Spencer narrowed his eyes at his friend. "No one likes a smartass."
"Says the guy who got a ticket for mouthing off to a police officer."
"I wasn't mouthing off. I was being witty and adorable. The guy just had no sense of humor. Besides, I was nowhere near that fire hydrant. He was clearly behind on his quota. Bet that wouldn't have happened to Quinn." Was he pouting? Oh God, he was. Danny was right; he was sad.
"Probably because he's SWAT and can park his ginormous truck wherever the hell he wants." Danny went to the glass doors of the balcony overlooking the parking spaces and started laughing.
"What?"
"You know how they say dogs look like their owners? I wonder if the same applies to cars."
Spencer joined Danny at the window, letting out a low groan. His tiny yellow Fiat gleamed cheerfully in the morning sunlight beside Quinn's monster black Chevy Silverado. "It looks like a sunspot."
Danny's giggle turned into full-blown laughter.
"I don't see what's so funny. Do you know how hard it is to find decent parking in this city? And by decent I mean a parking spot that won't lead to your car getting scratched, dented, crashed into, broken into, or stolen. You'd think you could find a spot in a shopping center at ten in the morning on a Tuesday, but no."
"Here we go," Danny sighed, heading back to the counter to make a second attempt at snatching a brownie. Again he was thwarted by Spencer, who was a lot faster than he looked.
"Seriously, man. It's like bumper cars. The winner is anyone who happens to get their damn car between the lines. Two lines, not four."
Danny shrugged. "There are a lot of retirees here."
"And a lot of douche bags."
"You could have stayed in Jersey."
Spencer removed his apron and hung it up on the hook by the fridge. "I couldn't stay there and let my mom move down here on her own. You should have seen how excited she was about living in the land of perpetual sunshine. She's happy here."
"And you're miserable."
"I'm not miserable. I'm just... having trouble adjusting. I went from having four seasons to living on the surface of the freakin' sun. Thank God for air conditioning. Do you know how hard it is to put Christmas lights on a palm tree? My mom had me help her decorate last Christmas, and I almost broke my neck. Not to mention it was eighty degrees in the shade."
"Quinn could help you adjust."
Danny wriggled his eyebrows, and Spencer groaned. His friend never let up.
"Yeah, adjust my face with his fist," Spencer mumbled. Just because Spencer had accidentally stumbled across Quinn sucking face with some guy leaving his apartment a week after moving in next to him, it didn't change the fact Quinn was out of his league. At the time he'd thought it was Quinn's boyfriend, but he never saw the guy again after that. The new guys he occasionally saw coming out of Quinn's place never seemed to stay very long. Spencer's stupid crush on Quinn didn't mean he was looking to be Quinn's next one-night stand. He'd learned a lot about the guy over the past year, which made the whole thing even sadder. Quinn didn't even know Spencer's name. He'd never been rude, and he said hello when he saw Spencer, but it was clearly an ingrained courtesy rather than an actual acknowledgment of Spencer's existence.
Danny stared at him. "You saying he's gonna punch you in the face for saying hi?"
"Why don't you date him, then?"
"Because he's a dude. Now if Quinn was a sexy lady cop, I'd be over there in a heartbeat." He held his wrists out with a wide grin. "I'd be all, 'Cuff me to your bed, baby.'"
Spencer arched an eyebrow at his friend. "Don't you have a job to go to?"
"I'm on the evening shift, remember?" Danny checked his watch. "Damn. I promised my sister I'd pick up her Chihuahua from the groomer. Hate that little turd. It always bites me. You should see it--it looks like a loaf of bread with tiny legs." He ran to the apartment door and paused to give Spencer a pointed look. "If you don't go over there and say something, I'll have to take matters into my own hands, and neither of us wants that."
The thought terrified Spencer. "All right, just give me some time."
Danny nodded and was off. Spencer lay on his couch thinking about how he might approach Quinn without scaring the guy. Did he really want to get involved with him? Even if he stood a chance, which was unlikely, Quinn had a dangerous job. Spencer remembered how he'd felt sick to his stomach watching the news report of the showdown, the report that an officer had been shot and rushed to the hospital. He'd been beside himself when he found out it was Quinn. They'd posted a photo of him in his uniform, smiling and looking both handsome and intimidating. It had been one of the worst feelings Spencer had ever experienced, and they weren't even friends.
