Something Like Normal

by Monica James

  “What’s his name?” Tristan asks, crossing his arms across his broad chest, looking down at us.

  “I’m not sure. I don’t think he had one,” I reply sadly.

  “How about Lucky?” a deep, familiar voice resonates from behind Tristan, and my heart kicks up a pace at the sound.

  Quinn strolls in, looking like he’s just woken up, as his hair is fisted into messy peaks, and his emerald eyes are lidded and sleep worn.

  Tristan looks back at Quinn and smirks.

  “Lucky? Totally unoriginal and completely corny—I like it.”

  Quinn catches my eye and gives me a small wink over Tristan’s shoulder when he turns back around to look at me.

  I bite my lip and busy myself with patting Lucky between the ears.

  “Where’d you find him?” Quinn asks, walking into the living room and bumping playfully into Tristan on his way past him.

  Quinn drops to his knees near me and looks at Lucky.

  “He’s skinny. Tris, get him some water, and see if we have anything dog friendly in the house. Preferably not beer or chili.”

  “Sure,” Tristan says, giving me a small smile before heading into the kitchen.

  Now that it’s only Quinn and I, the static in the room begins to tingle around us, and I can’t meet his eyes, even though I’m happy to see him.

  I continue running my fingers through Lucky’s matted fur, watching his eyes drift closed.

  “Where’d you find him?” Quinn asks again, breaking the silence.

  “Down by Ninth,” I reply softly. “Some big redneck named Jimmy was about to shoot him. I couldn’t just stand by and let that happen.”

  “I’m guessing Jimmy made you cough something up?” he asks, and I finally meet his eyes.

  I wish I didn’t. Quinn does things to my heart that I don’t understand. From the first moment I laid eyes on him, I’ve been sucked in. I just don’t know what to do with these ‘feelings’.

  “I paid him a hundred dollars,” I reply with a small frown.

  Quinn’s jaw clenches, and he huffs out a small breath.

  “Asshole,” he mutters.

  “It doesn’t matter, he’s worth every penny,” I reply, and pass my hand over the scruff of his neck.

  Quinn reaches down and also begins touching Lucky softly. Our hands end up overlapping, and as his little finger brushes over mine, I gasp softly.

  “I’m sorry I’ve been MIA.”

  I cringe, not because of the truth behind his words, but because he just spelt out my name. That’s the closest he’ll ever get to saying my real name, and the thought is a kick in the guts to why I cannot pursue this, whatever this is between us.

  “Hey, look at me. Are you okay?” He tips up my chin with two fingers to meet his beautiful eyes.

  I give him a small nod and he releases me.

  “Where have you been?” I ask, quietly.

  Quinn sighs deeply, and stills my hand from patting Lucky.

  “You want the truth?”

  Nodding gently, my hair slips into my face, shielding my eyes.

  He squeezes my hand. “I’ve been purposely trying to stay away from you.”

  “What? Why?” I ask suddenly, as the truth sucks ass.

  “Because it’s for the best,” he replies as he gently interlocks his fingers through mine.

  His simple gesture of holding my hand is not the action of someone who wants to stay away from me, and I wonder where this has come from.

  “The best for whom?” I inquire, trying to decipher the look on his face.

  “For everyone, Red. You and me, we’re cut from the same cloth. We’ll just end up hurting each other.”

  What the hell does that mean, I ask myself. What about his whole, “I’ll cut out my tongue” speech?

  I berate myself for thinking that maybe I could trust him, and that he was different.

  “Well, if that’s what you want,” I reply, trying not to grind my teeth in protest.

  “It’s not what I want, but it’s for the best,” he answers, squeezing my hand and looking a little conflicted with his response.

  “Do you always have to be so ambiguous?” I question, cocking my head to the side irritably.

  Quinn’s eyes sadden as he lowers them.

  “There’s nothing ambiguous about it, Red. In time, you’ll thank me. Everyone will.”

  Why do I have a feeling that everyone is Tristan?

  His eyes flick up as Tristan walks in, and he quickly lets go of my hand.

  Now I know this definitely has something to do with Tristan.

