Something Like Love

by Monica James

  He said, ‘Take care of our girl.’

  In his eyes, I was his girl as much as I was Quinn’s. Fair to say he didn’t know the extent of my and Quinn’s relationship, but that didn’t matter to him, as he still took a knife wound for me which could have ended his life. I owe him so much. I owe them all so much, and I intend to pay up as soon as I can.

  Quinn is still quiet. I hate this distance between us, so I climb into his lap, encircling his neck. “You okay?” I ask, toying with the hair at his nape

  “Yeah, all good,” he blankly replies as he settles his hands low on my waist.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, as his reply surely doesn’t imply that.

  “Nothing, I’m fine. It’s all fine,” he says, abruptly shifting me aside so he can stand up.

  I look up at him, confused, and suddenly wonder if I did something wrong. Thinking back to my phone call, I didn’t say anything out of context. I do miss Tristan, but I also miss Abi. Surely Quinn knows that the feelings I have for Tristan are purely platonic.

  “Have I done something to upset you?” I ask when he won’t meet my eyes.

  He stands in front of me, motionless, and slowly shakes his head while chewing on his lip ring. But I’m not fooled because I’ve come to read Quinn just as well as he can read me.

  I shuffle forward and reach for his belt, drawing him towards me. Wrapping my arms around his waist, I hug into his stomach and rest my cheek against his hard abs. “You’re not a very good liar,” I mumble into his t-shirt.

  His abs ripple as he chuckles. “I guess not.”

  “So, what’s up?” I ask, raising my eyes to look up into his impassive face.

  Quinn sighs, the deep sound echoing throughout his torso as he meets my worried gaze. “I just know my brother, and I have a feeling his ‘staying put’ translates into him coming here.”

  My eyes widen in horror. “But he said he would stay home.” Quinn arches an eyebrow, and I add, “But then again, he is your brother.”

  Quinn chuckles, his messy bangs covering his eyes, but by the hard set of his jaw, I know he’s actually serious. Shit. Does Quinn really think Tristan will come here? But he doesn’t know where here is.

  “He wouldn’t, would he?” I ask, biting my lip in fear.

  The thought of Tristan getting hurt again because of me has my stomach rolling.

  Quinn only shrugs. “When it comes to—” But he doesn’t continue. He only chews on his hoop, looking away.

  “When it comes to what?” I press, shifting my head to meet his gaze.

  “Nothing,” Quinn says after a long pause, leaning forward and kissing the tip of my nose to distract me.

  “Quinn,” I retort, but I’m silenced as he swoops forward and kisses me.

  Taken off guard, I latch onto his biceps for support as his skillful tongue begs for permission to enter my mouth. However, begging is not required as my body instantly responds before my brain can catch up, and before long, our tongues are deliciously dueling with each other.

  Since being here, we haven’t been as intimate as we were when in the USA, and I miss it. I miss the closeness of being with him in a way I have never been with another.

  Kissing Quinn is like eating chocolate. One bite is never enough. But Quinn is like nothing I’ve ever tasted before, and his flavor is one I could happily eat again and again. And that’s exactly what I plan on doing.

  Slowly standing and not breaking contact, I intensify our embrace by sucking his hoop into my mouth and drawing on it with a long, wet pull. Quinn moans, and his response turns me into a wanton fiend. I reach between us and softly rub over the firm arousal pressing against my leg. Quinn groans once again.

  That simple sound is all the motivation I need as I unsnap the button on his jeans and slide my hand into the warm cavern of his crotch. The instant my hand touches bare flesh, we both moan in appreciation and I wrap my hand around his lengthy member and begin to slowly stroke up and down. Quinn’s mouth slackens and he exhales hot, needy breaths, his hips thrusting forward, moving in time with my quickening strokes.

  “Oh fuck,” he gasps as I circle the moisture gathering at his tip.

  I am definitely no expert at hand-jobs, but I’ll try my best. I think Quinn needs this physical reassurance, because showing him it’s him that I want, and no one else, is what he needs to chase those insecurities away. We all have insecurities, and the fact this big, bad, handsome man is afraid I would want anyone other than him is just absurd.

