Nick’s voice was somewhat hollow. “It’s okay.”
“He’s not usually that bold. I can’t believe he asked for your number.”
Nick didn’t say anything. Quinn wondered if he really was pissed.
That made her frown. “It’s not catching, you know,” she said.
He glanced over, and his voice was mild. “Quinn, I’m not upset about it.”
She chewed on that for a minute and wondered whether to push or to leave it.
Before she could make a decision, Nick reached out and touched her cheek. “I think you sell yourself short. You’re an amazing dancer.”
His hand was warm, and she leaned into the contact. “Thanks heaps, but you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He laughed. “I guess. But I couldn’t see any great disparity between you and him.”
“Disparity. God, sometimes it’s a wonder you and Gabriel are twin brothers.”
Nick sobered. “Why?”
“You’re like a walking SAT prep book. I guarantee if you went home, Gabriel wouldn’t even know the meaning of the word. On the outside, you’re absolutely identical, but on the inside, it’s like you’re polar opposites.”
He sighed and ran his hand through his hair again. “Trust me, I know exactly what you mean.”
CHAPTER 3
Nick threw the truck into park in the lot in front of Quinn’s condo building.
He made no move to kill the engine.
She made no move to get out.
In fact, she was staring out the windshield, clutching her sweatshirt to her chest again. The moonlight traced silver along the lines of her face, leaving her eyes in shadow. Her jaw was tight.
“Do you want me to drive you to Becca’s instead?” he said.
She shook her head and glanced over. “Can I crash with you again?”
Nick kept his eyes on the steering wheel and didn’t say anything. He’d let her spend the night once, after Gabriel had cut her self-esteem to shreds by making a bunch of cracks about her weight. Quinn had been so full of rage and self-hatred that Nick had been worried she’d go home and find a set of razor blades or something.
He’d never let a girl spend the night before.
He’d never wanted to.
He didn’t want to now.
Besides, if Michael found her there, he’d make damn sure she left, and he’d probably make it as humiliating as possible, just to be sure Nick wouldn’t try to sneak a girl in again.
But maybe sharing his bed with Quinn again was exactly what he should do, just to shake loose all the indecisions rattling around inside his head.
And she obviously didn’t want to go home.
“Please?” she whispered.
Nick let a breath out through his teeth. His thoughts felt stuck on a spinning roulette wheel, bouncing along, never settling where he expected, leaving him half-hoping it would keep spinning—and half-hoping it would stop.
Quinn read too much into his hesitation. She crawled across the cab to climb into his lap, until she was pinned between him and the steering wheel. Her hands traced their way up his chest, and she whispered against his lips. “Need convincing?”
Maybe he did.
Nick kissed her, tasting her lips, teasing her mouth with his tongue. Her waist fit between his hands perfectly, and in the close confines of the truck cab, he was very aware of every motion of her body. She was warm and smelled like sugar cookies, and it was . . . pleasant.
It was always pleasant.
Not just with Quinn—with any girl. Not great, not electrifying, not earth-moving.
Pleasant.
When he was younger, he’d thought maybe it was a maturity thing. Gabriel had barely been thirteen when he started talking about boobs and porn and whatever else he ran on at the mouth about. And of course he’d shared everything with Nick.
Nick hadn’t really cared. He’d pretended to care, because their parents were gone and he was so desperately terrified of losing anyone else, especially his twin, so he’d done everything he could to live up to his brothers’ expectations of him. He’d gone along with it, thinking that hormones would catch up at some point, that one day he’d wake up imagining cheerleaders soaping up in the shower or something.
He never did.
His imagination was perfectly content to feed him other ideas, however. Ideas that Nick shoved out of his head practically upon thinking them.
Ideas that would definitely drive a wedge between him and his brothers, if they knew.
So he kept dating girls, still hoping that one day he’d wake up with new ideas.
Sometimes he could get into it, could seek out bare skin with his hands and mouth, could let them half undress him and explore his body in the darkness. Like now, with everything cloaked in shadow and a tongue stroking his, a strong body pressing into him, fingers in his hair.
Nick made a small sound in his throat. Like this, he could pretend he was with—
Stop.
No, he couldn’t. He couldn’t pretend anything. He couldn’t even let himself think it. He shoved those thoughts from his brain and told that roulette wheel to keep fucking spinning and settle somewhere else.
Quinn must have felt the change in his body, the sudden tension, because she drew back. The inside of the truck was stifling hot. “What’s wrong?” she whispered.
Everything. “Nothing. It’s just—nothing.” He paused, trying to breathe. Him! Fighting for air! And words. He choked on half of them. “Just—you don’t need to sleep with me if you want me to help you, Quinn.”
She went still. “You think I’m trying to sleep with you so I can get a place to stay?”
He gave her a look. Her hand was still on the button to his jeans, for god’s sake. “Aren’t you?”
She shoved herself off him and grabbed her bag.
Nick caught her arm. “Hey,” he said gently. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—I’ll help you because I’m your friend.”
