by Susan Stoker
“I know you do. But what if the roles were reversed? What if I got hurt in a fire and was in a wheelchair? Would you stand by and say nothing if you heard someone making fun of the fact that I couldn’t walk?”
“You know I wouldn’t.”
“Exactly,” Driftwood said seriously. “I care about you too much to let that shit go. But,” he said quickly, seeing her discomfort, “I’m not going to start getting into fistfights every time we go out in public over it.”
“It happens a lot,” she warned him. “I can tune most of it out, and most people aren’t talking about me maliciously, they’re just curious.”
“Then we’ll educate them,” Driftwood said immediately. “The Internet has made people think they can do or say anything and not have any consequences. They don’t get to see how their words make people feel inside. They don’t understand that words have power. If I can’t protect you from hearing the shit they say, I can at least try to educate them on how to be a decent person.”
Quinn licked her lips. Then nodded.
Driftwood was relieved she didn’t argue with him over that. He knew he’d have to tread carefully, but at least he’d given her a head’s up. “And one more thing. I’m pretty hard to offend, but if you say or do anything that hurts me, I’ll tell you, just as I expect you to talk to me if I do the same.”
She shook her head and brought a hand up and rested it on the side of his cheek. “I don’t deserve you.”
“Yes, you do,” he countered. “And I deserve you.” He moved a hand to the side of her neck and gently kissed her. “Thank you for coming over tonight.”
“You’re welcome.”
“And now, if we’re done with the touchy-feely stuff, I’m starving. Chief wasn’t wrong when he said I was about ready to start chewing on my arm.”
Quinn giggled.
“What’d you make?”
“It’s nothing fancy,” she warned. “I didn’t have a ton of time and I’m not half the cook you are.”
“I don’t need fancy,” Driftwood said, not taking his eyes from her, willing her to understand what he was saying. “You made it, so it’ll be delicious.”
“I decided to make something that could be served cold, so I didn’t have to worry about trying to keep it hot on my way over here. It’s a chicken orzo salad. I noticed that you didn’t seem to be very picky, so I took a chance and threw in tomatoes, cucumbers, red onion, a few mushrooms, and olives. It’s tossed with olive oil and lemon juice vinaigrette.”
Driftwood stared at her in disbelief. “Seriously?”
Quinn bit her lip and nodded. “Is it okay?”
“Is it okay?” he echoed. “Quinn, it sounds amazing. Chief was going to make burgers for the millionth time tonight. I’ve hit the jackpot.”
She blushed. “I wasn’t sure if you’d like a pasta salad for dinner.”
“It sounds delicious. Now, are we going to stand here talking about it or are we gonna eat?”
Quinn laughed and reached for the bag. She unpacked a glass container full of the pasta and rice. She’d packed plates and silverware as well. She quickly had two plates filled with the savory food, and Driftwood could only stare at the spread in disbelief.
“You made this today?” he asked.
She nodded. “Yeah, I left work early and ran to the store to pick up some last-minute stuff. Then I rushed home and made it and headed over here. I picked it because it only takes around thirty minutes to make. I chilled it in the fridge while I took a shower and got ready. And…here I am.”
“Thank you, Emmy,” Driftwood said, feeling more emotional than the situation probably warranted. He couldn’t remember when someone had gone to so much trouble as Quinn had simply to feed him. And it was more than that, she’d talked to Chief and organized it so he didn’t eat dinner before she’d arrived. It took planning. Anyone could drop by with a bagful of fast food to share, but she’d put forth a lot of effort for her surprise.
“Don’t thank me until you’ve tried it,” she quipped.
The next fifteen minutes or so, they spoke only intermittently as the food was consumed. Driftwood thought the lemon juice vinaigrette perfectly complemented the chicken and vegetables. He was already mentally planning on making the same thing for the others at the station. He could use whatever vegetables they had on hand, he’d just have to get the orzo.
