by Monica James
“It’s fine.” Because it actually is.
The three of us are standing around the cluttered hallway, Tabitha looking between Tristan and me with interest, as I can’t stop gaping at him.
He looks… hot.
He stands tall, and his snug V-neck navy t-shirt, and skin tight blue jeans, emphasizes his height. His hair is flicked forward messily, and he’s changed his labret piercing to a hoop, so now it sits dead center, hugging his full, pink lower lip. Holy shit, whenever I’ve looked at Tristan, all I’ve seen is skater kid. But tonight, he’s oozing masculinity.
“Soooo,” Tabitha giggles, interrupting my ogling. “Whatcha drinking?”
I tear my eyes away from Tristan, and shake away the fog that has collected in my brain.
“Um, nothing for the moment, I’m good,” I reply, giving her a small smile when I see her sulk.
“But it’s a party.” She pouts, her bottom lip poking out exaggeratedly. “Tell her, Tristan,” she says, looking at him for support.
Tristan has his arms crossed over his chest, and only shrugs with a dimpled smile.
“Oh poo, you two are both boring!” She blows a loud raspberry, stomping her foot in protest.
Her juvenile action is hilarious and I laugh. It’s small but it slips out before I can stop it.
Both Tristan and Tabitha look at me like I’ve just told them I’m the Tooth Fairy. And they both follow suit and join me.
***
I’m actually having a good time.
I can’t believe I’m actually enjoying watching drunken idiots embarrass themselves while playing Rockband on Xbox.
Tabitha is one of them.
As she’s playing some rock tune that her short fingers can’t keep up with, Tristan and I are sitting back on the sofa, watching her.
I haven’t failed to notice Tristan not leaving my side for the entire evening. I don’t know why, but it doesn’t creep me out, or make me feel uncomfortable. I actually kinda like having him close by.
A drunken girl, with a dress that barely covers her pink bits, walks past us and trips over her own feet. She lands awkwardly, and sadly, I break her fall. She’s all but on top of me, and I push back, unable to move further, as the sofa is restricting my escape.
Tristan can sense my discomfort immediately, and yanks her off me by her upper arm.
“Watch where you’re going, Amber!” Tristan shouts to be heard over the noise.
Amber half stands, half wobbles, but thankfully remains standing upright. Her glassy brown eyes rake over Tristan, and a wicked smile passes over her glossy lips.
“Hey, Tris,” she slurs, her breath fanning out over his cheeks as she leans down to get a closer look at him. “You’re looking yummy tonight.”
Tristan pulls back, his lip curling in disgust. “Shame I can’t say the same thing about you.”
My eyes widen when I hear his comment, as I can’t believe Tristan, who has never said a bad word about anybody, has just insulted someone.
I can’t help but smile, as it was a great comeback—kudos to him.
“Whatcha smiling at, hoe?”
I look up, and realize she’s talking to me.
I can feel Tristan stiffen up near me, but I can’t help but find this whole situation comical.
This trashy brunette, just called me a hoe? I think she needs to look in the mirror.
“I asked you a question,” she sneers, pulling back from Tristan, turning her attention to me.
“I heard you,” I reply plainly, returning her stare.
“Well?” she asks, flicking her long, curly brown hair over her shoulder.
“Well what?” I reply smugly, playing dumb.
“What were you smiling at?” she asks irritably.
Her beady eyes narrow and I can see how annoyed she is getting that I am not playing along with her.
“Was I smiling?” I ask sarcastically.
She huffs out an annoyed breath, and her chest begins rising in rage. “You know you were!” she shouts like a child.
I look at Tristan, who has a small smile pulling at the corner of his lips.
I could do this all night. “Was I smiling, Tristan?” I ask in mock horror.
Tristan can’t stop his laugh as it bubbles out of his throat, and he covers his mouth to muffle his chuckles.
I look at Amber, batting my eyelashes innocently.
She rises to full height, straightening out her blue dress angrily.
