Breathless

by Brigid Kemmerer

  Friend. It was the wrong thing to say, and he knew it instantly. She was still poised to shove the truck door open, but she looked at him over her shoulder. Her eyes were so striking, even bluer than his were. “Why don’t you want to sleep with me?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Right now? Because we’re in a parking lot.”

  “No,” she said quietly. “I mean, why don’t you want to sleep with me ever?”

  Nick drew back and let go of her arm. He gave her his easy smile. “Maybe I’m a gentleman.”

  Quinn didn’t smile back. “I know I’m not as hot as the girls you usually date, Nick.” She paused. “Are you just taking a break or something? Using me as a filler girlfriend so you have time to let the chafing heal?”

  “Wow.” He dragged the word into three syllables.

  “Or is this like a favor for Becca? Did Chris tell you to give me a little attention—”

  “Are we seriously having this conversation?”

  “No. Forget it—no.” Then she was out of the truck.

  He was behind her in a heartbeat, trailing her up the steps. “Quinn. Stop. I don’t—”

  “Go away, Nick.”

  She was crying; the air told him that much. Crying because he hadn’t tried to have sex with her in the cab of his brother’s truck.

  Irony was like a devil on his shoulder, thinking this was a grand ol’ knee slapper.

  He stopped her on the top landing. Her face was flushed and damp, her blond hair wild and full of moonlight. She looked like an angel of vengeance, ready to kick his ass.

  “Let me go,” she snapped.

  “I know this isn’t all about me,” he said carefully.

  That made fresh tears well, and she pressed fingers to her eyes. “You’re right. It’s about like fourteen different people. So why don’t you go away and let me deal with it?”

  “Quinn.” He moved closer and spoke low. “Quinn. Please talk to me.”

  She swiped the tears free and looked up at him. “Why do you even give a crap, Nick?”

  Because she was a hot mess, every emotion on her sleeve, and he admired that—no, he envied that. Because he could feel her intensity when she danced, and he craved that kind of passion in his life. Because she was trapped by circumstance, and so was he.

  Because, until tonight, she’d never expected anything from him, and that was damn refreshing.

  He studied her face, her eyes that had turned so furious. Every breath that came out of her lungs whispered to him about her tension, her fluttering heartbeat, her anger.

  “No one wants me,” she said fiercely.

  “Quinn—that’s not true.”

  She got right up close to him, putting her chest against his. “It’s not? Do you want me, Nick?”

  If it had been any other girl, or any other tone, he could have played along. He probably could have thrown her up against the wall and kissed her silly. But it felt like she was throwing all her cards on the table. Lying to Quinn now would be like the worst kind of cruelty.

  It didn’t matter anyway. She’d read his hesitation, or maybe she’d just read the look in his eyes. She turned away.

  Shit.

  “Quinn. Quinn, stop—”

  She whirled. Her hand flew.

  She didn’t slap him. She punched him. Hard.

  Before he could get it together, she was shoving her key into the door at the top of the steps and then slamming it in his face.

  And Nick stood there staring at the wood, wishing he could call her back.

  And what would he say? It’s not you. It’s me.

  Yeah. Right.

  But at least in this case it was true. It had nothing to do with not wanting Quinn.

  And everything to do with not wanting any girl.

  Quinn just wanted to go to her room, throw her bag down, and crawl into bed.

  Unfortunately, Jake was in there.

  And he was entertaining. The door was locked. Quinn could hear female giggling and smell pot.

  In her room.

  Tears bit at her eyes. It was almost enough to make her turn on her heel and go after Nick.

  On the opposite side of the hallway, her parents’ bedroom door clicked open. Her mother stood there in rumpled pajamas. She looked about as happy as Quinn felt, that is, not at all.

  She’d also obviously been drinking. That scent, sickly sweet, was battling with the marijuana wafting under Quinn’s door.

  “Do you know what time it is?” her mother hissed.

  “I don’t know why you’re whispering,” Quinn said, sniffing back the tears. “Jake’s obviously not sleeping.”

