Quinn

“There’s no denying you’re hot, sweetheart, but all the pretty in the world isn’t going to make up for the fact that you’re over an hour late for your call time.”

Arching an eyebrow, I cross my arms beneath my breast. “Sweetheart?” I spit the words out like sour milk, and wrinkle my nose.

“Baby? Doll?” He shrugs and wiggles the toothpick dangling from the side of his mouth. He’s hot in a rugged way—long, brown hair is slicked back from an angular face, and his tan makes his deep set lapis-colored eyes pop. The dark fringe of eyelashes surrounding those blue orbs makes me want to pluck the curly hairs out with tweezers. Why is it men who get all the beautiful eyebrows and lashes? A long, Roman nose is almost disguised by a neatly kept mustache that curls up slightly, and sharp, angular cheekbones are lessened by the dark scruff on his chin.

It’s been a long time since I’ve paid this much attention to a man. I want to kick myself in the ass for allowing it to be this one in particular. In a short-sleeved black T-shirt that shows off brightly colored ink and a muscular arms, he’s got a masculine appeal that makes my body tingle. This is what happens when I go too long without getting laid. My libido kicks on for the first attractive male I banter with.

“I think you’ve got me confused with someone else, my friend,” I say.

He rakes his gaze over me slowly and shakes his head. “No. A looker like you would be impossible to mistake.”

Warmth spreads in my belly, and I turn up the ice to combat it. “That’s cute. You think I’m a model who’ll giggle and eat your compliments up like chocolate cake?”

“Never said that. We’re not interested in having you work for us.”

I snort. After I haul my ass down here on my only day off in God knows how long he’s ready to fire me? “Good thing you’re not my boss then, huh?” I ask.

When his mouth drops open, I laugh and extend my hand. “I’m a makeup artist. I’ll be the assistant extraordinaire to Efia Bello for the day.” I hold out my arms and give a quick curtsy as I grip the handle of my bright pink three tier case.

“I’m guessing that’s not clothing then,” he mumbles more to himself than me. “I’m sorry about that. We have a model who went M.I.A. today and you fit her description.”

“Mmmm. If that’s the way you charm women, maybe I’m not shocked she didn’t show up.” I pat his chest; he’s firm without being the rock solid that only comes from hours in the gym.

He smirks. “I wasn’t even trying just then, darling.” Pursing my lips, I shake my head no. “That one doesn’t do it for you, either?” he asks.

“Observant, aren’t you? I’m not really the nickname type.”

His eyes sparkle, and he stands a little straighter, like a predator who caught the scent of its next meal. “That’s because you haven’t gotten one from me,” he drawls.

“Hmm. There’s a thin line between confident and cocky.” I exaggerate my eye roll.

“I’ve heard that,” he says with a nod.

I bet you have. “Right. Can you show me where Efia is? I’m her relief.”

“I can.” He pauses. “I don’t think I caught your name.”

“That’s because I didn’t throw it at you,” I retort.

He studies me, and I can tell he’s not used to being shot down. It’s adorable. After giving me a small nod, he starts to walk toward the graffiti-covered wall they’ll be using as the background for the shots with the cars that make me drool. I don’t know much more than how to change a tire and oil, but I can tell from the make and models these babies are vintage.

“You’d rather I guess?”

I give a quick laugh. “I’d love to watch you try.” My name is not usual in the least.

“Oh, I like a good challenge.”

“I’m sure you do,” I say, forcing myself to play nice. I usually eat men like him for breakfast, but he’s my boss by proxy, and I’m not as unaffected by his charisma as I pretend to be. There’s something more to him than the laid back, cocksure front he puts up.

“I brought you a present,” the man whose name I realize I don’t know either says.

Efia glances up. “Oh, thank God.”

“No Rachel yet? Can you go see if you can rustle her up?” a bearded man asks.

“So I can tell her not to bother?” the man beside me asks.

“No, she was held up in a freak accident that happened on the highway. A carrot truck jackknifed and overturned. It was on the news and everything, so it’s legit.”

“Wait. A what?”

“Yeah, man. Apparently, there were carrots everywhere.” The bearded man’s lips twitch upward as his body shakes.