“Oh, whatever, Emo. Tris, where’s your brother?” she asks, ignoring me.
Tristan shoulders rise in a shrug. “I dunno, probably upstairs, hiding from you.”
I turn my head so quickly I nearly flick myself in the eye with my hair. Two insults in the span of two minutes, gee, who knew Tristan had it in him.
Amber purses her lips and throws her head back, letting out a small “Hmph,” before she storms off, tripping over her ridiculous heels, and falling onto some poor chump who is minding his own business.
Both Tristan and I look at her, then at one another, and laugh. I can’t believe I’m actually laughing.
What is wrong with me?
“So, you have a brother?” I ask once we stop chuckling like schoolgirls.
Tristan nods and pulls on his lip ring, which reminds me so much of Quinn.
My heart begins to beat a faster tempo just at the thought of his emerald eyes, and who gives a fuck demeanor.
“Yeah. He’s older, twenty-two.”
“How old are you?” I ask, realizing I know nothing about him, and feeling slightly embarrassed I haven’t asked him sooner.
“I’m twenty, turning twenty-one in a couple of weeks, actually,” he replies with a wink. “So feel free to buy me a gift.”
I laugh and nod. “Okay, done.”
“So, how about you? I know you’re nineteen.” When I look at him, eyes wide, he chuckles. “I hired you, remember.”
Oh shit, that’s right, my job application. Thank fuck for that! I was beginning to think he looked me up or something. Not that he would find me, seeing as my name isn’t Paige.
Tristan doesn’t want to dig around in my past, as he won’t like what he finds.
“Have you got any brothers or sisters?”
Shaking my head, I can feel the walls closing in on me.
“Where you originally from?” he asks innocently, taking a sip of his beer.
Shit.
I can’t lie to him. As I look into his honest eyes, I feel my mouth moving without my brain’s permission.
“L.A.”
Tristan nods, oblivious I’m about to have a breakdown.
I tell myself to breathe.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
Better.
“So, what about your parents? How’d they feel when you up and left the exciting streets of L.A. to come here to the sleepy town of South Boston, where the elderly think they need to rewind DVDs.”
I know he’s trying to make fun of my situation, but I’m seriously about to heave. I can’t talk about my past—ever. To anyone. For a fraction of a second, I actually thought I could be normal.
I am an idiot.
“Where’s the bathroom?” I ask a little too animatedly, as I jump up like I’ve just been bitten by a hornet.
“Um, upstairs. I can show you,” he says, slightly confused that I’m backing away from him like he’s Jason Voorhees.
He makes a move to get up, but I stop him by basically yelling, “No! I can find it. You stay here and, um…” Shit, think, Mia.
“I’ll be back.” That’s the best I can do in my moment of crises.
I push past a wrestler looking dude, showing off his ‘dance moves’ to a couple of unimpressed girls, and am only confronted by more and more people. Shoving through the sea of unmoving bodies, I can feel sweat collecting on my brow and at the back of my neck. I need to get out of here.
Sadly, I’m running in the wrong direction of the fr
ont door, and just further into hordes of people. I push random strangers out of the way, and others move to the side when they see me charging toward them like a bat out of hell.
Thankfully I see the stairs, and with all my might, force my way, elbows out, through a couple making out in front of the staircase.
I hear a bang, and know they have probably hit the wall, but I can’t even vocalize a sorry, as the next thing that comes out of my mouth will be vomit.
Racing up the steps two at a time, I thankfully get to the top in no time. However, as I look around, I have no clue where the bathroom is.
There are four identical doors leading off the hallway, so I try my luck and run toward the closest door on my right. I charge into it with so much force I propel forward, tripping over my loose shoelaces, landing on my face.
Luckily, the carpet stops me from losing a tooth or breaking my nose.
Carpet?
Damn, wrong room.
I now know door number one is not the bathroom.
I’m lying on my belly, hands out in front of me, which thankfully broke my fall. I actually feel better being in a room away from people, and noise, and… probing questions. And besides, it smells amazing in here.