  “You feel so amazing,” I whisper against his lips. “Does it feel okay?” I ask, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious that I’m doing something wrong.

  “Okay?…Oh fuck,” Quinn hisses, driving his hips onward. “Is a…oh, Jesus,” he moans, his sentence structure intermittent as I stroke harder. “Understatement,” he finally concludes on a breathy groan.

  “I’m about five seconds away from coming all over you,” he confesses. I avert my eyes, still embarrassed by his honesty.

  “Let me…oh, fuck…let me finish you off first,” he hisses, reaching for the button of my jeans, but I nudge out of his grip.

  “No, let me take care of you,” I reply, and I’m not only referring to the huge erection in my palm.

  Quinn nods, closing his eyes and arching his head back, enjoying me taking control. His stupid zipper is in the way, so I try and push it down without breaking contact with his arousal. However, a knock at the door stills my hand.

  Quinn’s desire stricken eyes spring open, and we wait to see if the perpetrator will knock again. Sadly, another knock raps at the door, and if that isn’t enough, the cell phone begins ringing from under the bed.

  “You’ve got to be shitting me,” Quinn curses, and I can’t help but smile at his comment.

  “Sorry, um, it’s just me,” Cynthia says from outside the door. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

  I barely hold back my chuckle as the phone continues chiming noisily, which no doubt is Tabitha, calling to say hi. I hope she calls back because my hands are currently tied.

  “What’s up?” I ask loudly, my hand still sitting snugly down Quinn’s pants.

  Quinn groans at my inappropriate comment, and I bite my lip to stop from laughing.

  “Oh, I can come back,” she says hurriedly. “If you’re busy.”

  Quinn sighs, tossing his head back, and I can’t help but chuckle.

  “It’s fine. Give me a sec,” I reply, when she has no intention of leaving.

  “Sorry,” I whisper, pouting as I remove my hand from his pants.

  “You owe me,” he says with a smirk as he zips up his jeans, rearranging himself.

  “You know I’m good for it,” I reply, and he moans in the back of his throat as I quickly pull on his bottom lip, sucking his hoop into my mouth.

  “You’re evil.” He grins, swatting me on the butt as I pull away to answer the door.

  “Hi, what’s up?” I ask a blushing Cynthia.

  She looks over my shoulder at Quinn, who is sitting on the edge of the bed with his leg crossed, covering his crotch.

  By her reddening cheeks, she so knows what we were up to.

  “Oh, um,” she says, looking away. “I was wondering if I could borrow Quinn for a second, but I can come back,” she quickly says, turning on her heel.

  “No, it’s okay,” I reply, stopping her retreat. “What do you need him for?”

  “Well, I just wanted to see if he could hang an ornament on the porch. I can’t climb a ladder because of my vertigo, and Polly is busy, and the workers have gone for the day, and oh dear—sorry to be a bother,” she concludes, taking a breath. She wrings her hands out in front of her.

  “It’s fine, Cynthia,” Quinn pipes up from behind me. “It’s no bother, I’m happy to help.”

  “Er, thank you, Quinn,” she says, unable to meet his eyes.

  We’re so busted, and this is actually kind of comical as I’ve never experienced being caught out by a parent. I try and b
ite back my smile at this feeling of normalcy because maybe, just maybe, there is hope for me and Cynthia.

  “Right, well,” Cynthia says and waves goodbye to me before practically running down the corridor.

  I burst out laughing while Quinn playfully narrows his eyes at me before trailing behind her.

  Falling back onto the bed, I can’t help but think a situation that should have been awkward and uncomfortable really wasn’t. It felt normal.

  Even though I had to dress like a prostitute, and be caught making out with my boyfriend to achieve that normalcy, I still did what I set out to achieve—to give Polly and Cynthia a chance.

  Today is the first day I’ve felt like me. And I hope today is the first of many more to come.

  Chapter 14

  Cinderella

  “How many more of these do I have to fold?” Polly groans, throwing a white napkin onto the mound in the center of the table.

