Chapter Nine - Mirabelle
CHAPTER NINE
Mirabelle
I TAKE OUT my headphones as I jog up the front porch of Henry’s house. My skin is covered in sticky sweat, and I’m out of breath from the three miles I decided to run at the ass crack of dawn. Even at this hour, the Carolina humidity is killer. I miss the ocean, and unfortunately, running doesn’t give me the same high as it does for my brothers.
Quinn’s motorcycle is parked in front of the garage door. I didn’t see it earlier when I left, but I also wasn’t looking for it. I think I remember Henry or Wilson saying something about how he crashes here sometimes.
I walk in the front door, making a beeline toward the kitchen to throw back a few glasses of water. Is this what dying feels like? I didn’t think I was this out of shape, but maybe I am.
Quinn glances over his shoulder to look at me, clearly having heard me come in.
“Good morning,” he greets, setting his protein shake on the counter as I do my best to muster a tired smile. Why is he shirtless? Doesn’t he know it’s rude to walk around half naked in other people’s houses?
“Morning,” I reply.
“If I’d known you were going for a run, I might have gotten up even earlier to join you.” And then, before I can get my own, Quinn grabs a glass from the cupboard and fills it up with water. He sets it on the counter for me as I freeze, staring at it for a moment.
He cracks a charming smile at me. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to spill that all over you.”
I move to sit at one of the barstools, my legs feeling like jelly. “As much as I appreciate that, it honestly might feel pretty good right now. It’s so humid outside.”
“I feel bad about the coffee disaster,” he says, flipping what looks like an omelet in the pan. “It wasn’t exactly how I wanted to meet you.”
“Well, you also pretended you didn’t know my name, so how am I supposed to believe that you wanted to meet me?” I taunt, taking a long drink of my water. It tastes so unbelievably refreshing I almost can’t believe it.
Quinn chuckles, taking my jest in stride. “I thought I was being cool by pretending I didn’t know who you were. Henry talks about you, plus my mom is a huge fan of yours. She actually saw you compete a few years ago when you were touring with the US team. She would kill me if she knew I pretended not to know who you are.”
Okay, that’s sweet of his mom, but my mind immediately fixates on the first part about Henry. He talks about me?
I can feel my heart leap in excitement, but that can also be blamed on post-run recovery.
I smile at Quinn’s admission, trying not to swoon at what Henry might have said about me to his friends. “And what do you think now that you’ve met me? Am I everything Henry and your mom said?”
“I think you would do anything for the people you care about. You’re doing a good thing for Henry. I don’t know many people who would selflessly agree to something like that.” I nod because it makes sense that he would bring that up. Quinn is one of a handful of people in on the relationship ruse, but I wouldn’t say I’m doing it selflessly. However, I don’t think that’s a statement I need to refute. “I think you have a big heart to go with your sassy personality, and I think you have an incredible work ethic. You’re also beautiful, but that’s my personal opinion, not Henry or my mom’s.”
Oh.
I stare at him, taken aback by Quinn’s answer. What . . . what am I supposed to say to that? I was half-kidding when I asked what he thought, but I didn’t actually expect him to answer.
He turns around to grab his protein shake, opening up a cupboard to look for something. “Did I say too much?”
I clear my throat, stalling to find the right words. “No, just surprised,” I reply, taking another drink of my water to get rid of the chalky feeling coating my mouth.
With Quinn’s back to me, I take the opportunity to check him out. Maybe it’s not a bad thing that he’s shirtless, and damn, do I have a thing for muscles. His back is well-defined, but his arms . . . fuck, they look nice. I don’t see any tattoos, which is only a little disappointing because I love Henry’s—
I choke on fucking air, causing Quinn to quickly turn around to look at me. Holy shit, am I checking out Henry’s friend? Henry, as in the guy I’ve been in love with for forever?
“Are you okay?” he asks, scanning over me as I cough, trying to catch my breath.
“Perfect,” I gasp out, thumping my chest as if that will do anything. How does one recover from choking on the literal air I breathe perfectly fine all the time?
“Are you sure about that?” he asks, raising a skeptical eyebrow as he crosses his arms over his chest. Okay, seriously, now that I’ve started looking at his muscles, I don’t know how to stop. What is wrong with me? I’d be chewing his ass if I caught him checking me out, and I have to give him credit, Quinn’s eyes haven’t strayed from my face during this entire conversation.
I nod quickly, feeling my face grow hot. “I’m . . . um . . . going to get ready for work,” I say, reaching for the glass of water to put it away, but instead, I accidentally push it straight off the edge of the counter.
It shatters on the hardwood floor with a crash, and I gasp, immediately hopping off the barstool as Quinn sets his drink down to help me.
“Shit,” I mumble under my breath, gingerly scooping the larger pieces into my hand. I can’t believe I did that. I’m a fucking fool.
