by Tara Sivec
Leaning into his body, I press my lips to his for a quick, soft kiss, pulling back to smile at him. “I’m smiling because I’m happy. Although it’s good to know I’ll have backup if you get out of line.”
Quinn swats my ass and makes me squeal as I pull away, both of us laughing, when all of a sudden, the dings, chimes, and buzzing of a bunch of cell phone notifications going off start filling the room, mine included.
Pulling my phone out of my back pocket, my eyes narrow in confusion when I see the text flash across my lock screen.
Ellen Westwood: You mess with my life, I’m going to mess with yours.
“What the fuck?” Quinn mutters, standing right next to me and looking down at my phone, just as confused as I am.
“I have no idea.” I shake my head, lifting it when Craig rushes over to Quinn with his phone in his hand.
“Dude. This isn’t good. Check out social media. The shit has hit the fan.”
My stomach drops as Quinn snatches Craig’s phone out of his hand, right as an SOS text from Wren flashes across my screen. I ignore her text as Quinn reads the article out loud that Craig has pulled up, every word out of his mouth making all the happiness I felt just seconds ago vanish in the blink of an eye.
“Exclusive interview with Ellen Westwood, former director for the Los Angeles Vipers Cheerleaders for the last twenty-five years, after her recent firing from the organization following a unanimous vote from the board, amid claims of the unfair treatment, overworking, and underpaying of the cheerleaders throughout her career.”
“Oh my God… she was fired?” I mutter, realizing that must be what her cryptic text was all about.
Fear starts to claw at my throat and make it hard to swallow, since I know exactly what Ellen Westwood is capable of when she’s pissed.
“Jeanie said she was going to call the Vipers, but she never said anything more after that. She’s just an angry woman lashing out. No one is going to believe anything she has to say,” Quinn reassures me, reaching over to place his hand on my back to rub a few comforting circles up and down my spine, the laid back, happy smile on his face from moments ago long gone.
Dropping his hand from my back, he looks down at Craig’s phone to continue reading, while I continue having a silent panic attack next to him.
“Westwood says it was all a disgusting ploy to get her out from the very beginning, stating ‘Emily Flanagan wanted my job. And when she didn’t get it, she found a way to get it for another team. Her whole relationship with Quinn Bagley is a sham, and it’s all been pretend from the very beginning. She had her sights set on him the night they met, planning it all from the start, just so she could sleep her way into getting what she wanted, and I have proof. She’s made fools out of everyone, Mr. Bagley included. This is all just a game to her.’”
What in the actual hell? How does she even know any part of it was pretend? At least she’s only dragging my name through the mud, and Quinn isn’t going down with me.
“Jesus, they even have recordings,” Patrick mutters as he walks up to us.
With a curse, Quinn shoves Craig’s phone back at him, exchanging it for Patrick’s as he yanks it out of his teammate’s hand, pressing Play on whatever Patrick has pulled up on his phone.
My voice comes through the speakers, a little muffled, but it’s very clearly me.
“It’s not exactly a hardship playing pretend with Quinn Bagley. Everyone bought it, didn’t they? I’m very good at what I do.”
“Oh my God,” I whisper, alarm bells going off in my head as every muscle in Quinn’s body goes rigid. “I said that at the charity event. I didn’t mean—”
Quinn’s eyes meet mine just long enough for me to see the storm brewing in them, making the words die in my throat and my breath quicken as he looks back down at Patrick’s phone, scrolling through the article.
I said that to Tyler when we had a private moment together after dinner. He asked if I was okay with everything, and he seemed genuinely concerned about me being able to handle the pressure of whatever Quinn and I were doing, under public scrutiny. He was worried, and I was just trying to ease his fears with my usual sarcasm.
That asshole! He was so nice to me all night long, making me think my initial impression of him was wrong because I wasn’t exactly in a great mood the day I met him.
