19. Quinn
CHAPTER 19
QUINN
E verything fucking hurts.
My head is throbbing like someone has been hitting me repeatedly with a hammer all night. I can’t open my eyes because the dots of light clouding my vision are swimming in circles, and I’m pretty sure even if I could crack my eyes open to squint around the room, I’ll surely lose the contents of my stomach, which is still housing all of the alcohol I’d stupidly drank last night.
Groaning in agony, I curl further into myself, tugging the blankets up over my head, trying to block out as much of the sun as I can.
I test a deep inhale to try and ease my stomach. With it brings the scent of a calming freshness, like midnight and pine. The smell is so perfectly balanced, familiar and crisp in my aching lungs that it almost lulls me back to sleep. It’s effortlessly masculine and with another luxurious inhale, my brain connects the scent to its familiarity. It’s the same soap I used when I was forced to stay the night at the apartment next door while Rory and Ace had been having their public nudie show in my living room .
I want to snuggle into it, wallow in its comfort all day, but my mind is quickly catching up to me, running that thought back for a second time, really spelling out all the words.
My eyes snap open and my body jolts into an upright position that makes my stomach roll. I shove my head quickly between my knees so I don’t make a complete fool of myself before I fully realize where I am.
Fuck. I drank way too much last night.
I blink away the bleariness, the dizziness from my vision, staring down at my lap. I’m still wearing the t-shirt and tight jeans I ambled over to Slate’s party in, and the fabric sticks to my skin uncomfortably. I feel like shit all around, sick from the alcohol, dirty from the night spent dancing and sweating, and I’m pretty sure my breath smells like I licked the floor of the local dive bar.
Another blink brings the sheets into focus, certainly ones that are not mine. These are a deep charcoal color, softer and smoother than anything I’ve ever touched. The thread count must be in the thousands. The mattress beneath my aching body feels like a cloud, and all of the effort that went into curating such a lovely bed surely shouldn’t be wasted.
I’m impressed for a few seconds until I lift my head and realize where I am.
Knox’s room.
It’s easy to tell because last night’s memories are slowly rolling in like I’m flipping through the pages of my sketchbook.
“Look,” Slate grunts as I stumble again. He rights me back on my feet. He’s only faring slightly better than I am right now, but only because there are women to flirt with. “I know our friendship is still kind of new, but if you keep hanging all over me like this, you’re going to scare away the ladies. ”
I can’t help but laugh. It feels good, so good that my chest aches with it. I can feel the blistering heat of my cheeks from the drinks I’ve downed, but it’s a nice warmth, one I want to bask in.
“Where are your keys?” Slate asks. His hands are hot on my hips where he’s trying to keep me from falling flat on my face. Maybe the last shot we had taken together had been one too many. “Can I pat down your pockets?”
“I know you wanna feel me up, Slate,” I slur playfully. His name sounds snake-like with the way I drag the S.
“Of course I do, Quinnie girl. Any man would be stupid not to want you,” he comments but his words don’t register because the floor is slipping out from under my feet again.
“Rory has the keys,” I hiccup. Then, “Are we on a roller coaster? The room is spinning.”
Slate curses, and there’s more movement that I can’t keep up with. My eyelids are shutting slowly and I can barely muster the energy to keep them open.
I’ve wilted into Slate’s chest, rubbing my cheek along the soft fabric of his shirt as he digs around in his pocket for something that jingles nicely. After puttering around with something, he guides me into Knox’s room.
“Oh, my fucking God,” I groan at the memory, holding my head when my curse rings in my ears. Of course I’m in Knox’s room, because I’m fated to end up in situations that will make him hate me even more.
Slowly, I manage to shove the blankets away, slipping my legs over the edge of the bed. The good news is, I feel like I’ve slept for one hundred hours. The other good thing is that I haven’t thrown up anywhere in his room that I can see, or smell.
Yet.
The bad news is that I don’t actually know where Knox is, I’m thankful nonetheless that he’s not here to witness me rising from the dead.
He probably stayed the night over at his date’s house. As much as that makes a hot wave of jealousy roll like a tidal wave in my stomach, it’s much better than him being here. So much better.
