The Fixer

by Jessica Gadziala

Didn't they know that some of us were in for a long, hard night likely filled with nothing but disappointment?

  Oh, to be so blithely young and unaffected by the world at large yet. Life is about to fuck you up in four years or so.

  Ugh.

  I was being that chick.

  I looked away from the group, watching the lights in the distance before the tunnel blocked them from view.

  My stomach was in knots as I 'minded the gap' and exited the train car, making my way through the belly of Penn Station, the smell of the food in the court reminding me that I hadn't eaten anything since lunch. But there was no time for that. If I didn't go straight there, I was going to chicken out.

  And never know.

  If there was anything worse than swallowing your pride and maybe getting your heart crushed, it was never knowing.

  I wanted to know.

  And if knowing meant that I was going to drag my ass home with a gaping hole in my chest, then so be it. At least I wouldn't always wonder.

  Cabs were a wish and a prayer on busy nights like this, so I pulled up the lapels of my jacket to try to keep the chill off my ears, and started walking.

  Twenty-minutes and mostly-numb limbs later, I was standing out front of the building after shouldering past the insane crowds everywhere, trying to convince myself to keep moving forward.

  "Miss?" the doorman asked, standing there in a coat that didn't look nearly warm enough, off-white gloves on his hands, kind honey-colored eyes watching me and my indecision.

  "Have you ever seen An Affair to Remember?" I asked, figuring I had a better chance at him knowing given that he seemed at least in his fifties than I would with someone my age.

  "Yes, miss."

  "Remember how Nick and Terry agree to meet at the Empire State Building six months after the cruise if they still feel the same way about each other?" I asked, watching as he nodded.

  His eyes roamed over me down to my feet then back up to my face. "You don't appear to be in a wheelchair, miss. I think you can make it up there," he said, jerking his chin toward the apartment building. With that, like the decision was made, he moved to grab the door, pulling it open for me.

  The waft of warm air ushered me inside where I stood next to the elevator doors that went up, waiting for it to come back down, sliding open with a happy ding.

  This was it.

  There was no going back now.

  I swallowed hard as I rode up to his floor, taking deep breaths to try to calm the unsettling pounding of my heart.

  The ding that announced his floor was enough to make me jolt as the doors slid open.

  My body felt weighted as I forced my legs to carry me out the doors then down the hall to number seven, standing outside it for a long moment before I could force my arm to raise and knock.

  Softly.

  Just twice.

  Barely enough for me to hear, let alone someone inside.

  If he was even here.

  That thought had never occurred to me before.

  What if he decided not to come?

  What if he was back in Navesink Bank, and I was just some silly, fanciful, silly girl who...

  The door slid open.

  And there he was.

  Like I had been hoping - underneath all the doubt and insecurity - that he would be.

  He looked good too. It had been so long since I had seen him in person that I had almost forgotten all the perfectly chiseled lines to his face, the depth to his dark eyes, the seriousness to his lips that looked way too kissable right about then.

  He looked slightly different though too. This was maybe the first time ever that his face was freshly shaven. I guess maybe it had grown out in the woods to what must have been a pretty full beard - one I felt a pang at not getting to see - and he had likely needed to shave it off completely when he got home. And, if I wasn't mistaken, all those unpalatable meals in the cabin must have meant he ate as little as possible because he seemed a bit thinner.

  I bet it made the muscles in his abdomen etch even deeper.

  Jesus.

  My mind did not need to be going there right this moment with him staring at me, brows somewhat creased, like my presence didn't make sense at all.

  "What are you doing here?" he asked, tone cold.

  His tone had never been cold before. At least not when he was addressing me.

  There was a sinking feeling in my stomach as I swallowed hard, willing my voice to come off stronger than I was currently feeling. "It's New Years Eve."

  "Yeah," he agreed, giving me a brow raise.

  Not just cold, frigid. Glacial.