"Okay, Spence. Time to grow a pair." He sat up and told himself off. Was he really going to sit back and do nothing? If the most he got out of his attempt was Quinn's friendship, it was still worth it. The guy had been holed up in his apartment since he'd come home from the hospital. At first there had been plenty of movement and people coming in and out, but after a few days, the visitors stopped. Quinn wanted to be left alone. Spencer had heard him arguing loudly with someone about it--he wanted to be left alone to recover in peace. The guy was grumpy, no doubt about it. Of course, he'd just been shot several times.
Gathering his courage, Spencer got up and went to the door to put on his sneakers. "You're just going to say hello and ask if he needs anything. That's all. You're being a good neighbor." Okay, he could do this. He grabbed his keys and paused. "Come on, man, you're just striking up a conversation. You're not asking him to prom." Spencer left his apartment and was heading for Quinn's door when he spotted a tall, handsome Latino in a navy blue suit and white shirt knocking on the door. "Hi."
Shit. Quinn had a boyfriend. Of course he has a boyfriend, you idiot. Just because you haven't seen one around doesn't mean there isn't one. "I'm sorry. I, uh, I just came by to see if he was okay and say hi." He lifted a hand up. "Hi."
"Who are you?" the man asked warily.
"I'm Spence, Spencer Morgan. I live next door." He jutted a thumb behind him in case the guy might have trouble finding it. Man, he was such a dork. He should get out of here before he really made an ass out of himself.
"You're a friend of Quinn's?"
"Um, not really. We don't, um, get to talk much." At all, actually. "He's a busy guy, you know." Doesn't know I exist. "Anyway, I was just going to let him know that if he needed anything, I'm just next door, but I see he's got you, so I'm sure he doesn't need me. I mean my help, not me, me, personally." Crap, crap, crap. "I'm gonna go now. Sorry to have bothered you."
"Wait, you think I'm--" The guy let out a laugh, brandishing perfectly straight bright white teeth. "No, I'm Rick." He held a hand out to Spencer, who took it. "I'm Quinn's brother-in-law. Quinn doesn't have a boyfriend. Not unless he's hiding him from us, or from his mom, which is possible, but we would have found out by now. Well, she would have found out by now. I swear the FBI goes to her for information." Rick motioned behind Spencer to his apartment door. "So, you're his neighbor?"
"Yeah. I moved in last year."
"Listen, I'm glad you're here. I came by to drop off his painkillers, but he's not answering his phone or the door. He's probably out for the count. Would you mind if I left these with you? I'm running late for an appointment." He handed Spencer a white paper bag from Walgreens.
"Yeah, sure, no problem."
"Thanks. I'll give him a ring later to let him know you've got them. I should probably get your number, if that's okay."
"Okay." Spencer relayed his cell phone number, one hand holding the prescription bag while he shoved the other into his pocket, pretending he wasn't excited about the possibility of getting to see Quinn, even if it was just to give the guy his meds.
"Great. You don't mind if I pass this along to him, do you?"
Spencer blinked at him. "Give him my number?"
"Yeah."
Snap out of it. "Uh, sure, go ahead. I w
ork from home, so he can ring anytime and I'll bring them over."
"Thanks. I'll see you later." With a pat on the shoulder that was sure to leave a bruise, Rick was off, leaving Spencer to wonder if the rest of Quinn's family was equally good looking and ridiculously fit. Just his luck, they probably were.
Rick waved at him as the elevator doors closed, and Spencer waved back before shuffling to his apartment. He stuck the key in the lock, muttering as he let himself in. "I need some brownies." What the hell was wrong with him? This was not him. He marched over to the kitchen and placed the prescription bag on top of the fridge so he wouldn't misplace it.
"You can do this." He pulled out the Nutella and caramel for his brownies, which had completely cooled down by now. He wasn't completely jaded--in fact he was usually a very cheerful and positive guy. This whole mess with Quinn had turned him upside down. Sure, Quinn was really hot and could probably snap Spencer in two with little effort, but Spencer genuinely wanted to help the guy. If Quinn wanted nothing else to do with him, not even the possibility of being friends, well, at least then Spencer could stop daydreaming about what-ifs.
