Dirty Little Quickies

by Shanora Williams

  I giggled. "I think he was just trying to really get to know me, one-on-one. My dad was there, but he was too busy drinking and watching the game to really care about our conversations." I refused to tell her that I may or may not have fallen a tad bit more in love with him. That was between me, myself, and I. I didn't want to appear too desperate. After all, it was just a crush. And I was pretty sure I was being delusional.

  "You should have told him to kiss you.” Her tone was nonchalant as she shrugged and then climbed off the bed. She walked to her bathroom and turned on the faucet.

  "Yeah, right!" I followed her, pressing a hand to the frame of the door. "I don't know why I can't get him out of my head, Frank. It's been like this ever since I was a little girl. I've always been attracted to him. It's fucking weird because he's supposed to be, like, family to me."

  "He's sex on a stick, K.J. He's super successful and handsome and he gives you chocolate and notebooks. That is any woman's dream. There's nothing weird about liking someone like that."

  Hmm... yeah. She had a point.

  Someone pounded on the door and Frank turned quickly when her brother, Clay, barged in. Clay was tall, well built, and shirtless. His blond hair was damp, like he'd just gotten out of the shower. If Clay wasn't such an asshole and always grabbing his crotch to show off, I would have found him hot.

  He wasn't really Frankie's brother. They were adopted siblings and had been ever since she was six and he was eight. She was the adoptee.

  "Where the hell is the charger to my Beats Pill, Frank? Don't fuck with me," Clay snapped, tossing her pillows off the bed. He turned for the stuffed animals on her recliner next, snatching them up and throwing them on the floor.

  "I don't have your stupid charger, Clay, now get the hell out of my room!"

  "You do have it! I know you do. It goes missing every time I have a girl over and then it magically appears the next morning. I know you keep taking it!”

  Frankie marched his way, pressing her hands to his chest and shoving him backwards until he was out of the door, slamming it in his face right after. Of course, she struggled—she was half his size—but she managed. I could tell she'd done this way too many times before. They always fought and bickered. It was hilarious sometimes.

  I broke out in laughter. "You guys are nuts, you know that?"

  She locked the door and rolled her eyes, huffing as she went back to the bathroom to finish washing her face.

  While she did, I sat on the middle of her bed and picked up my phone. A whisper crossed my mind and I went to the browser on my phone to type in Quinton Cane. The first page to show up was Tempt's website so I clicked it.

  There were many pictures of new wines, more awards the company had won, and even Instagram images of people eating the chocolate, but then one image appeared as I scrolled further down that stopped me.

  It was Cane holding one of his bottles of wine in the air. It was typical Quinton Cane fashion not to smile for a picture, but nonetheless he still looked breathtakingly amazing. He wore a navy blue suit with a silver tie. His beard was trimmed neatly, the lengthier part of his tapered hair combed in perfect, smooth waves.

  He looked so handsome.

  A sprinkle of the caveman mentality and a dash of gentleman.

  The look fit him well.

  I looked through more pictures as Frankie went on about how annoying Clay had been lately, and how she had to break it off with a guy because Clay kept making threats to him.

  Her voice was mostly a buzz while I scrolled though. I was stuck on stalking Cane, loving how clean and handsome he looked in suits. Loving the times he rarely smiled, and how he took photos with his employees, like he truly cared and appreciated them. I’d witnessed his love for his employees. It was genuine.

  Later on that night, I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I kept going through my phone, scrolling to his name that was listed in my contacts.

  "I'm only a phone call away if you ever need me, little one."

  I knew it and had the urge to call, especially when Frankie fell asleep with reruns of the Kardashians on . . . but I didn't do it.

  I wasn't that bold. Plus, what was I going to talk to him about? My pajamas?

  SIX

  KANDY

  I wish I could say I kept my hands to myself when it came to Mr. Cane. It would have made things a hell of a lot easier down the road.

  But eventually, something was bound to happen. To me, there was too much of a spark between us. The spark we shared was bright, risky, and tempting. All I wanted to do was touch it, see if it burned me when I did.

