by Susan Stoker
Quinn brought her hand up to his shoulder and massaged it gently. “How’s the arm?”
His arm? “Fine. Why?”
“You mean it doesn’t hurt? I was thinking maybe a massage would help after your long day of swinging that bat.”
Oh! He clued in. “Yeah, it does kind of hurt,” he said in as pathetic a tone as he could. He grimaced for good effect. “It’s really stiff.”
“Stiff huh?” Quinn joked, moving her hand to his leg. “I’ll have to see if I can rub it out.”
Driftwood about choked. He’d never seen Quinn this playful before. He smiled. “Anytime you want to put your hands on me, I’m all yours.”
She cocked her head at him. “Are you?”
“Yeah, Em. Just as you’re mine.”
She beamed and her fingers tightened on his thigh. “I had a good time today, John. Thanks for forcing me out of my comfort zone. I’m not saying I want to get season tickets to the Missions’ games, but today was good.”
“How do you know about San Antonio’s minor league team?” he asked.
“John, I’ve lived here for a while now. Why wouldn’t I know about them?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m being sexist, aren’t I?”
“Yup. But I’ll forgive you.”
“How was Jen today?” It was an abrupt change of topic, but he’d noticed the way the other woman had spent most of the game sitting a bit away from the group. He hadn’t mentioned it to Taco, and didn’t think Taco had taken any notice of his girlfriend at all, but he and Chief had talked about it briefly during one of the breaks in the game.
Neither of them thought Jen’s relationship with Taco would last. It was obvious they weren’t exactly compatible, but it wasn’t either of their places to tell Taco that he should dump Jen and look for someone else. Besides, actions spoke louder than words, and the fact that he hadn’t once looked over at the stands said a lot for the ultimate outcome of their relationship.
“Fine. Why?” Quinn said.
“She just looked…not as happy as the rest of you,” he finished lamely.
“That’s because she wasn’t,” Quinn told him. “She was hot and bored. And before you ask, we tried to engage her in conversation, but she seemed to be a million miles away.”
“Wonder if anything is wrong,” Driftwood mused.
“I have no idea. I don’t think she’d tell us if there was,” Quinn said. “Sometimes I think she doesn’t like us. We’re definitely not her type.”
“What’s her type?”
Quinn shrugged. “People who like to shop more than they like to sit around on a hard bleacher in the sun watching their boyfriends act like lunatics on a softball field.”
Driftwood chuckled.
“But seriously, she’s nice, if a bit clueless about when she says the wrong things, but I don’t personally have a beef with her.”
Deciding he needed to stop thinking about someone else’s girlfriend—Jen was Taco’s to deal with—Driftwood said, “I thought we could stop by your place so you could grab some things, then we could go over to my house, you could shower while I made something for us to eat, then maybe watch TV.”
“Yes.”
“Yes?” he asked. “To which part?”
“All of it.”
“And…if I said I wouldn’t be opposed to you bringing a change of clothes for tomorrow and something to sleep in, you wouldn’t freak out?”
She smiled shyly at him. “I did say I’d give you a massage.”
“So you did.” He squeezed her fingers as he got serious. “I’m not inviting you to spend the night so I can get in your pants, Emmy. I just…I hate when I have to take you home. I like holding you in my arms. I liked seeing you in my bed that first night when I brought you home after your girls’ night out.”
“There may have been times when I’ve faked being asleep just so I could stay longer,” Quinn admitted.
Driftwood smiled at her. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“So, you’ll bring some overnight things?”
“I’d love it.”
“Good.”
“Can I bring my special pillow?”
“Of course.”
“And the blanket my great-great-grandmother made for me? It smells a little like mothballs, but I can’t sleep without it.”
“Anything to make you feel more at home,” Driftwood told her.
“And I’ve got this wedge thing that I put under my feet. It elevates them and helps my circulation.”
Driftwood looked over at her, trying to figure out if she was kidding. Her face was completely impassive. “Anything you need, Emmy, you can bring.”
“There’re three stray chipmunks I’ve been feeding too, and they’d be devastated if I wasn’t there to give them their nightly peanuts. Can they come?”
Now he knew she was pulling his leg. “I’m drawing the line at rodents, Quinn. But feel free to bring any toys you might have stashed in the drawer next to your bed, and of course that plant in your living room has to come too.”
This time when he looked over at her, she was grinning from ear to ear. It was the first time he’d ever seen her looking incredibly relaxed and happy. Her hair was pulled back, he could see her entire face, and entire birthmark, but she didn’t seem to care. He loved it. Loved her.
Whoa.
Was that true? Was it even possible so fast?
Fuck yeah, it was.
Driftwood had a feeling he’d been half in love with her before they’d even officially started dating. It wasn’t surprising to realize he was madly in love with her now that he’d gotten to know her so much better.
“Of course. And I’ll have to bring my books. All of them. I don’t know what I might be in the mood to read tonight. Oh, and my slow cooker and my special chair. I’ll need those too.”
He knew she was kidding, but he wanted to tell her to bring every damn thing. That moving all her shit into his house was fine with him. But things were going so well between them, he didn’t want to make her uneasy.
