by Jiffy Kate
“He is.”
“He seems like a really great kid.”
She smiles and nods, watching him and still refusing to make eye contact with me. “We’ve gotta go,” she says, calling Henry back over. “Tell Jude thank you for letting you play with his dog.”
“Thanks, Jude,” Henry says, smiling up at me.
I’m smiling back at them, but inside, I’m a mess, wanting so badly to ask her to stay or if I can see her again… when I can see her again. But something tells me I shouldn’t. Something tells me I need to play this cool and hope things will work out if they’re meant to.
The universe has been good to me so far. I’ll just have to trust in that.
“Maybe we’ll see you again,” I tell Henry, ruffling his hair. “Tell him bye, Fergie.” On cue, Fergie licks the side of his face, and he laughs a big belly laugh.
Quinn does too and squints her eyes when she looks up at me. “See ya.”
“Yeah.” I nod and watch them walk away. When she glances back over her shoulder, my heart flips in my chest.
Chapter 7
“The club. Tonight,” Sebastian says as he walks past my office.
Peeling my eyes from the screen I’ve been staring at for the past few hours, wrapping up some much-needed work on the McDavid account, I call out, “I said I wasn’t going back there.”
“I need a wingman,” he yells from his office.
“You said you weren’t taking me back,” I yell in return.
I hear a chuckle from the other side of the wall. Sure, we could use our intercom or pick up the damn phone… or walk ten feet, but what’s the fun in that. “That was weeks ago. I’m sure all’s forgotten. Besides, I checked the list and you’re still on there.”
Uh, no. I can’t go to the club.
Can I?
I mean, what if Quinn is there?
Would we talk?
Would that hurt the progress we’ve made?
Have we made progress?
My mind goes back to Sunday and the park...and the kid. In the past, that would’ve been an instant turn-off. Call me a dick, but I’ve never been interested in women with kids. I’m not even sure I want kids. But she seems like a really good mom, and I actually like Henry. As far as kids go, he’s a really cool one. And Quinn...Damn, she was even more gorgeous than the other times I’ve seen her. And like every time before, she left me wanting more.
“You look like you’re trying to solve the national debt.”
I look up to see Sebastian standing in the doorway. For someone so big, he can be stealthy.
“What’s got you so puzzled?” he asks, tossing a tennis ball in the air and catching it.
“Uh, this McDavid account,” I lie. Sebastian doesn’t need to know I sound like a chick in my head right now. I’d never hear the end of it.
“You said you have that shit in the bag.”
Rolling back from my desk, I stretch my arms over my head, needing a break. “Yeah. I mean, I do. I was just going through the last few details, making sure everything is in order.”
“Yeah, okay.” He watches me from the door for a few seconds, like he’s going to press, but then lets it go. “So, the club. Tonight. It’ll take your mind off this McDavid shit.”
“I can’t go.” That definitely would be a bad decision. I want to see her, but the club feels all wrong. If she’s there, she could be with someone else, and I might beat the shit out of the guy. If she’s not there, I’ll wonder if it’s because of me. If she sees me and I don’t see her, she might think I’m there to fuck someone else. So I definitely can’t go, right?
Man up, Jude. Take your balls back and do what you fucking want.
“Is this still about her...what’s her name?”
“Quinn.” I love the way her name sounds and feels coming out of my mouth. I can’t help but think about saying her name while pushing into her. I wonder what her face looks like when she comes. I never got to see that, only feel it and fuck if it’s not the best thing I’ve ever felt.
“Yeah, Nurse Roland,” Sebastian says, raising his eyebrows.
“Stop.” I know what he’s thinking about. I’m sure it’s along the lines of Quinn in a skimpy nurse’s uniform. I don’t like him thinking about her like that. I wish he didn’t even know what she looks like or what her name is. I don’t like sharing her.
Fuck.
I’m so screwed.
“Okay, lover boy.” Sebastian laughs with a knowing look, shaking his head.