  “Okay, all we got is Spam and this,” he says, holding up an unidentifiable can as he walks into the room.

  Quinn smirks at his brother, holding out his hand. “I’m pretty sure this little guy would eat just about anything.”

  Tristan hands Quinn the tin of spam and a bowl, and as soon as Lucky hears the tin open, his ears prick up. He sits obediently, his long tail wagging frantically at the prospect of being fed.

  Both Quinn and I let out a small laugh at his eagerness as Tristan heads back in the kitchen.

  Quinn bangs the tin on the edge of the bowl, loosening up the meat, and it slides into the bowl with a wet plunk.

  It looks absolutely disgusting, but Lucky licks his chops, eyeing the bowl patiently. Quinn places his dinner in front of him, and Lucky dives into it without delay.

  “Make sure you,” he pauses as he looks at the empty bowl, “chew it,” he finishes.

  Lucky looks up while licking his lips in delight, sniffing the air for more food.

  This dog has stolen my heart. I’ve always wanted a dog, but having a pet back home was unfair to the animal. I didn’t even want to be there, so I’d never torture another living creature to the same fate as I.

  Tristan returns with a bowl of water and raises an eyebrow at the empty dish.

  “He eat that already?” he asks in disbelief.

  I nod, giving him a small smile.

  “I saw him limping before,” Tristan says as he places the water in front of Lucky, who happily gulps it up.

  “I know I saw that, too,” I reply, looking up at him. “Are there any vets I can take him to?”

  Quinn leans forward, and with a gentle grip has a feel of Lucky’s front paws, and then moves onto his hind legs. The whole time I watch his elegant fingers move over Lucky’s body with care, I can’t help but feel slightly jealous of Lucky’s examination.

  “He’s fine, nothing is broken. He probably strained it when running around from that asshole, Jimmy.”

  “Jimmy who?” Tristan asks quickly.

  “Jimmy Redfern,” Quinn replies, curling his lip in disgust.

  “Motherfucker,” Tristan mutters, taking a seat near me.

  Quinn nods.

  The way Quinn and Tristan move in sync with one another is actually really nice to watch. It’s blatantly obvious that they’re close, and after Tristan’s confession about Quinn standing up to his dad to protect his mom and Tristan, it makes me think that he never stopped.

  Is that why he believes it’s for the best to stay away from me? Because of Tristan? Both he and Tabitha have mentioned Tristan liking me, and wanting to get into my pants.

  What if Quinn is doing this because he’s being the big brother and protecting Tristan? But this time, he isn’t protecting Tristan from his dad. This time he’s protecting Tristan from himself.

  Sitting in between Quinn and Tristan has suddenly taken on a whole different meaning.

  This whole situation is giving me a headache, and all I wish I could do is have a hot shower and crawl into bed.

  Sadly, I can’t do either.

  Lucky has curled up into a ball and fallen asleep against my foot, and the instant trust he feels for me warms my heart.

  “Did you want to crash here?” Tristan asks, looking at Lucky, who has no intention of moving.

  I look over at him sheepishly.

  “Would that be okay? Hank is getting
the motel sprayed for bugs. Otherwise, I would have taken Lucky there.”

  Quinn exhales loudly. “Why didn’t you say anything? You’re always welcome to crash here.”

  Um, firstly, because I had no idea where you’ve been these past few days, and secondly, you’re trying to stay away from me, remember?

  “I can take care of myself,” I reply, narrowing my eyes at him, suddenly angry at his protectiveness.

  He reads it for what it is and nods.

  “Take my room, I’ll stay down here,” Quinn says stubbornly, his eyes never leaving mine.

  “No, I can’t do that. Thank you for the offer, but no.”

  “And why not?” he rebukes.

  “Because it’s not cool you sleeping on the couch while I hog your bed,” I reply, heatedly.

  “We could always share,” he adds with a smirk while I nearly choke on my tongue.

  Tristan gets up quickly.

  “Paige, take my room, I don’t mind sleeping down here.”

  My eyes are still glued to Quinn’s, but drop to his mouth as he begins toying with his lip ring.