“Houston, that’s ridiculous as hell.”

“I know, Ollie,” he replies, grinning.

Ollie. It fits him. I tune out their conversation as I hug Efia. “Tell me what to do, and don’t let tall, tan, and cocky know my name,” I mumble.

She laughs. “You pick up an admirer?”

I roll my eyes. “No.”

“Ohhh ho ... It’s mutual, is it?”

“No,” I reply lamely. She can read me like a book, but I’m not ready to admit I’m feeling him.

“Right. I have three girls ready to go, and one girl started. We had them booked for two days, but then the timetable got shifted around and I got caught trying to play Wonder Woman.”

“Girl, you are Superwoman. I’m just your sidekick for the day,” I say with a wink.

“Thanks for coming through for me, Quinn,” Efia says quietly.

“Anytime. You know us makeup artists have to stick together.” I bump her hip. “Hello, ladies, I’m Q. I’ll be helping you out today.” They’re gorgeous in vintage dresses, peep toe heels, and extravagant hairstyles full of volume, curls, and plenty of bobby pins. Around their necks are bibs that are par for the course with makeup and expensive clothing.

“We’re doing the fifties style look?” I ask.

“Think the sixties as a base, only a little heavier and edgier for their time, while remaining clean by today’s standards.”

I mentally rifle through my Rolodex of looks until I mash one together that fits the requested profile. “I got you.”

I introduce myself to the petite brunette with coal black hair, brilliant green eyes, and full lips. Sandra and I are fast friends by the time her look is done. The deep red pops against her pale skin and adds a much-needed splash of color to the black peasant top and matching circle skirt. Proud, I move on to the next girl in line and find a steady rhythm.

***

“YOU STILL GOING TO make me guess your name?”

I glance over my shoulder at Ollie and snicker. “Seriously? I figured you’d have forgotten about me by now. It’s been a busy day.” The shot had gone on for a grueling four hours with retouches, powders, and new looks as they changed outfits. The sun had set thirty minutes prior, and we’d all packed it in swiftly. This wasn’t the best place to be at night, but the gritty background made for amazing shots.

He nods. “It has, but the photos—especially the ones I got to see taken during the sunset—were spectacular.”

“Will this go up on your website?” I ask as I snap my case shut.

“Yeah. It was time to update our look and get some new faces in. We like to have the same girls on the site and in our calendars on hand to attend out car shows. It gives them exposure and brings people in.”

“I bet. They’re gorgeous.”

“The girls or the cars?” he asks.

“Both,” I say as I grab the handle and move to walk toward my car.

“Please, let me go with you.”

I glance around and realize everyone is pairing up and pulling out. Efia had run off to meet her boo just minutes earlier. It was adorable. A year after the wedding they were still in the honeymoon stage. Between the trips to exotic locations and their busy schedules, they enjoyed hosting friends and family at their home. She’d moved in with him, and they rented out her home for the income. I love her savvy decision making skills. It seemed to me she and Edgar were the epitome of meeting in the middle.

Their wedding had been a massive, bright, and eclectic affair tailor-made for them. I admired their compromises. Some people didn’t know how to give—they only took. My mood sinks as the memories threaten to break through the barrier I keep them shoved behind. Nothing like a failed marriage to turn you off love and relationships. I’d poured everything into my marriage, and it almost stole my sanity, identity, and damn near killed my hope.

After all the years I lost sight of who I was and how to operate by myself. It’s a mistake I vowed never to make again. Love doesn’t mean unyielding sacrifice. That’s a one-way ticket to heartbreak and co-dependency. Co-dependency, a word I wish I’d known the definition of back then. When Bryan and I got together. Looking back, we were babies playing at being in love.

“You still with me?” Ollie waves his hand in front of my face.

I blink. “Yeah. If you don’t mind.”

“Where are you parked?”

“Just around the corner on Kings Road.”

“Good, I’m on the same street.”

Really, universe? We lapse into silence as we walk side by side. The sound of the wheels of my case over the sidewalk interrupts the quiet.

“So you’re a makeup artist like Efia?”

“I am, but my focus is special effects makeup.”

“Like monster movies?”

