by J. Bengtsson
“You know, Jess. You borderline terrify me,” he said. “I can’t tell if I like it or not.”
I knew how most men worked. Exciting girls almost always trumped the boring ones… until it came time for marriage. That was when us rule-breakers fell to the back of the pack. But this was a day of fun, and I was going to stick to the plan. I might not end up with the guy in the end, but he sure as hell was never going to forget me.
I slid the key into the lock and opened the door.
“Oh, you like it.”
“Obviously others know about the key,” Quinn said, shaking out his wet hair as we stood inside the castle walls, every square inch of which was littered with colorful graffiti.
“Believe it or not, most of this came from the same group of trespassers a decade ago.”
“Oh, I believe it. And I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that the group of trespassers was none other than your coyote pack.”
I laughed. “Such a quick study.”
Walking over to the far wall, I slid down onto my butt. Quinn claimed the spot beside me.
“See that opening?” I asked, pointing to the space opposite us. “It’s the hole you hit the golf ball into that then drops to the lower level. When I was a teen, I’d hide out in here and quietly roll the ball back out. They didn’t know I was in here, and they couldn’t figure out how come the ball kept returning to them. You can imagine how pissed people would get.”
Quinn eyed me, amused. “You’re diabolical, Jess. I love your wicked mind.”
“I was such a shit back then. Don’t be me.”
“You? Don’t be me. I’m about to be humiliated on national television.”
Quinn adjusted his leg, resting it against mine. The contact sizzled through me, and I envisioned my hand sliding down his muscled thigh. Oh god. “You know, I almost googled you. Back at the car when you were changing.”
He didn’t seem surprised. “What stopped you?”
“The thought that you might google me.”
He sat up straighter at my admission. “Why? What would I find?”
“Nothing good. I was arrested once.”
“For what?”
“Trespassing.”
He busted out laughing. “How am I not surprised?”
“Right?” I laid my head back against the wall. “Actually, I’m being modest. I was charged with breaking and entering. Destruction of property. Burglary. Theft.”
“Okay, well, that’s worse,” he said, appearing a little less amused but far from judgmental. This guy was a keeper. “What did you steal?”
“My mother’s jewelry. My stepfather’s money.”
“Oh, shit! You burglarized your own house. Again, I say, diabolical.”
“Not my house. I’d long been discarded.”
Quinn didn’t say anything; he just sat there staring at me with an unreadable expression. I’d lost him. Honestly, how long did I think I could hold on?
“I know a thing or two about being discarded.”
Now it was my turn to gawk at him. This perfect, handsome, self-assured man had once been rejected like me? It seemed almost unfathomable, but just from his expression, I knew it to be true. “Then you know the anger?”
He looked away, nodding. “Oh, I know the anger.”
We sat in silent understanding. He and I seemed so different, but we weren’t. Not really.
“This place here,” I said, knocking my knuckle against the wall. “It wasn’t just a love shack. It was also a roof over my head on more than a few occasions.”
“Were you a runaway?”
“Not technically. My parents divorced when I was eight. At first, I bounced between the two—my mother’s during the weekdays and my father’s on the weekends. But then Mom met this rich Hollywood producer guy, and suddenly I was at my father’s during the week and hers on the weekends. Eventually, she gave up custody altogether, and I went to live with my father full time.”
There was no way to hide the pain that still lingered. I’d been thrown away. You didn’t just get over that. Quinn’s fingers gently touched the back of mine. “You were nicer than me. I probably would’ve torched her house.”
No judgment. He understood. My fingers mingled with his. “The thought did occur to me.”
“Were you at least close to your father?”
“I was as a child—preferred him over my mother—but my dad had an alcohol and drug problem, making him a very unstable force. And he just got progressively worse as I got older. He couldn’t hold a job. There were times he’d leave our apartment and be gone for a week or more, and I’d be all alone. I never told anyone because I didn’t want them to take me away.”
“That had to be hard on you.”
“It was. When I was seventeen, my dad went into rehab. Mom refused to take me in while he was away. She told the social worker that she was concerned I’d be a bad influence on her new daughter… the one she’d had with the rich guy. Anyway, I was hanging with the wrong crowd. Pissed at my mom. It was a perfect storm. My friends and I stole a bunch of stuff. Hawked it. Got arrested. I went to juvenile hall, which, on the bright side, solved my housing problem...”
I paused, realizing I was rambling, and instantly shut down. What had I been thinking, spilling my messy history to Quinn? That was never a first date revelation. And now I’d left myself open and exposed, his to judge as he pleased. “This is the part where you run,” I whispered.
His eyes caught mine… and there was no horror in them, no indication he couldn’t get away fast enough. “Now why would I do that?”
“Because you prefer uncomplicated women.”
He considered my words a moment before responding. “At this moment… I prefer you.”
His admission ranked up there with one of the most unexpected moments of my life. Unbidden, a spark of hope flared. I’d only dared dreamed of finding a man who not only accepted me for who I was now but also sympathized with the messed-up girl I once was. Of course, Quinn was only getting the first half of my story. If I didn’t lose him in part one, there was still part two to scare the boy away.
