Authors: Camden Leigh
Love Me Crazy (13 page)
What am I doing? I turn and scan the other pictures clipped to the line running across the room. The statue in the town square. A root pushing through the brick sidewalk near the local cinema. The magnolias at the cemetery.
“So the wedding planner.” Kat points.
I drop my gaze. “Is that a question, Kat?” She was always good at prying without asking a single question.
She shrugs. “If you need it to be.”
I
study her face. Like me, she has the remarkable pointed nose and the dimple from Dad’s side. Ellie got Mom’s pointed chin and fierce brows, the kind that make you want to run if you’re caught under their glare. Devil Brow, that’s what I called her when she’d pitch fits. I never noticed Kat’s when she was younger, but she has them, too. “You’ve grown up.”
“You’ve filled out.” She reaches forward and squeezes my bicep, wrapping both her hands around it. “And gone rogue.” She traces the tattoo on my arm and I pull away.
I hang the photo from the bath tray on the line.
“Where was that?” she asks.
“Behind the barn.”
“Near Dad’s office?” Kat’s eyes widen.
I nod. I hadn’t been back there since the night Dad died. I thought I was ready the other day, but standing on the porch, I couldn’t bring myself to enter. I skirted around to the gardens in back. Cassidy was sleeping on the hammock. Sunlight sprinkled perfectly across her face, and the daisies behind her intensified the crimson in her hair. I clicked the picture, freezing her in black-and-white.
“No one goes there, ya know. Not even Momma.” Kat pushes off the counter and walks up to the photo. “Looks like the gardens still bloom.”
“Yeah.”
She flicks the photos. “Town, the cemetery, the water tower”—she shakes her head— “and a girl.”
I busy with cleaning my trays and wiping down the countertops.
“Do you like this girl?” she asks.
Isn’t it obvious?
“
I do.”
Kat grabs a negative spool and feeds the practice strip unsuccessfully. “Asked her out yet?”
Not only have I asked her out, I’ve kissed her, touched her, tasted her, held her while she’s slept. Asking her out seems easy. But nothing is easy with Cassidy.
“So the answer’s no?”
“Your point, Kat?”
“Just trying to figure out why you’re here. I don’t think it’s for us, and it isn’t for Annabeth because I remember y’all being chummy-yummy all the time. Now you look at her as if she’s wine turned to vinegar.”
That’s the truth. Everything Annabeth was, is everything Cassidy isn’t. Annabeth is clingy, moldable, pretty much a plaything. There’s no serious emotion, no hurt, no pain. Cassidy holds her own, doesn’t conform or make lousy excuses—except to not go out with me. She is definitely someone I’d like to play with, but she isn’t a toy. She’s a fierce, beautiful woman.
“This copperhead makes you go all soft, which totally contradicts your tats.” She pulls Cassidy’s picture off the line. “Methinks you like this girl but lack the balls to tell her.” She holds the photo over her face like a mask. “Have you tried flowers? Chocolate?”
“She’s stubborn.” I turn and give Kat my undivided attention so we can move away from the subject of my failing plea for Cassidy’s attention.
“So are you. Unlike before.” She slips the picture onto the counter. “I’m still debating, but I think I like the new Quinn.”
“What does that mean, exactly?”
“
It means . . . I may have overreacted earlier, but this isn’t an apology.” She shrugs. “And it means I might forgive you one day, but not today.”
“I’ll take that.” I huff in relief then pull her against me, hugging her to my chest. She’s much taller than the twelve-year-old I left behind. So grown up and adult. Gone are the mornings I’d make her waffles, kiss her head, and smell nothing but syrup. “I’ve missed you, Kat.”
She wraps her arms around me but doesn’t relax.
“Please forgive me. Please know I didn’t leave to hurt you. I hated leaving you behind.”
“Then why?” Her hands form into fists and she pushes against my chest.
What does she remember? How bad did Mom get after I left? Did she know Mom’s locked bedroom door disguised her drinking and pill popping? I don’t want to make things worse.
“I can’t explain it.”
She shoves me away. “You better figure out how because I’m only the first in a long line of pissed-off people waiting for the answer.”
Her phone buzzes. She steps back but doesn’t dig it out of her pocket.
The reason dances across my lips, jumps on my tongue like a springboard. I let it belly flop into nothing. “I’m sorry.”
“So am I, Quinn.”