“Yes, whenever I can get a gig for it. Glamor makeup pays the bills, but my passion is blood, guts, and gore.”

He laughs. “For real?”

I nod my head. “I love it. I blame my dad. He raised me on the classics.”

“Classics?” Ollie asked.

“You know ... The Wolfman, Dracula, all the Vincent Price gems, and Hitchcock movies he grew up with. Then the eighties hit with their advances, and I knew it was what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. I used to do my friends’ and family’s getups for Halloween. It was the only time my big brother wanted to be bothered with me.”

He laughs. “You have siblings?”

“An older brother and sister. I think I was a surprise, though my parents would never admit it.”

“I have a baby cousin. It’s a tough job being an older brother type.”

I roll my eyes. “Please. I was the one covering for them and doing their math homework. I think I got the raw end of the deal.”

“Well, my cousin, Ronnie, was always hell on wheels. Still is, but now I’m not responsible for her. There are drawbacks to living next door to your family.”

I laugh out loud.

“I’m serious.”

We round the corner, and I spot my black SUV. “That’s me up ahead.” I parked beneath a street light. The rectangle sputters and dies, plunging the street into shadows as the sun gives up its control and night emerges. I’m suddenly glad he insisted on walking me back to my car. The scuff off shoes on concrete make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

“Did you hear that?” I whisper. I glance at Ollie who steps in front of me.

“Yeah, I did.” He turns to face the alley a few feet away from where we stand. Three men emerge from the alleyway dressed from head-to-toe in all black with hoods that partially obscure their faces. With my height, I’m peering up and have a ringside view. I pray to God they don’t realize that. I grip the handle of my case. The street is deserted, and my car offers no shelter, despite its proximity. They’d catch us before we could clamber inside and drive off.

I grip the pepper spray on my keychain. Doesn’t fucking help when there’s a group.

“Hey, man. We don’t want any trouble,” Ollie says.

“Give us your wallets, and we won’t have any,” the large, bulky figure in the middle growls.

“All right, man, just take it easy,” Ollie says, holding up his hands. He reaches into his back pocket and slowly pulls out a wallet.

“And hers, too.”

I fumble with the messenger bag looped across my body and dig out my black wallet. Ollie takes it from me and hands it to the thief with his fingertips.

“Keep your asses here until we’re gone, and no one will be hurt. Try to play hero, and we’ll take ourselves a prize.” His lecherous gaze turns my stomach.

Over my dead body. I’ll take a bullet to the head before I go anywhere with them.

“You won’t have any problems for us.” Ollie steps back until my front brushes his back. He reaches his hand around and grabs my hip.

Leaning into him, I clutch his plaid shirt like a lifeline as I rub the tip of my nose over the soft material, filling my nostrils with his crisp, clean scent. Right now this cologne is my favorite smell in the world.

The thugs begin to blend back into the blackness one by one. The ring leader keeps the barrel of the gun aimed at Ollie as he retreats into the alley. He stops. My knees shake and nearly give as I suck air into my desperate lungs. When did I hold my breath?

“I changed my mind. I think we’ll take a little something for the road.”

My blood pressure sky rockets as my vision blackens around the edges and my heart tries to burst from my chest. Adrenaline begins pumping through my veins. My muscles tense. Fight or flight slams into me like a two-ton wild beast.

“We don’t have anything else to give,” Ollie says coolly.

“But you do,” he replies, fixing me with a lewd gaze as he licks his chapped lips.

I scan the area, seeking out a place to run. I’d never make it into my car and get inside before they caught up to me. I clutch my pepper spray and lift it, ready to fight.

“Like I said, we have nothing else.” Ollie stands to his full height, and I brace myself.

“Take her,” the man sneers.

Ollie surges forward, wrestling for the gun, and I let the pepper spray fly. Time blurs as my brain is overloaded with fear, cries of pain, and movement. I fight against the hands grabbing at me, keeping my eyes sealed shut as I spray blindly and pray I don’t hit Ollie who I try to keep in front of me. My throat is on fire. I cough as the spray penetrates my nostrils by force. A loud pop stills all movement as if someone screamed, “Red,” in a game of red light, yellow light. The meaty sound of a bullet ripping through flesh that follows pries my eyelids open. Water obscures my vision, and it’s like looking through frosted glass.