  I don't know why I wanted him so badly. There was just something about Quinton Cane—something that made the pit of my belly flutter with frenzied butterflies and my blood pump with too much heated desire.

  He was irresistible and I loved that he didn't treat me like a child. So yes, something did happen between us, and he didn't dare look at me like a child ever again after it.

  The night it happened was during a tragic point in my life.

  It was frightening and unexpected.

  I had slept over Frankie's house for one of our monthly sleepovers. I normally did the sleepovers with her when Mom and Dad had to work late on the weekends.

  We were seniors that year. We didn't care about popularity or fitting in. We were a crazy duo and we loved it.

  I will admit that Frankie was boy crazy. She had a new boyfriend at least every other week. If I thought I was a rebel, she put me to shame. She'd dyed her hair a bright turquoise, even when her mother had told her not to. She didn't have a father figure in her life, and her mom was always traveling for work, which may have played a big role in why she wasn't very disciplined. She grew up on her own for a while, had set her own routine. She was still smart and sweet when she wanted to be, and she loved her mother to death, but, well to be frank, Frankie just didn't give a fuck.

  "So, tell me all about the baseball game and that expensive-ass gift from that sexy, inked beast again!" Frankie said, flopping down beside me, belly flat on her twin-sized bed. I'd attended the baseball game with Quinton a little over week ago and had told Frankie the story about it, as well as the surprise laptop, several times during lunch at school and even through text messages, but apparently it wasn't enough.

  I looked over at her. Her dark-brown, almond-shaped eyes were focused on me, the naturally tanned skin on her face covered with a green organic facemask.

  "It was just a game, Frank," I laughed. "I've told you this story like a hundred times."

  "I know, but there has to be more!" She bumped my arm. "You came to school beaming the next day—I mean legit glowing, K.J.!" She was the only person to call me K.J. She'd been calling me it ever since fifth grade. She claimed she didn't like the name Kandy, because it was too sweet for my bitchy personality, so K.J. it was.

  I stopped scrolling through my Facebook timeline to sit up, crossing my legs Indian-style. Frankie sat right up with me, looking me deep in the eyes with a grin, ready for the juicy details.

  "Okay. I'll tell you how I felt that day, but it could be no big deal."

  "Fucking spill, bitch," she said, waving her hands.

  I huffed a laugh, bundling my hair up into a loose bun, a nervous habit. "Okay, well, the game was in this fancy box. Some of his employees were there and he talked to them for a while, but then he came to sit beside me and he kept saying little things that felt like compliment. I don't know.” I waved it off. “We talked and laughed and things just clicked. We talked a lot, he looked me in the eyes and actually listened to me—asked me what I might want or need for school." I bit the corner of my bottom lip. "This is stupid. I mean, it might be nothing but—"

  "What?" she demanded when I abruptly stopped talking, her eyes nearly bulging out of her head. "Tell me!"

  "It was nice, Frankie. I mean, he still made his smart-ass comments here and there, but . . . it felt like he was flirting with me in a way—or maybe I'm just really fucking delusional."


  "Ohhh, flirting!" She shimmied her shoulders to the word. "You think he was hitting on you?"

  "I never said that!" I pointed a finger at her and wagged it.

  "But you're basically implying it—well, to me you are. He was totally hitting on you. I mean how could he not, K.J. You're so pretty. I hate you 'cause you're so pretty," she said with a playful eye roll.

  I giggled. "I think he was just trying to really get to know me, one-on-one. My dad was there, but he was too busy drinking and watching the game to really care about our conversations." I refused to tell her that I may or may not have fallen a tad bit more in love with him. That was between me, myself, and I. I didn't want to appear too desperate. After all, it was just a crush. And I was pretty sure I was being delusional.

  "You should have told him to kiss you.” Her tone was nonchalant as she shrugged and then climbed off the bed. She walked to her bathroom and turned on the faucet.

