Something Like Redemption (Something Like Normal #2) (12 page)

I attempt to remove it, embarrassed, but Quinn ceases my movement, grabbing onto my wrist softly. “Don’t change who you are for people who don’t even know who they are. You’re beautiful, inside and out.”

His comment stuns me, and I blindly nod, touched he would say something so sweet.

“You know, you can be really sweet when you want to be,” I say, looking over at him as the kind concierge holds the glass door open for us.

As we step into the amazing foyer which looks like the ballroom out of
Beauty and the Beast
, Quinn turns to me and whispers out of the side of his mouth. “No man wants to hear he’s sweet, Red. Masculine, brutish, dangerous, yes. But sweet?” He pulls a face, shaking his head.

“Well, you’re all those things… and sweet,” I add with a mischievous smile.

He turns to me and huffs dramatically, flicking his hair out of his eyes playfully. “Fine, and sweet. But don’t tell anyone.”

I snort laugh as we approach the front desk, but my laugh dies when I see the pretentious, older woman behind the counter.

“What can I do for you?” she says curtly, looking down her nose at me and Quinn while tightening her aqua scarf.

“A room, please,” Quinn replies, purposely leaning onto the counter to invade her personal space.

As she nervously fiddles with her name tag, I notice her name is Janet. “There are no common rooms available,” she replies, leaning away from Quinn, repulsed by the way he’s nibbling on his hoop, while I can’t stop looking at it in hunger.

“Any room is fine,” he replies with a sickly sweet smile.

She huffs but decides to humor us as she taps her French manicured fingernails on the keyboard under the wooden desk. As I hear the keys whining under her punishing fingers, I take in my surroundings. It’s really beautiful in here, and I love it because it’s not obnoxious like some of the other snobby hotels I’ve seen in L.A. It’s actually vintage, like real vintage, and I’m pretty sure the huge spiral staircase in the center of the room, leading to who knows where, is an original article from when this place was built.

“The only suite we have is the Empire Wing,” Janet says, ruining my moment of serenity.

“That’ll do,” Quinn says quickly, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet.

Janet cackles. “I mean no disrespect, but that room is $1000 dollars… a night.”

Quinn grins, loving the fact that Janet is about to have a coronary. “Well, in that case, we’ll stay for two nights.”

My eyes widen, and I shake my head, as that’s just too much money to spend on a room. But he ignores me and slaps a wad of cash onto the counter with a loud thud.

Janet’s eyes broaden wider than mine, and she clears her throat, her face changing instantly as she probably thinks we’re two spoiled rich kids, splurging on our daddy’s money.

“Wonderful,” she claps. “Please forgive me if I came across as—”

A pretentious bitch, I adlib to myself, while subtly rolling my eyes.

“A Negative Nancy,” she continues, reaching for the money greedily. “Okay, so you’re paid up for two nights,” she says happily after counting the mountain of cash. “I just need some I.D. or a credit card. It’s hotel policy. I know it’s silly,” she says with a sweet smile.

Oh, fuck. I.D? This will not end well.

I begin to panic as we’re meant to be keeping a low profile, and not leaving any tracks. Leaving any form of I.D. is just as good as broadcasting to the police where we are.

My heart begins to quicken and my palms are suddenly coated in sweat. I rub them onto my jeans, hoping I don’t give us away, but I’m not doing a very good job of it, as my breathing is rapidly increasing, and I know I have paled, whiter than a ghost.

Quinn senses my instant terror, and suddenly, his whole demeanor changes.

“Is this your daughter?” he asks, gesturing with his chin to a photo in a silver frame, sitting on the desk.

The photograph is of Janet and a young girl, aged no older than five. There is no way she’s her mother, and I bite the inside of my cheek, suddenly catching onto Quinn’s ingenious plan. Even though I can’t STAND the idea of him flirting with her, I know this is actually a pretty good plan to help dodge the whole I.D. situation.

Janet giggles, (yes, giggles), as she places her hand over her annoying mouth, which I preferred when it was scowling at me.

“Oh no,” she says, her southern drawl coming through, which makes me think her aristocratic accent is staged. “She’s my grandbaby.”

Yup, definitely fake.

“No way!” Quinn says, mocking surprise. “You’re way too young to be a grandma, sweetheart.” And he gives her a panty dropping smile.