“The only thing I really care about you bringing over is yourself, Quinn. You can bring or not bring anything else you want, as long as you’re there.”
Her smile went from teasing to gentle. “Thanks for being so great. I feel like I can talk to you about anything, that you won’t judge me and won’t be weird about it.”
“You can talk to me about anything,” he told her. “No matter what it is. I want to hear about your childhood at some point. I want to know your mother’s full name so I can have Beth track her down, then I can tell her how much she’s missed out on by being a douche-canoe when you were born. I want to know the name of every bully who ever made fun of you so I can have Beth track them down and I can tell them what assholes they are. I want to know when you’re happy and when you’re mad. I want to know what frustrates you and what motivates you. In short, Quinn Dixon, I want you to be an open book to me. I want to be your best friend as well as your lover.”
“Wow, you don’t want much, do you?” she asked shakily.
“I want it all,” he confirmed. “Does that freak you out?”
“Surprisingly…no. But maybe we can spread out this knowing-it-all thing a bit?” she asked with a smile.
“Yeah. Tonight, I’ll be happy with getting my massage and falling asleep with you in my arms.”
“Deal.”
Driftwood picked up her hand, kissed the palm, and concentrated on getting them back to her apartment without getting pulled over for speeding.
He walked her into her apartment complex and followed her to the small mailroom so she could grab her mail.
Driftwood blinked in shock at the mess that greeted them when they opened the door.
There were bright yellow sheets of paper everywhere. Leaning over, he picked one up and saw a Bible verse in bold black letters at the top.
* * *
Revelation 2:5
Consider how far you have fallen! Rep
ent and do the things you did at first. If you do not repent, I will come to you and remove your lampstand from its place.
* * *
Under that, orange and black flames ran along the bottom of the flier. Driftwood turned it over and saw nothing that indicated which church had placed the pamphlets all over the room.
“What does that even mean?” Quinn asked, reading over his shoulder. “Someone’s going to break into our apartments and steal our lights?”
Shaking his head, Driftwood said, “I don’t think they mean it literally.”
“Whatever,” Quinn said, shaking her head. “Someone’s really got a bug under their butt.”
“A bug under their butt?” Driftwood asked. “I don’t think that’s a saying.”
“Sure it is,” she argued. Opening her mailbox, she flipped through her letters, then threw an advertisement into the recycle bin. Looking up at him, she said, “Whatever church this is has really ramped up their campaign to save our souls. There have been a ton of these fliers on our windshields lately. I even had one on my car at the fire station.”
“You did? When?”
Quinn bit her lip and thought for a second. “The night I brought dinner for you. You guys all left for a call, and when I took off, there was a flier on my car.”
“Weird,” Driftwood said. “You see anyone around?”
“No.”
“And they weren’t on any of our vehicles?”
“Not that I noticed. But I didn’t take the time to look either.”
“Hmmm. Maybe one of the others collected them and threw them away before the rest of us saw them. I think Sledge left early that next morning.”
“Probably. It’s really not a good way to advertise. I mean, I believe and all, but telling me that God has it out for me isn’t very comforting.” Quinn wrinkled her nose and looked so cute, Driftwood just wanted to kiss her.
“Come on,” he said. “I stink and need a shower.”
“I wasn’t going to say anything, but…” Quinn teased.
Driftwood looped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him. She screeched and tried to push away. He held on tighter and shimmied a little, as if rubbing his stench on her. Quinn was laughing so hard she couldn’t talk. All she could say was “no, stop,” and “ew!”
The door to the small mailroom opened and Driftwood looked up.
Straight into the eyes of Quinn’s neighbor, Willard.
The man stood stock still and stared at Quinn.
No, he stared at her exposed face and neck. Her birthmark was on clear display with her hair pulled back as it was.
Willard stared at her as if transfixed. It was weird…and somehow a little threatening.
Moving quickly, Driftwood pushed Quinn behind him and shuffled to the side, putting as much room as possible between them and Willard. He kept his body between Quinn and the larger man.
Willard shook his head as if trying to get himself under control, then bent down and started to pick up the pamphlets that were scattered around on the floor.
Driftwood pulled open the door and made sure Quinn was safely out of the room before saying, “I don’t know what your deal is, but stay away from my girlfriend.”
Willard stood up, the yellow fliers in his hand, and stared at them without saying a word, as usual.
Not wanting to stick around, just in case Willard decided to do more than stare menacingly, Driftwood backed out of the room. It wasn’t until they were halfway up the stairs that Quinn spoke.
“Do you think it’s him?”
“What’s him?”
“That he’s the one leaving the fliers?”
“I don’t know,” Driftwood said. And he didn’t. But that wasn’t what was worrying him. It was the fact that her neighbor was so much bigger and stronger than Quinn. If he was fixated on her, and decided to make a move one night, there wouldn’t be much Quinn could do to stop him. “If he ever knocks on your door, don’t open it,” he ordered her softly.
“I won’t.”
“I mean it. He might tell you the building’s on fire or that he’s hurt and needs help. If that happens, you call 9-1-1, don’t give him the opportunity to get to you.”