  “No, Tristan,” I say, my eyes never leaving Quinn’s face as I flick them back up to meet his challenging stare. “I’ll stay down here, it’s totally fine.”

  This stare off between Quinn and I is getting kind of heated, and as I witness his pupils dilate, my breathing begins to increase embarrassingly.

  “And besides, I should stay down here with Lucky,” I add, finally snapping out of my Quinn obsession.

  I have no doubt Tristan can see my reaction to Quinn, and I need to stop it because it’s not cool and probably making him majorly uncomfortable.

  “Thank you, Tristan,” I smile, looking up at him. “But honestly, I’d feel more comfortable down here.”

  Tristan steals a peek at Quinn and then nods. “Okay, if that’s what you want.”

  “It is,” I reply, rubbing Lucky’s belly, which is rising and falling softly.

  Tristan runs a hand through his hair.

  “Well, can I at least get you something to eat? Drink?”

  I laugh lightly. “No, I’m good. But could I trouble you for a shower? I feel gross,” I confess, imagining I don’t smell too good after the gym.

  Tristan smiles, and by God, he is handsome. He has the face of innocence as he extends his hand down to me, which I gratefully accept.

  As I stand up, Tristan pulls me into him, and the space between us leaves me feeling slightly claustrophobic. As he stares into my eyes, I can see something I can’t pinpoint reflected on his face. It leaves me feeling a little self-conscious.

  “Goodnight, Red,” Quinn says, and I take a step back from Tristan at the sound of his voice.

  I turn to look at him and stifle a sigh because he looks fucking hot. Slightly pissed off is a good look for him.

  “Goodnight, Quinn,” I reply, wishing I could figure out what the hell he was thinking.

  “Night, bro,” Tristan says, looking at Quinn, who nods.

  Tristan leads the way to the bathroom and I follow a few steps behind, thankful to be away from both brothers in the same room.

  Quinn is confusing as all hell with his ‘I need to stay away’ speech, then giving me flirty eyes, and doing that thing with his lip ring, which totally makes me think dirty thoughts.

  “Here’s a towel,” Tristan says, handing me a big, fluffy blue one, which he pulls out from the hallway cupboard.

  “Thank you, Tristan,” I reply, standing in front of the bathroom awkwardly as I accept it. “Thank you for letting me crash here, and looking after Lucky.”

  Tristan smiles his lopsided smile. “Don’t mention it. It’s not like I’m giving you the most comfortable place to sleep,” he jokes, rubbing a hand down his stubbled jaw.

  “I’ve slept in worse,” I answer softly, hugging the towel to my chest.

  Tristan nods, but doesn’t ask me to explain.

  “Goodnight, Paige. Call out if you need me. My room is down the hall from Quinn’s.”

  I try not to heat under the mention of Quinn’s room.

  “Goodnight, Tristan, and thanks… again.”

  Tristan does something that surprises me. He reaches forward, placing a warm hand at the back of my head, kissing my forehead, lightly. It’s over before I even know what to think, and as he pulls back, his eyes search mine, smiling warmly.

  I know my mouth is agape, but he doesn’t make me feel stupid. He just walks away like kissing me is the most natural thing to do.

  As I watch him enter his room, I all but dive into the bathroom and lock the door with my back pressed up against it. What was that?

  Not wanting to think about this a second longer, I strip out of my clothes, leaving them in a neat pile in the corner. I turn the hot water tap onto full and step into the impressive shower, which is relatively clean for a boys’ shower. The hot water feels like heaven, and I only turn the water to cold a smidge, as standing under the scalding heat feels too good to taint.

  I stay in the shower till my fingers have turned into little prunes and the bathroom has turned into a steam room. Switching the water off regretfully, I realize I left my change of clothes in the truck.

  Looking down at my pile of dirty clothes, I cringe, as the thought of putting on unclean clothes and underwear over my clean body seems kind of wrong, not to mention gross. Especially when I smell like Quinn.

  There were two body washes in the shower, and as soon as I smelled that musky, sandalwood smell, I knew which Quinn’s was. And like a total stalker, I used it. Envisioning his broad hands lathering up the body wash, and rubbing it all over his body is a vision I hope to fall asleep to.