Quinn hits Play on the next recording in the article, the quiet hum of everyone in the room whispering and talking all around us as they look at their own phones. Nausea churns in my stomach when Quinn’s deep, muffled voice comes out of the phone speaker next.
“I told you, I really like her, Tyler. Let’s just say everything changed with a sexy cheerleading uniform and her fulfilling all my fantasies out under the stars, and leave it at that.”
I wince when the recording ends, but not because Quinn was talking about something personal like that with Tyler. He’s one of Quinn’s best friends. At least he was gentlemanly and clean. When I told Wren about that night, I told her he made me come so hard when I was riding his dick that I almost bucked myself right off his lap with the force of that second orgasm. And you can definitely quote me on that, but at least I don’t have asshole friends who record our private conversations.
“That son of a bitch. That goddamn son of a bitch!” Quinn shouts angrily, making me jump at the ferocity in his voice, Patrick quickly grabbing his phone back from him before Quinn launches it across the room.
“Why in the actual fuck would Tyler screw you over like this?” Patrick asks, almost as much anger written all over him as Quinn, while Craig starts telling Marcus what happened. Marcus then tells someone else, and so it goes, until everyone in the room gets heated within seconds.
“Who’s got the champagne?”
Everyone in the room immediately quiets, and all eyes turn toward the man who just walked through the doorway, wearing his usual three-piece, designer suit and so much product in his hair it must be a bitch walking by any open flames.
I wish Tess were here.
“Why all the long faces?” Tyler asks with a chuckle, scanning the room as he walks farther in, pausing at the head of the table and a few feet away from us. “I thought this was a celebration for a job well done at the clinic?”
“What the fuck did you do?” Quinn’s voice simmering with rage breaks up the silence in the tension-filled room as he glares at Tyler, and it makes me break out into a chill.
“I’ve done a lot of good deeds today; you’re going to have to be more specific.” Tyler smirks, not even realizing he’s poking a bear who looks like he’s seconds away from ripping the man’s face off.
“Why in the hell is Ellen Westwood blabbing all of our personal business everywhere, and why in the fuck does she have recordings of private conversations we had with you?” Quinn asks, his hands clenching and unclenching into fists down by his sides, while everyone’s eyes ping-pong back and forth between the two men, and my heart starts thundering in my chest.
I want to reach out and put my hand on Quinn, get him to take a couple of deep breaths and calm down, but I can’t move. My feet are rooted in place, like I’m watching a car accident happening right in front of me and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
“Oh shit!” Tyler laughs. “That wasn’t supposed to happen until tomorrow. I guess she jumped the gun.”
There are a few beats of silence in the room as Quinn processes what just came out of Tyler’s mouth.
“Quinn, no!”
My quickly shouted words are too late. Quinn has closed the distance and is shoving Tyler in the chest as hard as he can before I even take my next breath.
“What the fuck?” Quinn roars, making everyone in the room jump, as Tyler stumbles back, tripping over the legs of a chair and quickly grabbing onto the end of the table before he falls.
“Don’t you what the fuck me!” Tyler shouts back, breathing heavy as he rights himself and jerks the front of his suit coat back into place, his face getting red with anger. “How about w
hat the fuck, Quinn? Suddenly, you start shirking all your responsibilities when you get a little slutty cheerleader pussy!”
Quinn’s fist is slamming into Tyler’s face before he barely finishes the sentence. I gasp, and my hands fly up to my mouth, not even realizing someone is standing behind me until I feel a pair of hands gently come down on my shoulders in comfort. Everyone starts shouting, and Patrick, Marcus, and Craig quickly flank Quinn’s sides as Tyler holds his hands to his face, screaming as blood pours through his fingers.
“You son of a bitch! You ruined my fucking nose job!”
“I told you what would happen if you disrespected her again,” Quinn snaps, his chest heaving with his anger as he stares at the man who has been his best friend for fifteen years. “I’m going to ruin more than your goddamn nose job. How could you do this?”