Maybe I can lie here for a little bit and try to regain some composure before going back downstairs to face Tristan, explaining why I just took off like a crazy person. And besides, it’s actually kinda cool in here, and the hypotonic voice of Jim Morrison is calming down my beating heart- Hold up, whose room am I in?
My eyes scan the room, and take in my surroundings. The room is dimly lit with a few candles, and under the orange flickers, I can see that the walls are adorned with band posters and art. Abstract art. Stuff you would see in a museum and not get unless you studied all that Expressionism. I like it though, as it seems perfect, hanging on these dark colored walls.
There’s a small desk off to the side, and books upon books are stacked in piles, littering the surface. I can’t read the titles in the dark, but they look old and tattered.
Around me I see a few discarded items of clothing such as jeans, t-shirts, and socks, which are all tossed to the floor messily. Randomly sitting next to the garments is an open sketchbook. I can faintly see black charcoal lines, but can’t make out what the drawings are.
Finally, my eyes settle on the queen size bed directly in front of me, and as I slowly rise up on my knees, I see that I’m not alone.
My heart, which only just stilled, now begins beating wildly again, because I’ve found the source behind that delectable scent.
He’s sucking on his lusciously full bottom lip, tugging at his lip ring humorously, while his emerald eyes are twinkling in amusement.
I lower myself back onto the carpet, as I can’t deal with the sight before me. I close my eyes and will myself to disappear.
Sadly, I know I’m still here as I hear a deep chuckle prompting me to the fact that I am laying face down, eyes closed, in Quinn’s room.
Chapter 14
Red
“So, who’s stalking who?” I hear him ask, laughing freely.
Thankfully, he hasn’t shifted off the bed, so if I don’t answer him, maybe he’ll believe I’m not really here.
No such luck.
“I can hear you breathing, Red.”
“What are you doing here?” I foolishly inquire, which comes out half muffled, as my cheek is pressed up against the floor.
“Um… I kinda live here,” he chuckles, the amusement in his voice can be heard plain as day.
Fuck, why this room? Why did I have to barge into his room like a crazy person?
“Oh, well… you have a nice room,” I say, and wince at the stupidity of my comment.
“Thanks. It’s even nicer when you’re not lying on the floor,” he replies, and I hear the bed shift, announcing he has arisen.
Of course my body doesn’t listen as I will it to move. The only thing that’s moving is my frantic pulse, pounding against my neck, demanding to break free.
Suddenly, I see a pair of feet in front of me, as my head is turned to the right. Ha, who would have thought feet could be attractive?
“Are you going to lie there all night?” he questions.
I don’t need to see his face to know he’s smiling at me from ear to ear.
“Maybe,” I reply, mesmerized by his gigantic bare feet.
I hear him sigh, and before I know it, his feet are replaced with a pair of emerald eyes.
With Quinn lying beside me, I can’t help my eyes as they wander on their own accord, and do a quick appraisal of his sculptured, chiseled face, and thoroughly enjoying what they see.
Mercifully, he has left a reasonable space between us, so I don’t feel crowded with him lying so close. But I have a sneaking suspicion that regardless of the distance between us, he could never be close enough.
I inadvertently shuffle a fraction closer to him, wanting to breathe in his exhalations—I want to breathe him into me.
“So… you’re right. The view is kinda cool from down here,” he says, his large eyes darting around the room, taking in his bedroom from a whole different angle.
I nod timidly, knowing Quinn is well aware of me staring at him, but he doesn’t seem to mind. A piece of hair falls over my face, blanketing my eyes, and I’m about to brush it away, but Quinn gets there first and sweeps it off my face softly.
When my vision is no longer impaired, I can see his eyes probing my face with apprehension, afraid I’ll freak out again.
But I’m not moving a muscle, as this moment is one of unspoiled stillness between us.