  Wrapping the towel tight around my body, it thankfully engulfs my tiny frame, as I’ve decided to make a run for it and grab the set of clothes out of the truck. I make sure the towel is tucked in around me, and not going to fly open embarrassingly when I open the door.

  As I turn the handle slowly and peek my head out a fraction, the coast looks clear. Taking a step out, my foot lands on something soft, and I jump back onto the cool bathroom tiles, noticing two t-shirts sitting neatly in front of the door.

  I crouch down, my knees cracking in protest, and I scoop up the two garments. The first I finger is a t-shirt I’ve seen Tristan wearing, and is a picture of Tim Burton’s The Corpse Bride. My fingers move over to the other t-shirt, brushing over a print of Johnny Cash flipping the bird. Quinn’s t-shirt.

  So, here I am faced with a dilemma. Which do I choose? No doubt, Tristan set his shirt down by the door first, as he would never leave his shirt if Quinn’s was already there.

  But Quinn would.

  Faced with a decision that I don’t fail to see the significance of, I stand in the bathroom with Tristan’s t-shirt in my right hand and Quinn’s in my left. But there is no choice to make, because it’ll always be Quinn.

  I slip on his t-shirt, and I only just refrain from burying my nose into it, taking a big whiff.

  His shirt sits mid-thigh, and the material feels soft against my skin. I hate to admit, the feel of it pressing up against my naked skin sends a jolt of excitement through me and hits me down…there.

  Looks like I will be sleeping well tonight.

  Chapter 20

  Dance of the Devil

  So much for me sleeping well.

  I have tossed and turned, and it’s not because the couch is uncomfortable. Far from it. Every time I try and close my eyes, I am engulfed in Quinn’s fragrance.

  And I also feel kinda risqué, wearing nothing underneath his t-shirt.

  The clock on the mantel reads just after two, and I’m hoping I get some kind of sleep, as I have to be back at the motel by eight.

  Snuggling under the soft, brown blanket so it sits just under my chin, I squeeze my eyes shut, willing sleep to overtake me.

  It doesn’t, and that’s because I know I’m not alone.

  I can’t see much as it’s pitch black, and the heavy, navy curtains are do
ing a good job at keeping most of the moonlight out.

  Sitting up and ensuring the blanket is still sitting under my chin, I squint, hoping to make out who’s standing a few feet away.

  “Hi,” I hear, in barely a whisper.

  What is he doing here?

  “Hi,” I reply, matching his tone.

  “Were you asleep?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?” he asks, slinking closer and closer with every word.

  I shrug stupidly, as he can’t see me.

  “I’m not much of a sleeper,” I reply instead.

  “How come?” he presses, and I feel the sofa dip beside me.

  “Because I don’t like to dream,” I answer honestly.

  “What are you afraid to dream about?” he asks, his breath fanning over my face.

  Slowly lowering myself down by my elbows, I feel the soft sofa material tickle the backs of my legs. As I descend, I feel him inching toward me, pushing me down with his presence alone, because all of his weight is held up by his palms, which are resting alongside my waist.

  “What are you afraid to dream about?” he questions again, so close to me that I can feel his long hair tickling my cheeks.

  “You,” I reply breathlessly, not able to stop myself.

  Quinn releases a deep breath which fans over my cheeks and down my neck.

  I am so turned on, a feeling I have never really felt before. And I want to kiss him more than anything, but I’m afraid to move.

  Quinn’s body is hovering over mine, and he still won’t allow me to feel his full weight on my body. Shifting my legs, the blanket glides off my thighs and he slips in between them, fitting perfectly. I bite my lip when I feel the soft material of his pants brush over my naked legs.

  He slowly glides his hands up beside me, and rests them on the pillow by my head. But he still won’t press into me, allowing us to be chest to chest.

  “What are you doing down here?” I ask, well aware that my breathing is coming out in breathless anticipation.

  “I couldn’t sleep, knowing you were down here. It was too much of a temptation. You are too much of a temptation,” he says, emphasizing the word, ‘you.’

  His words do amazing things to my center and I scissor my legs, unable to keep them still.