  "Yeah, right!" I followed her, pressing a hand to the frame of the door. "I don't know why I can't get him out of my head, Frank. It's been like this ever since I was a little girl. I've always been attracted to him. It's fucking weird because he's supposed to be, like, family to me."

  "He's sex on a stick, K.J. He's super successful and handsome and he gives you chocolate and notebooks. That is any woman's dream. There's nothing weird about liking someone like that."

  Hmm... yeah. She had a point.

  Someone pounded on the door and Frank turned quickly when her brother, Clay, barged in. Clay was tall, well built, and shirtless. His blond hair was damp, like he'd just gotten out of the shower. If Clay wasn't such an asshole and always grabbing his crotch to show off, I would have found him hot.

  He wasn't really Frankie's brother. They were adopted siblings and had been ever since she was six and he was eight. She was the adoptee.

  "Where the hell is the charger to my Beats Pill, Frank? Don't fuck with me," Clay snapped, tossing her pillows off the bed. He turned for the stuffed animals on her recliner next, snatching them up and throwing them on the floor.

  "I don't have your stupid charger, Clay, now get the hell out of my room!"

  "You do have it! I know you do. It goes missing every time I have a girl over and then it magically appears the next morning. I know you keep taking it!”

  Frankie marched his way, pressing her hands to his chest and shoving him backwards until he was out of the door, slamming it in his face right after. Of course, she struggled—she was half his size—but she managed. I could tell she'd done this way too many times before. They always fought and bickered. It was hilarious sometimes.

  I broke out in laughter. "You guys are nuts, you know that?"

  She locked the door and rolled her eyes, huffing as she went back to the bathroom to finish washing her face.

  While she did, I sat on the middle of her bed and picked up my phone. A whisper crossed my mind and I went to the browser on my phone to type in Quinton Cane. The first page to show up was Tempt's website so I clicked it.

  There were many pictures of new wines, more awards the company had won, and even Instagram images of people eating the chocolate, but then one image appeared as I scrolled further down that stopped me.

  It was Cane holding one of his bottles of wine in the air. It was typical Quinton Cane fashion not to smile for a picture, but nonetheless he still looked breathtakingly amazing. He wore a navy blue suit with a silver tie. His beard was trimmed neatly, the lengthier part of his tapered hair combed in perfect, smooth waves.

  He looked so handsome.

  A sprinkle of the caveman mentality and a dash of gentleman.

  The look fit him well.

  I looked through more pictures as Frankie went on about how annoying Clay had been lately, and how she had to break it off with a guy because Clay kept making threats to him.

  Her voice was mostly a buzz while I scrolled though. I was stuck on stalking Cane, loving how clean and handsome he looked in suits. Loving the times he rarely smiled, and how he took photos with his employees, like he truly cared and appreciated them. I’d witnessed his love for his employees. It was genuine.

  Later on that night, I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I kept going through my phone, scrolling to his name that was listed in my contacts.

  "I'm only a phone call away if you ever need me, little one."

  I knew it and had the urge to call, especially when Frankie fell asleep with reruns of the Kardashians on . . . but I didn't do it.

  I wasn't that bold. Plus, what was I going to talk to him about? My pajamas?

  SEVEN

  KANDY

  Around 3:00 a.m., there was a buzz beside my head. My phone was ringing. Foggy-minded and bleary-eyed, I picked it up with a groan. Mom was calling.

  "Mom?" My voice was thick with sleep as I answered.

  "Kandy, honey?" I was so tired I didn't even realize her voice was laced with worry and heavy with emotion. "Baby, I need you to wake up and listen to me."

  I rolled onto my back, running a hand over my face. "What's going on?"

  "Y-your father has been shot."

  With those words alone, my back was off the bed. I sat up right away, the fogginess clearing and the bleariness vanishing.

  "What! Shot? How?"

  "It was while he was on duty. H-he's being taken to the hospital. One bullet hit his thigh and the other pierced his neck. They said he bled a lot. I'm on my way to the hospital right now so I can't get you, but I called Cane. He's on his way to pick you up. Just be calm and stay with him, okay?"

