Fireworks: A Holiday Bad Boy Romance (58 page)

She crossed her
arms tightly. "Well, aren't you just full of career advice," she
said.

"Come on, I'm
just trying to help. I mean, you've quit college and are searching for
something to do. You should at least think about it."

"Think about
it? As if I'm not thinking about my own future? As if I'm just waiting around
for someone to tell me what to do?"

I could not
believe what a detour our conversation had taken. I dug my fingernails into the
steering wheel and kept going. "You're back living with your parents and I
know that's not where you really want to be, no matter how great they are
being. It was just a good idea."

"Naturally,
it’s a good idea because you came up with it," she said. "There's no
way I could ever look at my own life and make my own decision, is there? That
would just be crazy."

"Whoa, this
conversation is what is crazy," I said.

Quinn stopped
talking to me.

I drove into the
parking ramp behind Caesar's Palace and started circling the levels for a
parking space. Her glow was gone and, in its place, her chin was rigid. By the
fourth level, I realized I had not even asked her what she had in mind. Her
father had said she was studying for something, but I had forgotten to ask.

"Quinn, I'm
sorry. I was just making an observation. You were amazing out there and you
probably saved that man's life. Could you ever see yourself doing that for a
living?" I asked.

She softened as we
finally found a parking spot and I turned the car off. "I'm sorry too. I'm
just sick and tired of people making decisions for me. And this is a huge
decision, one that I'm really proud of, so I want to make sure that it is all
mine."

I said a quick
prayer that she was not leaving to go abroad and then asked, "So, when do
I get to hear all about it?"

Quinn laughed.
"Well, I'm annoyed because you already pretty much guessed it. I've been
taking my EMT training course. I'm ready to take the certification soon. That
EMT gave me his card so I would know a good company to sign up with once I got
my certification."

I leaned my head
against the steering wheel and just barely missed the horn. "As if I
didn't feel like a jealous idiot before," I said. "Here I am giving
you sage advice about a career you are already pursuing. Is this what life is
going to be like from now on? You always one step ahead of me?"

"First one to
the room wins?" Quinn asked. She jumped out of the car.

I caught her by
the trunk and pulled her into a swift kiss. "That is for saving a man's
life and this is for making my life extraordinary."

"What, no
kiss for saving you from jail?"

"Sure, but I
don't think your father and I are on kissing terms quite yet," I said.

She laughed and
pulled out her rolling suitcase. "Wait, before we go in, what did you want
to talk to me about?"

"What?"
I was suddenly very careful about checking the zippers on my luggage.

"In the car,
before I made you stop. You were saying something and it sounded kind of
important. What did you want to talk about?" Quinn asked.

"Oh," I
said. "I just wanted to know if you want to join me for the competitor’s
cocktail hour later on. I know you said you changed to the fun tournament, but
you can come as my date."

"I'd love
to!"

I followed her
light stride into Caesar's Palace and into the opulent lobby. I could not spare
the marble statues a single look. All I could think about was Quinn. It was
crazy, but she still did not know how much I loved her. I had almost proposed
in the car, but she still smiled at me the same as she always had.

It was a relief when
my clan members materialized out of the crowd near the registration counter.
"Did you hear?" Artemis asked.

Alan shook his
head. "Of course he didn't hear. He's been a little busy."

"Oh, then let
me, please?" Tony asked.

Milan pushed him
aside. "No, this is just too good. I'll tell him."

"Tell me
what?" I asked.

"Anya has
been barred from playing," Artemis, Tony, and Milan said together.

I turned to Alan.
"What are they talking about?" I asked.

"Turns out
the Green Witch Ayaan is known for more than just her shady plays against our
girl Arrowa, here," Alan said. "She was cited by the tournament
organizers as 'play that does not befit the tournament spirit.'"

"She went on
a tirade about the freedom that
Dark Flag
permits and how that is the whole point of the game," Artemis said.
"Really, it just turned into a wicked witch monologue. Ended up sounding
like some serious jealousy."

"She railed
against you as limiting the game's potential with your moralistic overtones and
clan hierarchy," Alan said. "Some people agree with her, but the
major consensus is that
Dark Flag
has
turned out to be a mirror for what we wish society to become, not the way we
fear it is heading."

"Don't
worry," Milan said. He patted my cheek. "You came out looking like a
hero."

"Still,"
I said. "I hope it’s enough to off-set the whole police arrest
thing." The night flashed through my memory again and I reached for
Quinn's hand. All I cared about is that she forgave me and we could move past
it.