“And just so you know, I’m not that girl anymore.”
He nudged his shoulder into mine. “I know.”
“Do you?”
“I’m not fragile, Jess. Far from it. And my childhood wasn’t picture-perfect either. In fact, terrifying is the adjective I most often use to describe it.”
Quinn watched for a reaction, waiting. For what? How was I supposed to respond? People didn’t use that word to describe a death in the family or a bankruptcy or a drug-addicted dad who got them kicked out of their home. No, people used the word terrifying in relation to their childhood when they’d been traumatized by some major event.
“What happened?”
The muscle in Quinn’s jaw tightened. Whatever he was hiding still had him in its grips.
“You shoulda googled me,” he said, pushing off the wall and rising to his feet.
As he turned his back on me, I took the opportunity to mouth my complete and utter shock at his admission. Was this guy’s life story in the public domain? “Are you saying if I googled you, I would’ve discovered your secret?”
“See, that’s the thing, Jess. It isn’t a secret.” He turned around to face me. “All you need to know is just one tiny piece of my puzzle, and then everything about me will fall right into place.”
WTF? The intrigue was killing me. I had half a mind to pull out my phone on the spot, but one glance at Quinn’s fiery expression stopped me. This wasn’t a tabloid story to him. This was his life, and whatever had happened to terrify him during his childhood still had a hold of him today.
I rose to my feet, offered my hand, and whispered, “You want more?”
I wasn’t sure if Quinn cared to know more about me, but he didn’t hesitate to grab my hand. He trusted me. And something told me he didn’t extend that privilege to just anyone.
We walked toward the back of the castle w
here it narrowed and offered a more compact and protected place to sleep. Nick and I had used it for other things too, but that was a discussion for another time. Or not. I crouched down in search of my contribution to the wall of graffiti. It was just one small declaration of love, but instinctively I knew it would have survived the test of time. And sure enough, it was right where I’d left it, almost as if the love gods had conspired to protect its sanctity. My memories of Nick—of us—had been warped with time, but this little piece of us, preserved in ink, proved we had once been good.
“Here,” I said, directing his attention to my initials framed inside a heart.
Quinn stooped down to take a closer look. I waited as he examined my drawing, knowing exactly what he was going to ask.
“You’re JB?”
“Yes.”
“And NL is your boyfriend.”
“Was. Now he’s more like a ghost,” I replied.
“Like a real ghost?” Quinn asked, raising a brow. “Or are we speaking metaphorically here?”
“That’s a good question. He makes himself scarce nowadays, but I’m told he lives.”
“Well, that’s good.”
I took another glance at my inked heart, and suddenly my own beating one hardened. “I suppose.”
He stared, no doubt assigning meaning to my words. “I’m sensing it didn’t end well?”
“Does high school love ever end well?”
“My brother’s been in love with the girl he met in high school pretty much his whole life. They’re married now. Expecting a baby. So, it happens. Sometimes.”
I chewed on that fact for longer than seemed necessary before replying. “How nice for them.”
“Yes, I can see how happy you are for their union.” Quinn laughed before shifting gears. “I’m guessing you still love NL.”
He guessed wrong. I didn’t love Nick anymore—not at all. “No. Quite the opposite. NL made sure there was nothing left of us to love. He turned on me, Quinn. Actually, they all did. My friends—they handed me over to the police. Told them I had been the mastermind, when in reality, I hadn’t even known about the plan until the morning of. At the time, I thought I was protecting NL, so I took the fall for all of them. When I returned to school a few weeks later, I was a pariah, a laughingstock. Everyone turned against me, including”—I pointed to his initials—“NL.”
Anger flashed across Quinn’s face—for me. “What a piece of shit.”
“I didn’t show you this because I wanted sympathy. I showed you this because, despite everything that happened in my past, I’m still standing. And despite everything that happened in your past, you’re still standing. See? We’re survivors. You and me.”
Quinn watched intently as I rustled around my backpack for a pen. And when I found one, I used it to scribble out NL’s name, effectively erasing away the memory of the only boy I’d ever loved—the same one who’d stolen what little trust I’d had left in the world. I didn’t have patience for his games anymore.
“There,” I said. “Much better.”
Quinn wrapped his hand over my fingers and leaned in close to my ear. “Any guy who has your initials in his heart and lets you go, never deserved you in the first place.”
My breath quickened as he pulled the pen from my hand and turned toward the wall. I couldn’t see what he was doing, as his back blocked my view, but he appeared to be using my pen to add his own tribute to the wall. Once he was done, he moved to the side and gave me my first look at what he’d written. Above NL’s crossed out initials, Quinn had added his own.
QM
7
Quinn: Moral Support
The rain had picked up enough to make finishing our round of mini-golf impossible, so we returned our clubs and called it a day.
Expansive puddles formed in the parking lot, with Jess’s car sitting in isolation in the middle of the biggest one.
“Carry me,” she said, pulling on my arm.
“Carry you?” I smiled, already liking the sound of having her attached to my body. “Is there something wrong with your feet?”
“Yes, they’re inside my shoes.”
