I shake my head. “Not yet, maybe for dinner,” I tell him.
He looks at me for a moment before turning back toward his napkin. “Regular is fine. No fries please.”
“A side salad instead?”
Quinn’s eyes dart toward me quickly and then back to the napkin. “Do you work on commission here?” he asks, still focused on his writing.
“No, I get an hourly wage and tips.”
“Huh. Just the club. Regular mayo. No fries.”
“Got it.” Forget shy, the man is rude. I’ve been around shy people before, they tend to keep to themselves, stay out of crowds, but aren’t downright rude.
I purposely stall putting in his order. I’m pretty certain he isn’t going to tip me at this point so what do I care.
When my name’s called, I see a club sitting on the shelf. “What’s this?”
“Quinn’s order.”
“But I didn’t put it in,” I tell the line cook.
He shrugs. “Same thing, every time. He’s a regular.”
Of course, he is.
With my head held high, I march back to his table, determined to throw this sandwich at him, but when I get there, our eyes meet, and he smiles. And I’m dead. Like, call the coroner to come pick up my body. This shy, rude man has the most captivating smile I have ever seen. My feet stumble as I try to gracefully finish the last few steps toward his table.
“Can I get you anything else? Another beer?”
“Sure.” He pushes the empty bottle toward the edge of the table just as I reach for it. Our hands touch, and our fingers linger there for minutes. It’s really seconds, however time flies so fast when you have butterflies fluttering around, and your eyes are pinned on the most beautiful set of blue orbs that you’ve ever seen, and then the man behind those eyes smiles. Like really smiles to the point I can see every laugh line he’s developed over the years, before pulling his hand away and clearing his throat.
My heart lurches, catching up with the here and now. “I’ll be right back.”
I speed walk to the bathroom, feeling my hips sway back and forth, and set his empty bottle of beer on the counter before retreating behind the puke brown metal do
or. Of course, it doesn’t lock, leaving me no choice but to rest my back up against it. I’m bent over, my head near my kneecaps, and I’m practicing my yoga, breathing in and out, to put my entire body into a Zenlike trance, when the door opens.
And I think, this is it. This is the moment where he comes in and pushes me up against the wall. Where he kisses me and makes mad passionate love to me, while his hands grip the top of the door, using it as leverage to mark me as his own. It’s kinky hardcore sex and I want it. I want it bad.
My fantasy crumbles when I see the feet of the dream intruder. Feet clad in nylon stockings, shuffling around the bathroom, waiting for me to exit so they can use the facility. I flush, using the noise to try and calm my breathing. Opening the door, I avoid eye contact with the woman. I’m sure to wash my hands, however, one look in the mirror shows a flushed face. My suitemates would call this the “sexed up face.” I call it nothing but terror.
Splashing water on my red rosy cheeks does nothing but make me look blotchier. I want nothing more than to hide in here, but I also want to be in the same vicinity as Quinn.
I can’t explain it. I’ve never been so attracted to a man like this before. I’ve never had fantasies about Roy, even after watching Fifty Shades of Grey.
With Quinn – a man I don’t even know – they’re there, and they’re strong. Sofia flashes in my mind with a disconcerting look on her face. I’ve seen it before – on myself – when my friends pine after my brother. The thought pulls me up short and kills my fantasy crush immediately.
13
Quinn
The tattered napkin sits on my coffee table. My blue pen rests between my fingers, moving back and forth, as I read over the lyrics I wrote earlier. When I sat down to write, I was angry, filled with rage and jealousy after watching my father play with Ajay. Seeing them together, the way they performed in fluid motion, hurt. My dad and I, let alone the rest of 4225 West, haven’t played like that in a while. I wasn’t invited to jam, I was only there to see the band Elle’s forming. So, I could what? See what I’m missing? If that was their plan, it’s backfired. I’m more determined to stick to my guns now than I was before.
No one understands what I’m going through. Half the time I can’t reconcile why I have these feelings, why the thoughts of my biological mother finding me weighs so heavily on my mind. It’s silly when I think about it. She knows my dad, everyone does. It’s not like she can’t look him up as a way of finding me or even do a search on the web to locate where I am. Maybe it’s because she hasn’t, that I’m feeling this way. I expected a call on my eighteenth birthday, and again on my next. The call never came, neither did an email or letter. I don’t need Alicia Tucker in my life, but part of me wonders why I wasn’t good enough for her to stay around.
I think my mom gets it. I think she understands why I don’t pursue music professionally. I’m not sure she agrees, though, because it’s her daughter who is pressuring me to join this band. I have to give my sister credit, she knows music. For the few minutes I allowed myself to listen, and not focus on my dad and Ajay, the sound was good, stellar even. And from the looks of it, Dana will do a bang-up job as lead singer. They don’t need me, which is just as well because the band life? It’s not for me.
Not all is lost though. I attempted to flirt with the cute new waitress at the Bean Song, albeit very poorly. I’m sure my funky mood did nothing to impress her, nor the fact that I was staring at her. Even when she caught me, I couldn’t look away. I didn’t want to. I sat there, trying to figure out a way to make her smile, and I couldn’t. I’m used to women hitting on me, friends of my sisters. It’s easier for me that way because I don’t have to put myself out there. However, this woman, she wasn’t trying to come on to me, and that was a huge relief.