Just Say Yes (6 page)

The thirty seconds or so seemed like an eternity. She felt the apathetic eyes of so many strangers upon her. The beat of the music seemed to fade around her until she could barely hear it. That is, until without warning, Tim stood . . . and started to sing . . . the wrong words. “I did it, love. Hmm, hmm, hmm, hmm, hmmmm. Something in the town.”

Thankfully, all of the focus that had been on Quinn only a few moments before had shifted to Tim as he made his way to the stage in time to see the words to the next verse. He didn't seem to care that he couldn't sing or that, even once he turned to face the monitor, he struggled to say the right lyrics.

Here was this ruggedly handsome, tall guy with his arms in the air as he clapped to the beat. The crowd ate him up. And Quinn couldn't blame them. As fearful as she'd been to sing in public, she couldn't
not
sing with Tim by her side. All of her trepidation seemed to dissipate as Tim's eyes met hers. His close proximity and his easy smile calmed her nerves. And by the time the chorus was repeated a second time, not only was Quinn singing along, but much of the audience was as well—at least those who were sober enough to know what was happening.

•   •   •

Tim stole a glance away from the screen to look at Quinn. She looked . . . happy, relaxed even. This was the Quinn he hoped to see more of. He'd seen a glimpse of her when he'd entered the bar, stopping at the door to watch her interact with Scott and Lauren. She'd sat, shoulders back, a bright smile on her face as she spoke. And now she was clapping along with him in front of an audience as she sang about how she wanted to dance with somebody who loved her.

Tim let his body take over during the chorus, unable to resist pulling Quinn to him, swaying to the beat, and then spinning her out toward the edge of the stage like they were two little kids trying to dance at a wedding. They continued like that—moving their feet, wiggling their bodies. And when the song began to fade out, so did Tim's voice. He got quieter with each line until Quinn was the only one left at the microphone. After she'd sung the last word, she looked over at Tim, who had taken a few steps back to let Quinn have her moment in the spotlight. A moment she had earned. It was as if he'd been teaching her to ride a bike and he'd let go of it without her noticing. And when she realized he wasn't holding on anymore, she seemed surprised that she hadn't crashed.

•   •   •

Tim walked Quinn to her car shortly after Scott and Lauren left. Everyone but Tim had an early morning the next day.

“Sorry I didn't tell you I invited Scott and Lauren. They were kind of a last-minute addition when I realized you'd be late,” Quinn said.

“It's fine. No need to apologize,” Tim said as they strolled through the parking lot. Then he got quiet for a moment as he stole a sideways glance at Quinn out of the corner of his eye. “So you did it,” he said quietly, the corners of his mouth turning up into the same proud grin Quinn sported.

“Yeah, well . . . with
your
help.”

Tim shrugged as if he hadn't done anything special. And in truth, he hadn't. He loved watching Quinn gradually emerge from the shell she'd spent so much of her life inside. And he'd do whatever he could to help her. “I guess
we
did it, then.”

“Yeah. We did.” Then Quinn laughed softly. “I still can't believe you sang the song and you didn't even know any of the words.”

“Hey, give me a
little
credit. I knew
some
of the words.”

Quinn raised her eyebrows.

“Okay, maybe like one or two.”

Quinn stopped at her gray Jeep Liberty and hit the button to unlock her doors. “I don't know how you're not embarrassed by stuff like this.”

Tim's eyes locked on Quinn's as she leaned against her car to face him. “I've done some pretty stupid shit in my life. Shit I don't even like to think about, let alone talk about. So trust me when I say I know what embarrassing feels like.” He could sense Quinn's features soften as if she regretted what she'd said. “But being here with you tonight, getting to see you accomplish something that was so important to you, something that was so difficult for you . . . there's nothing embarrassing about that. No matter how you look at it.”

Quinn's pink lips tightened, and Tim mentally scolded himself for wondering what they'd feel like against his. “Right. I get that.” She pushed off the car and put her fingers on the door handle. “I guess I'd better get going.”