“Careful, don’t cut yourself on the glass, Mirabelle,” Quinn warns, kneeling down as I lift my head with every intention of telling him he’s not the boss of me. Unfortunately, the crown of my head collides with his chin, and my hand tightens in a knee-jerk reaction around the glass.
I feel the sharp pain immediately, cursing through my teeth as Quinn groans, rubbing his chin. The glass in my hand falls to the floor, already stained with my blood. “Ouch,” I hiss, immediately feeling queasy at the sight of the red streaking the glass. I don’t even want to know what my hand looks like, but if the way it feels is any indication, I’m sure I cut it good.
I close my eyes, trying to inhale through my nose and exhale through my mouth. I really don’t like blood. My phobia of blood is so extreme that my gynecologist put me on an IUD with a higher hormone level to prevent my period from coming. It took one time of me passing out at the sight of my period at the gym as a teenager, and being woken up by paramedics, for that to happen.
His hand wraps around my wrist to steady me from falling into the pile of glass as I keep my eyes tightly shut. It dawns on me that I thought about how rude it was that Quinn wasn’t wearing clothes in Henry’s house, but I’m also wearing a minimal amount since I ran in a sports bra and running shorts. I still have more on top than he does, but that’s because I don’t have a choice.
“Let me see,” he instructs, taking my hand in his, and I feel light-headed. This sucks, but I definitely need help because if I see the blood again, I might actually pass out.
He’s too quiet. Oh god. I must have cut it deep. I can’t believe I did this. At the very least, I can blame Quinn; if he hadn’t been here shirtless, I wouldn’t have gotten distracted and knocked the glass off the counter. Then, if he hadn’t crouched next to me to tell me the obvious, I wouldn’t have hit my head on his chin, thus preventing me from slicing my hand open.
“Is it bad?” I ask after a moment of silence as he touches my hand.
“You might need to go to the hospital to have it amputated. It looks pretty deep.”
Did he say amputate ?
My eyes flash open to look at him, doing my best to avoid seeing my hand. “Are you fucking serious?”
Quinn’s mouth curls into an amused smile. “Sweetheart, I’m fucking with you. I don’t think you even need stitches, you should be fine with a little gauze and tape. It’s long, but not deep.”
I shake my head, accidentally looking at my hand, and I fall backward slightly to rest my back against the cabinets. “I’m not a sweetheart, and that is so not funny. How do you know?”
“I’ve spent enough time with athletic trainers over the years, I know what a superficial cut looks like. And I think you are a sweetheart—I bet if they cracked your chest open, they’d find a candy heart inside,” he says, and I chuckle awkwardly. It’s harmless flirting.
“Mira? Where are you?” I hear Henry call out, and my head immediately turns to look in the direction of his voice like a moth to a flame. Henry steps into my line of sight as he finishes pulling a shirt over his head, much to my dismay. His eyes are wide as he searches for me, halting at the sight of us. “Quinn?” he questions, dragging a hand through his dark hair, still sticking up in every direction from how he slept. I’d give anything to run my fingers through his hair. I wonder if it’s as soft as it looks.
“Can you grab the first aid kit out from under the sink?” Quinn asks Henry, who is staring at us.
Henry blinks, his gaze shifting from whatever Quinn is doing to my hand, following directions immediately after seeing it. “What happened?” he asks, his voice low from sleep. I keep my eyes on Henry, enjoying his disheveled appearance perhaps a little too much, but it’s a nice distraction from the nausea I feel. “I thought someth—you know, it doesn’t matter,” he trails off, handing the kit to Quinn.
“I knocked a glass of water over. I’m sorry,” I apologize, and he crouches down next to me, thankfully in the opposite direction of my hand.
“What the hell are you apologizing for? I don’t care about a glass, I care about you. You’re not looking so good,” he says, tilting my chin up to examine my face as Quinn presses something against the cut, causing me to wince.
“Just what every girl wants to be told,” I joke, and Henry’s eyes crinkle. “I’m fine, it’s the—”
“The blood, I know. Try not to faint, Walker. Keep your eyes on me,” Henry interrupts, and I’m distracted by the fullness of his bottom lip. It’s tempting to drag my good hand through his hair to smooth it out.
As if I could look anywhere else when he’s in the same room as me. Is it stupid for me to be excited that he remembers I hate blood? Actually, yeah, that is stupid. He definitely remembers the time our families were on vacation in the Bahamas when Hunter slipped on a rock, slicing his foot open. I fainted at the sight of all the blood, and poor Henry was stuck lugging us back to where our parents were lounging on the beach with JJ, Bailey, and Kaitlyn.
“What about blood?” Quinn asks, and Henry briefly looks at him, as if remembering he’s still in the room.
“Why are you shirtless?” Henry asks pointedly, and I force a short laugh, suddenly very nervous to be in the kitchen with Quinn and Henry. Fuck, if you count me in the mix, the level of hotness in this room is combustible.
“I have an extremely bad reaction to seeing blood that usually ends up with me fainting,” I explain quickly, as Henry’s hand falls from where it still lingered on my chin.