I gave her the crazy look her words deserved. “So are mine.”
“I know, but it took me four months to save up for these shoes. I don’t want to ruin them.”
Her reasoning was so endearing that I would’ve bought her a new pair of shoes on the spot. I’d never dated a woman as independent as her, one who was completely on her own with no family to catch her if she fell. In the span of one afternoon, I was already contemplating what it would be like to be that safety net for her.
I turned around and knelt down. “Hop on.”
“My hero,” she said, strapping onto my back and wrapping her legs around my waist. And then, in a move that brought the protective instincts out of me, Jess crossed her arms over my chest and buried her head into the crook of my neck. It was intimate and trusting. I liked being her hero.
“Do you have your key with you?” I asked as we approached her car.
“Crap. It’s in my backpack.”
“Where’s your backpack?”
“On my back, where it belongs. Just put me on the trunk, and then I’ll dig it out. Sorry. I’m like a helpless newborn in the rain.”
I eased her onto the trunk and watched as she searched through her pack.
“Got it!” She held the keys up and unclicked the lock.
I leaned in, intending to scoop her up and carry her to the front seat, when I got a good look at the girl. Jess’s dark hair was sopping, those perfectly brushed strands now long and stringy and clinging to her cheeks. Water poured down her face and pooled in her eyelashes, but there wasn’t an ounce of frustration. She smiled up at me, finding the joy in the moment. Her face, those lips. In a move that was totally unexpected on my part, I dipped in, cupped her face, and kissed her. Jess didn’t flinch away, instead meeting me halfway and crushing her lips to mine. It was frantic and wild, exactly like I expected it to be with a woman who lived free.
And as our mouths wrestled in the rain, I trapped her lip in my teeth, grinding us to a halt. Jess groaned, pushing out with her tongue and fighting me for control. I could’ve taken her right there on the trunk of her car, and I honestly thought she might let me, but that was when the hail began.
“Oh! Fuck you!” I yelled up to the skies.
Jess dissolved into a fit of giggles as she once again wrapped herself onto my body. Lifting her off the trunk, I kept my hands squarely on her ass while carrying her the short distance to her car door. I deposited my new prize onto the driver’s seat—where she’d been all day—and was about to jog around to the other side when Jess grabbed hold of my neck and drew me back in. Her tongue took a swipe at my lips, forcing them open and once again locking our mouths in a primal kiss.
Still gripping my face, Jess drew back, her eyes smoldering as streaks of water cut lines across her face. In that moment, I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen anyone as beautiful. I snuck in and took another kiss from her.
“You’re crazy.” Jess laughed, and it was a joyous sound. I wasn’t sure how to even describe what I was feeling other than to say Jess was quenching a thirst that I hadn’t even known I had.
“No,” I replied. “You make me crazy, and I swear, I don’t know if I like it or not.”
Jess buried her head into my neck and whispered, “You like it.”
“Cats or dogs?” Jess asked, using her nails to comb through her wet, tangled hair like a makeshift brush.
“Dogs,” I answered.
“Me too,” she said. “Okay, now you go. Remember: opposites. No explanations.”
“Yes, Jess, I get the concept of the game.” I grinned. She was a bit of a micromanager, that one, but maybe her organization was just what I needed to get my life back on track.
“Odd or even?” I asked.
“Odd, of course.”
“Odd?” I balked, blinking in rapid succession. “What kind of monster are
you?”
“The kind who likes the number thirteen.”
Oh, god, she was one of those. “I can’t even go to sleep unless everything around me can divide into itself.”
She laughed, no doubt picturing me counting my surroundings before shut-eye.
She continued with our game. “Kids or no kids?”
“Meaning do I have kids, or do I want kids?”
“Either or.”
“Hold on. When did this turn into a full-on discussion? You’re contradicting your own rules.”
Her eyes flashed, and she snapped at me like a yappy dog. “Just answer the question.”
I flinched, thinking she was serious, but she threw her head back and howled with laughter. “Sorry. I couldn’t help myself.”
“What is wrong with you?” I laughed.
“You bring out my playful side; what can I say?”
I liked that answer. I’d always been the least playful of my siblings—well, that is, if you shoved Emma in a closet—so it felt good to be cast in the role of ‘fun guy in a car.’
“I currently have no kids,” I answered her question, then added, “But I suppose I want them someday.”
“Suppose or want?”
“Want.”
“Okay, so when is someday?”
“When I’m no longer a complete and total fuckup—that’s when. You sure seem overly interested in my sperm. Is that because, at three hundred and twelve years old, your clock is ticking?”
“Something like that. See, when you get to my ripe old age, you’re willing to accept less as more. So at this point, even a reasonably fucked-up suitor will do.”
“Ah, well, in that case, let me properly introduce myself. My name is Quinn.”
“Nice to meet you, Quinn.” She laughed, taking one hand off the wheel to shake mine.
We continued the handshake for longer than I’d intended, but I felt at home with her touch and wanted to extend it.
“Have dinner with me,” I blurted out.
Her eyes darted from the road back to me. “You want me to go to a restaurant looking like a wet dog?”
