Just Say Yes (10 page)

Tim shook his head slowly. “I'm not sure I even know how to explain the way I am now.” He let out a soft laugh. “That's probably because I've never told anyone I was actually close to.”

Quinn knew he'd probably had to share his past in rehab, but the last thing she wanted to do was make him uncomfortable now. She wanted to tell him he didn't have to talk about it—that he shouldn't reveal anything he'd rather not discuss. But she didn't. The truth was, she loved knowing Tim felt close to her, that the feelings she had for him were reciprocated.

His eyes met hers as he inhaled slowly, clearly trying to prepare himself for what he was about to say. “You already know why my addiction began. But I think it's important you understand why it ended.” He sighed. “Seven years ago—the night before Thanksgiving—Scott called to see if I wanted to go to a movie with him. He was still in med school then and was home for break. I hadn't seen him in a while, so I told him I'd pick him up from our parents' house later. That summer had been my fourth time in rehab, and I was still clean in November. At least I was until my buddy Jeff called.” Tim's eyes seemed to glaze over at the memory. “Since neither of us was welcome at our family's house, he had nowhere to go for Thanksgiving eve either and asked if I wanted to hang out. I knew it was a bad idea, but I did it anyway.”

Quinn could see the regret written on Tim's face, and she wished she could erase it, wipe clean all the memories that made him so sad.

“I went out with Jeff earlier in the afternoon,” he continued, “and that was the end of my sobriety. It doesn't even matter what we did or how much.” Tim closed his eyes and squeezed the inside corners with his thumb and index finger. “I couldn't tell Scott I was too high to pick him up. He would have been so disappointed in me. It was always about me and how things made
me
feel. Never about anyone else. I realize that now. Every decision I'd made was out of pure selfishness.” Tim glanced up at Quinn, and his eyes seemed to search hers for something, though she wasn't sure what. “I picked Scott up at my parents' house, and fifty minutes later he was in the hospital with a concussion and a broken collarbone. There's no excuse for what I did. Scott was the only person who always had faith that I could turn my life around. Even our dad believed that I'd fucked up my future permanently. But not Scott. That night I almost killed the only person who believed in me.” Tim swallowed hard and let out a long exhalation, as if he were physically letting go of something that had been weighing him down. They both stayed silent for a few moments before Tim spoke again. “I lost a lot of time by being such a fucking mess.”

Quinn didn't want to make light of what Tim had just shared with her, but she needed him to see just how similar they really were. “And I lost a lot by being too together. But that's what this is: our chance to atone for the time we wasted.” Quinn shrugged her shoulders, letting the veracity of her words wash over them.

“You said your fear was that you'll never be the man you're trying so hard to be,” Quinn said as she felt their weighted conversation beginning to come to a close. “Not sure what it's worth”—she shrugged—“but I think you're already that man.”

Tim didn't respond to Quinn's comment with words, but he didn't have to. His small smile was enough to let her know that what she thought of him meant something to Tim. And from a man who didn't seem to care about what the world thought of him, that smile meant a hell of a lot.

The two cleaned up their dinner, putting the leftovers in the fridge before Tim went to take a shower. Quinn used the time to channel surf, finally settling on
The 40-Year-Old Virgin.
Though she'd seen it a million times, she lost herself in the movie, appreciating the comedy after such a serious discussion. She felt her eyes starting to droop, but she became instantly alert at the sound of Tim's voice. “I love this movie,” he said, plopping his large body down next to her on the bed.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see a glimpse of him.
Great. He's shirtless.
The fact that she'd become accustomed to seeing his naked chest when they ran together did nothing to diminish its effect now. Lying next to a barely clothed Tim Jacobs and
keeping
him that way would be a struggle. Every part of her wanted to see what was underneath—no,
feel
what was underneath those black mesh shorts of his.

He stretched out, his long legs in front of him and his hands behind his head. “Is it okay if I watch TV up here?” he asked, a certain amount of caution evident in his voice. “I'd like to avoid putting my face near that carpet for as long as humanly possible.”

“Yeah, I don't mind,” Quinn answered, sounding a bit too excited at the prospect of sharing a bed with Tim for a little while longer.

“Thanks,” he said, a goofy grin on his face as he focused on the TV. “You think this is real?” Tim asked suddenly, pointing at the screen. “I mean, not this story exactly. But do you think there are people out there who stay virgins for so long?”

Quinn didn't need to think about her answer. “Yeah, I can see how that would happen pretty easily actually. Especially for a girl. You go through high school thinking if you lose it to some random guy you'll be the talk of the school. So you wait until college. Then you decide you might as well wait until it's someone special so it'll mean something. You date somebody for a while and it doesn't work out, and before you know it you've graduated. Then you're like twenty-two and still haven't had sex. You start to get nervous about it, so you just don't do it. Then the cycle continues.”