“I won’t, John.”
They’d reached her apartment by this time, and Quinn quickly unlocked her door and led the way inside. Driftwood made sure it was locked behind them and went straight to one of the windows in the living room. Looking out, he saw that there was no fire escape, and there was a small bag sitting below the windowsill.
“It’s an emergency ladder,” Quinn said from behind him. “I took a safety class for single women at the hospital and they suggested everyone have one of these. Since I’m only on the second floor, it’s long enough for me to get out if I have to.”
Driftwood nodded. “Good. It’s perfect.”
She walked up to him and straight into his arms without hesitation. He wrapped them around her and held on tight. Neither cared that they were both a little ripe from being in the sun all day.
After a moment, she said, “I’ve also got one of those glass-breaker things in my car, and a pointy doohickey I can wear on my knuckles that looks like a cat on my keychain too.”
Driftwood shivered thinking about her having to use any of the self-defense gadgets she’d armed herself with. “I’ll feel better with you staying at my house tonight,” he said.
“Me too,” she agreed.
After another minute of simply holding each other, she finally pulled back and gave him a smile. “I’m going to go pack.”
“Okay. I’ll wait out here.”
She nodded and, after giving him an assessing glance, as if wanting to make sure he wasn’t going to rush out of the apartment and confront Willard, turned and headed into her bedroom.
Driftwood’s hands clenched into fists and he paced, feeling oddly restless. If he could, he’d move Quinn into his house permanently, but he knew that wasn’t really an option, not yet. It was too early. But he loathed that she’d obviously captured the attention of the older man who lived on her floor.
Within five minutes, she was back, her hair once again falling around her face and shoulders. She’d changed into a different pair of jeans and had put on a fresh T-shirt. The hair around her temples was wet, as if she’d taken the time to wash her face. She was carrying an extremely bright flowered bag over her shoulder.
Driftwood reached for it and slung it over his own shoulder.
“I can carry that,” she told him.
“I know. But I’m here, so you don’t have to.”
Quinn rolled her eyes at him and Driftwood relaxed slightly. He’d been afraid she’d be weirded out after the odd confrontation with her neighbor.
Driftwood smiled at her. “Need to protect those hands. Can’t have you getting tired before I get my massage.”
She beamed back at him. “No worries, I’m a professional.” She flexed her hands. “I’m good for at least a five-minute massage before these babies get tired.”
Barking out a laugh, Driftwood realized that seeing her relaxed went a long way toward making him feel the same. “Come on, Emmy. I’m exhausted and could use some quality couch time with you.”
“That sounds heavenly,” she agreed. “Lead the way.”
Driftwood kept his eyes open for Willard as they went back down the stairs and past the mailroom, but he wasn’t anywhere to be seen. They hustled to his truck and once they were on their way to his house, Driftwood finally relaxed completely.
They were halfway home when he realized he’d been meaning to stop and get gas for a couple of days now. “Do you mind if we stop at the gas station?” he asked Quinn.
“Am I going to have to walk to your house in this heat if you don’t?”
Smirking, Driftwood said, “Maybe.”
“Then by all means, please stop.”
This was another thing that had been missing in his other relationships. The spontaneity. Everything had always been so planned out.
He’d always meticulously scheduled dates and the next steps in their physical relationship, following some pre-determined and socially acceptable timetable for progressing toward actually sleeping together. It was no wonder most of the time, once they’d actually had sex, things usually fizzled out quickly.
But with Quinn, Driftwood was flying by the seat of his pants. He’d laughed more with her than he had with anyone else, other than his firefighter friends, in a long time.
He pulled into a gas station and before he got out to pump gas, asked, “Do you want anything? I can run in after I pump the gas.”
She shook her head. “No, I can go in if you want.”
“It’s fine. I got it,” he replied, then pushed open his door.
He wasn’t surprised to see Quinn exit the vehicle as well, coming over to his side. “I can go in. It’ll save us time.” She wiggled her fingers at him. “Thought you wanted my hands on you.”
Grabbing one of her hands, Driftwood kissed the palm. “I definitely want your hands on me,” he told her.
“Ditto,” she said softly.
Dropping her hand and reaching for his wallet in his back pocket, Driftwood pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. “Here you go. Get whatever you want. I’ve been craving some M&Ms, if you can grab me some.”
“Regular, peanut, coconut, peanut butter, crispy, almond, or dark chocolate?”
“What?”
“What kind of M&Ms?”
“Good grief. Just plain, regular ol’ classic ones.”
She smiled. “You mean the boring ones?”
“Yup. And they aren’t boring. They’re classic.”
“I don’t need money, John. I’ve got some.”
“No. I got this.”
“John…” she complained.
“Quinn…” he retorted, still holding out the money.
“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Looking around, and seeing that no one was waiting to pull in behind them for gas and they weren’t holding anyone up, he explained, “I know that you have a job. You’re completely competent and you don’t need my money. But I don’t like you having to pay for things when I’m with you. Call me a Neanderthal. Maybe it’s a throwback to the olden times when women stayed home and took care of the kids and the house while men earned the money. I just don’t like thinking about you spending your money on me.”