Blindly, I reach for my phone, patting across the table next to the bed. In the back of my throat there’s a lump that I consciously have to work to swallow down. Later, I might regret not purging the rest of the sickness from my body, but the last place I want to do that is here, in Knox’s room. What the fuck did I end up drinking last night? I remember the flaming shots and Slate throwing out the partygoer who made them, but the rest of the night is a Mad Lib of surprises.
There was Mandy, who told me all about Ace while they were growing up over a few drinks. The longer Slate forced us to talk, presumably so he could sneak off to flirt with girls while I was distracted, the more Ace’s cousin seemed to relax around me. Those cutting looks had turned from pinning me to my spot to glaring at any of the girls who came up to us to ask about Slate.
Mandy’s stories had me seeing Ace in a different light. And the embarrassing ones were even better. Like the time they’d gone sledding down the slope behind Mandy’s family home in Colorado. It had been a steep incline and they’d been warned many times not to go down there, but the fresh snow had been all too tantalizing not to.
Their punishment had been to walk back up the hill to the house, and when they were young, the trek felt like it was a million miles high. And they had to tow their sleds behind them. Ace had thrown up halfway and Mandy had gotten sick from the tears of laughter streaming down her face afterwards .
I learned that she’s studying up in New York at a prestigious fashion school. Her outfit made much more sense then. She and Ace are close, his parents often so busy with their jobs in the art world that they spent a lot of time growing up together.
My fingers finally connect with my phone and my head throbs at the brightness of my screen, rivaling the sun’s rays spearing through the cracks in the blinds.
And then I see the time.
“Shit,” I curse, scrambling for the shoes someone kindly taken off for me. They’re piled haphazardly by the foot of the bed.
I’m late for class.
Ugh, I can’t even remember the last time I drank like this. It must have been sometime last year because even with all of the wine I consumed during Tipsy Canvas, I hadn’t felt this bad. This is a next level hangover.
I brace myself when my hand lands on the doorknob. There’s a lock and it’s flipped shut. I turn it back carefully, pleased when the click is soft.
When I pull the door open, I freeze in my tracks, my breath catching in my throat. Knox is lying on the couch, his body splayed out in a long, hard line. His shirt has risen from where he’s lifted his arm, resting it over his eyes to block out the sun coming in through the windows, and the tugged-up fabric reveals the cut of his hips and the dusting of dark hair from his navel to the waistband of his jeans. Two tattoos are inked into his skin there that I hadn’t noticed the night of the rainstorm. Intricate, feathered wings, lining the defining muscle of his hips.
I lick my lips before realizing that in the quiet of the apartment, Knox is fast asleep. The steady rise and fall of his chest gives him away. That, and the fact that he’s not snarking at me or shooting daggers in my direction.
It’s my one saving grace.
The coffee table shoved in front of the couch is littered with cups and rolling papers, alcohol a puddle across its surface. I have no idea how the glass tabletop has survived the rowdy party unscathed, because I’m pretty sure there was one point in the night where I saw a girl standing on top of it, readying herself to fall into the crowd of people congregated in the living room.
The floor is much the same and I feel like I'm walking through a minefield as I tiptoe around the questionable puddles and garbage. The stench of alcohol in the air makes my head spin and my stomach protests strongly. I press the back of my hand to my nose, trying to block out the smells.
Luckily, I escape the apartment without waking Knox. Unluckily, when I release a sigh of relief, the remainders of my final drink creep up my throat.
I make a dash for my apartment, and thankfully, Rory answers my desperate knocking.
I don’t like that knowing look that she’s wearing, but she doesn’t pester me as I race my way to the bathroom.
Surprisingly, it doesn’t take me long to get ready for class.
I told Rory to go on without me when she knocked softly on the door while I had my face in the toilet, but the sound still rang in my head like a gong. She told me she was going to get coffee with Ace before class and asked if I wanted anything, to which I gratefully accepted.
Even though I have plans to meet Reid at the coffeehouse later, I need something now or I’m afraid I won’t make it through the day.