Tim was silent for a minute before replying. “Uh . . . I'm sorry,” he stammered. “I didn't know . . .” He looked to Quinn as if he were expecting her to finish his sentence.

“Oh my God!” Quinn yelped. “You think I'm a virgin, don't you?” She was sitting up now, facing him.

Tim hesitated. “Well, I mean, I didn't think it. I never really thought about it one way or the other until now. But you gave that long explanation . . . and it made a lot of sense, and . . . I don't know what I thought.”

“It's not
my
explanation. Someone I work with did a story on this exact idea a few years ago. I've had sex, Tim.” For some reason, it seemed important that he know this fact about her. “
Lots
of it, actually.”

“
Lots
of it?” Tim raised an eyebrow so high Quinn thought it might actually meet his hairline.

Hearing Tim repeat her words made her realize their implication. “Well, not
lots
like with a lot of people. Just lots with two people. Who I was dating,” she quickly added. “I mean, not dating at the same time. I don't cheat.” She could hear how fast she was talking. “And I'm not into threesomes, if that's what you were thinking.”

“That's definitely
not
what I was thinking.”

Quinn brought her hands up to cover her face. “I should probably just stop talking.”

“Probably,” Tim agreed.

The two laughed until Quinn was able to calm down enough to relax again. “You mind if I turn out the light?” she asked. “The TV won't bother me, but I'm exhausted, and we have an early train ride back.”

“If you want, we could rent a car instead,” Tim said, smiling. “I'll pour some ketchup on the backseat and you can pretend I'm Clarabell. You know, old times' sake.”

Quinn thought for a moment. “I'm not exactly sure I need to relive that again.”

“Neither am I, actually.” Tim laughed. “Get some rest, Quinn.”

•   •   •

Shit.
Tim had no idea when he'd fallen asleep, but the fact that he'd just woken up confirmed that it had happened at some point. It wasn't so much that he found himself asleep
next
to Quinn that scared him. It was the fact that their limbs had tangled around each other at some point during the night. And Quinn's ass was now firmly pressed against Tim's erection. He liked the feeling way too much. And not just sexually. He enjoyed the smell of Quinn's hair as it brushed against his face, the steady rhythm of her heart as it beat inside her chest, and how right it felt to wake up with Quinn asleep in his arms.

But it was so
wrong
too. So he gingerly slid his arms out from around her, removed his leg from its place between hers, and pulled himself away slowly.

He felt Quinn stir at the movement. But until she spoke, he didn't know he had woken her. “Stay” was all she said.

And it was all he needed to hear.

They woke up the next morning like they had in the middle of the night: each person's body twisted around the other's. Since Quinn had taken the day off, they'd slept in, eaten the leftover pizza, and driven home in their rented Ford Focus.

Tim had expected Quinn to mention her late-night request for him to remain in bed with her, or their entwined bodies when they awoke, but to his surprise, she didn't bring it up. She just reclined in her seat comfortably, looking out the window as the world rushed past them. He wondered if she was concealing any awkwardness she felt by feigning contentment. But Tim didn't think so. It was as if the physical light of day had shed light on something they had both been trying so hard to keep hidden in the dark: that they were different sides of the same coin, neither as valuable alone as they were together. But just because they knew it didn't mean they were going to do anything about it.

Sidebar

Quinn willed her eyes to remain open as she attempted to focus on the computer screen in front of her. As she'd recently discovered, actually
writing
for a magazine required more work than just responding to readers' frivolous complaints. Of course, she hadn't been assigned anything major—other than the article Tim was helping her with. Just a quick piece on summer's latest fashion trends and beauty recommendations for transitioning effortlessly from the beach to a night out in less than fifteen minutes. She was thankful for the opportunity, nonetheless. It required a few shopping trips with the girls, a day of sun and salt water, and so much testing of various beauty products that she felt like she was more suited to be in a wire cage in a lab somewhere than in her apartment bathroom.

But Quinn loved every second of it. And as she reread her recommendations for various body wipes, dry shampoos, and lotions, all she could think was that though your face and hair might look fresh, until you showered, there was no getting sand out of—

Before she could finish her thought, her phone dinged on her desk with a text from Tim.
What are your feelings on wings?

What the hell was he talking about?
Wings?
she wrote back.
Like on a bird?

She saw him begin typing immediately, and a few seconds later his text came through.
Well, yeah, I guess at one point they were on a bird. But the type I'm referring to are on a plate and covered in hot sauce. Do you like those?

Ohhhh . . . that makes more sense lol. Yes, I like them.
She hit
SEND
but then wrote another text.
Wait, why are we talking about wings? You're not gonna add an eating contest to my list or something, are you?