  I blinked hard, willing myself to keep it together, to just get the next sentence out. After that, come what may, I could haul ass right back out of this building and cry my heart out over a slice at Sbarro's before getting on the next train back to Navesink Bank where I could promptly dig a nice, deep hole, and curl up to die of embarrassment in it.

  "You once said that, since we're friends, if we are alone on New Years, to meet here."

  His hand rose, a glass of whiskey catching the light as he rested his knuckles on the doorjamb, blocking any possible entry. He didn't really even need to speak; that was telling enough.

  "The problem there being that we aren't friends anymore, Aven." The sinking feeling in my belly intensified, making me feel suddenly queasy, and not at all interested in greasy, delicious New York pizza. I was about ready to turn on my heel and drag my busted pride back to the elevator when he spoke again. "We were on the way to becoming a lot more than friends. That is until I caught Fenway grab-assing and kissing you right on the street out front of my building."

  Oh.

  Well.

  That explained it, didn't it?

  He had been back then.

  And he had come out to witness what was a completely innocent - at least on my part - greeting and farewell. Yes, he had lifted me up by my butt. I had also told him that it was off-limits, something he clearly couldn't have heard from where he was likely watching across the street. And, yes, he had kissed me on the lips. But it wasn't a kiss. It was a peck. It lasted less than a blink. And, again, I told him a kiss on the cheek was as friendly as we were going to get. Another thing he could not have heard from across the street.

  And Quin really, really didn't like Fenway. So there he was thinking we had been building something for over a month even through the distance, and he comes home to find me - he thought - shacked up with a man who had made him spend Christmas in a shack in the woods in Russia.

  He had specifically warned me off Fenway too.

  I could see where he was coming from.

  But that didn't mean it was okay.

  To jump to conclusions.

  Not to confront me if he had an issue.

  Just radio silence like a five-year-old who didn't get his way.

  My chin lifted, and I felt challenge in my eyes, something he no doubt picked up on judging by the way his brows furrowed slightly.

  "If you are going to go be all butthurt over anyone, it should probably be Gunner," I said, letting the words land, saying nothing else, demanding he ask for answers.

  "Gunner? You're fucking Gunner?" he asked, jaw tight.

  "No, actually. I'm not fucking anyone. But, gee, thanks for thinking I am just making my way through all your acquaintances. I can see you have a very high opinion of me. Happy fucking New Year, Quin," I snapped, shoving his present into his chest, surprising him enough to reach for it as I turned on my heel, and stormed away.

  "Whoa whoa whoa," he said just as I got to the elevator, hands suddenly free, reaching to curl his fingers around my arm, forcing me to turn to face him. "You can't say shit like that, and storm off."

  "Really? I can't? But you can totally just assume things about me and storm off, right? That's totally cool? If you had maybe hung around, Quin, you would have seen that that supposed kiss between Fenway and me lasted all of a second. And it was his way of saying goodbye before he
charted off to Australia to go sleep his way through all the beautiful women in Sydney. Nothing happened between us aside from friendship. And many heated board game nights since he was trapped. And I was fucking lonely, Quin. It was innocent. He's a friend."

  The tension in his features seemed to lessen immediately. The ticking in his jaw was gone. The tightness of his mouth eased. And I saw nothing but relief in his eyes.

  "What was that crack about Gunner then?" he asked, fingers lessening their grip, but not releasing me like he was afraid that if he did, I would disappear into the elevator doors that just dinged open to our side.

  "He's been at my place a few times a week since you've been gone."

  "What for?" he asked, brows creased like this information didn't make sense.

  "To rake my leaves. To hold down Mackey so I could cut his nails. To watch movies. And to eat."

  "Eat, huh?" he asked, eyes getting bright. "Yeah, that sounds like him. You made it sound like more."

  "To prove a point."

  "About?"

  "Assuming things."

  His lips twitched at that. "Because it makes an ass out of you and me, as the saying goes?"

  "No," I said, shaking my head. "In this case, the only one who was an ass was you."