Though he didn't have anywhere he would have rather been, he replied, “Yeah, me too.” As Quinn pulled away, he added a loud “Drive safe,” hoping she would hear it, but knowing that the comment wasn't even necessary. Like she would drive any other way.

Subplot

Quinn fanned her hand through her curly mane as she and her friends strolled through the shopping center Saturday afternoon and chattered about . . . well, Quinn wasn't exactly sure what they were talking about. She had things on her mind. Big, handsome things. Her brain replayed the karaoke night, how confident Tim was in his smooth, colorful skin. It wasn't that Quinn lacked confidence altogether. She had long ago perfected the art of holding her head high when she entered a room, flashing a white smile to be inviting to friends and strangers alike. Quinn had finesse. She could work a room and make conversation with pretty much anyone about pretty much anything. But karaoke had shown a chink in Quinn's well-constructed armor. Her self-assuredness arose from a pack mentality. She was strong because her friends were strong. She was outgoing because with her group of mad hatters, the outside world didn't matter. They were one another's safety net. But without them, Quinn faltered. Karaoke had left her hanging on to the trapeze for dear life without a net to catch her if she fell. And goddamn, how close she'd come to falling.

Until Tim had swooped in and gotten her swinging again. She envied his quiet confidence. From what Quinn could tell, Tim's strength was innate—as natural to the man as breathing. But this only made him more enigmatic to her. How had someone so strong, so sure of himself, spent years of his life as an addict? Quinn didn't know the gritty details, but she knew that his parents had disowned him, that he'd bounced from rehab to rehab, his relapse imminent each time. She had a difficult time reconciling
that
Tim with the one she had been spending time with. The one who was an executive chef at a hip new restaurant. She just didn't . . . get it.

“And then I glued my hands to my ass and strutted around the office nude.”

I wonder what Tim's . . . Wait . . . What?
“What the hell did you just say?” Quinn asked Cass.

“About time you started paying attention. If I'd have known I only had to mention my ass to get you to listen to me, I'd have said it ten minutes ago.”

“Sorry. I have a lot on my mind,” Quinn explained.

“Anything wrong?” Lauren asked, narrowing her eyes as if she were trying to read Quinn's mind. Though Quinn was sure Lauren had a guess as to what could be on her mind, Lauren still appraised her as she would a serial killer. Ever since she'd gotten her master's degree, Lauren thought she was a real Sigmund Freud.

“No. Just work bullshit. I'm fine.”

“Those bastards still not letting you write anything?” Simone questioned, a hard edge to her voice that let Quinn know she'd shank a bitch for her.

Quinn huffed out a humorless laugh. “The opposite actually.”

Cass and Simone exchanged confused glances, while Lauren kept her eyes trained on the brick pathway that snaked through the shopping center.

“We're confused,” Simone said. The girls quickly zeroed in on Quinn. “So you are working on something?”

“Yup.” Quinn rarely had information they wanted. She was going to soak up the attention for all it was worth.

A hand reached out and clamped down on her forearm, jerking her to a stop. “Excuse me, you hooker, but would you care to elaborate before we take turns beating the shit out of you?” Cass threatened.

Quinn smiled at the girls, placating them before speaking a taunting “No” and starting to walk again.

The two girls flocked around her, impeding any further movement. Quinn burst out laughing. “Okay, okay, yes, I am writing an article. It'll be in the September issue. It's a feature on . . . me, actually.”

“On you?” Simone asked excitedly. “What about you?”

Quinn searched for the right words. “It's sort of like a self-discovery piece. I'm undertaking a list of tasks that are a little beyond what I'd normally do.”

“What does that mean exactly? Oh shit, I was kidding when I called you a hooker, but it's true, isn't it? You're selling your cooch for cash,” Cass teased.

Quinn stared at her for a minute. “You know, for someone with such a fair complexion, you have a dark and twisted soul.”

Cass shrugged happily. “I know.”

Quinn shook her head before continuing. “I'm not getting quite that extreme. Tim and I are starting out slow. I—”

“Hold on. Did you say Tim?” Cass asked.

Shit.
“Uh, yeah.”