Friend. It was the wrong thing to say, and he knew it instantly. She was still poised to shove the truck door open, but she looked at him over her shoulder. Her eyes were so striking, even bluer than his were. “Why don’t you want to sleep with me?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Right now? Because we’re in a parking lot.”
“No,” she said quietly. “I mean, why don’t you want to sleep with me ever?”
Nick drew back and let go of her arm. He gave her his easy smile. “Maybe I’m a gentleman.”
Quinn didn’t smile back. “I know I’m not as hot as the girls you usually date, Nick.” She paused. “Are you just taking a break or something? Using me as a filler girlfriend so you have time to let the chafing heal?”
“Wow.” He dragged the word into three syllables.
“Or is this like a favor for Becca? Did Chris tell you to give me a little attention—”
“Are we seriously having this conversation?”
“No. Forget it—no.” Then she was out of the truck.
He was behind her in a heartbeat, trailing her up the steps. “Quinn. Stop. I don’t—”
“Go away, Nick.”
She was crying; the air told him that much. Crying because he hadn’t tried to have sex with her in the cab of his brother’s truck.
Irony was like a devil on his shoulder, thinking this was a grand ol’ knee slapper.
He stopped her on the top landing. Her face was flushed and damp, her blond hair wild and full of moonlight. She looked like an angel of vengeance, ready to kick his ass.
“Let me go,” she snapped.
“I know this isn’t all about me,” he said carefully.
That made fresh tears well, and she pressed fingers to her eyes. “You’re right. It’s about like fourteen different people. So why don’t you go away and let me deal with it?”
“Quinn.” He moved closer and spoke low. “Quinn. Please talk to me.”
She swiped the tears free and looked up at him. “Why do you even g
ive a crap, Nick?”
Because she was a hot mess, every emotion on her sleeve, and he admired that—no, he envied that. Because he could feel her intensity when she danced, and he craved that kind of passion in his life. Because she was trapped by circumstance, and so was he.
Because, until tonight, she’d never expected anything from him, and that was damn refreshing.
He studied her face, her eyes that had turned so furious. Every breath that came out of her lungs whispered to him about her tension, her fluttering heartbeat, her anger.
“No one wants me,” she said fiercely.
“Quinn—that’s not true.”
She got right up close to him, putting her chest against his. “It’s not? Do you want me, Nick?”
If it had been any other girl, or any other tone, he could have played along. He probably could have thrown her up against the wall and kissed her silly. But it felt like she was throwing all her cards on the table. Lying to Quinn now would be like the worst kind of cruelty.
It didn’t matter anyway. She’d read his hesitation, or maybe she’d just read the look in his eyes. She turned away.
Shit.
“Quinn. Quinn, stop—”
She whirled. Her hand flew.
She didn’t slap him. She punched him. Hard.
Before he could get it together, she was shoving her key into the door at the top of the steps and then slamming it in his face.
And Nick stood there staring at the wood, wishing he could call her back.
And what would he say? It’s not you. It’s me.
Yeah. Right.
But at least in this case it was true. It had nothing to do with not wanting Quinn.
And everything to do with not wanting any girl.
Quinn just wanted to go to her room, throw her bag down, and crawl into bed.
Unfortunately, Jake was in there.
And he was entertaining. The door was locked. Quinn could hear female giggling and smell pot.
In her room.
Tears bit at her eyes. It was almost enough to make her turn on her heel and go after Nick.
On the opposite side of the hallway, her parents’ bedroom door clicked open. Her mother stood there in rumpled pajamas. She looked about as happy as Quinn felt, that is, not at all.
She’d also obviously been drinking. That scent, sickly sweet, was battling with the marijuana wafting under Quinn’s door.
“Do you know what time it is?” her mother hissed.
“I don’t know why you’re whispering,” Quinn said, sniffing back the tears. “Jake’s obviously not sleeping.”
“Well, at least he has the decency to be quiet about it.”
“I’m standing in the hallway! You’re the one who came out here to talk to me.”
Her mother threw her hands up. “I’m not starting this again.”
“Whatever.” Quinn turned away. “I guess I’ll just make up my bed on the couch.” She tossed a glare over her shoulder. “You know he’s smoking pot in there.”
Her mother’s lips pursed. “Your brother is home from college. I’m not an idiot, Quinn.”
It wasn’t worth getting her mom riled up when she was lit, but Quinn was already fired up from the argument in the stairway, and she just couldn’t keep the rage confined in her chest. “You’re the one allowing illegal activity in your home.”
“Oh, and I’m sure you were out late working the soup kitchen? Maybe you could cut the attitude.”
Her mother’s voice was devolving into mockery—with a bite. Her voice always gained this cruel edge, as if, when drunk, her sole mission in life was to eliminate any shred of dignity Quinn might be able to cling to.
Quinn wished she had somewhere she could storm off to. At least their house had a basement and a backyard; this itty-bitty condo wasn’t doing anyone any favors. “I wasn’t breaking the law,” she said.
“Oh, who knows what you’re doing anymore, Quinn?”
“I was dancing!”
Her mother rolled her eyes, like that was worse than illegal activity.
“You won’t let me take lessons,” Quinn snapped. “You should be happy I’m going somewhere free.”