As badly as I want to stay in bed and be a hermit today, I don’t want to miss class. Beatrice is bringing in another model and grading our in-class work and I don’t want to be docked points for missing out.
And Art History is Art History. There’s no escaping the clutches of a near-failing grade.
I doubt Odie will take it easy on me when I show up in my oversized sweatshirt and baseball cap, but maybe if I bring him a coffee, he’ll be too preoccupied to tease.
Slinging my backpack over my shoulder, I snag my sketchbook from my desk, shoving all of the loose papers hanging out of the edges back inside. It’s a haphazard job at best, but I’m already running too late for my liking, and I can organize them later.
Like while I wait for this stupid fucking elevator the apartment building has.
The queasiness in my stomach has gone down but the piece of toast I forced myself to eat threatens to come right back up when I spot Knox with his own backpack propped over his shoulder, waiting for the elevator.
I can still go back inside and hide, there’s definitely still time to— oh fuck, he’s turning around.
His jade eyes glitter with amusement and I can’t shove away the shiver that slides down my spine when he looks at me like that. It feels like a brush dipped in paint dragging across my skin when he trails me from head to toe.
I’m embarrassed, to say the least; more so when he asks, “Sleep well?”
The sound of his voice makes my knees weak. I trip through my next step and my sketchbook goes flying from my hands as I try to catch myself, the papers I just stuffed inside spilling everywhere.
Somewhere in the back of my mind I hear Knox curse in surprise, but all I can feel is the boiling mortification slicing through my body. There are sketches of him in there, fluttering to the ground. One I had drawn while I was supposed to be working on my next assignment for drawing class. He’d been a source of inspiration for me, and there are sketches of him in all sorts of poses, some more precarious than others, and I’m completely and utterly fucked if he sees them.
I drop to my knees, face burning as I scoop the papers closer to me, praying that he doesn’t see what’s on them. Knox is already crouching low, helping gather some of the drawings, and the fact that this is going to be the first time he’s seeing any of my work is overshadowed by the fact that there’s a thick piece of drawing paper right next to his boot. It’s creased from the fall, half of it turned up at an angle. I can see the lines of his scars I tried so hard to recreate from memory. If he picks that one up, I’ll have to transfer schools.
“Don’t touch that!” I screech when his fingers close around the edge of the paper. I watch it in slow motion, the clench of his jaw, the way that his eyes flick down to his hands, roughened and scarred flesh on full display. Oh no. I think I might throw up all over again when I realize the connection he’s making.
He thinks that I mean I don’t want him touching my things because of his hands.
My throat tightens, heart beating so fast in my chest that I’m sure it’s going to burst through my skin. Quickly, I try to rectify my words, pleading, “No.” My voice cracks around the lump quickly forming in my throat but I push past it. “Knox, I didn’t mean it like that.”
His face is tight as he stands. I scramble, collecting my papers in my arms. He towers over me, even when I rise, and I don’t like the flicker of muscle in his jaw because he’s clenching his teeth so hard.
I don’t like the darkness writhing through those green eyes, molten with anger.
He hands out the papers he’s picked up and an apology sits on the tip of my tongue. Reaching out, I’m about the grasp them and croak out a thank you when Knox drops them.
I watch them slip to the ground again. The elevator dings and the doors squeal open, but I can’t stop staring at my drawings sitting on the floor. I swallow hard, the humiliation prickling at the back of my eyes.
Knox’s boots twist in the corner of my vision and he enters the elevator without a single word.
The breaths I’m releasing through my nose to keep calm are harsh and shaky. In a way, I deserved this. Knox thought I was insulting him and he reacted like the hurt man he is. I can’t fault him for that.
Except that I can and I am.
Annoyance bubbles underneath my skin. Dipping down, I snatch the papers from the hall floor, not caring if they get crumpled in my haste. The doors of the elevator are beginning to wheel shut but I slip through them before they can close completely, trapping me inside with Knox.
If he thought he was going to avoid the consequences of what just happened in the hall, he has another thing coming.
The tiny, metal box that’s grinding down the elevator shaft is filled to the brim with tension. I can feel the stiffness wafting off of Knox’s body, even though he’s leaning against the wall like he doesn’t have a care in the world, his head buried in his phone.