Not a contest,
Tim wrote back.
I was thinking more like two friends grabbing a bite to eat at Johnny B.'s. Have you been there? They have wings for 25 cents on Thursdays.

Nope. Never been. I know where it is though. Is 7 ok? I just have to finish up a few things at work first.

See you at 7.

His reply was simple. No hidden meaning or cryptic implication. Still, Quinn couldn't help but think about how datelike the get-together felt. Sure, they went running together and had grabbed coffee a few times, but this felt different. More intentional. More formal.
Wings aren't formal! What the hell is wrong with me?

•   •   •

As Quinn approached the bar, Tim grabbed the door for her. “Sorry,” she said, not knowing how long he had been waiting outside for her.

“Why do women always do that?”

Quinn turned to glance over her shoulder at him. “Do what?”

“Say they're sorry.” Quinn's eyebrows rose in curiosity, so Tim continued. “What are you even apologizing
for
?”

“I'm late.”

“You weren't late. I was just early. And I don't mind waiting. You shouldn't be sorry for that.”

Quinn pulled on her lower lip with her teeth.

Tim cocked his head to the side and gave her that look that told her he knew exactly what she was thinking. “You want to say it again, don't you?” he asked, giving her a wide grin.

She shrugged her shoulders and flashed a shy smile in return. “Kinda.”

Fifteen minutes later they had two baskets of wings, two iced teas, and a large order of fries sitting on the table between them. Tim wiped his face with his napkin before speaking. “So how's the story going?”

“Uh . . . it's going.”

“Well,
that
sounds promising.” Tim laughed. “What does that mean exactly?”

Quinn took a sip of her drink and stirred it needlessly with the straw. “I haven't actually started thinking about what I plan to write. I kind of figured I'd wait until closer to the deadline.”

“So it's working.”

Quinn was sure her expression conveyed how confused she was.

“Our experiment,” he explained. “It's working. The old Quinn would never think to wait until the last minute to begin something she could accomplish early.”

The
old
Quinn
. Was there really something noticeably different about her? Something that made her the
new
Quinn? In truth, she felt like she
had
been approaching life a little bit differently lately. Now her first instinct wasn't to shy away from the unfamiliar like she usually did, or let herself feel so pressured by things she couldn't control. She liked the change in herself. But it surprised her that the small change was obvious to others. Of course, maybe it was only obvious to
Tim
. They'd been spending so much time together, and he'd always seemed so tuned in to her. “Well, I mean, I have some ideas,” she said, finally responding to his observation. “Just nothing concrete yet. I think it's better to wait until we get through the list before I really start analyzing the entire experience. You know?”

Tim nodded. “Speaking of the list . . .”

“That sounds ominous.”

“Ominous, no. Intimidating, maybe.” He scanned the bar. “I thought we could check one of the items off tonight.”

“I'm hoping you're talking about asking a stranger out, because I draw the line at letting my bare skin touch one of these booths while people sketch me.” Quinn laughed to hide the small pang of disappointment she felt that Tim had mentioned crossing something off the list. She'd originally felt excited at the thought of having dinner with him. But that excitement had dissipated a bit.

“Yeah.” Tim rubbed the scruff on his face with his hand. “I thought we'd save the nudity for another time.”

Quinn felt the lump slide down her throat as she tried to swallow it.

“You up for the challenge?”

Quinn thought for a second as her eyes surveyed the crowd. She couldn't deny that many of the men there were good-looking. They were put together well, most of them in suit pants and a dress shirt. She imagined that they'd probably just left their high-rise offices to come to the bar for a few drinks with clients or coworkers. Most probably didn't have a family, let alone the time for one. Which in a way made it that much less threatening. If she could hitchhike with a stranger, she could certainly ask one out. “Who do you think I should pick?”

Tim raised an eyebrow and sat back in the booth. “I'm not sure I have much experience choosing men.” He smirked. “Maybe
you
should take this one.”

“Okay. I'll be back in a few minutes,” she said, rising to smooth her lilac pencil skirt and white top.

•   •   •

Tim barely recognized the woman who moved gracefully through the crowd toward the bar. Well,
barely
might be an exaggeration. He'd recognize her long red hair from anywhere. And he'd pictured the perfect curves of her ass more times than he'd like to admit. What he
didn't
recognize was how comfortable she seemed tackling something that should have been, at the very least, slightly daunting to her. But the way she strolled casually up to the bar, shoulders back and arms loose at her sides, hinted at a sense of confidence he hadn't seen in her before. She was really something.