“Get out,” I yell, throwing a wadded-up piece of paper at his retreating form. Running my hands through my hair a few times and then down my face, I groan in frustration.
What are you doing to me, Quinn Roland?
Somehow, I managed to avoid all of Sebastian’s questions, inquisitions, and badgering. He wanted me to go rock climbing with him today, but I told him I had a family dinner to attend, which I do, but after the dog park. I blew him off last week using my leg as an excuse, but since it’s healed up, I had to think of something new.
I look over at Fergie and shake my head at her—big ears flapping, tongue wagging. She’s a happy girl. She’s going to be really happy when we get to the park and she sees Henry. They’ve become fast friends. They have a lot in common: cuteness, energy, and fetch. I think Henry loves playing fetch as much as Fergie does.
Last week, Quinn seemed equally surprised and annoyed that I was at the park again. She doesn’t know how determined and persistent I can be when I really want something. And I really want her. I want her more than I’ve wanted anything in my life… more than a 4.0 GPA or to win the state title in track… more than landing a job at the best advertising firm in Dallas… more than my shiny sports car. Every time she brushes me off or shuts me down, it only fuels the need for her, making me want to try harder.
This week, I brought reinforcements: donuts, chocolate milk for Henry, coffee for Quinn and me, and a new frisbee for Henry and Fergie.
When I pull into an empty parking spot close to the gate, I look around for the wild brown hair that’s been starring in my dreams. I don’t see it. The park is actually pretty damn empty for a Sunday. There are a couple of dogs running around, their owners lounging under shade trees or on benches, but that’s about it. I decide to let Fergie out before she mauls me. After she’s running free, I’ll come back to the car for the donuts.
Once I’m settled on what I like to think is our regular bench now, I start to feel anxious.
Quinn and Henry still aren’t here. I guess there’s a good chance she could stand me up. Maybe she’s not happy I keep showing up on Sundays. Maybe this is her way of telling me to fuck off. I thought we were making progress, but I’ve been wrong before. Lately, I’ve been so wrong.
Normally, I wouldn’t have to work so hard for a girl’s attention. Quinn makes me work double time. No, fuck that. Triple time. Just when I think she’s going to soften up a little and maybe give me an inch, she throws her walls back up and shuts me out.
“Jude,” a small, happy voice says from behind me, and I can’t help the enormous smile that takes over my face.
“Henry,” I say, turning around to find him running toward me. “Hey, dude.”
“Hey, dude,” he says, mimicking me and giggling.
Quinn is walking a few feet behind him, looking extra gorgeous. “You’ll have to excuse him.”
“You’ll have to excuse him,” Henry repeats.
Quinn rolls her eyes and laughs, pulling him to her. “He’s got this really scary parrot disease,” she says, her beautiful brown eyes growing wide. “I think I’m going to have to take him by the hospital before we go home later and let them poke him.”
“No!” Henry yells, pulling away from her and running toward my girl. When Fergie sees him, she gallops over, stopping just before running into him. They have a moment on the grass, kissing and petting.
See, why can’t Quinn get on board with that kind of greeting?
“The repeating is about
to drive me batty this morning.”
“He’s been doing that all morning?” I ask, grinning over at her.
She huffs, taking a seat on the bench. “Try all week.”
“Wow, that’s fun,” I say, trying to stifle a laugh.
“Especially when you say a bad word and forget there are little ears and your mother busts you.” She presses her lips together, trying not to laugh, and rolling her eyes.
I sigh, relishing in the comfort of this absolutely normal conversation and this completely unguarded Quinn. “Oh, God. I’d get busted all the time.”
“Yeah, I bet you would.”
Smiling over at her, I ask incredulously, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’ve heard your filthy mouth.”
She says it so casually, like she just told me the sky is blue.
I can’t help the look of shock on my face. I thought that was off-limits. The night that shall not be named.
“What?” she asks, quirking an eyebrow.