  “Well, at least he has the decency to be quiet about it.”

  “I’m standing in the hallway! You’re the one who came out here to talk to me.”

  Her mother threw her hands up. “I’m not starting this again.”

  “Whatever.” Quinn turned away. “I guess I’ll just make up my bed on the couch.” She tossed a glare over her shoulder. “You know he’s smoking pot in there.”

  Her mother’s lips pursed. “Your brother is home from college. I’m not an idiot, Quinn.”

  It wasn’t worth getting her mom riled up when she was lit, but Quinn was already fired up from the argument in the stairway, and she just couldn’t keep the rage confined in her chest. “You’re the one allowing illegal activity in your home.”

  “Oh, and I’m sure you were out late working the soup kitchen? Maybe you could cut the attitude.”

  Her mother’s voice was devolving into mockery—with a bite. Her voice always gained this cruel edge, as if, when drunk, her sole mission in life was to eliminate any shred of dignity Quinn might be able to cling to.

  Quinn wished she had somewhere she could storm off to. At least their house had a basement and a backyard; this itty-bitty condo wasn’t doing anyone any favors. “I wasn’t breaking the law,” she said.

  “Oh, who knows what you’re doing anymore, Quinn?”

  “I was dancing!”

  Her mother rolled her eyes, like that was worse than illegal activity.

  “You won’t let me take lessons,” Quinn snapped. “You should be happy I’m going somewhere free.”

  “Why would I throw money at something like that? You’ve already gotten yourself kicked off the dance team at school. You mouth off to everyone. You’re ungrateful and nasty and no one can stand you.”

  “Well, you’re just a bitch.”

  Her mother’s eyes took on a furious gleam, until Quinn wondered if she’d come after her. Sometimes she did. Quinn would hit back. Her father usually dragged them apart.

  But her mother just pointed. Her voice was a hoarse yell. “Get out of this house.”

  “Where do you want me to go? I can’t walk to Becca’s now.”

  “Maybe you should have thought of that before you decided to act like such a spoiled little drama queen!”

  Her mother was yelling full out, now. Those stupid tears were still biting at Quinn’s eyes. She didn’t know how the woman could do this every time, just say a few slurred words and cut Quinn to her knees. Effortlessly.

  Then her bedroom door swung open and Jake came out. He was shirtless and barefoot, loose drawstring pants hanging from his hips.

  He walked right between Quinn and their mother, ignoring the clear cord of tension connecting them. He grabbed a box of Ho Hos from the cabinet and then a bag of popcorn, too.

  When he was walking back, he smacked Quinn on the ass. “I’d offer you some, little sis, but I know you’re working on that.”

  Quinn grabbed the food and tore it out of his hands. “Fuck you, Jake!” she screamed, as the bag tore and popcorn went everywhere. “God, I hate you.”

  “Get out!” her mother screamed. “Get out of here!”

  Quinn couldn’t move fast enough. She slammed the door behind her so hard that the little old man on the second floor opened his front door to peer out curiously.

  She didn’t even spare him a glance
, just swiped tears from her eyes and kept running.

  She had her phone, a sweatshirt, and about ten dollars.

  It was freezing outside.

  God, she hated everyone.

  With nowhere else to go, she ducked into the 7-Eleven at the end of the street, the one that shared a building with a rundown old liquor store. There was no one in the convenience store except the bored cashier, but the Pakistani guy must have been used to half-hysterical girls coming in late at night because he barely gave her a glance.

  I’d offer you some, but I know you’re working on that.

  What an asshole.

  But the worst part was, she couldn’t stop thinking about those Ho Hos. How there was a box, right there on the shelf in front of her. How she just wanted to shove them all in her mouth and feel better.

  Well, what else did she have to do?

  Quinn took the box to the counter and paid. She’d eaten two before she made it out the door.

  The chocolate, the filling, the sugar rush—Quinn felt better and worse immediately. Cold air caught the tears on her cheeks and set her face to stinging.