Feet pound over the pavement. They’re leaving. I swipe at my eyes, desperate to restore more of my vision. My stomach roils as I recognize Ollie’s prone figure. A dark stain blossoms on his plaid shirt. I kneel beside him.

“O-Ollie?” My voice and my hands shake as I reach for my cell phone. His skin is pale, and an ominous hiss like a slow leaking bike tire hits my ear.

He grimaces. “I’m here. It’s hard to breathe.”

Red flags wave as I punch in 911and place a hand on his shoulder.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“Yes, I-I need help. W-we were just robbed, and my friend was sh-shot in the chest.”

“Where are you?”

“I-I’m here on King street.”

“Are the people still around?”

“No.”

“Do you know what they looked like?”

The question threw me. “I ... Tall, unkempt, dark hair. Late twenties to mid-thirties. I don’t know. It was dark, and they were all in black. Please send someone. I hear an odd sound like a deflating balloon or a tire. He’s pale.”

“Help is on their way. What’s your name?”

“Me? I-I’m Quinn Fleming.”

“And the gentleman’s?”

“Ollie ... what’s your real name.”

He gives a bark of laughter that ends with a wet cough. “Finally got your name. Oliver Hemingway.”

I repeat his name to the operator. Her steady voice is a lifeline keeping me from panicking.

“Can you tell me more about what’s going on with Oliver? Is he breathing?”

“Yes, but it’s labored.” His chest isn’t rising up and down as it should be. I’m no doctor, but I can’t help but think this is a worst case scenario. His skin is clammy, and his eyes are glazing over.

“Keep him talking, the ambulance and the police should be there shortly. I need you to find something to seal the wound at the exit and entry points. It needs to be air tight. Then I need you to apply pressure until they arrive.”

I cradle the phone between my shoulder and cheek and thank the Lord they didn’t take my case in the insanity. Pushing it onto its side, I open it with clumsy fingers. The sight of my red-tipped fingers make me sick to my stomach.

“W-what do you mean by airtight?”

“Plastic, tape, anything that can stop air from getting into the wound.”

I grab the pink, white, and zebra duct tape I couldn’t resist buying and tear off the strip, hold it between my teeth, and apologize with my eyes before I push the flannel aside and raise his T-shirt. His body jerks and he gives a hoarse cry as I spread the tape over the dime-sized hole, oozing blood.

“I-I have one side done.”

“Excellent, now you need to do the same to the exit wound.”

I close my eyes.

“Ollie, I need you to help me. I have to bandage the wound in your back, too. On three.”He grunts. I set the cell phone aside. “One, two, three.” I roll him over as tears stream down my face. Everything I’m doing to help is hurting. The silence that follows horrifies me. I work fast, covering the quarter-sized exit wound. Done, I lay him on his back as the sirens reach my ears. His eyes are closed, and I’m praying he passed out from the pain. His body is warm, but his chest ...

I shove the thoughts away, pull down the T-shirt, and lean against the wound. Closing my eyes, I count in my head as if the sirens are a storm. One-one-thousand, two-one-thousand, three-one-thousand. I hit twenty when the sound is right behind me on the street. Help’s finally arrived.

***

OLLIE

They say your life flashes before your eyes when you’re about to die. But all I remember is a jumble of actions—fighting for the gun, a struggle—the mingle of voices raised in anger and a higher pitched feminine tone full of fear, and the stink of sweat and unwashed bodies that singed my nose hairs. And then pain. A sneaky pain. It was like being hit in the stomach with a balled fist, and then realizing that hammer-like blow had caused serious damage. I was on my back, struggling to breathe in the span of distorted seconds.

The only thing I could think of was Rollo and all the time I wasted. Who would look after my boy? An avalanche of regrets damn near crushed me as I fought for every breath. I settled, fucked around, and wasted the allotted minutes I got to walk the earth, and I had to die knowing it. Only ... I didn’t die because of an angel with a sweet voice, and gentle hands that hurt like hell. Quinn Fleming’s first aid saved my life. I won’t waste that gift.