I squint my eyes, trying to figure her out, but I’m afraid if I say anything, that hard stone wall she usually has up will slam into place.
“Nothing,” I say, smiling. “Coffee?” I hold up the extra cup.
“Absolutely.” Her expression is a mixture of surprise and… gratitude, maybe? She takes the cup and inhales deeply. “How’d you know I didn’t get my second cup this morning?”
I smile and grab my own cup, taking a sip. “I was just stopping by to get some on my way here and thought I might know a beautiful brunette who would like some.”
Her lips twist behind her cup. “Stop.”
“What?”
“Being sweet and thoughtful.”
Chuckling, I take a seat beside her, making sure to leave an appropriate amount of distance between us. “Oh, so a few minutes ago, I had a dirty mouth, and now I’m sweet and thoughtful?”
She groans. “God, that’s even worse. Say something asshole-ish.”
“What?” I ask, laughing.
“I need you to be a prick. Say something shitty, like you hate your mom or you ran over a bunny on the way here and laughed about it.”
I can’t help laughing again. She laughs too, and it’s beautiful, just like everything else about her.
“I love my mom. I didn’t run over a bunny. And I brought donuts.” I figure now’s the time for the pastry assault. My plan of attack seems to be working.
“I hate you.” She grabs a donut from the open box I’m holding in front of her face and takes a bite. Not a dainty, I’m-a-girl-who-only-eats-salad kind of bite, but a let-me-cram-half-this-donut-in-my-mouth kind.
And I can’t take my eyes off her mouth.
“What?” she asks, giving me a snarly look over the top of the other half of the donut she’s currently inhaling. “I’m hungry.” Once the donut is fully consumed, she smiles and licks her fingers to rid them of the leftover icing.
Does she know what she does to me? Is this her own personal method of torture? Does she actually hate me?
“I haven’t eaten anything since the sandwich I had yesterday afternoon.”
I frown at her admittance, not liking the idea of Quinn going without a meal or not being taken care of. And I’ll put that thought away for a later date. “Why?” I ask, taking a donut and having my first bite.
“Late night at the hospital. ER was crazy,” she says, leaning over me and snagging another donut.
The close contact makes my heart rate spike, and I can’t stop myself from closing my eyes and inhaling deeply, taking in her hint of sweet and touch of spicy and something that is uniquely her...maybe her soap or laundry detergent. I’m not sure what it is, but I can’t get enough.
“You should leave some for Henry,” I tease, needing that balance of normalcy back before I do or say something to endanger this… thing, mood. It works, earning me a glare and a smirk.
Giving me a playful swat and making every cell in my body stand to attention, she takes a bite of her second donut. “He ate breakfast. I’m not a horrible mom.”
“I can see that,” I admit honestly.
She actually seems like a great mom. I like that about her.
“It’s just that by the time I scrambled his eggs to perfection, he was already on my ass about coming here. To see your dog… and you,” she deadpans. I can tell she’s trying to be annoyed about the fact her kid likes my dog… and me, but the slight smile that sneaks up on her lips tells me she’s not completely pissed about it.
“Well, I was starting to think you were going to stand me up,” I say, not even thinking about the words until they’re out of my mouth and I can’t take them back.
Quinn stiffens a little and clears her throat, dusting her hands off. “Well, you should know that sometimes I get called in on Sundays. My schedule is very unpredictable.”
I don’t know if that’s her way of saying “fuck off” or her way of letting me know if she’s not here, it’s not because she’s standing me up. She’s so hard for me to read, always keeping me guessing.
“Who’s with Henry when you’re at the hospital?” I ask, knowing I’m probably pushing my luck with this question, but it only comes from a place of genuine curiosity. But then I realize that he’s probably with his dad and this was probably a bad question.
Fuck.
“My mom,” Quinn says, not offering anything more than that, and I don’t pry any further. But now that I’ve started thinking about Henry’s father, I can’t stop. Does she still see him? Are they a thing, or were they a thing? Why doesn’t he come to the park on Sundays? Who doesn’t want to spend time with a cool kid like Henry?
