Big Girls Get the Blues (7 page)

“No way,” crooned one of the completely ineffective muscle bound bouncers.  “The po-po a
in’
t go
nna
to arrest someone just for being in a tussle at a titty-bar.”

Okay, now to show my hand to these fuck-wits.

“My name is Quinn Thomas, and I’m on leave from the PPD.  I’m a detective in vice, and I have friends in every department you can name.”  The room became suddenly very quite.  I saw more than one jaw drop, and there were a few muffled f-words.  “And I most certainly can get the hard working police officers of this fair city to handcuff you, drag your asses downtown, and put you in jail.”

I glowered at all assembled, and then
turned and held out my hands to the dripping wet not-so-Frisky-Kittens jumbled on the floor.  I helped them up onto their feet and then turned back to the assembly. 

“So I hope you’ll get a grip, use the sense god gave you and fucking behave.  Or you’re not only going to lose your job, but get a criminal record to boot.”  I glanced around at the more tense members of the assemblage.  “And I imagine some of you have a record all ready.  Just think what kind of mess you could get yourselves in if you were arrested again.  And fully processed.”

I stalked toward the crowd and they parted like the red sea.  I walked out to the bar area and surveyed the damage.  The place wasn’t in too bad of shape…besides the front table and chairs.  So I looked over the patronage.

There were three customers.  And they were all at the same table.  They were young college types—most assuredly too young to be drinking the beers before them.  And they all had the same shit eating grins on their pimply faces.

“When’s the next wrestling match?” one of them yelled over to me.

The other two chuckled, and then one of those two said, “Oil them down first this time!”

I walked quickly up to the table, grabbing the baseball bat Teddy or Bev kept behind the bar.  The second they got a gander of the bat, and the pissed look on my face, the three sprang from their chairs and raced for the front doors, throwing curses back at me, but not slowing down one bit.

I followed slower, and when I got to the doors I threw the dead bolt and flicked off the marquee lights
. 

Closed…

Thank fucking god…

And tomorrow’s another day?

Shit…

I ran my hands through my hair and groaned.  I was going to have to call Teddy tomorrow and check out the Obsidian Butterfly’s story.  And then I was going straight over to Bev’s apartment. 
I couldn’t give her anymore time and space.  I needed her here to run the place while I kept an eye on the new talent, and her crew.

That and I was twitchier than a cat in a room full of bulldogs.  I needed to see her.  I needed to touch her too. 

I could do it.  I could talk her into coming back to the club, and talk her back into bed with me.

Riiight….

No problem.

Bev

Quinn lived about
a
ten minutes drive from the club, halfway through Bloomfield.  He lived in the bottom apartment of a small shotgun style house that had a postage stamp front lawn and faded yellow siding.

I hadn’t been going to come here.  I’d decided last night when I’d gotten my shaky butt home that I would never speak to Quinn again.  It was one thing to sleep with the man and be able to let him go—because he is going to go.  That’s what stunningly gorgeous men do.  They might try sleeping with the…with girls like me, but in the end, they went off into their happily ever after with the skinny, beautiful girls. 

And that wasn’t me.  Sure I could put on makeup and strap myself into a tight little outfit with
fuckme
heels, but I’d never be beautiful, and I’d never be thin.

But he’d found the scar.  I’d worked hard to put that all behind me, and I wasn’t going to dredge that shit up again, not for any reason.  And Quinn had seemed so hell bent on talking about it.  He wouldn’t just give up on it
; h
e
’d
hound me until I
finally
gave in and told him my whole, pathetic life history.

And then when he left he’d have more than just my heart, he’d have a chunk of my soul too.

Fuck that…

But for some masochistic, brain dead reason, I was walking up the red brick path to Quinn’s door.  I heard some birds singing, and a dog off somewhere barking its fool head off.  And I could hear my heart beating like a demented beat-box from hell in my ears. 

I was only a few steps from his front door when my feet just stopped. 

This is so stupid!  Turn around! 
 

But just then the door to Quinn’s apartment opened and he started to walk out, a paper bag in his hands.  He stopped when he saw me, and a tentative smile bloomed across his handsome face.  Good god he looked good in his leather jacket and yet another dark colored silk shirt.

“Do you even own a t-shirt?”

His eyes—those damn drowning deep, melted chocolate brown eyes—went soft and warm.  “Yes.”

Bastard…

He just stared at me for a few beats, and then he took a step closer.  “I was just about to drive to your place.”

Really?!?!

I stamped down on my excitement.  “Why?”

His eyes roved downward in a coy gesture, but I could tell he was checking out my legs.  I’d dressed as I usually dressed—the loose jeans and t-shirt banished back into the back of my closet again.  So I was wearing a short leopard print velvet skirt and a
black lace top that showed off my shoulders, but only gave a glimpse of my cleavage.
  But he couldn’t see my shoulders yet, I had on a denim jacket to stave off the mid October chill.

Okay, so I dressed for more than just talking to the man.  I’d even stopped at the drug store and picked up some extra large condoms.  I’d noticed the condom he had on that last time was a little snug.  So if something were to…

Yeah, so I wanted to sleep with the gorgeous, heartbreaker one
more
time.  Sue me!  Even after he’d found the scar, even though I knew it wouldn’t last, I still wanted him to be mine one last time.

And then I would cut my losses and move on with life.  There were still about ten gazillion bars, strip clubs and restaurants to apply at, and about a hundred hotels.