  “Until that pile is finished,” Cynthia replies with a smile. “You’re the one who wanted the cocktail napkins in the shape of swans.”

  “I know.” She huffs, reaching for another napkin, and begrudgingly begins folding some origami style swan.

  For the last three hours, we’ve been folding these napkins into ridiculous birds, and after a few sad looking birds, I’ve finally got the hang of it.

  “This is slave labor,” she pouts, folding the corners over.

  “Hardly,” Cynthia scoffs. “Besides, a day’s work isn’t going to kill you. Consider yourself lucky you’ve never had to work a day in your life. Many sixteen year olds would have earned a small fortune by now.”

  “Yeah, well many sixteen year olds don’t have a slave driver for a mother,” she replies with a smirk. “And besides, I’ll be seventeen soon,” she adds, giving Quinn a wink.

  I totally ignore her flirting, as I’m more focused on the fact that my insides are screaming that my theory of Cynthia being pregnant when she left me was correct. There has to be some reasonable explanation as to why she would leave when pregnant. Obviously the fact my father isn’t Polly’s dad gave her reason to run, but why did she not take me with her? Did my father know she was pregnant with another man’s baby? Or did she leave me behind because her new beau, Chandler, didn’t want a child he didn’t father?

  I have so many damn questions. So here’s hoping after yesterday’s breakthrough, the next time I ask Cynthia about my past, it won’t end in a screaming match.

  “Everything okay?” Quinn whispers into my ear, picking up on my thoughts.

  “Yup, all good,” I reply with a smile, bumping into him playfully with my shoulder.

  “Ugh, you two are nauseating,” Polly says, crinkling her nose in disgust.

  I can’t help but laugh as I guess we kind of are, but holy Christ, look at him. How can I not want to touch him 24/7?

  His long bangs sweep over an eye as his head is bowed, expertly folding some fancy looking bird, which in no way resembles my limp looking handiwork. The way his deft fingers work with precision has me thinking of the way he touches me, and how he also applies as much care to my body as he does to these stupid birds.

  He must feel me eye fucking the hell out of him, as he flicks me a quick wink over his shoulder, and continues on with his creation. My cheeks heat as I start to think what my Christmas gift entails, and how I intend to give it to him. It’ll have to be after the party, as this is something I don’t want to rush. And besides, I don’t want him opening his present early.

  “Do you want me to do something with your hair?” Polly asks, and as I raise my head, I see that she’s addressing me.

  “What’s wrong with my hair?” I ask, slightly insulted.

  “Nothing is exactly wrong with it,” she says, gesturing with a tiny bird at my head. “But nothing is exactly right, either. I’d be happy to work my magic on you. You won’t recognize yourself,” she adds with a shrug, not at all concerned she’s just insulted me in a roundabout way.

  “Gee, thanks,” I reply sarcastically.

  “How about you, stud?” Polly purrs, and I accidentally tear the napkin in half at her reference.

  Quinn chuckles. “I’m good, thanks. I think I’ll give the hair rollers a miss.”

  Polly humphs, and I know she’s only trying to make an effort in a weird, Polly kind of way.

  “Okay, fine.” I sigh. “I’m at your mercy. But don’t turn me into a Barbie Doll,” I warn, and Quinn chuckles.

  “Red, I honestly don’t think Polly can work that kind of magic.”

  I stare, speechless, but feel my mouth tip up into a grin as I quickly lean over and punch him lightly on the arm. And I’ll be damned, as he bites his lip in amusement, Polly joins in with the laughter. They’re both laughing at my expense, but I don’t mind because as I turn to look at Cynthia, I see her discreetly dab at her eyes, as this very weird, very stupid conversation, actually feels normal.

  ***

  There is no way I can go down there.

  I have been hiding up here for the past hour, avoiding setting foot downstairs to face the music—literally, as Frank Sinatra is singing some cheesy Christmas carol.

