”

  I sigh in relief. “Thank you so much, Abi. Hey, what does your dad do?” I ask, realizing I never once asked how he was able to pull all these strings.

  “My dad, well…he’s a senator. And a powerful one at that.”

  My mouth hangs open because I wasn’t expecting that answer.

  “He has a lot of connections, Mia. But he’s trying to do this underground so it won’t affect his name. If this were to get out, you can image what it would do to his career. But if push comes to shove, he would do what’s right, regardless of the scandal it would cause.”

  My brain can’t process this without short circuiting, and I get out the only coherent word I can manage to express.

  “Why?”

  “Why?” Abi repeats. “Why is he helping you?” she questions, unsure of what I’m asking.

  When I grunt in response, she replies, “Because I asked him to. My father lives in Washington. He left me with my mother, thinking I would be better off staying in my home town when they divorced. But I knew he really wanted to focus on his career, and I’m okay with that. I have never asked anything of him before, so when I asked him to help me, he knew it was important to me, and he said yes.”

  My eyes widen at her confession, and I really don’t know what to say, as a simple thank you seems like an unsatisfactory response.

  So as corny and girly as this makes me, I whisper, “I love you, Abi. You’re my best friend, and I really don’t know what I would have done if I’d never had met you.”

  Abi sniffs at my honesty, and I’m glad I went with my gut.

  “You can thank me in person when you come home.” She sniffles once again.

  “I’ll hold you to that,” I quickly reply, wiping away the unfallen tears from my eyes.

  Abi chuckles but turns serious. “Have you seen your mom?”

  A groan slips past my lips, and Quinn rubs my back in support.

  “I take that as a yes and that it went swimmingly,” Abi says sarcastically.

  “Yeah, something like that,” I reply with a tired smile.

  “We have a lot to catch up on when you come home,” Abi says, thankfully not pushing a conversation I couldn’t bear to have over the phone.

  “I haven’t told Tristan about Quinn and what he did,” Abi says softly.

  I nod, looking at Quinn. “Good idea. The less he knows the better.”

  “It’s not that,” Abi says, concern touching her tone. “It’s…he’s different, Mia. This is really getting to him, and I think if he found out about this, it would be the final thing to tip him over the edge, and no amount of reasoning would be able to keep him from finding you.”

  I bite my lip, feeling my heart break. “Please look out for him. I couldn’t live with myself...” I stop, unable to finish.

  Quinn wraps his arm around my middle, kissing my head softly.

  “I promise I will,” Abi says with conviction. “You just missed him actually, he went to Night Cats.”

  As soon as she mentions the one place I could call home, my feet feel unsteady and weak. Bracing one hand against the glass for support, I lower my head in defeat. Will this always be the response I have to a place where my fondest memories are held?

  “Sorry,” Abi whispers when I remain silent.

  I know one day I’ll be able to deal with these emotions without having a mental breakdown. But sadly, today is not that day.

  “It’s fine, Abi. Don’t sweat it. I better go. I’ll call you in a couple of days to check in. Say hi to Tristan from us.”

  “Take care,” she replies.

  “You too,” and I hang up with a sigh, not letting go of the receiver.

  “See, my plans always work out,” Quinn says after a minute of silence.

  Letting go of the receiver, I playfully roll my eyes and turn around to face him.

  “Did you know Abi’s dad was a senator?” I ask.

  Quinn shrugs. “I knew he was powerful and in politics, but not a senator.”

  “Well, at least we got the good guys on our side.” I sigh. “Here’s hoping they can clear our names, as I’m not keen on being a fugitive my whole life.”

  Quinn surprises me by pulling me into his embrace by my belt loops. “How does it feel to be in the arms of a criminal?” he jokes, wetting his lower lip.

  Mesmerized by the movement, I reply, “Crime has never felt so good.” I loop my hands around his neck, toying with the soft hair at his nape.

  He cheekily smirks, and I’m reminded of how lucky I am to have met him. Without him, I have no doubt I would be dead, as he has saved me more times than I care to admit—but not just literally. He’s saved me from losing myself in the memories of my past, and for that, I will always love him.

  Even though I’ve never expressed my feelings aloud, I hope Quinn knows how I feel. Because the love I feel isn’t just butterflies in your tummy over someone you’re attracted to. No. The love I feel for him stems into so many different avenues. I love him as a lover. As a brother. As a protector. As a fighter. And as a friend. But most of all, I love him for being him.

  And one day, I’ll gather the courage to tell him all the ways I love him. But for now, I’ll settle for showing him as I smash my lips to his.

  ***

  It’s been an unspoken rule between Quinn and me that we stay at shitty, barely standing motels. And that’s not because we’re running low on money. Thanks to Tabitha, Quinn and I could buy a small island if we wanted to. But I intend to pay her back everything we’ve borrowed, and I also intend to give her what’s left if I finally return to South Boston.

