Page 38 of Delayed Penalty

CHAPTER 8

QUINN

I am woefully underprepared. I’ve been slowly packing a few things over the last few days, but I still have a good portion of my apartment to go, and the movers are set to arrive shortly.

I’m never going to be ready in time. As I look around at the piles of junk I have stacked everywhere, I can’t help but think,Where the hell did I ever get the money to afford all this?Then I look at my stack of maxed-out credit card bills and remember,Oh, yeah. I didn’t.

I sigh, tossing yet another bill to the side. I’ve been good about not spending money this last week, and not just because I’ve had to be since I’m living on my last paycheck from The Dock, but because I knowsomethinghas got to give when it comes to my spending habits. I’m too old to be screwing around like this. I need to get my life on track and fast.

Flora is the key to all that. I had so much fun with her on Monday and can’t wait to do it again. I never thought I’d actually be excited to babysit, but I am. She’s full of curiosity and has that old-soul type of vibe that just makes being around her a delight. Plus, I love to make her laugh, especially because she seems like she could use it so much.

Hayes on the other hand… Well, I’m looking less forward to having to spend time with him. I wonder if he’s always been so grumpy and uptight or if that’s new for him. I could have sworn my brother mentioned before that he’s a troublemaker, but I just don’t see it now.

We discussed a little more of my duties, including him making sure I’m CPR certified—I am, thanks to my summer stint as a lifeguard—and me living there full-time and taking care of Flora when he’s on the road and when it’s gameday. On the other days, I’ll be allowed to do whatever I want with no obligation to the kid. It’s like I’m her cool aunt coming to stay for a while, only it’s for the next seven months, and that’sifthey don’t make the playoffs.

Then I remember how much he’s paying me, and I tell myself I can endure anything for seven months, even if it means living with a guy who clearly doesn’t like me.

I grab a pair of shoes—one of entirely too many—and examine them. They’re black booties and can go with almost anything, but so can the other three pairs of nearly identical ones I already have in my keep pile. I toss them into the donation box before I have a chance to think about it anymore…then grab them right back out two minutes later because I just can’t bear to part with them.

Small steps, right?

I repeat this process over and over, the donation pile staying eerily the same height while my other boxes fill up. I glance at the clock on the oven that’s been taunting me since I rolled out of bed this morning. I only have an hour until the movers get here.

“Ugh, there’s no way I’m going to get everything done.”

There’s just too much stuff to go through and only one of me. I need help.

A knock sounds at my door as if I’ve manifested someone on the other side. The only problem is I don’tknowanyone else except my mother, who is certainly still at the bakery at this point. She was overjoyed when I told her I accepted the job with Hayes, so maybe she decided to stop by anyway…

I toss aside the three purses I’m holding, then dodge piles of other stuff as I make my way to the door. I grab the knob, ready to pull it open, then pause.I don’t know who could be on the other side. It could be my landlord here to harass me for more of the rent I still owe. Or a kidnapper. Who knows.

“Who is it?” I call out.

“The fucking milkman. Who do you think it is?”

Hayes?

I yank open the door to find him leaning against the frame. The first thing I notice is that he’s huge. Like the taking-up-the-entire-doorway kind of huge.

The second is the backward baseball cap that sits on his head with a Seattle Serpents S stamped on it. I’ve never seen him with his rust-colored hair pushed back. It makes his eyes stand out even more.

The third thing is the tattoo on his forearm, one I haven’t noticed before because every time I’ve seen him, he’s been wearing long sleeves. I never pegged him for an ink guy, but I don’t hate it. At all.

“What are you doing here?”

He holds up a roll of tape as if that’s supposed to explain everything. “Moving you, obviously.”

“Obviously? I didn’t realize that was obvious at all. How did you even get my address?”

“You gave it to me.”

“I—”

Crap. I did. Hayes had me write all my info down so he could give it to his “people”—whoever the hellthey are—and we could make this job official. I never thought he’d use it for any other reason.

“Are you going to let me in?” he asks. “Or did you plan on spending all afternoon glaring at me?”

“I thought you were hiring a moving company.”

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