  To that, the lip twitch broke into a genuine smile as a low, rumbling chuckle moved through him.

  And into me, damnit.

  As much as I wanted to keep a guard up - at least until I got an apology - there was no denying the way my body responded to him.

  "Fair enough," he agreed, his hand sliding from my bicep and down my arm to close around my wrist, giving it a squeeze before dropping the contact, something I felt with a pang even if I was still a little annoyed with him. "I was an ass for assuming the worst of you."

  "And for giving me the silent treatment when you should have been a grown-up, and confronted me about it," I added.

  His lips twitched again, but he pressed them into a line like he knew he was supposed to be serious right now. "For that too, yes."

  With nothing else, I raised my chin a bit. "I'm waiting for something here..." I prompted, giving him a pointed look.

  He gave me a warm smile, moving a step closer until our toes were practically touching, then slid his hands around me, folding them across my lower back, and pulling my stomach flush to his, making a warm, gooey sensation move through my belly. "I'm sorry I jumped to conclusions. And gave you the silent treatment. And hurt you."

  "I didn't say you hurt..."

  "Babe," he cut me off, shaking his head at me like I was being silly. "You want me to own up to shit. I'll own up to it. I was a dick. And seeing that shit pissed me off because my first stop after I cleaned up and got some sleep was to see you. And make it clear that friendship with you wasn't what I was after. Now own up to your shit too. I hurt you."

  "Fine," I grumbled, not quite able to make eye-contact, so I studied his open top button instead. "You hurt me," I admitted, the words barely more than a whisper. "But, I mean, it's not like we had any kind of agree--"

  "Dunno how it went for you, babe, but this stopped being friends the minute I called you from half a world away."

  It stopped being friends for me when we had slept together. If not before then, really.

  "Come on," he said, releasing me suddenly, but keeping a hand at my lower back as he led me back to his open door. "We can talk somewhere other than in front of the elevator," he explained as we walked into his apartment.

  Now, I knew Quin was well-off. Each of his suits likely cost more than my entire wardrobe. His car was like a damn spaceship. And, well, his office building somehow managed to make a slum look like an upscale neighborhood.

  It also went to venture that he had some residence in Navesink Bank. A house or apartment. Something. It was probably stupidly nice and sleek, like everything else he put his hands on.

  But I don't think it had ever truly hit me how well he was doing in life until I stepped into his apartment in the city.

  Why?

  Well, because he was on Broadway.

  So even a shoebox probably went for over a million.

  But Quin's place was not a shoebox.

  Directly inside to the right was the kitchen, complete with stainless steel appliances, slate countertops, a slate pub table to eat at, and cabinets made of some material I didn't even know by looking at but were sand-colored, and I would venture a guess that they were stupidly expensive.

  Beside that was a doorway that led off into, I imagined, the bed and bathroom.

  Directly forward was the living room with light-colored walls, which was a bit uncharacteristic for Quin, but was probably meant to keep the place light and airy, dark wood floors, a leather couch across from a giant TV, and all the way at the end, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city below.

  "Hey!" I said as he clicked the door closed, my eyes catching a pile of items on his table.

  A wrapped box.

  Confetti wands.

  And champagne.

  Like I had requested he have at the ready.

  Quin moved over toward the table, almost looking a bit bashful.

  "How come you have all that even though you were pissed at me?"

  "Same reason, I think, that you showed up here tonight," he told me, reaching for the champagne, and steadily pulling off the foil.

  "Wait... is that pink champagne?" I asked, brows drawn together.

  "Ever see An Affair to Remember, babe?"

  "I just told your doorman all about it!" I gushed, a smile spreading so wide that it almost hurt. "He told me when I hesitated that I didn't seem to be in a wheelchair, so, essentially, I should drag my ass up here."

  "I owe him a giant tip," Quin said as he popped the cork. "Can you grab the flutes? Next to the fridge," he clarified.

  "You just... happen to have a set of champagne flutes? I don't even have proper wine glasses."

