“A couple, but apparently we have to head back home.”
“What! No!” I gasp, genuinely upset. I plead, “I can’t go back there yet. All the quiet and the calm and the fucking fresh air. Please.”
“Well, wife, I have to go to the office and I’m sure as fuck not taking you with me.”
“Please, I’m actually begging,” I say, placing my hand on his where it rests on the leather seat. It was a move I made without thinking. A simple gesture but an intimate one. His hand is impossibly huge and rough and warm and it flinches under my touch.
“Tell me you’ve given up,” he says, “Tell me you’re ready to be a Quinn. Tell me I can trust you.”
I sigh and move my hand away. He and I both know I haven’t given up.
“Blindfold me?” I offer.
He huffs a small laugh. “At least you’re honest,” he shifts forward to talk to whichever MiniQuinn is driving us. “Loop around for an hour. Mac, turn a hot spot on.” He looks back at me with a hint of a smirk as he settles into his seat, “Get out your phone,Lasa. You’ve got sixty minutes.” His smirk disappears. “And you start by replying to Vinny.”
“Thank you,” I say as I pull out the device I just turned off. I obey, immediately opening my messages and telling Vinny not to contact me anymore. Then I block him, so he doesn’t get himself killed. We’ve made out a couple times, there was some boob grabbing if I remember right. Nothing major, but that won’t stop him from running his stupid mouth.
Men.Yeah Vinny, that one mediocre make out session was so great I can’t wait to do it again.Ugh. Moving on!
I text back Zeno and a couple female cousins I don’t totally hate. I reply to some gifs from Mia, let Ellie know I’m in the city. I send a sunglasses emoji and hope she reads between the lines.Yes, bestie, I did some online research and I’m still alive.
Although, how the heck do I get the addresses from the notes app into my brain? I wasn’t able to memorize them in those few seconds. Crap. I’m going to have to figure out where they keep my phone. Or, maybe without internet, Quinn will let me keep it.
That thought is cut short by a walkie talkie transmission about shift change.
Quinn yells at the front seat in that melodic language of theirs, pissed I heard the message.
“You should have more guards on the far west side,” I say, because he should. He looks over at me, face still angry at the misstep. His jaw works. I shrug and go on, “You should. You know the fence line comes close to that narrow county road over there and a couple days ago on one of my walks I saw a power company rig. Or at least,” I raise a brow, “a truck painted tolook likeit’s one of the power company’s fleet.”
“Hm,” is all he says, or hums, in response. But he narrows his eyes.
Because, shit, why did I tell him that?
Now he thinks I’m trying to mess with his mind, which I should be doing. But I genuinely just told him something helpful. Why?
Ugh!
Time to get back to my phone, my friends, my old life waiting for me back home. Then I hear a typing sound and look over at him again.
He’s typing angrily.
On his 2002 flip phone.
I laugh. I get the actual giggles.
He shifts his gaze from his phone to me, ever so deliberately, angrier than before. Between his teeth he asks, “Is this the shock bubbling out?”
“Po-po-” I can’t even talk I’m laughing so hard, “Possibly.”
“What?” He frowns.
“It’s like watching a big grizzly bear type into a child's toy!” I say, unable to stop myself. Then I do my best impression. “Tap tap tap. Tap tap tap. Get a fucking iPhone Quinn seriousl—.”
He grabs me, putting one of those huge, clumsy hands over my mouth and pulls my back into his wall of a chest. I’m still laughing, still shaking, and I feel him chuckling behind me. The noise is a deep rumble up my spine.
I exhale, the kind of happy post-laugh breath that feels really damn good, only to realize his other arm is locked across my chest. And I don’t hate it. And he can definitely feel my breaths, my tits pushing up and downaaaand shit.Now I have goosebumps. Which means he’s definitely feeling my nipples in his forearm.
Another sound vibrates behind me, lower, softer.