A surgeon repaired the wounds in the anterior and posterior wall of the left pulmonary artery nine days ago, but he can do nothing about the chaos in my head. I can’t pretend the world is the same for me when everything’s changed. I grip the railing and force my attention back to the petite, dark-haired woman with the pixie haircut, delicate facial features, full lips, and a bright red T-shirt that hangs off her slender shoulder. She’s always been so tiny. I liked that about Allison. She made me feel even more masculine without trying.

After a lifetime of never being taken too seriously, I subconsciously craved that. I can see the situation for what it was now. It’s no wonder it never worked out long term. We were off and on over the course of two years until Roland. We parted ways because the fighting wasn’t healthy. Three years later, we’re back on-ish. I don’t think you can call what we do dating, but it’s more than bumping uglies for pleasure.

She’s the mother of my child. A woman I once considered myself madly in love with. I think we’re both more comfortable than in love. We’re going through the motions because it’s easy and it makes Rollo happy. I never should’ve started back up with her.

Perched on the edge of the navy-blue chair, she’s holding my hand and chattering on about things I couldn’t care less about. I get out of the hospital tomorrow, and she thinks I’m going home with her. The thought of living a lie makes my blood run cold. I’ve been given another shot at this thing called life, I can’t screw it up.

I squeeze her hand. “Allie.”

She blinks. “Are you okay? Should I get the nurse? Do you need more pain meds?”

I shake my head. “No. I just ... I don’t want you to think I’m coming home with you tomorrow.”

“What?” She blinks, and her hazel eyes fill with confusion.

“I’m going to my house.”

“Of course,” she laughs. “You want to be comfortable. I can come there.”

“No.” I shake my head. “That’s not what I mean. My head is a mess. I need space and time to heal.”

“Oliver, you cannot do this to me ... to us. Not now.” Shoving her tiny fist into her mouth, she shakes her head from side to side. Her eyes glisten, and she sniffs.

“I’m doing what’s best for both of us, Allie. Trust me. It’s going to take me a lot of time to sort through the sewage leak that flooded into my skull. I’m not taking anyone along for that ride with me.”

“So you get hurt, and then fuck me?” Her eyes narrow into cat slits, and I sigh. Here we go.

“No, I’m trying to do what’s right.”

“By ditching me the first chance you get? Were you waiting for an opportunity? You’re hurt, you need someone to look after you.”

“No, I don’t.” I shake my head.

“God, you’ve always been like this! You’re why we stall out every single time. Are you afraid of commitment, or is it me?”

I close my eyes as we rehash the same tired argument. I could never explain to her, or myself, why I can’t go all in with her. I’ve never been serious about much other than my job and my son, so it was easier to place the blame on me than dig any deeper. Now it’s as transparent as glass. Amazing what a near death experience can do.

“It was never you. I don’t want you to feel like you did anything wrong. That was never the case. I told you that. I know you want an explanation, but I can’t have that conversation right now.”

“You—”

A knock interrupts us.

“Come in,” I call.

The door opens, and my heart jumps up in my throat when Quinn peers inside. “Is now a good time?”

“Quinn,” I whisper. Her name is gospel on my tongue.

“Yes.”

“No,” Allie snaps in response to Quinn’s question.

“This is Quinn. She saved my life,” I say.

“No, the paramedics saved your life,” Allie hisses.

“I can come back.”

“No. please.” I gesture her inside with a frantic wave of my hand.

She steps inside the room, and the atmosphere quickly turns hostile.

“I came by before but you were always resting, and I didn’t want to disturb you. I know how important rest is.”

“I wanted to thank you,” I say.

She holds her up her hand. “No. You saved me and you didn’t have to, so you don’t get to thank me for anything. I’m relieved you’re going to be okay.” Her voice warbles. She gives me a shaky smile, and I spot a crooked eye tooth that gives her character. I can’t help but smile at her full white skirt with a bright floral pattern, brown boots, and white tank top that shows off her elegant neck and the swell of her generous breasts. I feel like an ass as the attraction that hit me like a sledgehammer the first time I laid eyes on her returns full force. There’s something about this girl that sparks something in me. A twinge of pain begins, and I grunt.

“Ollie,” the girls’ voices join together.

