“What’s wrong?” he asked on the other side of the door as I cleaned myself up.
I pulled it open a little. “No condom,” I said, looking pointedly to his now jean covered crotch, the bulge there very much evident even afterward.
He turned around to grab his T-shirt, and I saw the massive tattoo across his broad, sinewy back. A giant raven, its wings out in flight, was inked right across the upper part, while its head dipped down onto his spine. The shading was so graphic it appeared to stand proud of his skin, its feathers reflecting light, and its talons gripping into the surface.
“I’m clean,” he said, pulling it over his head, hiding his magnificent torso. “I get tested regularly because of the fights.”
My stomach bottomed as I remembered the reason for our situation. “Of course. I’m also clean.” I nodded quickly. “Just in case you didn’t know.”
He smiled. “If I didn’t think that, we wouldn’t have fucked.”
Fucked. Right.
It didn’t feel like that, but he was right. Nothing about our situation was normal, and what had just happened between us wasn’t ‘special.’ We’d been two people that had just enjoyed having sex; it was no more than that.
The front door clicked shut, followed by footsteps on the stairs. Quinn sat down at the desk, and I straightened my covers, hiding the evidence, then grabbed my things just in time for the door to open.
“Hi, everything going okay?” my mom asked, her eyes taking in Quinn, then the rest of the room.
“Yeah, thanks,” I said, wondering if my hair looked like Quinn had just made me see stars… Twice.
My mom focused a little too hard on Quinn, who’d stretched his long legs out, relaxing back in my chair with his book in his hands. “Okay, then, I’m going to put my things away.” She took her sweet time leaving the room.
Before the door closed, Quinn closed his book. “I should go,” he said, sliding his arms into his jacket. “I’ve got some stuff to do.” He picked up his things and shoved them in his backpack.
I climbed off the bed, followed him out of the room as best as I could with the throbbing between my legs, then down the stairs. He opened the door, stepped out, then turned around. “Hey, what’s going on?” I asked, checking to see if my mom was there, and saw she was slowly coming down the steps.
Quinn noticed her, then took a step toward me. His mouth opened and closed as though he was trying to say something, but couldn’t get it out. Then he huffed a breath. “Bye, Kinny. See you at school.”
I lifted my hand on autopilot and waved as he backed his motorcycle out of our drive. “Yeah, bye,” I mumbled, then turned back into the house.
“Is he okay?” my mom asked.
I headed back up to my room. “I have no idea, Mom.”
“He had his shirt on backward,” she yelled.
“No, he didn’t, but nice try,” I called back, hoping that I was right.
I reached my room and went to my closet, pulling out the only thing I could think of right then. I pushed my arms into the too-long sleeves and zipped up the hoodie, inhaling Quinn’s smell. I lay on my bed where we’d been, the smell there more intense.
What the hell has just happened?
Chapter 10
Quinn
Fucked.
It was the wrong thing to say, but I couldn’t stop it from coming out of my mouth. But what else was there to say? We made love? Fuck no. Had sex? A little better, but what happened the other night was something else, and it was fucking with my damn head. I hadn’t felt like that after Phoebe, and I didn’t know what the fuck was up with me. Hell, I was still coming to terms with how much Kinsley had me aching for her from just her hand on my bare skin.
Then there was the matter of what I’d seen afterward.
“Earth to Quinn,” Josh said, tapping me on the head. “Come in, Quinn.”
“Fuck off,” I snapped as I bound my hand. “I’m too busy for your stupid ass right now.”
“What the fuck is that?” he asked, and I saw him gesture to my wrist. “Are you growing your hair out like a pussy?”
“No.” I slid Kinsley’s hair tie off of my wrist and put it next to me. It was the first time I’d taken it off since I put it there in her room. I hadn’t told Josh or Layton where I’d gone. They’d assumed I was visiting my mom’s grave, and I felt sick to my fucking stomach that I’d cast Kinny aside and agreed with them.
But it’s none of their business, and it was nothing, anyway. Just sex. That’s all.
If that was all, then why was my head up my own ass?
“I’m going to grab some water. You good doing that?”
I nodded, then he left me alone. I had to get my head on right before fighting at the circle. Big money was on this match, and I had to get my shit together before I went in there.
My phone beeped beside me on the bench, and I snatched it up, my pulse spiking as I checked the screen, but deflated when I saw the name.
Layton.
‘I got you a present.’
I centered myself before I replied.
‘What did you get for me?’
‘Take a look at this. I hope it’s what you wanted.’
An image followed, and for the first time in two days, I fucking smiled. There, walking out of Crosshall Brow college, was Owen Stanford. The sick fuck extraordinaire was wearing a fucking blazer and slacks, his short, mousey hair neat, tidy, and slicked over like a preppy bastard. His holier-than-thou smile was aimed at an older woman walking next to him, holding her nose in the air like she shit out rose petals.
‘And it’s not even my birthday.’
‘Enjoy, cuz. I’ll have the package prepped and ready in just over a week.’
He was back calling me blood, but for how long? Until he got it into his head again that I’d replaced him when Ginny had signed those papers?
I typed back.
‘You did good, Layton. Now get your ass home.’
‘Already halfway there.’
I shivered, the anticipation of what was to come coursing through my veins, and it wasn’t the fight that was happening. It was making that fucker pay for even breathing in the same space as Kinny and worse for laying his dirty, abusive hands on her. I knew plenty of abusive people, but there was one man that I hated above all others.
“Ellie, get your ass out here!” my dad yelled again, and my mom ran through to the living room from the kitchen where she’d been making dinner.
“Yes, honey?” she asked, her voice quivering as she approached my dad in his armchair, his paunch sticking out over his brown belt.
Typical drunk with his dirty, grubby wife-beater and too-small beige shorts.
“Get me a beer,” he demanded, and my mom nodded and rushed past me, out of the room. “And some chips!”
I picked up my toy motorcycle, my prized possession, and clutched it to my chest, my eight-year-old body tensing up at my dad’s yelling.
“Here, you are, Roy,” my mom said, handing him a brown bottle and a large yellow bag of chips as noise blared out of the TV, some football game showing that he’d grown angrier at every time the crowd roared.
I didn’t know what happened; I wasn’t allowed to watch. Mom took me out of the room when my dad sat in his chair.