  As we walk up the stairs to our room, I wonder where we’ll spend our Christmas. I ignore the stabbing sensation in my chest that my mother and Pollyanna will most likely be partying in style, eating and drinking the most expensive foods and wine, while Quinn and I eat frozen burritos and pop tarts. But who says that’s what we have to do? This Christmas, just like Thanksgiving, is the first I’m to celebrate, as living with a drug addict whose Christmases all came at once every time he got high, kind of took the fun out of celebrating.

  I was always so busy dealing during the holidays, that when the actual holiday rolled round, I wanted nothing to do with it. But this year will be different. And this year, I have someone I want to buy a gift for. But what do I buy him? Whatever I decide upon, I know it has to be special.

  “Whatcha thinking?” Quinn asks, slipping the rusty key into the lock.

  As it wheezes open, I reply, “Christmas.”

  “What about it?” he questions, tossing his sweater onto the sofa.

  “Just about your present,” I tease, flopping onto the bed.

  “Oh, yeah? I’m listening,” he replies with a smirk as he kicks off his boots, and lies down next to me.

  “I’m not good at gift giving,” I admit, using my hands as a pillow as I turn on my side to fac
e him.

  Quinn is the sexiest man I have ever laid my eyes on. And when he nibbles on his lip ring, just like he’s doing now, he takes that sex appeal to a whole new level. Suddenly, my cheeks flush, as I am struck with an idea of what I can give him for Christmas.

  “You’re enough of a gift,” he replies with a smile, as if reading my thoughts.

  “I’m hardly a good substitute for chocolate, candy canes, and gingerbread,” I say nervously, rattling off a list of Christmas goodies, hoping Quinn doesn’t become aware of my blushing cheeks.

  “Red,” Quinn states seriously, his eyes scanning down my body. “If I was going to overdose on something sweet, I would much rather eat you.”

  My already blushing cheeks smolder a blistering red at his admission, and I will my breathing to a normal pace before I start panting embarrassingly loud. But no matter how hard I try, my body is awakened by his comment. And that just makes my choice of gift all the more perfect.

  “Come here,” Quinn whispers and I instantly shuffle closer. “For as long as I can remember, Christmas was just another crappy holiday where I would purposely sleep the day away.”

  “Why?” I softly question.

  Sighing, he replies, “I know I haven’t told you much about my past.” My eyes widen at his response, but I allow him to continue.

  “And there’s a reason for that. I don’t want you to judge me for actions that I’ll never be able to change. Or ever be able to redeem myself for.”

  “I would never—” I frantically reply, but he silences me by placing a finger over my lips.

  “You say you wouldn’t, but I judge myself every day for it, and although I’ll never forgive myself for what I’ve done, you make it a little easier to forget the sins of my past. So trust me when I say you’re more than enough of a gift.” Only then does he remove his finger.

  “Quinn,” I stumble over my words, lost for the right thing to say.

  But how does one reply to something so sweet, and also, something so heartbreaking? I simply can’t, because in this moment, there are no words to vocalize my feelings. Actions are the only thing I can employ to express my love for him.

  We are breathing in one another’s exhalations, transfixed on the other. But inside, a war rages inside of me, threatening to break free at any second. And at the moment, I don’t have the strength to fight it.

  I launch at Quinn, fisting my fingers into the collar of his t-shirt, desperate to draw him closer. He complies, allowing me to drag him onto my starving body, anxious to feel his touch. As soon as my lips meet his, I am an untamed fiend, and I can’t get close enough, quick enough. But there are too many clothes in the way, and I am desperate to be skin to skin.

  “Lose the shirt,” I say around his mouth, my hands frantically helping his as he reaches for the hem of his t-shirt.

  As soon as he’s bare, my body sings in pleasure when he lowers his rock hard chest onto mine. His nipple ring digs into my skin, and I whimper, loving how the cool metal caresses my skin. His tongue drives forward, licking my lower lip, requesting permission into my mouth, and I open up wide, wanting to devour him whole.

  His hand takes a slow, leisurely tour of my body, stopping at my right breast along the way, and I moan in pleasure, arching into his touch, but it’s still not enough. I clutch at my t-shirt, and Quinn pulls away for the briefest of seconds to allow me to sit up and tear it off over my head. Before it even hits the floor, I’m pawing at Quinn to resume his position on top of me.

  He bites my neck and I bend backward, exposing the entire length for him to consume. His stubble scratches me in the most delicious way, and as I feel the stud of his tongue ring, tickling a path down my neck to my collarbone, I know I’m about ready to denote loudly.

  “Pants. Off,” I manage to choke out, and Quinn chuckles in response, but thankfully I hear a zipper being unfastened.

  “No, yours, not mine,” I reply breathlessly when I feel him slipping his fingers into my pants.

  “Later,” he replies huskily, biting my jaw.

  I’m too highly strung to argue, and as his wicked fingers crawl into the waistband of my underwear, all rational thought goes flying out the window.

  “Oh fuck,” he hisses as he brushes over my aching center, but never seeking haven inside. Quinn teases me, sliding two fingers up and down my slick entrance, and I just wish he would…

  Oh god.