Both Janet and I are stunned by his comment, our mouths dropping to the floor. I’m just about to stand on his foot and tell him to chill it with the compliments, but Janet begins giggling again, and playfully slaps Quinn on the arm, making sure to feel his muscled biceps, which are defined through his tight blue t-shirt.

My eyes narrow on her fingers, and I tell myself to calm down, as he’s only doing this for me, but I hate seeing it. It makes me sick to my stomach. It was bad enough back in South Carolina with the Titty Triplets, but now I don’t think I can hold my tongue.

“So, how about we forget about the I.D.?” he says, subtly slipping her a hundred dollar note.

She quickly extends her fingers forward, and her hand overlaps Quinn’s. “I really shouldn’t…” she bats her eyelashes, “but sshh, it’ll be our secret.” She giggles-again.

She has five seconds to get her hands off Quinn, before I rip her fingernails out, one by one.

“Thanks darlin’,” Quinn says, cleverly sliding his hand out from under her viper grip.

She reaches under the counter, producing a swipe card, and a business card. “If I can do anything…” she emphasizes the word anything, “don’t hesitate to call. That there,” she purrs, her fingernail tapping the card, “is my direct line. You call me, any time. Day or night.”

That’s the final straw. I turn around and leave before I vomit or strangle the bitch. My boots thump onto the marbled tiles as I storm toward the elevator, chewing my fingernails tensely. I know biting my nails is a bad habit, but so is ramming my fist down Janet’s throat.

I’m jealous. I am so freakin’ jealous I want to throw Quinn down onto Janet’s desk and indecently grope him in front of her. I now understand why animals piss on things to mark their territory.

Just as I’m contemplating that premise, Quinn approaches me unhurriedly. “Ready to go?” he says with a small smile.

“You’re sick,” I utter, kicking back off the wall and stabbing the call button for the elevator continuously.

“What?” Quinn says innocently, laughing when I punch him lightly in the guts.

Crossing my arms over my chest and ignoring his laughs, I occupy myself with the elevator’s progress with my eyes raised, watching for its arrival.

“It worked, didn’t it?” he says, stepping in front of me and unfolding my arms.

I struggle, but don’t stand a chance against his strong hands. He may have succeeded in getting my arms uncrossed, but that doesn’t mean I have to look at him. I move my head from side to side as he dips his face, attempting to make eye contact with me. Thankfully, our elevator arrives. I storm in, leaning back against the silver railing as Quinn casually strolls in, swiping the card and pushing our floor number.

Some cocky businessman shouts at us to hold open the door, but Quinn presses the button, resulting in the elevator sliding shut. He gives the disgruntled suit a sarcastic wave through the closing doors, and normally, I would find his defiant behavior comical, but now, I’m in no mood to laugh. And that’s because—who knew—I’m a jealous person. And not just a little jealous. I get a bad case of the green-eyed monster when Quinn is involved.

I hate the fact that ladies nearly triple his age would happily drop their panties for him. I know the reason behind it was for our benefit, but it still pisses me off. I have this stupid ownership over Quinn, and I have no right to. It’s not like we’re dating or together. I mean, I still don’t even know where we stand, and that thought scares the shit out of me. I don’t like this feeling of uncertainty, and I certainly don’t like this feeling of raging jealousy I experience every time a member of the opposite sex ogles Quinn—which is
all
the time.

I don’t realize I’m grinding down on my jaw until the cart stops with a jerk and I fall forward.

Snapping out of my daze, I meet Quinn’s gaze. “W-what happened?” I stutter, meeting his penetrating stare.

“I stopped the elevator,” he replies coolly, crossing his arms over his chest, and leaning up against the mirrored wall.

“Why?” I ask, matching his stare, but feeling anything but calm.

“Because we’re not going anywhere until you tell me what’s wrong,” he answers.

“Nothing is wrong,” I retort, making a reach for the control panel to start up the elevator.

Quinn slaps my hand away. “Bullshit. Tell me,” he demands, taking a step toward me while I take a step back.

“Nothing,” I stubbornly huff, my back hitting the wall. I’m trapped as he advances forward.

“You think I
liked
her?” he questions, curling his lip in disgust. He braces his hands on either side of my head, searching my eyes.

