Chapter 26
Quinn
R ight as I pull into the underground parking garage of my apartment building, my cell phone rings. The Bluetooth connects, and the in-dash screen tells me it’s Nick calling.
I glance across to the passenger seat, holding my finger to my lips, and then I hit Accept .
“Hey, man…what’s up? I ask, steering the car to the left to take the ramp down to the lower-level basement where my designated parking spot is.
Nick’s voice bellows through the speakers. “Have you spoken to Jaxon?”
“Not since I left the studio. Why?”
“Goddammit,” he shouts.
Cassie winces, covering her ears, and my head flies back hard into the headrest .
“What the hell, Nick? What’s going on?”
“Jaxon got pulled over for speeding. Some goddamn teenager with a cell phone snapped a photograph of him talking to the cops, and it’s been leaked to the press.”
“Shit.”
“I know, right?”
I pull the car into my parking space, 501-Resident Parking Only , switching off the ignition. Glancing across at Cassie again, I notice she’s looking all around the parking garage, which consists mostly of Porsche convertibles, Lamborghinis, and the odd Maserati.
Let’s just say my neighbors aren’t exactly short of a dollar.
Cassie looks subdued as her eyes take in the expensive vehicles, and I can’t help but wonder what’s going through her mind right now.
Yeah, I’ve got money. I’ve got a bank account full of the stuff. I work my ass for it, though, so I don’t go out of my way to hide it.
Most people think it’s simple…you release a hit song, and you make a stack of cash. But they don’t know the first thing about the music industry. They don’t see the endless hours we put into rehearsing. They don’t see us all still up at midnight while audio engineers pour over sound boards, and technicians push us for just one more take. Early starts and late finishes are normal in this industry. Add to that, the never-ending media interviews, photo shoots, meet-and-greets, and in-house appearances they sign us up for.
Therefore, the fact that I drive a custom-restored Plymouth Barracuda and live in an apartment that’s close to ten thousand square feet, yeah, I’m not apologizing for any of that shit.
“I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do.” Nick keeps yelling, and man, he’s really got a stick up his ass over this. “If Kael getting into drunken bar fights isn’t bad enough or Reed being accused of all sorts of shit, now Jaxon’s landed himself in hot water.” The line crackles, I miss the next couple of words, but then it comes clear again. “I swear someone should write a fucking book about you guys. They would make a goddamn fortune, fiction of course, because no one would believe a word of it.”
“You know this band means everything to us, Nick.”
Hesitating, my eyes find Cassie’s again, and for the tiniest moment, I question if that statement holds as much truth as it once did.
Cassie’s blue eyes are like never ending pools of deep emotion looking across the console at me, and I want to sink into them until there’s nothing left but the twisted mess we’ve gotten ourselves into.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Nick laughs, though he doesn’t sound the slightest bit amused. “Thank fuck you keep your nose out of trouble. Let’s keep it that way, huh? The last thing I need is you going off the rails and pissing me off too. You’re a good guy, Quinn. Don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Then he hangs up.
I glance at Cassie.
Her gaze skips over me, and she bites down hard on her bottom lip.
The silence that follows, not awkward at all.
Stepping into the elevator, I swipe my fob across the blackened screen, and within seconds, we’re gliding seamlessly up to the fifth floor.
My key slides into my door, and I stand back to allow Cassie into the apartment in front of me.
“Oh, wow,” she gushes, looking everywhere all at once.
Taking her by the hand, I lead her into the kitchen, and she takes a seat at the island that takes up almost three-quarters of the entire space. I watch her pick up an apple from the fruit bowl, sniff it, and then put it back again when she catches me watching her.
“Sorry,” she mouths.
“Do you want a drink?” I ask, opening the fridge.
I step back so she can peruse the contents, which consists mainly of energy drinks, beer, Pepsi, and a shelf full of pre-prepared meals that I order online when I’m in the mood. There is only so much ham a man can eat before scurvy sets in.
Or is that a lack of vitamin C? Or sunshine?
Who knows?
“I’ll have a beer, thanks.”
I nod, dismissing any lingering thoughts of pirate-related diseases that could possibly bring me to my ultimate demise, and grab two Heinekens from the bottom shelf. Popping the caps, I hand her one.
“Cheers.”
“Cheers,” she replies, clinking the top of her bottle against mine. She takes a small sip and then swings her legs around on the stool to face the living room. “Your apartment is incredible, Quinn.”
“Thank you.”
“I knew it would be big and luxurious. I just wasn’t expecting it to be so warm and inviting. It’s really homey. You should give your interior designer a raise.”
Relief hits me but also a burst of annoyance. “Thank you, and yes, you’re right. It is homey, and that’s why I love this place so much. But screw using an interior designer. I decorated every inch of this place myself.”
Her jaw drops. “You did?”
“When you’re on the road as much as we are, travelling, touring, and living out of suitcases, holed up in hotel rooms for weeks at a time, coming home to a place you can call your own, there’s nothing like it in the world. As for the decor, I like to surround myself with things that mean something to me.”
The truth is, I’ve collected artifacts from all over the country, and most of it is Indigenous American design. I love the stories, the beliefs, and the beauty of the Indigenous American culture. I love the language and the people, so I’ve filled my home with old books, wall paintings, large tapestries, dream catchers, and lots of colourful pottery.