Quinn clears her throat again and shifts on the bench, pulling me from my inner inquisition. I’d love to ask her the questions that are on the tip of my tongue, but I’m afraid I’ll scare her off. So I lounge back on the bench and stretch my legs out in front of me, trying to play it cool.
We watch Henry and Fergie play, letting a comfortable silence settle around us. Occasionally, we laugh at something they do, and Quinn comments on how good Fergie is with him. She seriously follows the kid everywhere he goes, never letting him out of her sight. I’ve always known she’s a good dog but seeing her with Henry makes me realize how loyal and protective she is.
Later, when we’re tossing the trash and I put the leash back on my girl, I try to think of something to say to Quinn. I don’t want to spook her, but I want to see her again. Preferably before next Sunday.
“You should come to McNelly’s tomorrow night,” I tell her, swallowing the nervous lump that immediately forms in my throat once the statement is out in the open. “My friend, Sebastian, and I watch football there every Monday night. It’s public. Lots of people around,” I say, trying to sweeten the deal and let her know I’m not trying to get in her pants. I just want to spend time with her, get to know her better.
And of course, get in her pants again.
But I’m willing to wait for that, that’s the short game.
This has now become a long game.
“I work tomorrow,” she says, guiding Henry toward the parking lot.
Trying to not sound too desperate, I add, “Any Monday. I’m always there.”
“Probably not a good idea.” She looks down and ruffles Henry’s hair.
I nod, swallowing down my disappointment. Something about today made me hope for more, but just like that, she reinforces her walls—snipping the few little threads that were becoming attached.
“Thanks for the donuts and coffee,” she says, giving me a small smile.
“You’re welcome.”
Turning Henry toward me, she asks, “What do you say to Jude?”
“Thanks, Jude!” Henry exclaims, an adorable grin shining up at me.
“You’re welcome, buddy. Maybe I’ll see you next week.”
She doesn’t confirm nor deny that, only waves and walks Henry over to a shiny black SUV and helps him inside, buckling him in the back.
She
doesn’t take the beat-up Volkswagen to Sundays at the park.
Chapter 8
On the drive over to my mom and dad’s house, I can’t get Quinn out of my mind. Part of me, the rational part, thinks I should forget about her. It seems like all of my efforts to get her to open up are futile. The second she lets a bit of her guard down, she puts it right back up. It doesn’t take much of anything to spook her. Just a mention of family, her job, anything, forces her to lock up tighter than Fort Knox.
At this point, I can’t imagine ever having any sort of relationship with her.
Is that what I want?
A relationship?
Yeah, I do. I want a relationship. With Quinn.
Even though we met under unusual circumstances, she’s held my attention since day one, or night one… fuck one. I laugh harshly to myself, shaking my head. This whole situation is fucked up, and I should be the poster child for why you don’t go to sex clubs. The slogan could read: Ruining cocks one phenomenal pussy at a time… Just say no to ‘no strings attached’… The possibilities are endless.
Fun fact about me: my dad and sister are sex therapists.
I’ve been getting relationship and sex advice from my father since I was eight years old and asked where babies come from. When my sister followed in his footsteps, it really upped the uniqueness of our family. It’s never a dull moment at family dinners and they’re going to have a field day with this one.
This isn’t the first time I’ve been to a family dinner since I met Quinn, but the last time, I had only seen her one night at the club and wasn’t sure if I’d ever see her again. So I didn’t feel like bringing it up and sitting through a Keith Harris session at the dinner table. But now that I know more about her, and with each morsel of information I’m granted, I am left wanting more. I need him and his expertise. I’m hoping he’ll have some light to shed… some advice, a way for me to get Quinn to trust me, anything.
I’m a desperate man.
Sighing, I wonder for the millionth time how I let myself get into this situation.