“No,” I mumble, looking away, as I can’t meet his eyes because I’m being so stupid.

“Then what is it?” he says, leaning his body into mine, our chests inches apart.

“I—” I breathe out, my heart beginning to gallop at the possibility of him closing the distance between us.

“You what, Red?” he questions, placing his finger under my chin, forcing me to look at him.

I see nothing but concern reflected in his deep jade eyes, and I feel horrible for getting angry at him. He’s doing all of this for us.

For me.

“I’m jealous,” I finally admit with a blush.

“Of the granny?!” he asks in disbelief, pulling a repulsed face.

“No. Yes. I don’t know,” I reply. “Start up the elevator,” I say, attempting to push him aside, but he won’t budge.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he says, his breath fanning over my heated cheeks.

I know he won’t let this go, and I owe him the truth. “I’m jealous of every girl looking at you, all right? Happy?” I snap, narrowing my eyes at him.

Quinn nibbles on his hoop, head tilted to the side. He’s obviously not happy with my response. “Why?” he pushes. “Why are you jealous, Red?”

He wants me to say it. He wants me to tell him… that he’s mine.

Fine, he wants the truth. Well, I’m going to throw it at him until he chokes on it.

“Because you’re m—” I yell, but am interrupted by a nasally voice, screeching at us through the intercom.

“Excuse me. This is reception. Is everything okay in there?”

No! I internally scream, but settle for, “Yes.”

“Your cart seems to have stopped. We’re getting maintenance to have a look. Sit tight,” the annoying voice says through the speakers.

Looking at Quinn from under my lashes, I slowly reach around him to push the emergency button, and the elevator resumes its journey like nothing happened.

But it did.

And now I have to deal with the consequences.

***

I can see why they call this suite the Empire Suite. This room could easily house a large family and a few dogs, cats, and a few dozen birds.

Speaking of which, Lucky has his own room, equipped with a heated doggy bed. Can you believe it? I wouldn’t believe a hotel such as this would allow pets, but lucky for us, they do. They even have an all day doggy day care, which I intend to make use of. I bet Lucky will love hanging out with his fellow canines.

What I also can’t believe is the extravagant size of the bed.

I am nervously eyeing it while leaning on the kitchen’s marbled counter, sipping a beer. Draped in gold and maroon linen, and a million and one throw cushions, this bed was made for rolling around on without fear of falling off.

The conversation in the elevator has been playing on repeat in my mind. What would Quinn have said if I admitted I see him as being mine? Would we be making use of that inviting bed right now? God, that thought scares me. And it’s not because I don’t want to. Quite the contrary actually, and
that’s
what scares me. I lose all control when Quinn is involved, and it’s a feeling I’m not used to. After relying on no one other than myself for such a long time, letting someone in like Quinn changes everything. But am I ready for that change? I have a feeling once I embrace it there will be no turning back.

“Getting into the booze early?” Quinn says from behind me, startling me.

As I turn, I see him running his hands through his damp hair, which doesn’t help the perverted images that are plaguing my brain involving that huge bed.

His white t-shirt hugs every hardened inch of his chiseled torso, and I try to close my gaping mouth, but it’s a struggle when I see the top button of his blue jeans is undone.

“I’m going downstairs,” I blurt out while pushing off the counter, as I’m in desperate need of some fresh air.

“Give me a sec and I’ll come down with you,” he says, looking for his shoes.

“No, it's okay,” I reply, slipping on my sweater. “I wouldn’t mind checking the place out,” I say quickly.

Quinn understands I mean alone.

“Red, I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” he says, toying with his piercing.

But I really need to get away from him to clear my head. “I won’t be long,” I say over my shoulder, and am out the door before he can follow, or argue with me.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, happy to be away from Quinn and his tempting smell. This is ludicrous. How can I be affected by someone so deeply it hurts to breathe?

My boots thump against the carpeted floor as I walk down the hallway and into the elevator, deep in thought.

I’ve never been in lust, or
love
before.

Before meeting my friends back in South Boston, I didn’t even know what love felt like. But this, with Quinn, is this something like love? This all-consuming, overpowering urge to be near someone. Is that what love is? Because when it comes to Quinn, I am borderlining on becoming infatuated with him.