“Do you like this one, Quinn?” Ellie holds up a photo of a tux with tails dragging the ground.
I close my eyes, distancing myself from the Covingtons. I swear Ellie, Quinn, and especially Kat, obliterated Mrs. Covington’s patience during the taste testing.
“I don’t like it.” Quinn narrows his eyes and rubs his knuckles across his chin.
I follow the sexy stubble dusting his face. God, imagine the burn I’d feel if he drew lines across my stomach with his chin. Goose bumps explode down my spine. Remind me why I told him we couldn’t be messing around anymore?
Feeling his hard muscles beneath my fingers, feeling the heat radiate off his skin and the beat of his heart just under the surface, has ruined my ability to keep him off my mind. To be totally honest, I’m growing fond of him. I keep telling myself he’s just another fixture in the house. Like the kitchen sink or the flower arrangement in the hallway. But that doesn’t help. When he talks, I hang onto every word. When he moves, my skin prickles in anticipation, hoping he brushes against me as he walks by. He’s got me so worked up that when he walks into a room I eagerly await my turn for the casual greetings he hands out like candy—the kiss on the cheek, his hands light on my hips. There’s no ignoring him. Just heart-palpitating, hip-thrusting lust for him.
My nipples tighten and I press my arms across my chest to suppress the ache. He’s so easy to be with. So easy to touch . . . to kiss.
Quinn’s
not Preston, I know this, but if Preston, whom I’d been friends with for two years before we started dating, could hurt me, what would a near stranger be capable of? I don’t really know Quinn. Whatever he’s hiding could be far more than I can handle. And I’m already at the edge with my own issues.
My eyes flick to Quinn’s. He runs his tongue over his lip, eyes dropping to my clenched arms. I divert my gaze.
“This tux?” Ellie holds up another photo.
I swear, his mom hasn’t taken her eyes off me. Neither has Quinn, for that matter, but their reasons are way different. One, more often than not, wants to kill me, the other wants to kiss me.
“Just pick one, Eleanor,” Mrs. Covington says, and slaps the table. “So we can be done with it and the tailor can get started.”
Ellie’s eyes bulge. “Medium tails, midnight blue. This . . . tie.”
“Thank you. Now his suit for the ceremony. Annabeth picked this one. Classy and slightly different from the groom’s and his men.” Mrs. Covington pulls out a photo clipped to a size sheet.
“Why is Annabeth picking out my suit?” Quinn asks. “Ellie should—”
“Because you’ll be walking down the aisle with her . . . after you walk Eleanor in, of course.” Mrs. Covington slaps down the photo.
“Nix the jacket. It’s too hot. I’ll wear the vest and a tie. How’s that, Ellie? You pick the color.”
Ellie
nods and drops her chin to her chest, shying away from whatever tension brews between Quinn and his mom. It’s new. A little more intense than the slow burning flicker of tension that his tattoos rouse in her. It’s more a rage. A controlled rage.
I move toward them to get the style number for the tailor.
Quinn steps into my path, blocking me from advancing. “Take a break with me.”
God, I wish. “I can’t, but maybe you should take one.” I cut my gaze to Mrs. Covington. “Give Annabeth a call. You’d promised her coffee, remember?”
He purses his lips. “I already had coffee with her.”
I refocus on the chicly dressed guy blocking my way. There’s nothing store-bought or average about him, and it works in his favor. His starched button-down shirt covers most of his tattoos and money obviously sewed his pants, because he’s dripping in tailored perfection. He belongs on a modern men’s magazine cover, not a prep school advertisement like the rest of the guys around here. What Quinn did Annabeth know? Obviously she’s into loafer deck shoes and guys who look like they just stepped off a million-dollar yacht, but for Quinn . . . that look doesn’t suit him. Or does it?
I much prefer the less starched Quinn in beat-up tees and running shorts or boxers. That’s the Quinn I’ll hold in my memory, not the Quinn Annabeth prefers.
“We had a good talk and resolved some issues, but I’m different now.” He tugs on his collar. “And she’s not.”
“Not at all?”
He shrugs. “She’s softened a bit and lets things slide, but her goals haven’t changed. Mine have.”
“Oh.” I glance around him. “I really should get back to work . . . while I still have a job.”
“
Have dinner with me.”
