Breathless

“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 give 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 ass**le.

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.

This was probably the stupidest thing she’d ever done.

But hey, she wasn’t lonely now, and they weren’t trying to get in her pants or anything. And what if they did want her for sex? At least someone wanted her for something.

Dancing with Adam, the warmth and security and self-confidence, all felt a bazillion miles away.

A new bottle appeared. She recognized the label and held a hand out.

“You have any salt?” she joked.