Chapter 4 #2
“We don’t need protection,” Will said. Was it not appropriate?
It was nicer than Will’s room at home. Four-poster bed, large bay window, thick light-blocking curtains, a desk and chair, a dark mahogany tallboy, and what looked like a walk-in wardrobe.
Everything was all navy blue, with cream walls and carpet.
It was nicer than some of the hotels he’d stayed in for work.
“I think it’s overkill even having us here.
I’m not going to make you use police resources because Riley has a big-brother complex the size of the planet.
I doubt Peyton would appreciate it either. ”
Quinn smiled wryly. “No, I don’t think he’d be happy about having a shadow.”
Not to mention, out of all of them, he was the least likely to need it. Peyton was a lethal weapon.
Will paused in the doorway, one hand on the door handle. “Thanks, Quinn.”
“For what?”
“Letting us stay. Finding out what happened. Chasing the bad guys. Being you. I dunno. Just thanks.”
Quinn was quiet for so long that Will turned around to check to see if he was still there. He was studying Will like he was trying to work out a puzzle. Will had no idea why. He was an open book.
“You’re welcome,” Quinn said eventually.
Will frowned as he closed the door behind himself with a snick. What the fuck had that been about?
AFTER WILL HAD FINISHED sitting on the bed staring at nothing for ten minutes, he ventured back out.
He found Quinn in the kitchen, transferring vegetables from the crisper in his fridge to the bench.
The baking supplies that had been cluttering the end were gone, and the dishes had been stacked neatly beside the sink instead of in it.
It was such a normal, domestic thing to be doing that it floored Will for a second.
He’d only ever really seen Quinn in professional settings—the few times he’d seen him and Peyton in the same room was when they all happened to be at the precinct that Quinn worked out of—and the switch to at home and relaxed was messing with his head a little.
Quinn turned and smiled at him, and white noise rushed through Will’s ears, everything fading around him. His heart thumped so loudly in his chest that he was sure that Quinn could hear it.
Quinn was fucking breathtaking. Out of “cop” mode and at home, he was…
Will swallowed hard and averted his eyes, trying to find somewhere, anywhere, else to look.
Developing any kind of anything —even something as simple as physical appreciation—for the guy that Peyton was basically in love with was a recipe for disaster.
The worst idea that had ever existed. Especially since the misunderstanding that had apparently been keeping them apart for so long was now gone.
“Are you allergic to anything?”
“Not that I know of,” Will said. There weren’t any kitchen stools to sit on, and the table was just a little too far away for casual conversation, so Will kind of hunched a little and rested his elbows on the edge of the counter.
The counters were higher than regular ones, at least, and he didn’t feel like a total hunchback like this.
It didn’t feel awkward, so he hoped he didn’t look awkward.
Being all arms and legs could be such a pain in the ass sometimes.
“Do you like stir-fry? I… don’t have much else to work with,” Quinn said apologetically.
“I’ll go to the supermarket tomorrow after work and do a shop.
If you want anything just write it on the whiteboard on the fridge,” he said, pointing to where a small list had already been started that said “milk, eggs, bread.” Staples really.
There was one more thing listed underneath, in different handwriting, but Will couldn’t quite make it out. He squinted, trying to see.
Quinn chuckled, and the sound reverberated through Will. What the fuck was happening to him? He needed to get this bullshit under control, pronto.
“That’s Grady’s chicken scrawl, and it says ‘lube.’”
“Uh…” Well, that brought forth some images that Will hadn’t ever considered before. He’d never once wondered what Quinn was like in bed, and now it was firmly entrenched in his mind, and he didn’t appreciate it.
“He thinks he’s funny. Beef or pork?”
“Lube?” Will said in surprise. They had beef and pork-flavoured lube?
The corner of Quinn’s mouth lifted in a good-natured smirk. “Meat, Will. I don’t buy flavoured lube.”
Which begged the question: what kind of lube did he buy?
No. Nope. Will wasn’t going there. There was no reason to go there. That train of thought was officially closed.
“Either is fine. I don’t have a preference.” He stared down at his hands and tried to tell his brain to calm the fuck down. “Do you want some help?”
“Do you know how to chop vegetables?”
“We didn’t have cutlery growing up in my house, but I think I can muddle my way through.” There was already a wooden chopping board sitting out.