“So, I take it your empty plate means you liked it?” Quinn asked with a smirk.
“Come here,” Driftwood said. He threw one leg over the seat and patted the space in front of him.
Copying him, Quinn shifted on the seat and scooted until she was resting against his back. Driftwood laced his fingers together on her stomach and they sat like that for a couple minutes, satiated and relaxed.
“Anything interesting happen today?” Driftwood finally asked.
Quinn shrugged. “I ran into that guy we saw at the bar the other day.”
Driftwood tensed. “And?”
“Nothing. He said some shit, and I scared him off by pretending I was going to touch him.”
“Explain,” Driftwood ordered.
She sighed. “He called me a witch. I haven’t heard that one in a few years. Anyway, he accused me of being a witch and a blight on society. So I pretended I was going to touch him and he backed away as if I had cooties.”
“Probably not smart,” Driftwood said, trying not to let his irritation show. He wanted Quinn to stand up for herself, but not like that.
She sighed. “I know. But I was in a hurry and needed to get back home and start dinner. Besides, it worked. He backed up as if I were carrying the plague and I didn’t see him again.”
“That’s something,” Driftwood said under his breath.
“Or him leaving might’ve been because my neighbor showed up around the same time.”
“Willard?”
“The one and the same. Once again, he didn’t say anything, just stared at me in that weird way he has. I backed away from him the same way Alaric did to me.” She chuckled nervously.
“What is it with that guy?” Driftwood asked.
Quinn shrugged. “I have no idea. But he always seems to be around. He’s never actually said or done anything to me. But he’s always watching.”
“I don’t like it.”
“Neither do I,” Quinn said. “But what can I do? He lives in my building. It’s not like I can just move.”
No, that wasn’t practical…but why did he already want to suggest that she move in with him? He’d never had the urge to live with another woman. Not once. Even when he’d been in serious relationships in the past, he’d never come close to wanting to live with anyone twenty-four/seven. Why was Quinn so different?
“Anyway,” she went on, “that’s about it. We’re starting a new research protocol at work for dealing with burns on people’s hands. The skin on the palm of your hand doesn’t respond to treatments the same way as other parts of the body. Sophie is working on trying to find some patients to be a baseline.”
Driftwood was only partially listening. He was still processing the fact that he’d almost asked Quinn to move in with him. But the more he thought about it, the more he warmed to the idea. It would get her away from her creepy neighbor, and they wouldn’t have to say goodbye at the end of the night.
He would work his way into asking her to stay though, maybe suggest she bring over a sweatshirt or two, so when she got cold, she could put her own on instead of one of his. Or maybe she could bring over an extra set of clothes…just in case.
As he worked through different scenarios in his head, Driftwood was still only half listening to what Quinn was saying.
“Am I boring you?” she asked after a moment.
“What? No!” Driftwood exclaimed.
“You’re quiet,” she observed.
“I’m still thinking about your creepy neighbor,” he admitted.
Before she could reply, and before he could blurt out an invitation to move in with him,
the tones indicating a call rang out from inside the firehouse.
“Shit,” Driftwood said, immediately standing. He listened for a second as the dispatcher explained they were being sent to a multi-car accident. Knowing that meant they’d most likely be taking all three trucks, he turned to Quinn.
But she was already standing next to him. “Go,” she ordered. “I’ll clean this up. Unless…am I allowed to be here when you guys aren’t?”
“Of course. I’d ask you to wait, but I don’t know how long I’ll be,” he told her with regret.
“I know. It’s fine. You’re working. Go. Someone needs you.”
Relieved that she understood—he’d dated a couple women who’d never grasped that when the tones went off, it meant he had to go and didn’t have a timetable on when he’d be home—Driftwood gave her a hard, swift kiss. “Text me when you get home.”
“I will. Go.”
He nodded and turned to hurry back inside to put on his bunker gear and roll out.