With renewed determination Spencer got to smothering chocolate on the brownies. Quinn needed help, even if he didn't think he did. He needed someone. Spencer was going to do his damn best to be that someone.
Chapter Three
QUINN WOKE up to a sharp pain coursing through his leg. Damn it, he was getting really tired of this shit. With a groan he sat up. It had been a week since he was released from the hospital, and look at him. He glared at his leg in the hopes he might somehow intimidate the pain away. No such luck. He needed painkillers. Where the hell was Rick?
Quinn snatched his phone off the coffee table to check his messages. Five missed calls from Rick. Damn, he must have really been out of it not to hear Rick at the door, or his phone. Tapping the screen, he waited for his brother-in-law to answer.
"Hey, Sleeping Beauty."
"Where's my drugs?"
Rick laughed. "Now you sound like my patients."
"Except I'm not hitting on your nurses or plotting the demise of Castro from your waiting room. How many proposals did Christina get this week?"
"Six."
"Damn. I was off by two." Every week he and Rick kept a running tally of how many proposals Rick's lead nurse got from her patients. Most of them were old enough to be the nurse's grandfather, but it was hard to resist a pretty girl fussing over them. Rick had to put his foot down on a few occasions with some of the old boys who came in just to see Christina, usually feigning a cough or the appearance of a new liver spot simply to see her and flirt.
"I left your prescription with Spencer."
Quinn frowned. "Who the hell is Spencer?"
"Your neighbor. Seems like a nice guy. He was coming by to see if you needed anything while I attempted to wake the dead. I had to go, so I left your prescription with him. I've got his number."
Quinn wracked his brain. "What's he look like?"
"I don't know. Gringo. Skinny. He was wearing some kind of superhero T-shirt. He thought I was your boyfriend."
"Gross."
"Thanks."
"That's not what I meant. You're my brother-in-law. Not that you're unattractive or anything."
"This conversation just got weird."
Quinn smiled. "Right. Back to my neighbor."
"Bro, you're a cop. How can you not remember what your neighbor looks like?"
"I've assessed all my neighbors for possible threats. If I don't remember him, he's not a threat."
"That much is probably true. Guy looks like he needs some of your mom's cooking."
Quinn threw a hand up in frustration. "Man, why did you have to bring her up? Now she's probably going to call or show up or something."
"You're so superstitious," Rick said with a chuckle.
"It's not superstition. It's fact. Cuban moms have a sixth sense for these things. You know that as much as I do. All you do is mention her and--"
His phone beeped, and Rick cackled in his ear. His brother-in-law knew who was calling.
"You're an asshole."
"Talk to you later." Rick hung up before Quinn could curse him out some more.
If Quinn didn't pick up, his mom would think that the apocalypse had come and claimed him, or that he'd drowned in the tub, fallen down the stairs, died in a grisly steak-frying accident, or suffered any one of the other horrific tragedies her overactive imagination could conjure up, because his demise was the only acceptable reason for his not picking up her call. It was in his best interest to answer.
"Hi, Ma."
"Mi cielo, ?como te sientes?"
"I'm fine."
"You eat?" she asked.
"Yes. I ate." His mother was under the impression five meals a day would solve all his problems.
"You ate something healthy? No sandwiches."
She also never believed him.
"Yes. I made food."
"Mentira. Why you lie to your mother?"
Quinn let his head fall back with a groan. Why did he bother? "It was a healthy sandwich. It even had vegetables in it." Sauteed onions counted as vegetables, right?
There was a long pause. She was wondering whether to believe him. Always stick to the truth as much as possible.
"Esta bien."
She rattled off the latest gossip regarding her archnemesis neighbor and the insolence of the witch to have placed her recycling bin past the hedge dividing their property. He could see his mother now, fuming in her fuzzy slippers and flowered nightgown, glaring at the bin invading her lawn by mere inches. Of course she'd pushed it back, and of course her nemesis had seen her.
Ten minutes later his mother moved on to the latest baby news from her friend's daughter's sister-in-law's cousin, whom Quinn had never so much as heard of before, much less met. He looked at his watch. "Ma, I have to go. I need to pick up my prescription next door. Rick left it with my neighbor."
"Okay. Me llamas."