“Try not to cut off any fingers,” Quinn said as he handed him a knife to use.
“I’ll try,” Will said cheekily.
Quinn gave him an amused look as he passed by, so close that his shoulder brushed Will’s back.
A shiver ran across Will, and he almost swallowed his tongue.
The only explanation he had for his response to Quinn was that he was tired.
It had been a long day, an even longer night, and he’d woken up to a dead guy in his apartment.
All of those things surely gave him a free pass to have weird reactions to someone he’d known for years?
He was totally allowed. A million free passes.
Not cutting himself with the knife was an exercise in caution and concentration since Quinn was doing his best to distract Will. Not on purpose, maybe, but the result was the same.
He wanted to ask about the guy, what Quinn had found out, and what leads he was following up, but he’d learned a long time ago to leave work at work.
If it were important, Quinn would have said something, and otherwise he could call tomorrow during work hours.
He had an appointment to go to the station for their interviews and statements anyway. He could ask Quinn then.
Having Will drag work home too, especially when it wasn't even Will's home, would drive Quinn insane eventually. Will would prefer not to be the cause of insanity for anyone. And this was Quinn’s home, his haven. Will wouldn’t bring the job into it unless Quinn did first. And Quinn didn’t seem inclined.
The stir-fry was simmering, and the rice on the stove was almost done by the time Peyton knocked on the door. Quinn left Will to stir the food while he let him in.
Will looked up as they entered the room, and everything in him froze.
He’d forgotten just how electric it was between the two of them.
He’d been too distracted that morning to take much notice, but it was impossible to ignore now.
The way they were so completely drawn to each other, even so far as being slightly turned toward one another as they walked, was like a gut punch, a slide of heat that rushed south.
It wasn’t intimidating, and it didn’t make Will feel jealous or like he was standing out in the cold; it was hot, and Will couldn’t stop staring.
The words filtered into his brain, and he made a face. “Seriously, you two?”
They paused and looked up, identical expressions of confusion directed at him. “What?” Peyton asked.
“No talking shop.”
“We weren’t—”
“Oh, really?” Will drawled. “Pretty sure I heard the word ‘autopsy.’”
“I was just asking!” Peyton said defensively. “Because I was thinking about the wounds on the victim’s head and—”
“No,” Will interrupted. “No. Is this information something that will help us right now?”
“Well, no, but—”
“Then we don’t talk about it. Unless it’s a life-or-death situation where this information will somehow save us, it can wait until work hours.”
Quinn inclined his head. “Fair enough.”
“Something smells good,” Peyton said. He held up his duffel bag. “Where do I put this?”
“Put it down anywhere,” Will said, waving his hand. “We all need to talk first.”
Peyton glanced warily between them. Quinn’s cheeks had gone red again.
“Okay?” Peyton said slowly as he let his bag slip from his shoulder and onto the floor with a thud. “ What’s going on?”
Quinn flicked the stove off and moved the pot of rice to a cold burner. He gripped the edge of the counter and looked like he wanted to be anywhere but there. “I… think there’s been a misunderstanding.”
Except there was no “think” about it. There had definitely been a misunderstanding.
It wasn’t anyone’s fault, not really; Will knew that he and Peyton presented a certain way when they were together, and it wouldn’t be hard to make the assumptions that Quinn had.
He should have asked, but Will wasn’t going to hold that against him.
Peyton made people’s brains fall out—it was a curse.
“Are we not staying here? Because you—”
“No, of course you can stay here,” Quinn said. “It’s about…” He licked his lips, and Will felt bad for putting him in this position. It was a weird place to be.
“He thinks we’re dating,” Will said, helping out. “Which is why he hasn’t put the moves on you.”
Quinn looked torn between being grateful and being exasperated.
Will sat down at the dining table and gave him a wry smile. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been telling the truth.
Peyton froze. “What?”
“You have to know that from the outside, you and Will are like an old married couple, even back when you moved in together. And you moved in together so quickly.”
“Yeah, because sharing rent is cost effective?” Peyton said, raising an incredulous eyebrow. “That’s what you based it off?”
“Of course not.”
Peyton lifted his head, staring at the ceiling. “All this time, you thought I was in a relationship?” His face hardened. “That’s why you didn’t kiss me yesterday. That’s what that was about.” He let out a sharp laugh. “Well, I guess at least it makes more sense now?”
“Peyton—”