  "How else are you supposed to toast something great happening?" he asked, filling them as I held them, then taking one for himself.

  "What great thing are we toasting?" I asked, just needy enough to have to hear it from him.

  His head ducked to the side a little, his smile warm. "The start of this," he offered, clinking my glass.

  "The start of what?"

  His head tilted toward mine, our foreheads almost touching. "Us, Aven. The start of us."

  Us.

  He said it.

  And there was no denying the soaring feeling in my chest at hearing it.

  "Well, I will drink to that," I agreed.

  And we did.

  And it was all of two seconds after the flute left my lips that he was slamming his own down, reaching for mine, and putting it down with his so our hands could be free. His moved out, framing my face, angling it up slightly as his head lowered, claiming my lips as his own.

  Finally free of injuries, he didn't have to be gentle this time, careful. His lips were hungry and hard, searing into mine in a way that said I would feel them there even after the kiss was long over.

  My body melted into his, my hands sinking into his upper arms before sliding around to fold behind his neck.

  I don't know how long we stayed like that, but when his face finally pulled from mine, my lips felt swollen and sensitive. "I know we're supposed to be doing the catching up thing," he started, eyes heavy-lidded, sexier than anything I had ever seen before because I knew they were that way because of me, "but I have been imagining getting you back into bed for over a month."

  There would be plenty of time for catching up later.

  "Take me to bed, Quin," I demanded, leaning forward, brushing my lips up the side of his neck, making a low, barely audible growl move through his chest.

  His hands slid across my ribs then down my back to sink into my ass, digging in, and yanking up until I was off my feet with little choice but to drag my legs up, and wrap them around his back as my tongue traced over the very edge of his earlobe.

&nb
sp; I was vaguely aware of moving through the house before Quin folded slightly forward, and my back met the mattress. There wasn't even a pause before he pulled at my hold, his hands grabbing the waistbands of my pants and panties, and ripping them down my legs impatiently, every bit of control he usually possessed suddenly gone. His fingers found the hem of my shirt, dragging it upward, making me lift up to free it, then discarding it to the floor as his free hand reached behind me to unclasp my bra.

  In seconds, I was completely naked in front of him as he moved to stand off the edge of the bed, eyes raking over me as he impatiently shrugged out of his jacket, and worked his buttons free. His hands made short work of his pants and boxer briefs, then he was as bare to me as I was to him, moving over me, our bodies pressing deliciously together as his head shifted, lips moving down my neck, then down to close around my nipple, making me arch up into the sensation with an airy whimper.

  His tongue rolled the hardened bud until it was almost painfully straining, sucking it hard before moving across my chest to torture me further as he balanced half to my side on one arm, allowing his hand free to graze over my belly, the outer side of my thigh, down to my knee, then up my inner thigh, making my legs fall open on the bed, inviting his touch.

  He didn't tease.

  We were both too far gone to hint at things without fulfilling the need.

  His fingers whispered over the crease of my innermost thigh before moving in and gliding up my slick cleft, finding my clit, and working in in slow, steady circles as his lips left my nipple and moved back up to tease over my neck.

  "So fucking wet for me," he growled as his teeth nipped my earlobe, his thumb moving to work my clit so he could move his fingers down to press deep inside me. My hips bucked up to meet his touch, needing more, desperate for an end to the weight on my lower stomach, the coiled feeling inside.

  "Quin, please," I demanded as my hands reached for him, trying to drag him over me.

  "Please what?" he asked, lips moving down my jaw toward my lips.

  There was no room for any insecurity here, only an end to the torment.

  "Please fuck me," I demanded, hand moving out to grab his hard cock, stroking it to the rhythm that his fingers were fucking me.

  He allowed the contact for a long moment as his fingers curled and raked over my top wall until I was panting. Then I lost his touch as his body moved over mine, his cock sliding against my pussy as his lips claimed mine until I was writhing beneath him, hands raking scratches into his back and shoulders.