When Quinn’s eyes came back up to my eye level, they were smoldering.

Oh, that’s why.  Well, at least we were on the same page.

That is if he was telling me the truth?

“I was coming over with a bribe,” he said, shaking the paper bag in his hand. 

“What’s in the bag?” Probably some skimpy under wear, or some shit like that.  Men always bought women what they wanted to see them in, not what we wanted to wear.  And usually it was an outfit we could never wear outside the bedroom…or for very long.

“The best burger you’ve ever eaten in your life.”

Oh…

“Thanks
.”  I shuffled my feet in my high heels and pulled my denim jacket to me a little more.  It was cold.

Quinn saw me shiver and stepped back into his apartment again.  “Want to come in?  I can fry up some fries to go with the burgers.”

I nodded and started toward his front door.  He didn’t exactly move out of my way, so I had to get physically pretty close to him to enter his apartment
, a
nd being that close filled my senses with him.  The size of his body, and the heat he gave off—or maybe that was just the heat of his
apartment
?
  Whatever it was, it felt good.  And there was that heady mix of leather and silk.

And then there was the scent of the burger he had in his hand.  It smelled…amazing.

“I can’t stay long,” I lied.  I had nowhere on earth I’d rather be.

“Just a burger and fries
…
and then we need to talk.”

I froze on the spot.  I felt my entire body stiffen.

“About the club,” he continued hurriedly, obviously spotting my distress.

I took another step inside, and then another.  “I’m still not coming back.”

“First eat the burger I made you, then we can talk.”  I could hear the smile in his voice.

I walked ahead of him, looking into the sparsely furnished living room, and then headed back to where the kitchen would probably be.  It was a nice, big kitchen, and from the assortment of pots and pans hanging over the center island, I took it Quinn not only could cook, but did it often.

I took a seat and he set the paper bag he’d been holding down in front of me.  I watched cautiously as he shrugged out of his leather jacket and draped it across another stool at the island.  Then he pulled a shallow frying pan from the assortment over our heads, pulled a bottle of olive oil out of a cupboard, poured some in the pan and switched on the burner.   It was a gas stove, and the pilot light clicked a couple times before the bottom of the pan was swathed in blue flame.

I opened the top of the paper sack and saw a sandwich sized Styrofoam to
-
go
container.  He’d swiped it from the club.

The club
?
W
hy was I not even calling it by its name in my head?

Because I really, really missed it, and if I let myself think the name, I might go back against my better judgment.

I pulled out the container and opened it up.

Oh…ohmygoodness…

The burger certainly did look like the best burger I’d ever eaten.  A toasted Kaiser bun, a thick, juicy, perfectly charred meat patty, onions, mushrooms, a sprinkling of shredded lettuce
, melted Monterey jack cheese, and, by god, bacon!  He’d even left the condiments off.  Single packets of ketchup, mustard, mayo—Hellman’s!—and relish; also a zip-lock baggy with some dill pickle chips.

My mouth watered, and the amazing aroma of it all had me close to tears.

Quinn pulled some frozen French fries out of the freezer compartment of his fridge and they made hissing sizzle sounds as he dropped a couple handfuls into the already hot oil.

He waltzed over and pulled a second container out of the paper bag, opening it up to show an exact replica of my burger inside it.

How had I missed that?

You’re in enemy territory, don’t sweat the little stuff. 

I looked around the kitchen as I took a deep breath. 

Keep your eye on the biggest threat.

And that threat was smiling at me as
he
started putting condiments on his burger.

Turned out we liked everything on our burgers, condiment-wise.  He stopped to lean over and give the fries a shake, and then covered his burger with the dill pickle chips.

At least we didn’t have the
exact
same tastes.  I squeezed the relish packet on my burger, but opened the baggy of pickle chips to munch on
,
on the side.
  I shrugged off my jacket and hung it on the back of my seat.  Quinn eyed my bare shoulders with undisguised hunger.

He took a big bite of his burger and then got up and got out two dinner plates, pulled off some paper towels and lined each one, and then pulled the frying pan off the burner and used a pair of tongs to
remove
the fries out of the oil.

“They’re hot,” he said in a voice that insinuated I was a child, and set the plate before me.  He also set a bottle of ketchup down, and a plastic soufflé cup of ranch dressing as well.

“Someone’s been ratting me out,” I said indignantly, yet pleased.

“I’ll never tell,” he teased, and then looked grimly down upon my untouched burger.  “Eat.”

It all smelled so freaking good, and all I’d had before leaving my apartment had been a Nutrigrain bar.  Not that I was on a diet
;
they were an easy, non-messy thing to grab and eat on the run.

“Want to get me something to drink?  Just in case I choke on your dried out burger.”

Quinn glowered, but dutifully got up and grabbed two cans of Coke from his fridge.  He sat down and plopped one down in front of me, pulling back the tab and opening it for me.

“Just in case you’re too debilitated.”

I smiled.

I finally wrapped both hands around my burger and lifted it to my mouth.  It was nice and heavy, a good half pound or more of ground meat.  It dripped down into the to-go container, and the scent was pure heaven.

I took a tentative bite, even though I was starving and would have gladly chewed on a rhino’s ass.  I had to yank Quinn’s chain just a little.

That one bite was like fireworks in my mouth: juicy, delicious, textured and to die for.  I took a much bigger bite and started chewing in earnest.

Swallowing I said, “
That’s the best thing I’ve ever had in my mouth!”