  “Hey, baby. Time for a chocolate fix?”

  Quinn paused before she could shove the third one into her mouth. Two guys sat straddling motorcycles in front of the bar. She didn’t recognize them, but they weren’t very old. Probably not high school, but not much beyond that. Dark clothes, heavy boots, cool gazes.

  The one with dark hair and calculating eyes took a drink from an honest-to-god flask, then gave her a clear up-and-down. His gaze barely went north of her neck. “I like your shorts, cutie. Cold night, huh?”

  She should be afraid. She knew she should. But it was so nice to have someone look at her with a shred of desire that she didn’t care. It wasn’t like anyone would give a crap if she disappeared anyway.

  She licked the chocolate off her fingers. “I’m all right.”

  He laughed, low and masculine and genuinely amused. “I’ll say.”

  She sauntered over to them and glanced at the flask. “Care to share?”

  He seemed startled—but then he handed it over. She took a sip. The liquid burned her tongue and then her throat. She had no idea what it was, and she didn’t care.

  The other one, with lighter hair and brown eyes, leaned forward against the handlebars on his bike. Despite his rough appearance, his eyes were kind—and he was actually looking at her, not just her assets. “What are you doing out here?”

  “Same thing you are,” she said. “Just looking to have some fun.”

  The dark one laughed. “We can help you with that.” He patted the seat behind him. “Want a ride?”

  His voice promised something more than just a ride on the back of his motorcycle.

  Reason smacked Quinn across the face, and she hesitated.

  Then the light-haired one shook his head. “No way. If she comes along, she’s riding with me.”

  And because his eyes were kinder, because Quinn had nowhere to go and no one to call, she swung her leg over the back of his motorcycle and scooched up real close to him. He didn’t smell like liquor at all—and she would know—but instead some mixture of leather and sweat and a faint whiff of an intoxicating cologne.

  She didn’t even know his name, but she didn’t care. He was warm, and she wrapped her arms around his chest.

  He glanced over his shoulder. “You sure are friendly.”

  No. Lonely.

  “You complaining?” she said.

  “Not at all.” He started the ignition on his bike and revved the engine. The vibration rolled through her body and she held on, thriving on the adrenaline.

  They went to Sandy Point, driving around the barriers and down to the beach. Clear trespassing. They didn’t care, and she sure didn’t give a crap. She learned her driver’s name was Matt, he was twenty, and just like her brother, he was home from college for a few days.

  She didn’t like thinking of Jake, or of Nick for that matter, so when they asked if she had a boyfriend, she said no and took another long drink from their flask. A fleece blanket appeared from a compartment on Matt’s bike, and she lay back to look at the stars while her head spun from the liquor.

  This was probably the stupidest thing she’d ever done.

  But hey, she wasn’t lonely now, and they weren’t trying to get in her pants or anything. And what if they did want her for sex? At least someone wanted her for something.

  Dancing with Adam, the warmth and security and self-confidence, all felt a bazillion miles away.

  A new bottle appeared. She recognized the label and held a hand out.

  “You have any salt?” she joked.

  They chuckled. The tequila burned like swallowing fire, and every breath cooled her lips. The stars danced. She forgot her name and laughed at nothing, snuggling into Matt when he tried to wrestle the bottle out of her hands.

  And finally, the stars and darkness overtook her, and she passed out there on the sand.

  CHAPTER 4

  Nick lay in bed and stared at the ceiling, wondering when sleep would get around to stealing his thoughts. It was close to midnight, and the house had been still and quiet when he came in. Everyone else had to be asleep.

  He had a headache, probably from when Quinn had decked him.

  Or maybe it was just from wrestling with his thoughts all evening.

  He’d tried to text Quinn, but she’d ignored it.

  Nick sighed and picked up the paperback on his bedside table—but then he read the same sentence sixteen times.

  All his brain wanted to think about was Adam. The lines of his body, the strength in his dancing, the way the music swept through the room and seemed to be part of the movement.