"I promise I'll call you. I gotta go."
"Te quiero. Besitos."
"Love you too."
He hung up and checked the text Rick had sent him with his neighbor's phone number. As the phone rang on the other end, he tried to think about what his neighbor looked like. For the life of him, he couldn't remember, and he was very good at remembering. He was pretty sure they'd shared the elevator a few times. The guy owned that yellow Skittle parked next to his truck. Who the hell could fit in that thing, and why would anyone buy a bright yellow car? On his fourth attempt to get through, he gave up. Rick had texted him that the guy worked from home. Maybe he was away from his phone and couldn't hear it ring.
Normally Quinn would have left it for later, but his leg was killing him. With much blustering, and cursing in two languages, he managed to get himself up. He grabbed his crutch off the coffee table, where he'd left it earlier, then went to the door. How the hell was he supposed to do weeks of this? The thought of all the paperwork and therapy sessions that waited for him before he could get back out in the field had him grinding his teeth. In seven years he'd managed to avoid any serious injuries, and now he was out of commission for who the hell knew how long.
Pissed off, he snatched his keys from the bowl on the narrow table by the door before stepping out into the carpeted hallway. He locked up and shoved the keys into his pocket, grumbling to himself as he maneuvered to his neighbor's door. His brow was already beaded with sweat by the time he got there. He glared down at the crutch.
"I hate you." He knocked on the cream-colored door and waited.
Nothing.
"For fuck's sake." He knocked louder. When there was no answer, he pounded on the door. What the hell was the guy's name? Steve? Shawn?
"Hey. You looking for Spence?"
Quinn glanced over his shoulder at a tall, lanky guy wearing a Best Buy polo shirt standing in the doorway of the apartment across the hall. "Who?"
The guy pointed to the door Quinn had bee
n pounding on. "Spencer Morgan."
"Oh, right. And you are...?"
"Danny. A friend of his."
Quinn gave him a nod. "I'm Quinn."
"Yeah, I think by now everyone in the city knows who you are." Danny's gaze went to Quinn's leg and the padded brace that went from his ankle to above his knee.
Damn news stations. Quinn was glad he'd slept through most of the reports. He didn't want to know what they said about him, good or bad. There would have been plenty from both sides, but more of the kind that branded him an arrogant, trigger-happy dick. Quinn had been doing this job long enough to know how thankless it was the majority of the time. Didn't matter that some drug pusher had tried to kill him while he held an innocent child in his arms, the guy's own nephew for fuck's sake. There were times when Quinn wondered why he bothered. Then his mom would beam up at him and tell him how proud she was that her son helped people. She never hesitated to remind him of the good he did, even when he was surrounded by so much fucked-up shit.
He turned his attention back to Danny. "Do you know how I can get hold of your friend? I tried calling his cell and knocking, but I'm thinking he might not be home."
"Oh, he's home. He just has a habit of popping in his earphones and forgetting about the rest of the world. I've got a spare key." Danny reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys. He removed one and held it out to Quinn. "He can just give it back later."
Quinn hobbled over and took it from him with a frown. "I hope you're not in the habit of giving strangers the key to your friend's apartment."
"You're not a stranger."
Danny smiled, and Quinn wondered if there was something Danny knew that he didn't.
Okay. "You sure he won't mind?"
"Nah. He's cool."
There was that wide, knowing smile again. Quinn peered at him only to receive a salute from Danny before he disappeared inside his apartment. Hopefully Spencer wasn't as weird as his friend. Quinn turned and made his way back to his neighbor's apartment. He tried knocking again, but when he received no answer, he inserted the key and turned the knob. Warily he let himself in, closing the door behind him, and scanning the room, surprised by the trendy gadgets and movie-related decor. Aside from the trinkets and canvas prints of movie posters, the room was nicely decorated in blacks, grays, and whites, with bold splashes of red. It was the exact same layout as his but looked much nicer. It was kind of shameful. He'd been living in his apartment for years, and it still looked like he'd moved in recently. His apartment was less minimalistic and more "didn't really have the time to care." His younger sister was always trying to convince him to let her decorate, claiming the place was an insult to aesthetics and her designer's palette. Whatever the hell that meant.
Beware of Geeks Bearing Gifts Page 2