6. Chapter Five #2
Habit made Quentin consider it. Rand was attractive and not an idiot; those were traits that Quentin looked for.
He felt a pang of guilt at the thought, but…why?
Whatever yesterday had been, Joe had been clear it (probably) wasn’t going to be the start of anything. Quentin was going to respect that. The ball was in Joe’s court. If something happened, or didn’t, it was up to him.
But that left Quentin in a strange place while he waited. And he didn’t know how long he was going to wait. Was he just going to put his cock in mothballs until Joe made the call? There was always the chance he'd never make the call.
What then?
It wasn’t like Quentin wasn’t aware that he was a lonely man, in a lot of ways. That came with the job. He didn’t want to be alone, as well.
“I could—” Quentin got halfway through the sentence and got distracted by a random kid who skulked past, hunched down into an oversized hoodie, with music turned up loud enough that the tinny notes were audible through the white buds shoved in his ears. “Shit.”
Rand blinked. “There’s…probably a restroom on the way to the coffee place?” he offered, his voice halting and perplexed.
“No,” Quentin said. He gave Rand a tight, empty smile. “I’d promised to do something, and I almost forgot. Another time. Maybe.”
“Or not?” Rand said. He smiled when Quentin looked at him. “I don’t run.”
Fair enough.
Quentin left him standing there as he struck out through the terminal. He checked the boards on his way by, eyes flicking down the different destinations with the speed of long habit until he found his slot. It would be close, but he still had time to get to the Lost and Found office.
****
Annette looked down at the three AirPods Quentin had dropped into her hand. She screwed up her nose.
“These have been in someone’s ear,” she pointed out.
That was true. Quentin wiped his hand on the leg of his trousers, the fabric rough against his palm.
“Remember our late arrival from yesterday?” he said. “Joe Gardner. Blond man, three kids.”
“The dark horse?” Annette snorted. “Yeah, I do.”
That was an odd reaction. Quentin stared at her for a moment and then shrugged it off.
“He’s on the plane today,” he said. “Could you drop them off with him?”
Annette looked at him, glanced down at the AirPods, and then back to him.
“This is why you’re single,” she said.
Rather than explain, she turned on her heel and left. Quentin stared after her until she slammed the door behind her. Then he turned to give Fred a puzzled look.
“What’s gotten into her?”
Fred pulled his face into an exaggerated, confused expression. “Who knows,” he said archly. “Maybe she signed up for a dating app, and it’s not going how she thought.”
“What—” Quentin started to ask. He stopped and decided that he didn’t need to know. “I guess at least she’s moved on from Bennett. Let’s get home.”
He put the last few days out of his head and started on the pre-flight checks.
The familiar routine kept his brain occupied enough that he didn’t even think about Joe again until they’d reached cruising height and Annette came back in with coffee for him (finally) and a bottle of blue juice for Fred.
“...and Mr. Gardner said ‘thanks’,” Annette said tartly as she pulled a snack-size bag of Nerd Clusters out of the inside pocket of her jacket. She ripped the top open and shook a couple into her hand. “Soooo…?”
“Soooo…” Quentin mimicked her delivery. “What?”
“Well, are you going to see him again?” Annette pushed. She looked at Fred for back-up. He pretended not to notice. “Are the AirPods code for some sort of illicit Hampton Inn bunk-up or what?”
Quentin didn’t know if he was more offended by the notion or tempted by the idea. He covered for himself by giving Annette a quick, scathing look.
“That’s none of your business,” he said. “And before you invoke my stepsister, it isn’t hers either.”
Annette pouted. “You wouldn’t even have met him if it weren’t for me,” she pointed out stiffly.
“Right?” Quentin said. “How’s that work?”
Annette clearly hadn’t thought that far ahead. She opened her mouth to answer, but all she managed was an intake of air before she drew a blank.
“I…I just meant…” she stuttered as her face flushed. Then, through gritted teeth, she hissed, “ Fred! ”
Fred reluctantly took his attention away from the controls and joined in on the conversation.
“It was Annette who pointed him out,” he said. “On the runway.”
“That’s right,” Annette said, self-righteously. She waved her hands dramatically. “Without me, you might have just taxied off and left him there.”
Quentin could have argued the point. That had never been going to happen, and Annette should have known it. Rather than get into another circular argument about it, he just gave Annette what she wanted.
“Fine,” he said, as he leaned forward to check the instruments. “You want to know, I don’t know if I’ll see him again.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Quentin saw both Fred and Annette gawp at him. He felt a flicker of mild exasperation at their over-the-top interest. From their reactions, anyone would think that Joe was Quentin’s first, last, and only romantic option.
He wasn’t.
Subjectively, the idea was not convincing, but Quentin had plenty of objective proof that he had options. No significant proof, but it still counted.
“Why not?” Annette demanded.
“I mean, come on,” Fred said. “The guy has three kids. That’s a lot for anyone to take on, never mind a man whose only dependent is the world’s most independent cat.”
“I mean, obviously,” Annette said. “But still. You saw him. He was nice !”
That was uncalled for. Quentin was nice to people who deserved it. It wasn’t his fault that he ran into so many people who were idiots.
“The kids aren’t…they’re good kids,” Quentin said. “I like them.”
He was as surprised as anyone to hear himself say that. It was true. Apparently, the appeal of kids was that, in small doses, they were kind of fun to be around. Or these ones were, anyhow.