My anger emits in waves and I feel like I’m drowning in it. What I said came out the wrong way. I had in no way meant it like I didn’t want his hands touching my things, but the way he’d gone preternaturally still—that flash in his eyes makes my stomach clench—haunts me. I want to cry because his hands aren’t ugly in the least. If anything, they’re the most beautiful pieces of artwork I’ve ever seen: imperfect, yet so, so perfect.
Of course he retaliated the way that he did. I would’ve misconstrued the comment as well, but there’s an itch in my side that’s telling me he didn’t have to react like that, dropping my work back to the ground. Yet another misunderstanding between the both of us.
When I try to speak, there’s a screeching that sounds more horrible than usual. The elevator jerks to a sudden stop.
I stumble with the motion and Knox steadies me before removing his hands just as quickly. His touch is searing, and his brows are pinched as the lights in the tiny space flicker before giving out entirely.
“What the fuck?” I question, voice pitched higher because of the nerves that overtake me. We’re stuck. The elevator has stopped working and I’m stuck in it with Knox. “Oh, my God! We’re trapped!”
Knox grunts, punching the buttons on the door. An emergency light flickers on, casting the metal box in a dim, fluorescent glow. Nothing Knox is trying works and I’m officially beginning to freak out.
I watch as he tries to pry the doors open by sheer force, but even with the bulging of his impressive, tattooed biceps, he’s no match for the metal jaws of death.
Tossing a look over his shoulder to me, he says, “What are you standing around for, Princess? Call the fire department, or something.”
“Right,” I respond weakly, scrambling for my phone. Drawing my gaze away from Knox’s muscular form, I dial emergency services. The operator is nice about it, sending someone our way while telling us to remain calm and wait for assistance. Obviously, she doesn’t know Knox and I well enough to know that “calm” isn’t in either of our vocabularies.
When I tell Knox that all we can do is wait, his eyes narrow suspiciously like I’ve planned this all along. He looks like he wants to ask more, but he nods instead, sinking down and making himself comfortable against the wall. He looks up at me expectantly, so I sigh, dropping my bag from my shoulder and collapsing to the floor across from him.
His legs are so long that they nearly stretch across the entire length of the elevator, and I can’t help but follow the path back up to his eyes, bright in the dimly lit space. I avert my gaze as quickly as possible.
I don’t know how long it will take for the fire department to arrive, so I shoot off a quick text to Rory about the predicament I’m in, letting her know that I won’t be able to make it to class and to give my coffee to Reid instead. I add a sad emoji because I really, really needed that caffeine.
Across from me, Knox’s phone buzzes. He reads it and his eyes flicker up to me in a sharp glare.
“Slate seems to think that this is hilarious,” he says, and I don’t know why the deep timber of his voice feels like fingers brushing across my skin. “Why did you tell him?”
“I texted Rory,” I huff, defensively. Crossing my arms over my chest, I level him with a glare of my own. “I don’t control who she tells.”
Knox rolls his eyes, shutting off his screen.
It’s silent for a long time. There are no sounds coming from the outside of the elevator and I wonder if anyone has even noticed that it’s stuck. The stupid thing takes so long to arrive at any floor that I think most patrons choose to take the stairs by now, or give up when the elevator never reaches their floor.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt when I can’t take the quiet any longer. Knox raises a straight, dark eyebrow and I flush. Sheepishly, I continue, “I didn’t mean what I said in the hall like that. I just—I didn’t want you seeing my sketches.”
It’s the most I can give him without spilling the truth of exactly what the subject of my drawings are.
Knox’s jaw works and it looks like he’s contemplating something important with the way that he’s assessing me. Maybe he’s trying to read me to see if I’m telling the truth, if my apology is sincere or not. The intensity of his eyes makes me want to pull my hat down over my head and hide from his sight.
“It’s okay,” he says finally, and then quieter, “I’m sorry for the day we met.”