Henry’s jaw is covered in dark scruff, and since he told me to keep looking at him, I have free rein to note all the imperfect details on his perfect face. There’s a small bump on the bridge of his nose from where he broke it in college, his lips are slightly chapped and in need of lip balm, and his lashes are dark and stupidly long. I could give him some of my lip balm if he doesn’t have a problem with me applying it with my mouth.
We’re both trying to adjust to our new dynamic. I have yet to ask if he’ll practice making out with me, mainly because I’m not sure what I would do if Henry said no.
“What did you think happened when you came down? You look like you just got out of bed,” I point out, trying to distract myself from Quinn wrapping my hand up. At least this is almost over, and I can go drown myself in the shower.
Henry shakes his head quickly, averting his eyes from mine. “It doesn’t matter what I thought.”
It does matter because I want to know. “Do I need to tell Quinn about the time you were caught—” Henry moves quickly to cover my mouth to shut me up. I laugh maniacally against his hand, tempted to lick it so he’ll take it off. I know plenty of shit about Henry that I could use to blackmail him into doing whatever I want.
“Whatever the fuck you were about to say, don’t . I heard the glass break, and I thought someone had broken in. You weren’t in your room when I checked, and I needed to know you were okay,” he answers, pulling his hand away.
Henry’s admission sobers the mood in the room, and it dawns on me the investigation into my family’s house is still ongoing. I received a call from a detective a few days ago asking if I had seen anyone new around the neighborhood. The case was officially declared arson, but I’ve been doing everything possible to keep my mind occupied.
“Nobody broke in. I was being a klutz.”
“All better,” Quinn says, and I feel guilty for directing all my focus on Henry.
“No blood?” I ask, still keeping my head angled upward to prevent my hand from being in my line of sight.
“No blood,” Quinn confirms, and I carefully lift my hand to examine my palm now covered in a light layer of gauze and tape. Flexing my hand, I’m impressed the tape doesn’t pull, but it still doesn’t feel great with the freshness of the cut.
“Thank you, Quinn. I appreciate it,” I say, smiling at him. He even brushed aside all the glass so I don’t have to see the shattered pieces anymore. I didn’t hear him do that.
“I know exactly how you can make it up to me,” Quinn says, and my smile grows. I’ll take the bait.
“And how is that?”
Henry clears his throat as if to subtly remind us he’s still here. It’s not possible for me to forget he’s in the room, but I do accept the hand Quinn offers after standing up. “You can make it up to me by telling me what you were about to blackmail Henry with.”
It does seem like a fair trade.
I turn to smile mischievously at Henry, gauging on a scale from one to ten how upset he would be. “Quinn did help bandage my hand.”
“ No ,” Henry immediately protests, a wary expression on his handsome face.
Meh , I’m not very good at doing what I’m told.
“Henry got caught by his dad jerking off to a Wonder Woman comic after forgetting to lock the door,” I blurt out before Henry can put his hand over my mouth again.
His glare is murderous, and maybe I should be a little afraid of him being upset. Quinn howls with laughter as the sound of footsteps gets louder down the stairs.
“How the fuck do you even know that?” Henry gapes, his face tomato red. I laugh easily as Wilson walks into the kitchen with a gym bag over his shoulder.
He stares at Henry for a moment, cocking his head to the side. “What am I walking into?”
Quinn is too busy laughing to form words, leaning over the counter hysterically.
Henry shakes his head in disbelief, dragging a hand over his face. “I was thirteen, okay? It was all I had.”
It doesn’t help. In fact, all of us end up laughing harder.
The only reason I know is because Chris and Penelope told my parents while I was eavesdropping. Of course I had no idea what jerking off meant at the time, but I sure wrote about it in my diary that I reread before I went to college. I’m not even embarrassed to say I went as Wonder Woman for Halloween my freshman year at Duke.
I start to back out of the kitchen, my side aching from laughing so hard. “On that note, I think I’m going to go get ready for work. Don’t leave without me.”
“You can drive your own car today,” Henry grumbles under his breath.
Quinn flashes me a confident smile. “I’ll take you if he leaves. There’s an extra helmet on my bike. Gotta save the planet one carpool at a time, sweetheart.”
I laugh off the endearment because Henry’s entire body stiffens. “You know, Quinn, I think you might have yourself a new friend after all.”
“Fuck no, your dad is already prepared to throw me in a wood chipper. I’m not letting him find out I let you ride on a motorcycle. I’ll wait until you’re ready, and you’ll ride with me,” Henry says, but I’m not sure I love the way he says he’ll “let” me do something. I thought we’d already covered this.
I roll my eyes, crossing my arms over my chest. “You don’t let me do anything, Henry. I think that stick is lodged up your ass again. Want me to send you a clip of Wonder Woman so you can relax a little?”
Henry’s eyes flash dangerously, and the guys burst into laughter again as I retreat up the stairs, praying he doesn’t kill me in my sleep tonight.