Quinn squeezed my
hand. "It’s a great story now," she said. "The hero betrayed by
someone close to him, tricked by a beautiful but underhanded rival, and finally
cleared of all wrongdoing."

"By a true
savior," I said. I pulled Quinn close to me and kissed her on the lips.

"Well, it’s
about time," Milan said.

"Oh, I'm so
glad! Didn't I tell you, Alan? I told you," Artemis said. She elbowed Alan
sharply in the ribs.

"I know, I
know," Alan said. "I mentioned the whole jealousy thing. It’s not
like Anya was the only one that noticed how Owen looked at her."

Quinn buried her
face in my chest. "Her?" she asked. "I'm standing right
here."

"Yes you
are," I said. "Clan, I think it is about time I introduce you to my
girlfriend, Quinn Thomas."

Their good-natured
jokes and comments faded. The whole gold spectacle of the Caesar's Palace lobby
faded too. For a moment, there was just Quinn and I.

I held my breath.
I should have discussed it with her before, but it just seemed right. I hoped
it was right. I hoped for more, but this was the first step and I did not want
to stumble over it.

"I'll just go
get my room key," Quinn said. She waved to everyone and went off to the
counter.

I played it casual
and chatted with the other players for a few more minutes and then caught up
with Quinn as she headed for the elevators. Somehow, in the immense hotel full
of people, we managed to get an elevator all to ourselves.

"Too
much?" I asked. "I know we didn't talk about it, but now at least you
know how I feel."

Quinn shook her
head. "Owen, this is a big tournament for you and the last thing I want to
do is get in your way. Whatever we are does not have to be part of your public
image. I know you fought hard to get where you are and I don't want to cause
any controversy for you."

I dropped my bag
and took both her hands. "That's all in the past. And now that you are
moving on with your career and
Dark Flag
as your hobby, there is no reason why I can't tell everyone who you are and
what you mean to me."

Quinn went still,
her hands warm in mine. "What do I mean to you?"

I had to kiss her
three times before the words would come. "Everything," I said.
"Quinn, I love you."

The look in her
chocolate brown eyes melted all my fears. Quinn reached up on tip toe and
kissed me again. "And I love you."

I had just wrapped
my arms tightly around her waist to delve deeper into the kiss when the
elevator doors opened.

"There you
are!" a voice called.

Mr. And Mrs.
Thomas appeared. "We were just knocking on your door. I thought you would
have checked in by now. Don't you have a game to be getting ready for?"
Mrs. Thomas asked.

"We don't
really know how these things work, but we read the schedule," Mr. Thomas
said. He shook my hand. "Seems like you're top billing on a lot of the
events."

"See, I told
you he was a professional gamer," Quinn said.

"Quinn told
me the story about you and the little white chapel," I said. The words
just jumped out and I could not take them back.

Mrs. Thomas
laughed. "Oh, it was so romantic. Mostly because it took all the pressure
off the big to-do we had planned. It would have killed my family not to have
had the big white wedding, so it was fun to run off on our own right
before."

Quinn took my hand
and squeezed hard. "I always thought it was romantic too. I mean, you two
had planned that big wedding for months and months. You really knew what you
wanted."

I took a deep
breath. Quinn was right. I knew what I wanted and there was no reason to rush
it. We were together, our hands linked, and her parents smiling at us.

"So, I did a
little check up on your playing and it appears there are lots of bets to be
made," Mr. Thomas said. "Better get down to the book before you get
started."

"Betting
against me?" I asked.

"No,"
Mr. Thomas said, "I always bet on family."

CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR

Epilogue

I
focused on the wine-colored carpet to keep my eyes from tearing up. The bouquet
of white roses was fragrant and heavy in my hands and I turned to study the
petals as the pastor began talking.

"No matter
what family, friends, or life has planned for you, there is nothing like
letting love make the decision. It just feels right," he said. "Sure,
some people call it spur of the moment and some people say that only fools rush
in, but when I see two people as in love as you are, I know there is no room
for doubt."

I heard my mother
sniffle and I finally looked up. She was stunning in the white satin dress we
had found in a small boutique inside the Venetian. My father wore a dove gray
suit and a smile so bright he looked like a new man.

"Of course, a
few decades of successful marriage and grown children also help to remove
doubt," the pastor said. My parents laughed.

Owen laughed too.
He stood next to my father as his best man. As my parents began to renew their
vows, he winked at me and my heart soared.

Earlier, my father
had joked that Owen was funding their second Vegas wedding. It had been two
years since my father won a cool three thousand dollars betting on Owen in the
Dark Flag
tournament. Since then,
"bet on family" had become our family motto.