Quinn took her time washing the glass dish their dinner had been in. After she’d done that, she cleaned the other dishes in the sink as well. She wiped off the counters, then she picked up the shoes around the room and lined them up against the wall. She folded the blanket that was lying in a heap on the floor next to the chair Penelope had been sitting in when she’d arrived. She tidied up other odds and ends in the large room until she had nothing else to do. She’d stalled in the hopes that John and the others would be back before she had to leave.
Admitting that it was time for her to go, Quinn reluctantly picked up the bag with the dishes from their meal and headed for the door. She knew protocol was to keep the door unlocked, but it felt weird to leave it that way. Anyone could just waltz on in and help themselves to whatever they wanted.
The fire station wasn’t in a bad area, but still.
Quinn headed to her car—and was surprised to see a flier stuck under the wipers of her Corolla. It was the same pink color that had been on all the cars at her apartment when she’d been with John. Before she got in, she picked up the paper and saw that it was a religious flier. REPENT, it proclaimed, with a picture of Jesus pointing his finger toward the reader.
Rolling her eyes, Quinn crumpled the pamphlet and threw it into the passenger seat of her car. She’d throw it away when she got home.
The trip back to her apartment complex didn’t take long since there wasn’t a lot of traffic. Quinn parked in her assigned spot and climbed out.
She walked quickly to the lobby and breathed a sigh of relief when the door closed behind her. She’d definitely been watching too many crime shows, because lately, she felt as if she was being watched all the time.
Shaking her head, Quinn headed for the stairs—only to stop short when she saw Willard coming down. She considered taking the elevator instead, but that would be way too obvious. She refused to show weakness. Lifting her head, and trying to look braver than she felt, Quinn looked Willard in the eye as she approached.
As usual, he didn’t say anything, simply stared back at her.
Suddenly sick of him scaring her all the time, Quinn said, “Leave me alone, Willard. I’ve never done anything to you. You have no right to stare at me all the time.”
Her words seemed to bounce right off him. He didn’t respond…and actually stopped walking down the stairs.
That wasn’t the reaction she was looking for. She’d been hoping he’d tell her he wasn’t staring at her. That he meant her no harm. That he didn’t mean to make her nervous. But instead, he just looked at her without saying a word.
Jogging up the stairs past him, Quinn pushed hard on the stairwell door and practically speed-walked down the hall to her apartment. She unlocked her door in record time and slammed it shut behind her. After locking it, she felt better…and a little silly.
It wasn’t as if Willard had made any move toward her whatsoever. He’d simply been going down the stairs.
But then she recalled what he was wearing. He had on a black T-shirt with orange and yellow flames on the front.
Was it a coincidence that the flames reminded her of Hell?
Shivering as if she’d just had a brush with death, Quinn rushed into her bedroom and shut the door behind her. Locking that one as well, she collapsed on her bed. She’d planned on watching some television, but her mood for that had waned.
She quickly changed into her pajamas and climbed under her covers. She grabbed her iPad and pulled up the messaging program. She shot off a quick text to John, letting him know she was home, then clicked on a solitaire app. It was mindless, and always did a good job of helping her turn off her brain.
Chapter Six
The next weekend, Driftwood knew Quinn would rather be sitting at home relaxing, but she was making an effort to be more outgoing for him. A part of him was concerned that she felt like she needed to, but another part was flattered that she was doing what she could to make friends with the other women and his friends.
“If you don’t want to go, I can take you home,” he told her for what seemed like the hundredth time.
“I want to go,” she told him. “It’s just a softball game. I’ve heard about this battle for a while now. I need to see it with my own eyes.”
Driftwood wanted to protest that it wasn’t just a softball game. It was firefighters against law enforcement personnel. It was a “thing.” Bragging rights were at stake. It was a huge fucking deal. But he knew she’d think he was crazy if he said that. So he simply smiled at her. “I hate that you feel uncomfortable.”