“It doesn’t exactly scream famous rock star.”
“Mission accomplished.”
“The other guys don’t have apartments like this?”
“Nah, their places are all super ultra-modern, with touchscreen everything, expensive furniture, polished marble, and state-of-the-art electronics.”
“What’s up there?” Cassie asks, taking another quick sip of her beer. She’s looking up at the second floor, her eyes trailing over the black metal staircase that leads up to the enormous loft.
“My bedroom.”
“Oh.”
That’s all she says. Oh. But the pretty blush of her neck and the way she bites on her bottom lip again speaks volumes. The thought of my bedroom affects her, and just knowing that it affects her creates a deluge of warmth that starts in my lower back, and works its way up my spine.
“I love sleeping up there. It feels like you’re floating in the clouds where no one else can find you. Not unless you want them to find you, of course.”
“Do you want to be found, Quinn?”
I shrug. “I’m not so sure anymore.”
Her eyes linger on my face, and an unusual sensation swooshes deep in my stomach like there’s more to be said. But neither of us has the courage to say it.
Eventually, she crosses her legs, looking over at me. “Well, it’s all very impressive. The polished concrete floors are cool.”
Walking around the island, I pull out a stool to sit beside her. “I like them, thanks. I picked up a heap of awesome rugs when we toured through Utah a few years back. They keep your feet warm, so no, not really that cool at all.”
She lets out a laugh as she twirls the beer bottle around in her hands. “I didn’t mean literally , Quinn.”
I can’t help but smile. I knew what she meant. I was just teasing her. “I’m joking, Alabama.”
Cassie takes another sip, longer this time, swallowing it down with a couple of deep gulps. “Can I ask you something personal? ”
I tip my bottle in her direction. “Shoot.”
“Have you ever had a long-term relationship?”
Huh? Well, that question sure came out of left field. I guess we’re diving straight into the hard-hitting stuff. I’ve got nothing to hide, so I answer her honestly.
“I went out with a girl for a couple of years in high school. Melanie Morresseki. She was a really nice girl. It was just kid stuff though, nothing too serious. We went to prom together.”
“That’s cute.”
“Mel was crowned Prom Queen both years.” I chuckle. “I wasn’t even in the running for Prom King, not even in contention.”
She gasps. “With a face like that ? I don’t believe it.”
“I know, right.” I roll my eyes. “But you want to know the part that sucked the most? I had to sit on the sidelines of the auditorium, and watch on while my girlfriend danced with some dickhead football player named Logan Littlebottom.”
This makes Cassie laugh. I like the sound of her laughter. It’s got a musical quality to it that I appreciate, a light pitch that tickles my ears and warms my senses.
“Where is she now?” she asks. “Do still keep in contact?”
“Nah, last I heard, she moved to California, and married a dickhead football player named Logan Littlebottom.”
“No?” she gasps.
“Yep, he went pro a few years later, and now they own a mansion in the hills, and they’ve got three kids under four.” I shudder violently. “Fuck’s sake, I can’t think of anything worse. ”
Cassie’s head tilts curiously. “You don’t want kids?”
“I don’t mind them as a general rule, but kids take up too much time, which is something I don’t have nearly enough of, even on a slow day. And they need stability, routine. I don’t have either of those things in my life. I like being able to hit the road whenever the hell I feel like it without having to worry about anyone else.”
“I guess.”
Her voice sounds a little hollow, so I reach across, and take her hand in mine. Pulling gently, I motion for her to follow me into the living room where I position her on the end of the couch.
“Stay here. I have a surprise for you.”
“You do?”
Her mouth falls open in a perfect circle, and she lets out a little shocked sound that causes intense pleasure to course through me. Fucking hell. The things I’d like to do with that mouth of hers right now… mind boggling.
I’m glad I just turned my back on her because I’m at half-mast now, and that’s the last thing she needs to see. I didn’t bring Cassie to my apartment for sex. Well, not just for sex. If it happens, I definitely won’t be turning her down. But like I said, I have a surprise for her, and I can’t wait to see the look on her face.
Disappearing into the kitchen I set about working on her surprise for a few minutes, and when I’m done I stick my head around the corner and tell her to close her eyes.
“Hold out your hands.”
She does as I ask without a hint of hesitation. Her eyes are closed and her hands are out, and she has the most adorable little smile on her face as she waits for me .
She’s so damn pretty.
I can’t wait until it’s her birthday so I can surprise her like this again, though next time I’ll surprise her with something way better than what she’s about to be given. I set a mental reminder to ask her when her birthday is because I really don’t want to miss it.
I hand her a white dinner plate and tell her to open her eyes.
For a few seconds Cassie just sits there, staring down at the plate. She doesn’t say anything. She does however look shocked, and I really hope I haven’t offended her. I’m not a cheapskate. I just thought she’d like it.
“You…you made me a grilled cheese sandwich?”
“I made us a grilled cheese sandwich. It’s silly, sorry. I remember you saying it was your favorite.”
Looking up at me with those big blue eyes that slay me every single time, she chokes out, “It’s not silly, Quinn. Not in the slightest. That just might be the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.”
My heart soars.