  "Okay. I'll get ready.” I climbed off the bed and Frankie groaned, popping one eye open to glare at me with it. She pushed up on one elbow and rubbed her eyes. "Dude, what the hell are you doing?"

  I grabbed my sweatpants and tugged them on with haste, snatching up my bag next. "That was my mom. She told me my dad was just shot on duty."

  "Oh shit!" Her eyes stretched wider. She climbed off the bed too. "Is he okay?"

  "I-I don't know. She said one bullet his thigh and the other pierced his neck. She sounded worried." I don't know how I was still so calm. My heart was pounding now, beating like a drum in my chest. My chest felt like it’d been crushed by the foot of an elephant and all oxygen seemed to have been sucked from my lungs. Still, I kept moving.

  My phone vibrated in hand. I looked at the screen and it was Cane calling. I rushed to the window and saw his white Chrysler parked at the curb.

  "I'll come back for my things later," I told her.

  "Yeah, babe. It's fine. Go," she insisted, watching me rush to her door. I hurried down the hall and hustled down the stairs, swinging the front door open to get outside.

  I don't remember if I closed it behind me or not. I just remember Cane standing by the passenger door of his car, holding the door open for me, his face pale, and eyes wide with worry. I’d never seen him that way. No words were spoken on his behalf.

  I jumped in and the door was immediately shut.

  He was behind the wheel before I could even give myself a moment to take a deep breath. He pulled off, gripping his face with his free hand and dragging his palm down.

  "Damn it," he hissed beneath his breath.

  "Why are you driving so slow?" I , frowned at him and then checked his speedometer. The speed limit was 45 but he was going 35.

  He kept quiet, not looking my way.

  "Cane!" I shouted. "Hurry and get me to the hospital! I need to make sure my dad is okay!"

  He stopped at a light.

  "Drive through the light! This is an emergency and he's a cop! If you get pulled over you can tell them who my dad is! I know most of the cops here! Just go!" The tears were like fire in my eyes as I tried to fight them off.

  I wasn't in the mood for his asshole-ish ways that night. I wasn't in the mood to pretend-argue, or bicker, or do anything fun and exhilarating with him right now. I just wanted to be with my dad.

  He was shot twice. He needed me right now. His only child. His little g
irl.

  "I'm not taking you to the hospital, Kandy. Your mother told me not to."

  "What!" I snapped. "Why the hell not! I deserve to be there! He's my dad—"

  "Which is exactly why you shouldn't go," he stated, voice harsh. "He’s already at the hospital and going straight into surgery. You’d just be sitting there. Your mother has to be there for him when he makes it out.” He let out a tattered breath. “You'll wait at my place until we hear from her. She wants you with her, trust me, but she knows you’ll be better off waiting outside the hospital. I’ll take you there as soon as I get the say-so.”

  I scoffed with blazing hot tears sliding down my cheeks. "This is so fucking stupid. I need to be there with him!"

  Cane kept driving, not even responding, and when he went past the exit to get to the hospital, I wanted to fucking wail. I bit hard on my bottom lip until I tasted blood. The tears continued falling, landing in my lap, my heart still drumming.

  "You can hate me and be mad at me all you want, Kandy. I'm doing what's best for you right now," he murmured.

  "You don't even know me. How could you possibly know what's best for me?"

  "I know more about you than you think I do."

  The speed of his car decreased and he took a left turn, pulling into a gated community. He said something to the security guard at the box, something I didn't care to listen to, and the gates drew apart.

  He drove until we reached a creamy white home with a black roof. Gold lights flashed on the walls of house as well as the trimmed rose bushes in the front. If I hadn’t been so distressed, I would have soaked it all in and admired how elegant, yet simple it was, but in this moment, I didn't care about any of it. I didn't care that I was being selfish. I didn't even care about the fact that Cane and I were alone again. I needed to be with my father.

  Cane killed the engine of the car. "Coming?" he asked softly.

  "No."

  He breathed heavily through his nostrils. "You can't sit out here all night, Kandy.” He was agitated now. I didn’t care.