We threw rice as
my parents walked arm and arm down the aisle. They disappeared to have their
photographs taken outside. I moved to follow, but Owen grabbed my arm.

"I know you
have this whole big backyard white wedding plan," Owen said, "and I
love it, but we could always just get married now. I mean, you haven't even set
a date yet. The way you've been working, I'm going to have to marry you on the
side of the road or in the back of an ambulance."

"March,"
I said. "Just after your birthday. How does that sound?"

Owen kissed me,
and I could feel his warm smile against my lips.

"Where are
our witnesses?" my father called. He smiled broadly as we jumped apart.
"Come on, now, you aren't thinking about following in our footsteps, are
you? I thought you were much more independent than that."

"Oh, she is,
believe me," Owen said.

We joined my
parents outside. Traffic driving by honked congratulations as my parents posed
under the sign. Finally, we raised plastic champagne flutes in a toast.

"To family –
those lost, found, and forgiven," my father said.

"And to a
happy future, together," I said, finally feeling whole and happy in the
hot Vegas sunshine.

Click here to continue to my next book.

GRIND:
THE COMPLETE BOX SET

By
Claire Adams

This
book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are
products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not
to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual
events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Copyright
© 2015 Claire Adams

PART 1

Chapter One

Distraction

Mia

Abs and I elbow our way
to the front of the crowd. The competition is about to start and I’m not about
to let my neophyte friend go without a decent view of what’s about to happen.

The announcer comes over
the loudspeaker and introduces the first brave soul. I squeeze Abby’s arm and
she turns to face me.

“That’s him,” I tell her.

“I really don’t think
this is my cup of…” she trails off as Mike Onomato skates into view.

“Yeah, I thought you’d
change your mind when you actually saw him,” I tell her.

Mike Onomato. In the
world of skateboarding, the distinction between pro and amateur can be
arbitrary or fixed entirely. There are no weekly broadcasts of competitions, at
least not on any channel that’s going to show up in a normal digital cable or
satellite package.

Sometimes, a skater can
go straight from photo shoots and video games back to their neighborhood skate
park, never to return to the limelight again. Mike Onomato, though, he’s right
on the verge of being the next Burnquist or the next P-Rod.

It goes without saying
that he’d never be the next Rodney Mullen. Nobody will ever be Rodney Mullen.
That guy’s an alien. Seriously, he invented most of the tricks these guys are
going to do in the competition today. In fact, if it weren’t for Rodney Mullen,
there probably wouldn’t even be street events.

It’s kind of funny that
it actually took him so long to switch over from flatland.

Ah, Rodney. If only I was
a little older and you weren’t married…

“
That
is Mike Onomato?” Abs says, and I congratulate myself for
converting yet another soul to the glory that is skating. It may take a while
for her to actually care about the sport, but at least the seed is planted.

That’s all I’m doing:
planting seeds.

“Yeah,” I answer.

“You weren’t kidding,”
she says.

“If you’d actually
watched those videos I sent you, you’d already know what he looks like,” I tell
her.

“I wanted to be
surprised,” she answers, her mouth never staying more than half-closed as her
eyes move back and forth with her new crush.

I get bored with Abby’s
enthrallment—huh.—and I’m watching Mike Onomato grinding the top of a
quarter-pipe, coming out of it with a 540 shove it landed flawlessly.

I like Mike.

On the flat now, Mike’s
only got a couple of seconds, so he throws in a quick varial heelflip underflip
like it’s not even a big deal, but just as he’s about to come down, there’s a
touch on my shoulder and I instinctively turn, missing the landing.

I only know that Mike
Onomato stuck it by the response of the crowd, and I’m looking at a guy I’ve
never seen before.

“How are you doing?” he
asks, looking Abs in the eye and me noticeably lower than that.

I cross my arms over my
chest and turn half away from him.

“What do you want?” I
ask.

“Hey there,” Abs says.

“Okay, so
you’re
the nice one then,” the guy says,
pointing to Abs.

While Abs is saying,
“We’re both nice,” I’m saying, “Neither one of us is the nice one.”

“Yeah, well,” the guy
says and claps his hands together, “I’m Ian. You two fans of skating?”

I turn back toward the
street course, though I can hear Abby and Ian’s conversation well enough. “You
two fans of skating?” Moron.

“I had no idea the women
around here were so attractive.”

“Oh, stop it. You’re just
saying that.”

“I’m serious.”

“Are you from around
here?”

Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

Kyle Law and Ray Vasquez
finish their runs and I’m getting sick of all the chatter behind me. We’re not
here to talk to guys; we’re here to watch the street competition.