Surely my eyes are bugging out of my head with how wide I’m staring at him in shock. I’m pretty sure my jaw has fallen through the floor and is waiting for me in the lobby. I never ever thought I’d see the day where Knox apologized for that, and right here, trapped in this elevator, I’m completely bamboozled.
“Don’t look so surprised.” He rolls his eyes at the way my mouth is gaping dramatically. “It’s a long overdue apology.”
Damn fucking right it is.
“Are you going to forgive me or not, Princess?” Knox asks when I’m still at a loss for words.
The nickname he uses constantly startles me back into reality and my immediate response is to scowl. “I’ll forgive you if you stop calling me that.”
“Unlikely,” he smirks. “Take the apology or leave it.”
I sigh. “Fine, I’ll take it. ”
Knox seems surprised at how easily I accept his apology, but this is all I’ve wanted all along, a simple acknowledgement of the thing he did wrong. I’ve been tired of this hanging over our heads for so long, and I feel like a weight is lifted off of my shoulders now that this conversation is happening.
We sit in silence for a bit longer but it’s not as charged now. Instead, it’s quite nice.
“What are you doing tomorrow night?” Knox stuns me by asking.
“What?”
“What are you doing tomorrow night?” He asks again, as if he doesn’t understand how I’m astonished by his question. He’s only just apologized for fuck’s sake.
Has the elevator getting stuck somehow transported us into the Twilight Zone? Is this even really Knox sitting here with me or some sort of changeling?
“Um…nothing?” I respond and he quirks a brow at me.
“Is that a question or an answer, Princess?”
“An answer,” I glare. “I have no plans, yet. Why?”
He shrugs nonchalantly, tipping his head back to rest against the wall, as if he’s contemplating even finishing his question. He looks like the perfect picture of casual with his hands folded in his lap.
Finally, he says, “I’m having an exhibition tomorrow night. Would you like to come?”
I blink, because this is definitely not the neighbor I know. An exhibition tomorrow night? And he’s asking me of all people?
“Who are you and what have you done with my douchebag neighbor?” I ask incredulously, shifting in my spot .
A wry smile cracks his lips and my heart stutters in my chest. “Still here, Princess.”
My mouth twists sourly and I narrow my eyes at him. “Let me get this straight. You want me to go to an exhibition with you—tomorrow night?”
He’s staring at me like he doesn’t know why I’m shocked at the suddenness of this question, cocking his head when he agrees to the echo of words I’ve just relayed back to him. “Yes.”
“Why don’t you ask your roommates to go with you?”
“They don’t know about it.”
Huh. I wasn’t expecting that. I don’t know why he wouldn’t invite Slate or Ace to an exhibition that he’s probably known about for months. Although, I could see Slate wreaking havoc and drinking too much champagne, but Ace? It seems like the perfect spot for someone like him, especially with his parent’s connections.
Or rather, why isn’t he asking the girl he was on a date with last night?
I don’t like the way my body reacts to that line of thinking, my stomach tightening and my fingers clenching into fists as jealously floods my system. I shouldn’t be feeling like this over him of all people, but I just can’t seem to help myself. My mind has always been drawn to thinking about Knox like he’s mine.
Maybe the date didn’t go well, if he’s asking me instead of her.
I mull it over, analyzing him while I decide. Knox allows me the moment, waiting patiently for my response like we have all the time in the world.
Right now, while we’re stuck in this awful elevator, I suppose we do.
The green of his eyes is bright. He’s never been easy to read, and even as I search them now, I can’t find a flicker of anything telling me that this might be some sort of joke.
I tut, crossing my arms over my chest to stop myself from wringing my fingers in my lap. He makes me nervous. Always has. “Why me?”
“No one better to go with than someone I’m not trying to impress,” he answers and I have to ignore the bite of hurt I feel from his words. He has a point though, we’ve been skirting around each other as much as possible up until this point, and I’ve just made it known that I’m unwilling to share my artwork with him.
Maybe this is his way of getting me to trust him a little more.
“That doesn’t give me a lot of time to find something to wear,” I determine.
His eyes flash and I wish I could read that look.
“Is that a yes?”
“It’s not a no.”
Knox nods and that’s that. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow at seven, then.”