“Since when are you hanging out with Tim?” Cass brought a finger up to her temple. It reminded Quinn of Professor Xavier from
X-Men
.

“Since Lauren's party. We got to talking about my assignment and he offered to help.” Quinn shrugged like it was only logical that she'd be spending time with a reformed drug addict who was eight years her senior.

Cass gasped and grabbed Quinn's arm in an intentionally dramatic fashion. “Do your parents know?” Her eyes gleamed like she'd unearthed a tabloid-worthy scandal.

Quinn jerked her arm free as Cass' face broke out in a huge smile. “Why would I tell them? It isn't their business who I hang out with.”

Simone barked out a laugh. “Since when?”

“I can just see Julia's and Peter's faces now. Oh my God, they may almost look at you with disappointment. The horror,” Cass joked.

Quinn rolled her eyes. She was used to jabs from the girls about her overprotective, overinvolved parents. The girls knew how they clung to her like the prized possession they considered her to be.

“They'd have no reason to be disappointed. Tim's a great guy.” Lauren's voice was firm and steady. Quinn knew Lauren really liked Tim. And she damn sure loved his brother. And even though Cass' assessment held a bit of credibility, Quinn knew Lauren wasn't going to stand by while the girls insinuated that Quinn's parents wouldn't think Tim was good enough for their daughter.

“You're right. He is.”

Lauren's gaze flew to Quinn, but Quinn didn't hold it, afraid of what Lauren would see there.

“Wait. Why have you been so quiet this whole time?” Cass narrowed her eyes at Lauren. “You
knew
already, didn't you?”

Lauren let her smirk answer for her.

“I see how it is. Get a psychology degree and suddenly you're the one everyone trusts with the deep shit.”

“So what have you guys been doing?” Simone asked, probably to end Cass' tirade.

“So far, I lied to get out of work, stole a pack of gum, and sang karaoke.”

“What a rebel,” Cass muttered.

“I said we were starting small,” Quinn said indignantly. “We're working up to the big stuff.”

“What kind of big stuff?” Lauren asked, concern clear in her voice. Even though Lauren had known about the article, they hadn't actually discussed the types of things Quinn had included on her list.

Quinn had the girls' full attention. It was the first time they had been this interested in the goings-on of her life. Not because they didn't give a shit about what Quinn did, but because Quinn hadn't
done
anything worth giving a shit about. And she damn sure wasn't ready to relinquish center stage just yet. “Guess you'll just have to buy the September edition of
Estelle
and find out for yourselves,” she taunted as she pulled open the door of a clothing store and waltzed inside, leaving the girls speechless on the pavement.

•   •   •

“So you going to tell me what's
really
going on with you and Quinn?” Scott asked, spotting Tim as he bench-pressed.

Tim exhaled a deep breath as he gave the bar a final surge upward and cradled it back onto the rack. “What are you talking about?” Tim asked as he sat up.

“Come on. You're practically glowing, you pansy. It's gotta be her. I mean, who else could get you to make a complete ass of yourself in front of a roomful of strangers?”

Tim bit his tongue, not wanting to sour their afternoon by reminding Scott that Tim had embarrassed himself in front of strangers too many times to count. He also wondered how it was possible that Scott was able to read him so well, considering how little time they'd actually spent with each other growing up. “It's not a glow; it's called sweat. Maybe you'd know the difference if you exercised something other than your mouth.” Tim stood and made his way over to the squat rack.

Scott leaned against the machine as Tim adjusted the weight. “Fine. You don't want to tell me? No problem.” Scott cut Tim a sideways glance, making sure he was watching before he turned on the little-brother pout.

“Knock that shit off. If there was something going on with Quinn, I'd fucking tell you.”
I'd actually love to be able to tell you that.

“You kiss your new girlfriend with that mouth?”

“No. I kiss
your
girlfriend with it.”

Scott laughed at that. “You wish, asshole.”

Tim settled himself under the barbell and then stood straight up, giving himself a second to acclimate to the weight before squatting under it. He didn't bother to correct his brother. While Lauren was a great girl, she wasn't the one Tim pictured his lips on. Nor was she the one he fantasized about exploring with his hands, feeling her creamy skin sprout goose bumps as he caressed every square inch of her.
Fuck.