Fred pulled a vaguely off-putting face. “Yeah, well, I like penguins, but I don’t want to raise someone else's.”
There was a pause.
“That’s a weird thing to say,” Quentin said.
“No,” Fred said. He looked at Annette. “You agree with me?”
She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “It was weird.”
“We haven’t even gone on a real date,” Quentin said firmly. “I don’t think he wants my input on raising his kids. Joe’s just got enough on his plate already; he isn’t ready to date anyone.”
There was a pause, and then Annette patted his shoulder.
“Sure,” she said. “I believe him.”
Quentin gave her an annoyed glance over his shoulder. “You don’t have to believe him. It’s a fact.”
“That’s right,” she said, like she was talking him off a cliff. “You don’t have to blame yourself.”
“I don’t.”
“So brave.”
She patted him again and left. Quentin turned to look after her and then at Fred.
“Do we need to drug test her?” he asked.
Fred just rolled his eyes.
“That was compassion,” he said. “I know it’s alien to you…but a man whose prospects are the definition of slim pickings turned you down. It’s OK to feel bad about that.”
“I don’t.”
“You should.”
Quentin gave him a cold glare. They sat in silence for a while as the clouds drifted by the windows and the plane engines thrummed through their bones. After a long wait, Quentin leaned forward to flick the seatbelt sign on pointedly.
“He said ‘not now,’” he pointed out.
“That’s the spirit,” Fred said. “Don’t let the loneliness get you down.”
****
Two weeks later, Quentin woke up, reached for his phone, and looked at the empty call log. Another day, same as the last.
Maybe Fred and Annette had a point after all.
He sighed, dragged a hand down his face, and kicked the sheets away from his legs. Then he just lay on his back, hand holding the phone slung over his forehead.
It wasn’t like he’d expected Joe to have worked through his dead husband trauma enough to make a booty call, but…nothing? Not even to follow up on the crab-stained shirt?
Obviously, that was fine. Quentin hadn’t…didn’t…care about the shirt, but Joe had. For him to just drop it now? It meant that he’d rather live feeling indebted than talk to Quentin.
Now maybe that was because Joe didn’t think he could control himself once he heard Quentin’s voice… That sounded like a lie. Even to Quentin.
He pulled his knee up and scratched his thigh absently, raking his nails through the thin scruff of hair.
And honestly, now that he’d had time to think about things, he might not want to pursue this further either. There were a lot of complicating factors involved in dating Joe, and he’d never been a man for complications.
If he was honest, it was probably best to leave it as a sweet, unexpected moment.
In Portland.
Quentin stared at the ceiling as he thought about that. OK, it wasn’t the sort of story that got told at parties…
Mostly because it was bullshit. If Joe called, Quentin would happily take that hook.
He snorted to himself, double-checked his phone— just in case— and tried to put his happily smoldering dumpster fire of a love life out of his mind.
It was Monday. Which meant he had the whole day off and could actually have a sleep-in if he wanted.
He could just stay in bed, stare at the ceiling, and feel sorry for himself.
Life gave that idea just enough time to become attractive, then the mattress jostled as Angus jumped up onto it. The big slate gray cat walked up the bed and stepped onto his stomach with heavy, soft-furred feet. Quentin winced as Angus managed to put his paws in the most painful, possible spots.
“You aren’t starving,” Quentin said. “Don’t try and lie to me.”
Angus ignored the demand. He stood on Quentin’s creaking collarbones, thumbs hooked over them, and leaned down to gently bite his chin with sharp, little teeth.
The bass purr that vibrated through Quentin’s jaw and up into his cheekbones was, on the surface, friendly.
To anyone who knew Angus, it was a reminder of how quickly friendly could become something else.
Quentin winced. “Fine,” he grumbled as he reached up to push Angus off his chest, fingers buried in dense, cottony fur. “I’ll feed you. Happy now.”
Angus flicked his tail at him, jumped off the bed, and trotted toward the door. He paused at the threshold and turned around to squint at the still abed Quentin disapprovingly.
“I’m coming,” Quentin grumbled as he sat up and swung his legs out of the bed. “I’m coming.”
The morning chill pinched at his skin as he stood up, and he grabbed a pair of sweats to pull on as he padded toward the kitchen.
Angus preceded him with every sign of cat satisfaction, tail waving like a banner over his one cat parade, and entered the sleek, white kitchen.
He jumped up onto one of the kitchen chairs and sat down to wait for service.
Quentin shook his head as he grabbed the plate with Angus’ chicken leg on it out of the big, silver fridge.
“You know, this sort of attitude is why you keep getting kicked out of pet daycare,” Quentin said as he set the chicken aside so the chill could go off.
He opened one of the white, shaker-style cupboards to pull out the required supplements to season the meal.
“You need to think about that before I drop you off on Thursday, because I’m not hiring you a cat companion. ”
He grabbed the plate and turned around. Angus looked at him expectantly over the table as he waited to be served.
“No,” Quentin said and put the plate down on the scored, wooden floor.
Angus gave a disgruntled, rusty mewp and jumped down. He paced over to his breakfast and sniffed it delicately before he accepted it was as good as he was going to get and dug in.
Quentin leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, and watched Angus rip into the chicken leg for a while. Finally, he sighed and pushed himself upright.
“If Joe ever does call me,” he warned Angus as he headed toward the bathroom. “There’s going to be three kids moving in here. Eventually. You might want to get used to the idea.”