I turn around, grab Abs
by the arm, and say something about needing a bathroom.

Abs tries to turn, to
free herself, but my grip is firm.

“I’m sure we’ll see you
later!” Abs calls out.

“What are you doing?” I
ask, not breaking pace, my fingers still clamped around Abby’s forearm.

“What?” Abs says. “He was
kind of cute.”

“He was annoying,” I tell
her and, when we’re finally well out of sight of the street course, I let go of
her arm.

“Jeez,” Abs says. “You
didn’t have to grab me so tight.”

“Sorry,” I tell her. “I
just wanted to get out of there.”

“What’s wrong?” Abs asks.
“I know you’re not this out of your head just because some guy came over and
talked to us.”

She’s right of course,
but I really don’t want to get into it with her right now.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her.
“That’s not going to leave a bruise or anything, is it?”

“I don’t know,” she says.
“I don’t think so. Can we go back now, or are you actually going to squat down
behind one of those trash cans?”

“We can go back,” I tell
her, “but I’m really not in the mood for social hour with every guy who starts
flirting with us. Can you live with that?”

“Fine,” Abs says. “We’ll
go to the other side of the course or whatever and we’ll watch it there.”

“And if someone else
walks up?” I ask.

“We blow them off,” Abs
says. “Can we go now?”

“Yeah,” I tell her. “I’m
sorry. I just really want you to be into this stuff. It’s kind of a big thing
for me.”

“I’ve never seen you
skate,” Abs says. “I thought it was just a fashion thing.”

“I never said I was some
big skater,” I tell her. “There’s just something about it though. I don’t know.
On the one hand, it’s very physical. It requires a lot of strength and stamina,
but it’s also subtle, artistic. You can just get lost watching someone skate.”

“You’re kind of talking
about it like a spiritual experience,” Abs says.

Well, for me, it is, but
I hardly expect her to understand that. She hasn’t even seen a full round.

“Let’s go,” I tell her.

These are the days when I
feel like I can almost see myself and grasp who I am besides the
twenty-year-old skate freak with the straight black hair and the camo pants who
still lives with her father. My life’s not a bad one, I guess, and there’s much
for me to be grateful for, but days like this
are
almost holy to me.

That’s why I don’t want
to let anything in that might ruin it.

“You can probably let go
of my arm this time,” Abs says, but I’m not listening to her. I’m listening to
the announcer, trying to make out what he’s saying through the distance and
over the noise of the crowd.

We just missed Mike
Onomato’s second run. We also missed about five other skaters, but mostly, we
missed Mike.

By the time we’re to the
other side of the street course, the cycle’s almost run through again, and the
crowd is so thick. We’re already to the final heat of this round.

“I can’t believe this,” I
mutter.

“This is only the first round,
right?” Abs asks.

“Yeah,” I answer.

“So what’s the big deal?”
she asks. “Unless Mike Last-Name-I-Don’t-Remember sucked it up, he’ll be in the
next round.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I
tell her and look back toward the street course.

I’ve seen most of these
guys before, though there are a couple of newcomers. Of all these guys, though,
Mike Onomato is the only one who’s ever been called a pro.

Still, as I look up at
the big screen showing the current standings, I’m seeing something I hadn’t
expected. Someone named Zavala is beating Mike Onomato.

He’s not beating him—he
is humiliating him.

There are a total of
three rounds whittling down the field, then a semi-final and a final round. In
this round, the top two skaters will advance, and Abs is right: Mike’s going
through, but unless this Zavala person is some kind of fluke, I don’t know if I
like the way this whole thing is about to go.

“What’s wrong?” Abs asks.

“What?” I return.

“Well, you finally let go
of my arm for a minute, but now it feels like you’re trying to punish me for
something,” she says.

I look down at my hand as
its fingers curl tightly into Abby’s arm.

When the visual processes
in my brain, I let her go and apologize, but I don’t think I’m doing a very
good job of getting my best friend more interested in what I’m interested in.
You’d think that sort of thing would have been a prerequisite for the
friendship, but she looked the part.

I know I’m not a teenager
anymore and continuing this friendship that started because Abby, who I often
think of as my own portable pop sensibility, used to dress like a skater chick
back when it was a more popular look is certainly not the easiest decision to
explain, but despite the fact that she doesn’t really care about any of the
things that I care about or always act in a way that I feel to be appropriate
or listen to me unless I’m waving something flashy in front of her face, she
gets me and that’s enough.

In the future, I think
I’ll probably condense that down to the last six words. Most people’s eyes
start glazing otherwise.