“Why would I throw money at something like that? You’ve already gotten yourself kicked off the dance team at school. You mouth off to everyone. You’re ungrateful and nasty and no one can stand you.”
“Well, you’re just a bitch.”
Her mother’s eyes took on a furious gleam, until Quinn wondered if she’d come after her. Sometimes she did. Quinn would hit back. Her father usually dragged them apart.
But her mother just pointed. Her voice was a hoarse yell. “Get out of this house.”
“Where do you want me to go? I can’t walk to Becca’s now.”
“Maybe you should have thought of that before you decided to act like such a spoiled little drama queen!”
Her mother was yelling full out, now. Those stupid tears were still biting at Quinn’s eyes. She didn’t know how the woman could do this every time, just say a few slurred words and cut Quinn to her knees. Effortlessly.
Then her bedroom door swung open and Jake came out. He was shirtless and barefoot, loose drawstring pants hanging from his hips.
He walked right between Quinn and their mother, ignoring the clear cord of tension connecting them. He grabbed a box of Ho Hos from the cabinet and then a bag of popcorn, too.
When he was walking back, he smacked Quinn on the ass. “I’d offer you some, little sis, but I know you’re working on that.”
Quinn grabbed the food and tore it out of his hands. “Fuck you, Jake!” she screamed, as the bag tore and popcorn went everywhere. “God, I hate you.”
“Get out!” her mother screamed. “Get out of here!”
Quinn couldn’t move fast enough. She slammed the door behind her so hard that the little old man on the second floor opened his front door to peer out curiously.
She didn’t even spare him a glance, just swiped tears from her eyes and kept running.
She had her phone, a sweatshirt, and about ten dollars.
It was freezing outside.
God, she hated everyone.
With nowhere else to go, she ducked into the 7-Eleven at the end of the street, the one that shared a building with a rundown old liquor store. There was no one in the convenience store except the bored cashier, but the Pakistani guy must have been used to half-hysterical girls coming in late at night because he barely gave her a glance.
I’d offer you some, but I know you’re working on that.
What an asshole.
But the worst part was, she couldn’t stop thinking about those Ho Hos. How there was a box, right there on the shelf in front of her. How she just wanted to shove them all in her mouth and feel better.
Well, what else did she have to do?
Quinn took the box to the counter and paid. She’d eaten two before she made it out the door.
The chocolate, the filling, the sugar rush—Quinn felt better and worse immediately. Cold air caught the tears on her cheeks and set her face to stinging.
“Hey, baby. Time for a chocolate fix?”
Quinn paused before she could shove the third one into her mouth. Two guys sat straddling motorcycles in front of the bar. She didn’t recognize them, but they weren’t very old. Probably not high school, but not much beyond that. Dark clothes, heavy boots, cool gazes.
The one with dark hair and calculating eyes took a drink from an honest-to-god flask, then gave her a clear up-and-down. His gaze barely went north of her neck. “I like your shorts, cutie. Cold night, huh?”
She should be afraid. She knew she should. But it was so nice to have someone look at her with a shred of desire that she didn’t care. It wasn’t like anyone would give a crap if she disappeared anyway.
She licked the chocolate off her fingers. “I’m all right.”
He laughed, low and masculine and genuinely amused. “I’ll say.”
She sauntered over to
them and glanced at the flask. “Care to share?”
He seemed startled—but then he handed it over. She took a sip. The liquid burned her tongue and then her throat. She had no idea what it was, and she didn’t care.
The other one, with lighter hair and brown eyes, leaned forward against the handlebars on his bike. Despite his rough appearance, his eyes were kind—and he was actually looking at her, not just her assets. “What are you doing out here?”
“Same thing you are,” she said. “Just looking to have some fun.”
The dark one laughed. “We can help you with that.” He patted the seat behind him. “Want a ride?”
His voice promised something more than just a ride on the back of his motorcycle.
Reason smacked Quinn across the face, and she hesitated.
Then the light-haired one shook his head. “No way. If she comes along, she’s riding with me.”
And because his eyes were kinder, because Quinn had nowhere to go and no one to call, she swung her leg over the back of his motorcycle and scooched up real close to him. He didn’t smell like liquor at all—and she would know—but instead some mixture of leather and sweat and a faint whiff of an intoxicating cologne.
She didn’t even know his name, but she didn’t care. He was warm, and she wrapped her arms around his chest.
He glanced over his shoulder. “You sure are friendly.”
No. Lonely.
“You complaining?” she said.
“Not at all.” He started the ignition on his bike and revved the engine. The vibration rolled through her body and she held on, thriving on the adrenaline.
They went to Sandy Point, driving around the barriers and down to the beach. Clear trespassing. They didn’t care, and she sure didn’t give a crap. She learned her driver’s name was Matt, he was twenty, and just like her brother, he was home from college for a few days.
She didn’t like thinking of Jake, or of Nick for that matter, so when they asked if she had a boyfriend, she said no and took another long drink from their flask. A fleece blanket appeared from a compartment on Matt’s bike, and she lay back to look at the stars while her head spun from the liquor.
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