“John, every time I step out of my apartment, I feel uncomfortable. When I’m at a red light and notice someone looking at me from the car next to me, I’m uncomfortable. When I go to the grocery store, walk around the hospital, or do just about anything that puts me in contact with others, I’m uncomfortable.”
Driftwood’s stomach clenched.
“But I’m trying harder not to let it rule my decisions. Being with you is teaching me that I’ve been letting my life pass me by. I’m trying to get better at not letting what others do or say affect me. All my life, I’ve been made fun of and teased. Even if I decide to get the laser treatments, I’m always going to have this mark on my face. It stinks, and I hate it, but if I want to be with you—and I definitely want to be with you—I’m going to have to suck it up and deal with it.”
“Wrong,” Driftwood said, reaching for her hand. “All you have to do to be with me, is be with me. I don’t give a shit what close-minded people say or think. I know you, Quinn. You’re a remarkable woman who had a horrible mother and a not-so-great childhood, which makes the person you’ve turned out to be all the more mind-boggling.”
She gave him a small smile. “Thanks. I want to be the person you see. And the more I’m around Sophie, Adeline, Blythe, and the others, the more I realize that my life hasn’t been so bad. We all have demons, it’s how we deal with them that lets us really live. This game is important to you, so it’s important to me too. I want to cheer on my boyfriend and watch him kick some cop ass.”
He burst out laughing. “No one is kicking anyone’s ass, Emmy.”
“You know what I mean,” she grumbled, but with a twinkle in her eye.
“Come here,” Driftwood ordered, squeezing her hand as they stopped at a red light. She leaned toward him eagerly.
He gave her an all-too-brief kiss before saying, “No more of that. I have a game to play.”
“How about some incentive?”
“What’re we talking?” he asked.
“Hmmmm. For every hit you get, you get a kiss.”
“I like that. What about a double?”
“Is that if you make it to two bases with one hit?”
He chuckled. “Yeah.”
“If you get a double, then I think it’s only fair you get to second base with me.”
Driftwood felt his cock stir. He forced himself not to shift in his seat. “And if I get a home run?” He divided his time between looking a
t the road and glancing over at Quinn.
She was blushing, but she said almost nonchalantly, “Then I’ll have to see about letting you round the bases at home too.”
He almost drove off the road. They’d fooled around a bit when they’d snuggled on his couch or hers, but nothing too hot and heavy. The thought of getting to see her perfect tits without her bra on or getting to see what she looked like when she came was almost overwhelming.
“I have a feeling I’m going to have the best game of my life today,” he said. “With that kind of incentive, how could I not?”
Quinn giggled and Driftwood loved the sound. It was times like this, when she forgot all about her birthmark and was simply being who she was, that he loved the best. She forgot to be self-conscious. Forgot that she didn’t look like everyone else. She was just Quinn Dixon. An incredible and beautiful human being.
He pulled into the packed parking lot and they both climbed out. Driftwood slung his bag over his shoulder and put his hand on the small of Quinn’s back as they walked toward the field they’d been assigned for the morning. There were three other games going on at the same time as theirs. Three other fire stations were playing today against various branches of law enforcement. There were no tickets necessary to watch, but all proceeds from the sale of snacks would go toward charity, and donations were always accepted as well.
They walked toward the bleachers and it was easy to pick out exactly who he was looking for. Adeline’s black lab and Penelope’s donkey were hard to miss. He steered Quinn in their direction and was happy when she was greeted warmly and loudly by not only the firefighters’ women, but most of the police officers’ women as well.
“You good?” Driftwood asked in Quinn’s ear.
She smiled and nodded up at him.
“Damn, all I’m going to be able to think about is getting a fucking home run,” Driftwood grumbled as he felt Quinn’s hands rest on his hips.
She giggled once more. “Then get to it,” she told him.
“You’re killing me,” Driftwood complained good-naturedly. Then he kissed her and turned to head to the dugout.