  He inserts a finger, and I moan at the wonderful intrusion as it’s exactly what I need. My body begins undulating beneath him, and by his labored breathing, I know he’s just as turned on as me.

  His finger is tormenting me as it skirts around where I want it to be, and I know he’s doing this on purpose. But I’m really not in the mood for teasing, so I reach down and palm the huge bulge in the front of his pants, and he sucks in a breath of air at my forwardness.

  “More,” I beg, barely able to speak.

  But to my horror, Quinn withdraws his finger. My eyes flick to his, wordlessly demanding an answer. The answer I get has my already flaming body engulfing into a bonfire of need. He runs the finger that was inside of me seconds ago along his lower lip, spreading my moisture with his touch. If that’s not hot enough, his pink tongue emerges, slowly licking away my arousal from his wicked mouth.

  My eyes are glued to his, and as he places his finger into his mouth, sucking away any evidence left over from my wetness while reaching for the button on his jeans, I almost come from the sight alone. As he unfastens his zipper, my eyes drop to his pants, and the unmissable erection poking out of his jeans has my very horny body demanding I get up close and personal with my new favorite thing.

  Sadly, all thoughts of getting anywhere near him are interrupted by a loud knock on the door. Both our movements cease, and I think I almost stop breathing when another knock, louder this time, thumps on the door.

  I have no idea who it is, and as the knocking continues, quite impatiently, I know it’s not going away.

  “Who is it?” I whisper to Quinn, who is quickly buttoning up his jeans.

  As he leans over and opens up the bedside dresser and produces a gun, I know he’s not going to take any chances when he finds out. My eyes fall to the piece, and I jump up, frantically searching for my top on the floor.

  “Go into the bathroom and lock the door,” he demands as he slowly creeps toward the banging.

  My response is a laugh as I reach into my backpack for my Colt. “I don’t think so.” Before he can object, I’m following silently behind him, making sure my steps are masked by the soft green carpet.

  “Of course not,” Quinn replies with a sigh.

  My heart is beating at a deafening octave, and as the knocking gets louder and more insistent, I think I’m about to throw up in terror.

  “Do you think they found us?” I whisper, not needing to clarify who ‘they’ are.

  Quinn shrugs as he replies, “I doubt they would knock, but I don’t know. I really wish you would just go into the bathroom and wait,” he hisses, looking angrily at me over his shoulder.

  “How about you go into the bathroom and wait,” I spit back, insulted.

  Quinn blows his long bangs off his face, exasperated by my stubbornness, but too bad. And besides, he should be used to my pigheadedness by now. I mean, I have a very good teacher.

  As he silently approaches the small window of our room, he takes a shallow breath and uses the barrel of his pistol to inch the curtain open a fraction. I can’t see a thing as his huge back is blocking my view, so I stand on tippy toes, but still can’t see jack shit.

  As the knocking turns into a loud banging, I’m tempted to jump onto his shoulders so I can see who the hell it is. But as Quinn blows out a loud breath, I know I may just not want to see who’s standing on the other side of the door.

  “Who is it?” I demand, attempting to look over Quinn’s shoulder as he turns to face me.

  By the plagued expression on his face, I’m not sure if I want him to answer my questi
on. But of course curiosity gets the better of me.

  “Is it them?” I ask, holding onto my breath.

  “Worse,” Quinn replies, tucking the gun into the waistband of his jeans as he reaches for the doorknob.

  “Worse?” I gasp, watching in awe as he stows away his piece. “Then why are you putting your gun away?”

  But all my questions are answered as Quinn yanks open the door, revealing someone I never, ever, expected to see.

  Chapter 4

  Who’s Your Daddy?

  As I see the scowling face of Pollyanna, I rub my eyes because there must be some mistake. But as she rudely shoulders past Quinn and I, I know I am not mistaken.

  I’m rooted to the spot as I vaguely hear Quinn shutting the door behind me, foiling my escape. My disbelieving eyes study Pollyanna as she scrunches up her nose in disgust whilst gazing around our tiny, lime green room.

  As she runs her finger over the dusty breakfast table, she mumbles, “What a shithole,” and wipes her hand on my jacket, which is sitting on the back of a chair.

  Quinn is by my side in an instant, wrapping an arm around my immobile body. We both watch Polly sag into the brown armchair, making herself right at home as she kicks her boots onto the stained coffee table in front of her.

  I lean toward Quinn, my eyes never leaving her as I whisper in a catatonic tone, “Why did you put your gun away?”

  Quinn chuckles as he kisses the top of my head, and the sound draws Polly’s attention our way. I don’t fail to notice her gaze fall to Quinn’s chest, and the feeling I had yesterday of clawing her eyes out returns.

  “What are you doing here?” I bark, thankful it came out coherent, and not consisting of a string of profanities.

  Polly’s icy blue eyes flick to mine, and she crosses her arms over her chest. “Oh, trust me, I do not want to be here,” she replies, curling up her lip in revulsion.

  “Well, you know where the door is, seeing as you so rudely decided to break it down,” I bite back, mimicking her actions. “So don’t let it hit you on your spoiled ass on the way out.”