  But I can’t hide up here any longer as I know Quinn is waiting for me downstairs. We both got ready in separate rooms, as tonight is all about mystery, seeing as it’s a masquerade ball. I eye the mask, which Polly insists I must wear. But I can’t deny it really is stunning. It goes well with the beautiful jewels on my dress, which catch the light when I turn to examine myself in the bathroom mirror.

  Polly re-dyed my hair so the red now resembles a fiery sunset, highlighting the blackness of my midnight colored locks. She wanted to pull it up in some twist thing, but after much debate, she begrudgingly agreed to leave it down, but only if she could style it.

  So, we came to a compromise. I asked if she could style it using the onyx comb I found in the jewelry box. I don’t what it is about this piece of jewelry, but I know I’ve seen it before. I just can’t remember where.

  As I look at the clip, holding up tufts of my thick hair so it sweeps across my shoulder, I can’t believe this is me. Polly curled the ends so my hair falls elegantly over my left shoulder, draping over my breast which is pushed up to the heavens, thanks to my push-up bra.

  My makeup is simple, and I’ve replaced Polly’s hooker red lipstick with a sheer pink, which I feel more comfortable with. My eyes are painted a smoky black, and Polly added some subtle glitter to my upper lids, which also reflect the light when I turn the right way. My cheeks are naturally tinted pink as I feel beyond embarrassed to go downstairs and face a room of complete strangers looking like someone other than me.

  I finger the small diamond earrings Polly lent me and smile, as they match the diamond piercing in my nose, which was not done intentionally. I was going to wear my hoop, but Polly made it very clear that the second set of earrings and nose ring had to go. Again we came to a compromise, and I ditched the hooped nose ring and second set of studs, but left my tragus, and replaced the hoop with a small diamond stud.

  Polly seemed satisfied with our negotiation and said I looked like a punk version of Cinderella, but I don’t see the resemblance.

  Reaching for my white mask, I carefully place it over my head, positioning it so it sits snugly and comfortably on my face, hiding the white ribbon ties under my hair. The eye holes are like cat eyes, and the ends flick up into high peaks, which are accentuated with glittery edges and diamonds.

  Polly said this mask is made up of some kind of metal called filigree, which is meant to resemble lace, as the mask is not solid, but has tiny sections cut out revealing my flushed skin underneath. I like it as it still provides some mystery, because just enough of my face is covered.

  Ensuring my comb is securely fastened, I take a deep breath and tell myself to hurry up and find Quinn. As I take my first step in my monster wedges, I look down at my freshly painted black toenails and smile. I feel so girly, and for once, I actually like it. I’ve never dressed up like
this before, and the feeling is surreal.

  Smoothing out my skirt, I see how my black nails contrast with the white. I open the door and can’t help but think that Polly may be right. I am kind of like Cinderella. I’m the perfect rags to riches story, and even have the evil step-sister to prove it. But that’s not entirely true.

  As Polly was transforming me, she did so with care, and I sat, mostly silent, trying not to overthink how someone I passionately loathed is slowly becoming a little more likeable as each day passes. Fair to say we’ve got a long road ahead, but the past couple of days of not fighting with her or Cynthia have been nice. Even in these ridiculous clothes I feel more like me for the first time in a very long time.

  Maybe things are looking up.

  Chapter 15

  Black and White

  As I descend the final step, my already pounding heart feels like it’s about to splatter all over the polished floorboards.

  Wiping my sweaty palms on my dress, I subtly look around the room for Quinn. Surely he’ll be easy to spot, but as I look around the crowded house, I realize every single male is wearing a suit. I really should have thought this through before trekking into a room filled with complete strangers who all look a little kooky. Ladies have opted for long, elegant gowns, which complement their elaborate masks, and even though the color theme is kind of cool, it’s also a little creepy, as we all look like chess pieces.

  A masked waiter waltzes past, offering me a glass of something bubbly off a silver tray, which I gratefully accept, as I need something in my gurgling stomach. I down the drink in one mouthful, cringing when the acidic burn hits my throat. But the burn calms my raging nerves, so I look around for a waiter because I need another glass.