“How about you point the finger of blame on the person who started all this and brought all this chaos to your life, because it sure as shit wasn’t me!” Tyler screams, swiping a cloth napkin from the table and holding it against his nose, glaring at me from across the room as my stomach drops right into my feet.
“I told you that shit in confidence as my friend, not as my agent,” Quinn reminds him, every muscle in his body tense like he’s just waiting to throw his fist again.
“Yeah, well as your friend and agent, I was getting a little tired of you fucking up your career, turning down endorsements left and right, just to play house with her.”
“You said it was just one thing and it wasn’t important,” I speak quietly, that nagging seed of doubt I tried to push away coming back to life, as Quinn’s head whips back to look at me, a little of his anger slipping away when his eyes meet mine.
“It’s fine. It wasn’t a big deal, I promise. I didn’t want you to worry.”
Too late….
“Will you fucking listen to yourself?” Tyler shouts again, making Quinn turn away from me. “It’s not a big deal? This is your fucking job! Your goddamn dream! And you’re screwing it all up, letting yourself get distracted and lose focus!”
I knew it. I knew this would happen.
“What the hell was all that shit you said to me at the charity event, about her being too good for me, and all the positive, encouraging things you’ve said when we talked since then?” Quinn asks, the hurt in his voice momentarily replacing his anger and my heart cracking right in half for him.
“What the hell do you think it was?” Tyler sniffles, gently dabbing at his nose and wincing when he pulls the cloth back and sees all the blood. “I told you what you wanted to hear, just like I’ve done for the last fifteen years. I did my job. I thought it was time to remind you that you have a fucking job to do too.”
“You piece of shit,” Quinn mutters, shaking his head in disgust.
“Oh please. Don’t turn into a crybaby on me now. You’re the one who’s finally where you’re supposed to be, and you’re going to throw it all away over some gold-digging slut.”
Quinn’s fist is slamming into Tyler’s stomach before anyone can even stop him. Although the guys definitely seem to take their time walking up behind Quinn and wrapping their arms around his chest to pull him back, as Tyler stays bent over, gasping, wheezing, and clutching his stomach.
“You’re seriously throwing away fifteen years for that bitch?” Tyler pants, looking up at Quinn with wide, disbelieving eyes.
“Call her one more name that isn’t Emily, and we’ll stop holding him back,” Patrick threatens Tyler, warming the chill that has spread through my body for just a few seconds, as they finally use their muscles on Quinn, while he struggles against their tight holds on him.
“I didn’t throw it away; you did. Because you care more about me lining your pockets than you do about what makes me happy,” Quinn reminds Tyler, spitting the words out with the force of his pain and anger, everything happening in front of me suddenly feeling like a nightmare I can’t wake up from, instead of the dream it was just a few minutes ago. “But I would throw it all away for her, because she’s worth it, and you aren’t.”
No, no, no, what the hell is he doing?
“Jesus, how are you this fucking blind?” Tyler shouts, waving his bloody napkin around with his flailing arms. “She used you, and you don’t even fucking see it! She got what she wanted out of you all along, and now she doesn’t need you anymore. She got a nice, cushy position as Director of the Sharks Cheerleading Organization that Jeanie offered her a week ago.”
Oh God, no.
In all this chaos, I completely forgot about the job. I thought Ellen’s interview was just her grasping at straws to be a bitch, not because she actually knew I was offered it. I should have known better. I should have known it wouldn’t be something as simple as her bringing the fake dating into light.
“Quinn,” I start, kicking myself in the ass for not telling him about this as soon as I got the email, when his confused eyes meet mine over his shoulder, where the guys are still keeping him off Tyler a few feet away from me.
“Little Miss Cheerleader got exactly what she wanted. She definitely picked the right player to fuck.” Tyler snorts.
Quinn’s imploring eyes are still locked right on mine, and he doesn’t make a move to put Tyler in his place again for saying something like that, and I don’t know whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing. There’s no way he actually believes what Tyler’s saying.