“I, um . . .” I wave my hand in the air, searching for words. Yes wants to roll off my tongue, but I can’t. Mrs. Covington’s always looking for a reason to shove me in a box and ship me as cargo to another continent.
He grabs my hand and stills my fidgeting. His muscles ripple his shirt.
Don’t look, close your eyes. Think ugly, not sexy, not . . . ugh. So sexy. So . . . .yum.
“Get to know me,” he whispers. “The real me.”
“Get to know the Quinn who left his family? I don’t need more drama in my life.” The words pour out, probably because I imagine the worst. And that’s making an effort, getting to know him, falling for him worse than I already have and him leaving. Him running. But that doesn’t give me the right to fling mud at him like everyone else. “Sorry. I’m . . . you’ve just— shit.” No excuse I make for myself will hold. Not for me. Not for him.
His hand tightens around mine, drawing my eyes to his. “Those are harsh words coming from Baby Einstein, the mathematical genius daughter of Samuel and Clara Beck, who practically own—”
“I’m not her.” I suck in a breath and hold it. How did he find out? Hate builds in my chest. Not toward him, but my mom for feeding lies to the media, for making me more than I wanted to be. They dissected my life and asked questions about my
poor
parents and the open invitation to Harvard I rejected. They made me the villain.
“And I’m not who I was either.” He shrugs. “I’m asking for dinner. Just dinner.”
It’s a tempting request. “You’re crazy.” I paw his hands off me and put distance between us. The lack of contact feels icebox cold and I step closer to him, realize it, then step away.
“Your mom’s looking for a reason to chop my head off. I don’t plan on giving her one.”
“
By avoiding me?”
“I’m not avoiding you,” I say a little too loudly. Maybe cutting off my headlights in the driveway is a bit overkill. I sigh and look him in the eyes. “I can’t eat with you, drink with you . . . kiss you, because A, I’ll lose my job, and B, I’m not looking for a guy. I don’t
need
a guy. There’s you. And there’s me. Living parallel lives. At no point moving forward will they intersect.”
“But they could.”
“Look up parallel in the dictionary,” I huff.
“Ms. Beck, unless your conversation with Quincy is of the upmost importance, I believe your time is worth more here”—she taps the coffee table with her demon-sharp nail— “with the bride.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Pissed at Quinn for making me look the fool when I’m trying extra hard to stay on Boss Lady’s good side, I add a grumble thrown in his direction.
“That’s my fault. I’m just discussing the god-awful tail lengths on that tux and what we can do to remedy the penguin look.” Quinn blasts a charming smile and his sincere apology toward Mrs. Covington. “Just a couple minutes and she’s all yours. Promise,” he says as he pulls me to the corner and out of view.
“What are you—”
His mouth comes down over mine, obliterating my words. Any will power I had crumbles. Right into him. His tongue is just as I remember: hot, demanding, and more tempting than a seven-layer chocolate cake. His stubble scratches across my chin, intensifying the kiss, making me step into him and work my hands up his chest. I attempt calm and casual, but lust wins and I can’t help but curl my fingers into his shirt and mark it with wrinkles.
He
pulls away and shakes his head. “You are something special, Cassidy.”
Trying to catch my breath, I peel off him. What is he doing to me?
“Have you ever been on a train?” His warm breath collects at the base of my neck beneath my hair. His lips follow the curve leading to my ear, making me lean into him to fulfill the shiver of desire working through me. “The tracks run parallel, yet the trains can still change course.”
He pushes me back a step and straightens my shirt, then curls my hair around his finger before tucking it behind my ear. He wipes his thumb across my swollen lips. “Aren’t you ready to switch tracks, too?”
I fan my face and slip out of his reach, back into his family’s line of sight. “You ask for the impossible.”
He leans toward me. “I want the inevitable.”
“You must have magical powers if you’ve cock blocked him this long,” Lilian says on speakerphone.
“Believe me, I get an F for effort.” I sit in the car with my door open to let the hot air out. “I keep failing. The second he moves close enough to kiss, I’m all over him. Gaga for him. I’m ridiculously out of control whenever he’s around. That’s not good, Lil.”
Admitting Quinn makes goosies multiply on my arm shell-shocked me into a state of panic. And there’s still the issue of his mom to contend with. He doesn’t seem to understand how
the
Great and Powerful Oz works. If she tells me to jump, I’m not going to ask how high. I’m going to jump so freaking perfectly there’s no doubt I’m qualified.