  So can I get your number?

  Nick hit himself in the head with the spine of his novel and blew out a long breath. These thoughts couldn’t go anywhere. Too complicated. Too dangerous. Quinn, he thought. Think about Quinn.

  So he thought about Quinn.

  Dancing with Adam.

  The phone rang downstairs, and Nick jumped like he’d been caught doing something inappropriate.

  The house phone only rang with business calls, but no one was calling about landscaping at midnight. Probably a wrong number. Nick swung his legs out of bed to go answer it before it woke up his brothers.

  The phone was on its fourth ring by the time he made it into the darkened kitchen. Nick fumbled for the right button and answered out of habit: “Merrick Landscaping.”

  A bare hesitation on the other end of the line. “Is this Nick?”

  He froze. He recognized the voice, and it sent his heart racing. “Yeah?”

  “This is Adam. Quinn’s friend. We met—”

  “I know. Yeah. I mean—” He needed to get it together. His heart wouldn’t stop pounding, and Nick couldn’t figure out whether it was from panic or excitement. “I remember. How’d you get this number?”

  “It was on the side of your truck.” Another pause. “Look, I’ve never made a call quite like this one . . .”

  Nick held his breath and wondered how he wanted that statement to end.

  “. . . but some guy named Matt just called me and said Quinn was passed out on the beach.”

  Wait. “What? Quinn’s where?”

  “Sandy Point. He said he picked her up outside a bar, and she—”

  “Outside a bar?” Nick’s thoughts took a nosedive. He had to fight to keep his voice down. God, he should have snuck her in the house. “Is she okay? Who’s this Matt guy?”

  “I don’t know. He said she’s okay, just drunk, and he didn’t want to try to put her on his motorcycle, but he didn’t want to leave her alone, and there was another guy yelling in the background—”

  “His motorcycle?” What the hell had Quinn gotten herself involved in?

  “I don’t know.” Adam’s voice was tense with worry. He paused. “I don’t have a car.”

  Oh. So that’s why he’d called.

  “I’ll go
get her,” Nick said. “Thanks for letting me know.”

  Another hesitation. “If she needs a place to crash, you can bring her here.”

  Guilt was jabbing Nick with a pitchfork. He should have brought her here. But Adam’s voice implied that he was no stranger to Quinn’s problems at home, either. “Your folks won’t mind?”

  “I have an apartment. Give me your cell. I’ll text you the address.”

  When Nick hung up, Gabriel was in the kitchen doorway. He was wearing sweatpants and an old T-shirt, and his hair stuck up in tufts. “What’s going on?”

  “Quinn’s drunk on the beach and needs someone to pick her up.” He glanced at the silent stairwell. “Cover for me, okay?”

  “Sure.” Gabriel ran a hand through his hair, then rubbed at his eyes. “Let me put some clothes on. I can come with you.”

  Nick opened his mouth to accept—then reconsidered. Gabriel and Quinn were like oil and vinegar. If she was already in a bad place, adding Gabriel to the mix would just make things worse.

  Hell, Gabriel would probably pick a fight on the beach.

  And honestly, Nick didn’t want him to meet Adam.

  What the hell was he thinking? He shook it off.

  “No,” he said, “I’m just going to run her over to her dance friend’s house.”

  His twin was watching him. “You sure, Nicky?”

  “Yeah.” His phone chimed. Nick glanced at it.

  An unknown number, with an address. Then a second text.

  You want me to go with you to get her?

  Nick stared at that line a minute longer than he needed to.

  Then he glanced up at Gabriel. “Don’t worry. Quinn’s friend is going to help.”

  The air in the truck cab stung Nick’s cheeks and turned his breath to fog.

  He needed to chill the hell out.

  Adam was sitting in the passenger seat, his hands over the vents. “Cold tonight.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Thanks for driving.”

  Nick shrugged and found his mouth didn’t want to form words. He reached over and kicked up the heat a few more notches.

  “Hey,” Adam said softly.