“I’m guessing she didn’t tell you Jeanie sent her the formal offer letter last week,” Tyler continues, Quinn’s eyes never leaving mine as everything inside me just starts to wither and die. “She doesn’t need you anymore, man. She got what she wanted, and you played right into her hands. You heard her say it in her own voice. She’s very good at what she does.”
Tyler laughs cynically again, while I quickly shake my head back and forth, trying and failing to blink back tears when Quinn finally speaks, so quietly I can barely hear him.
“Is it true? She offered you a job?”
Even a complete stranger who had never met Quinn would be able to hear the raw pain in his voice, and it almost brings me to my knees. Panic is like a vise around my throat, making it hard to breathe, and think, and figure out how this could have all gone so badly in such a short amount of time and what the hell I can say to him to make this better and to make him understand.
“I was going to tell you, I swear. I just needed—”
“Stop.”
Quinn’s quietly muttered word sounds like a gunshot in the room, and it feels like it just ricocheted off the wall and hit me square in the chest. I want to crumble into a ball in the middle of the floor when his emotionless eyes jerk away from mine to glare at Tyler.
“You’re fired. Get the fuck out of my sight.”
My heart plummets right into my feet when Quinn says these final words to Tyler, every fear I had about him being with me coming to fruition right in front of my eyes.
“Are you shitting me right now? I just told you she’s fucking you over, and you’re still picking her over me?” Tyler screams—louder than anything he’s shouted in this room tonight. “After everything I’ve done for you? I will fucking end you!”
Quinn doesn’t reply; he just turns his back on him to look right at me, while it takes three very large professional football players to drag Tyler’s flailing, screaming, and cursing body out the back door of the restaurant, and everyone else just quietly stands around in shock, watching it all happen.
Once Tyler is finally out of the building, Patrick’s wife tells me everything will be fine and not to worry, and I realize she was the one who came up behind me when all this started, placing comforting hands on my shoulders. Biting back the tears, I give her a thankful smile and a nod as she moves away from me to go to her husband. Everyone starts moving around the room then, grabbing their drinks from the table where they set them down, talking amongst themselves, until it’s just me and Quinn standing here a few feet away from each other.
I want to apologize
for all the chaos I brought into his life. I want to beg him to forgive me for not telling him about the job sooner and for not explaining I wasn’t even sure if I was going to accept it, and certainly not before I discussed it at length with him. I want to wrap my arms around him and give him all the comfort I know he needs after such a harsh betrayal from someone he thought was one of his best friends. But I don’t do any of those things, because the look in Quinn’s eyes as he just stands there staring at me tells me everything I need to know.
He begged me to trust him, but he can’t give me the same thing in return.
“Quinn!” Marcus shouts from where he moved to the other side of the table, his voice making Quinn look away from me to find his teammate holding his phone up in the air. “Jeanie’s on the phone, looking for you, man.”
Quinn stares at him silently for a few seconds, then gives him a nod before looking back at me, still not moving closer to me, nothing but anger shooting out of his eyes now.
“I have to take care of this…” He trails off, running one of his hands through his hair in obvious frustration. “I just… I can only deal with one problem at a time right now. I need to talk to her and deal with this first.”
I ruined everything… and now I’m a problem he has to deal with and take care of.
“It’s fine; you need to talk to her,” I reassure him with a smile that takes everything in me to put on my face, the cheerleader inside me who can shine through the pain gasping with her last breath.
Without another word, Quinn stalks away from me and over to the phone Marcus holds out for him.
While everything inside me dies.
Everything.
It withers and dies, and I don’t even feel a thing. Every part of me is numb from my head to my feet. I can’t feel my too tight ponytail that started giving me a headache an hour ago, or the underwire in my bra digging into me, or the button of my jeans biting into my stomach after too many nachos at the stadium, or my toes being pinched from standing around in heels for hours.
I stand here watching Quinn walk away from me, the problem he has to deal with, and I feel… nothing.