He watched her lean in to say something to the bartender and then turn toward the man next to her. Tim couldn't see the man's face from where he sat, but he didn't miss Quinn's bright smile as she seemed to thank him for the drink before bringing it to her lips. The two talked for a few minutes, and Tim did his best not to look like some creepy stalker as he watched them. He didn't like what he saw—the man's hand on Quinn's forearm for a moment or the way she moved in close, probably to repeat something she'd just said. But Tim had bought a ticket for the show, so to speak. So as much as he didn't want to watch, he didn't look away.

After about ten minutes, Quinn returned to the table, even more confident than when she had left. She slid into the booth and was silent for longer than he thought she should have been.

“Well?” Tim asked, though he was as interested to hear what had happened as he'd been to learn about covalent bonds in his sophomore chemistry class.

“Wellll . . .” Quinn answered, drawing out the word, “his name is Will, and we're going out Tuesday night.”

“Tuesday? Who goes out on a Tuesday?” Tim's tone sounded harsher than he'd meant for it to sound. But he couldn't help it.

“Will and I do, apparently. And aren't you supposed to be happy? One more thing to do and the list is complete.”

“Sorry,” Tim said. When he'd asked her to meet him for dinner, Tim had wanted to do just that—have dinner with her. But her immediate mention of the list had drawn attention to the fact that they were together without any real reason to be. So Tim had felt the need to create one. And he was regretting that in a big way. “So where are you two going?”

“I don't even know the name of the place, actually. Some new Mediterranean place one of his clients invested in.”

“Clients?”

“Yeah, he's in investor relations or something. I'm not even sure what that means.”

“It means he's rich,” Tim said quickly.

“Oh. Yeah, probably. I don't know.” Quinn tucked her hair behind her ear. “I'm not really into corporate types. We'll see what happens, I guess.”

Tim had no interest in seeing what happened. It's not like he was ever going to date Quinn himself, but that didn't mean he wanted her dating someone she didn't even like. “You know if you don't want to go out with him, it's okay. I mean, technically speaking, you met the requirement of asking a stranger out. It didn't say you actually had to
go
out with one.”

“I don't want to be rude.
I
just asked
him
out, remember? Besides, he seemed nice. And he was pretty funny. You never know. Maybe I'll like him.”

Tim shrugged. “Yeah, maybe.”

Quinn took a sip of her drink and spun the glass between her hands. “Can I ask you something? I've wondered it for a while actually, but it never seems like the right time to bring it up.”

Tim felt his expression twist into curiosity. He didn't know what Quinn was about to ask, but whatever it was, he knew he'd answer honestly. “Anything.”

“You're in recovery,” she said simply, “but you go out to bars, you're around alcohol at parties. Most ex-addicts don't do that, do they?”

Tim shook his head. “No, they don't.”

“So how can
you
? Don't you worry you'll relapse?” When Tim didn't respond right away, Quinn continued. “Sorry, you don't have to answer that.”

“Quinn, after everything we've talked about . . . there really isn't anything I wouldn't tell you.” But no one had ever asked him that before. Other than Scott, of course. He rubbed his thumb over an indent in the wooden table as he spoke. “I could say I like the rebelliousness of it . . . being around something I know I shouldn't be. But I'm not sure that's the truth. I think in my case it's easier this way. Alcohol's a trigger for me. It is for most people in recovery. That's why they stay away from it altogether.” He drew in a long breath before continuing. “I guess I just like knowing I have the willpower to leave it alone. Probably not the
smartest
way to go about it. But then again, I've never really been one to take the orthodox approach to anything.”

“I think it actually makes a lot of sense. Like each time you resist a temptation, it gives you the strength to know you can resist it
again
.”

It amazed Tim how well Quinn understood him. Sometimes better than he seemed to understand himself. “I never really thought of it like that before. That maybe it gets easier each time.” He put his right hand over his heart. “You know the tattoo I have on the left side of my chest? The one that looks like the inside of my skin's ripping open and you can see my heart and muscles and everything?”

“Yeah. But I have to admit that one kind of grosses me out. I almost failed biology in high school because I refused to dissect anything.”

Tim smiled, thinking of how alike they were. “Well, I got that tattoo after I'd been clean for a year.” He could tell Quinn was as confused as he'd figured she'd be. “It comes from my favorite line of a Rudyard Kipling poem.”

Quinn's eyebrows rose in obvious curiosity.

He didn't expect her to know the poem. Not many people did. But it had held a special meaning to him since the first time he'd read it as a freshman in high school.
“If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew to serve your turn long after they are gone, / And so hold on when there is nothing in you / Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!
'”

Quinn smiled. “I've never heard it before.”

“The whole poem portrays the balance you should have in life. That's why I love it. But I especially like that particular line. It's what stops me from giving up on anything.”

“That's really cool. And your tattoo grosses me out a little less now.”

Tim shook his head as they both laughed together. “Then my work here is done.”