“So if it's not Quinn, what is it? Some other girl?”

“What are you giving me hell for? Can't I just be happy to spend time with you?”

Scott softened for a second, looking at his brother with discerning eyes before the smart-ass veneer slid back into place. “Not this fucking happy.”

Tim racked the bar and stepped out of the way so Scott could do a set. “You may want to take some weight off. You're not looking as spry as usual,” Tim taunted.

“Fuck off.”

They were quiet as Scott completed his set. But as soon as he set the bar down, he started in again. “Fine, man. You wanna leave your little brother in the dark about your life, fine.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ. Since pouting didn't work, you decided to give guilt a try?”

Lifting one shoulder in a half shrug, Scott smirked.

“Listen, the restaurant's doing well. I'm doing well. Why does there need to be more to it than that?”

All signs of joking gone, Scott's face sobered. “There doesn't. I'm happy for you. Glad everything is going well. I guess it was just . . . wishful thinking.”

Scott started walking toward the free weights, but Tim stepped in front of him. “What does that mean? Wishful thinking?”

“Nothing,” Scott answered, dragging a hand through his blond hair. “I just . . . I was just hoping that maybe you'd met someone is all.”

“Why would you be hoping that?”

“In the seven years you've been clean, have you had a single girlfriend?” Scott's voice was hushed, but Tim heard him just fine.

Tim felt his jaw tighten at the question. That was none of Scott's business. Tim knew he was only asking because he gave a shit, but what the fuck? “I don't have time for girlfriends.”

Scott stepped up to him, looking him dead in the eyes that looked like his own. “Bullshit.”

Tim sagged back and let out a long breath. “I'm not saying I haven't gone out with girls in the past seven years. I'm not a fucking monk.”

“That's not what I'm talking about and you know it. Sure, you've had your fair share of one-night stands and blitz romances. We both have. But there's a lot to be said for being in a real relationship. With a girl who's looking for more than just a good time.”

“That's all I'm good for,” Tim muttered as he turned and headed for the other end of the gym, not even sure of his exact destination. He just wanted to get away from Scott. Away from their conversation. But before he made it two steps, he felt a solid hand on his forearm. He allowed Scott to turn him around, even though Tim was stronger than his brother. At least physically.

“What the hell does that mean?”

Suddenly Tim's anger surged. If Scott wanted to get into it, then that's exactly what they'd do. “Come on, Scott. My life isn't a goddamn fairy tale. It's a jumbled mess of fuck-ups, relapses, cravings, jagged scars, and canyons of regret. No woman worth spending a lifetime with is going to want to deal with all of the shit that comes along with loving me. I'm more trouble than I'm worth.”

“You don't really believe that.” Scott looked as if Tim had punched him. “You haven't relapsed once in seven years, Tim. For Christ's sake, if anyone deserves some fucking happiness, it's you.”

For all Tim knew, Scott meant his words. But the more likely scenario in his mind was that Scott was just talking bullshit to make Tim feel better. To keep him from sinking into a place so dark and depressing that he turned to drugs to claw his way out. What Scott didn't know, though, was that Tim lived in that place for at least part of every day. He didn't turn to drugs anymore because they added another wrinkle to the equation, one Tim couldn't handle anymore: isolation. At least without the dope, he still had his brother. That thought didn't stop him from lashing out, though. “Why? Why do I deserve that?” He was practically growling the words, but Tim couldn't bring himself to care. “And seven years is nothing. Do you know that not a single day goes by that I don't think about using? I'm not even sure an hour goes by, Scott. This”—Tim pounded on his chest with a fist—“is a fucking life sentence. Being in this body, stuck with this weak mind.” He said the words with a vehement disgust that made Scott wince. “Why would I ever saddle someone else with that? Now, just fucking drop it.”

And with that, Tim whirled around and took off toward the locker room, leaving Scott standing in the middle of the gym, as Tim struggled not to self-destruct.
I guess some things never change.