The candlelight is casting shadows across his smooth skin, and his milky white texture now appears honeyed and silken. I never paid much attention to how elongated and dark his eyelashes are, but they don’t appear feminine or delicate. They only highlight the intensity of his emerald eyes.
I can’t stop looking at his mouth. And when he begins tugging on his lip, sucking the hoop into his wet, luscious mouth, I wonder what it would feel like. Would the steel be cold, but heat the instant it was engulfed into his searing mouth?
“What are you thinking about?” he asks quietly, releasing his lip.
Shaking my head to expel the improper thoughts from my lust filled brain, I meet his curious eyes as I quickly question, “You’re Tristan’s brother?”
Quinn smiles. “Yup. Well, technically he’s my brother, ’cause I’m older than him.”
His comment makes me smile, looks like sibling rivalry is present in all homes.
Taking a closer look at Quinn, I can definitely see the similarities between them, especially now that Tristan also has a lip ring.
“Someone was looking for you,” I mutter, remembering my not so pleasant encounter with Amber.
“Oh yeah? Who’s that?” he asks, his eyes never leaving my face.
“Amber,” I reply, adjusting my hands to cushion them under my cheek.
“Oh fuck,” he curses as he lifts his eyes to the ceiling. “Please don’t tell me you told her I was up here,” he says, pleadingly.
“Nope. But Tristan did,” I smile smugly.
“Fucker.” Quinn huffs, but I can tell he means no harm by his comment. “Serves me right,” he adds.
“Why’s that?” I question as I am totally mesmerized by him, and don’t want him to stop talking.
“Ah, let’s just say, there are some things you wish you could take back.”
Yeah, like his dignity, as I don’t fail to see him pull up his lip in disgust, as if reliving a nasty memory.
I lower my eyes, and am actually kind of appalled that Quinn would touch that tramp voluntarily.
The wheels in my head begin turning, and I can’t help but wonder what role she plays in Quinn’s life. From his detached response, I dare say he couldn’t care less for her, but who knows. What I do know, for some unexplained reason, is that I need to find out.
“So, she’s your… girlfriend?” I ask, hoping to sound casual as I b
rush off an imaginary piece of lint from my top.
Quinn watches me closely, and I match his inquisitive stare, subtly demanding an answer.
After a deep sigh, Quinn replies, “No, she is not my girlfriend. Amber is no one’s girlfriend.”
“What do you mean?” I press.
Quinn smirks, and he seems amused by my eagerness to keep this ball rolling.
“It means that someone like Amber likes the attention of too many guys to remain faithful to just one person.”
So in other words, Amber is a bed hopping tramp—gotcha.
I nod, semi-satisfied by his response, but I can’t help myself as I ask, “So, she just happened to grab your attention then, one night?” I ask, needing to know if he and Amber are an ongoing thing.
Quinn nods, lowering his eyes, and for the first time ever, he looks embarrassed.
“Yeah, and it’s one night I really wish I could forget,” he confesses, chewing on his lip in deep meditation.
Quinn doesn’t seem like a one night stand kinda guy, so I can’t help but wonder what possessed him to sleep with her in the first place.
As if reading my thoughts, he whispers, “It was a long time ago. My life at the time, it was messed up, I was messed up,” he corrects. “She was just a warm body, and being with her was better than being alone for the night,” he confesses.
My mouth parts, shocked by his honesty, but I’m elated he has shared some of his story with me.
“Why were you a mess?” I question softly, hoping I’m not crossing any personal boundaries.
Quinn only shakes his head, as if to expel the images from his mind.
“It’s a long, tiresome story. One I won’t bore you with,” he replies, and up go his shields.
I can read them loud and clear, as mine are firmly in place every hour of every day. But I want to know the rest of his story.
“I want…” but I don’t get to finish my sentence, as Quinn softly places a finger over my questioning lips to silence me.
“Tell me your secrets and I’ll tell you mine,” he whispers, his eyes searching my face for a response to his accurate presumption.
I lower my eyes, ashamed that I’ve pushed for personal information when I have no intention of sharing mine.