“Think it’s about time for my next dose of pain meds,” I mutter.

“I’ll let you two be alone.”

“No, Allison was about to leave, and I’d like to talk to you before I lose my strength.”

“Asshole,” Allison spits. She stands, snatches her purse off the table beside the bed, and storms off. I’m used to her drama. I used to love it. Now I’m too tired to humor her and feeling ancient. I’m forty. It’s past time I got my shit together.

“I didn’t mean to piss your girlfriend off.”

“She’s not my girlfriend. That’s what has her pissed her off. She and I have a son together, Roland.”

“Oh,” she whispers.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“Me? Yeah, I ... uh, tried to help the police with a description but it’s all so damn hazy. I’m working on trying to recall more.”

“You’ve been busier than you let on,” I say, impressed.

“I don’t want this happening to someone else. Maybe next time they’ll kill them, or worse.” She shudders.

White hot rage fills me. I knew the plans they had in store for her.

“I can’t have that on my conscious,” she continues.

“Me either. I’ll help any way I can.”

She smiles. “Thank you. But for now, you should probably worry about getting well and leaving this place.”

“Ten more hours. I’m out of here the minute they say your papers have been processed, and you can leave.”

“Why, you don’t like questionable Jell-O and bland chicken?” she asks with a smirk.

I flip her off, and she laughs. The sound is deep, loud, and sassy, much like its owner.

“I’ll go and let you rest. I wanted to stop in and see you up and about with my own eyes.”

“You chase off my company, and then you leave me to be alone?”

Her eyes widen. “You said—”

I smirk.

“Yeah, I think you’re going to be fine.”

It feels good to talk to someone who didn’t know me and was there when my life was altered. No one else I’ve seen understands. My mom fusses, while my brothers chide me and congratulate me on my bravery at the same time. I mentally roll my eyes as I think of my older brothers: Harry, the doctor, and Patrick, the lawyer.

They were the responsible, intelligent, overachievers of the family. They took after my philandering father. Which left me to be the one who kept Mom’s spirits up when the rumors went from whispers to blatant open conversation they didn’t bother to quell. The only thing I knew how to do was to make her laugh, and thus began my career as the jester.

“The docs say I was lucky. Another half inch to the left and it would’ve been lights out.” The hairs on the back of my arms and neck stand on end. Saying it does nothing to dispel the absolute terror that consumes me when I think about how close I’d come to my death. How the hell does anyone get over this?

Walking over to the bed, she places a hand on my shoulder. “But it didn’t, and you’re here.”

“Yeah.” Her touch is solid, and her voice is steady and sure. I can’t help but be grounded.

“I know it’s easier said than done. I won’t disrespect you by acting otherwise. I’m still having nightmares and looking over my shoulder at every turn. Hell, I’ve signed up to get my conceal and carry.”

“Really?”

She nods. “I need to get back to feeling in control. When they pulled that gun, we were sitting ducks. My mace did help, but it was like bringing a knife to a gun fight ... no contest.”

I meet her stormy gaze and a flash of understanding passes between us. She sinks into the chair beside me, and I lay back against the pillows as I try to block out the elevating pain. The nurses will be coming by soon. I don’t feel the need to fill the space between us with small talk, and her presences isn’t intrusive. I take comfort in her until the door opens.

“Hey, Ollie, you ready for your meds?”

“I am, Tina. Thank you.”

“I’ll let you rest, okay?” Quinn asks as she stands.

“Yeah.”

I’ve never been so sad to see a virtual stranger leave before.

She walks to the end of the bed and stops. “I got Efia to give me your number. Is it okay to text?”

“Anytime.”

She studies me, and a flicker of a smile turns her plump lips up in the corner. “All right. I’ll be in touch.”

There’s a bond that comes with surviving the robbery I can’t explain. I know our lives will always be connected. My desire to know more about her outshines the physical attraction. I have no clue what the future holds for me. My perspective has changed, and things inside of me are shifting even as I watch her leave and the nurse hands me a Dixie cup with two white pills. I take the pills, wash them down with a cool sip of water, and lean back against the pillows as a wave of exhaustion hits. Eager to escape all the questions I don’t have an answer to, I embrace the oblivion of sleep.