Chapter 6 #2
I keep my eyes locked forward as I retrieve my laundry bag from the back room, stuff the dirty bedding inside, and pick it up.
It’s heavy, with five appointments worth of laundry inside, but I refuse to show weakness or ask for help.
Growing up with three brothers, I’ve learned to stand on my own two feet and not lean on them like so many of my old school-age friends used to do.
I’m my own person, and dammit, I don’t need a man for anything.
Making my way back to the front, I set the bag down on the floor and make sure I have everything. The main lights are off, though the entire space is bright from sunlight filtering in through the windows.
“Want some help?” Quinn asks, already moving toward me.
“Nope. I got it,” I insist, popping the P.
He stops in his tracks, torn between wanting to let his chivalrous side take over or let me handle it because I told him I would.
“Come on,” I state, grabbing the large laundry bag and hoofing it to the front entrance.
I release the lock and pull open the door, stepping outside and waiting for Quinn to join me.
Out on the sidewalk, I key in the code to lock the door and wait for it to do its thing.
Once I’ve verified the building is secure, I head for my SUV to throw the bag inside.
Quinn stays with me, not offering to help but ready to do just that if needed. When I have everything in place, I close the hatch on the back of my vehicle and turn to face Quinn. “Let’s go.”
He practically jumps into action, leaping toward me and matching me step for step as I turn and start walking. “Where are we going?”
I don’t slow my stride as I reply, “I believe someone promised me a strawberry milkshake.”
I can practically feel his happiness ebbing from his body as we stroll down the sidewalk. “I did.”
We don’t speak as we make our way to the end of the block. He leaps ahead of me, pulling open the familiar door of the diner. The bell chimes, announcing our arrival and making me smile. It’s familiar. Home.
“Charli!” Jeff hollers from behind the counter.
“Hey, Jeff,” I reply, heading toward my favorite booth along the far wall. It’s away from the door and windows, giving a false sense of privacy, since everyone walking by the windows can’t watch you eat.
“Strawberry milkshake?” he asks from his post as he fills the straws behind the counter.
“Yes, please,” I say, sliding into the booth.
“Chocolate shake, Quinn?”
“You know it,” Quinn replies, slipping into the booth across from me.
I try to ignore the way his arms flex, the corded muscles taut and on full display. I’ve never noticed that before. I’ve always been an arm girl. Sexy arms with a little ink are my Kryptonite, and I have to turn my attention away from him before I start drooling all over the old tabletop.
“Big plans later?” Quinn asks.
I glance up, my eyes narrowing. “Why?”
He’s not fazed by my saltiness. “Just trying to be friendly.”
I huff out a deep breath. “Sommer and I are going to a movie later.”
“Which one?”
“That new scary one,” I tell him, anxious to see the latest slasher flick after it scored high reviews.
He shudders. “No thanks.”
“I can’t believe you don’t like scary movies. You know they’re fake, right?”
“Yes,” he replies tersely. “But all that shit could still happen. Have you seen The First 48?”
“Of course I have,” I insist, loving everything about it. “My favorite is Making a Murderer.”
“You’re really weird,” he mutters, shaking his head. “I just…can’t. I didn’t witness shit like that, but I lived my own brand of fucked up.”
My stomach drops to my shoes, and I feel terrible. “I’m sorry, I—”
“No, don’t apologize. There’s a big difference between a horror movie and what I experienced. A big difference. But for a young boy, it was pretty horrific,” he says with a sad smile, and it guts me.
I’ve known Quinn’s story. I learned the sugarcoated version when I was about ten, wondering why Camden got to have a friend over all the time and we didn’t.
I’ll never forget—and never truly understood at the time—my mom’s words to me.
She told me some kids aren’t born into the best homes.
They don’t have a mom or a dad, or if they do, their parents don’t treat them the way they should.
Some parents are there physically, but have no business raising a child, and it’s our job to love, teach, and welcome those kids into our homes as if they were a part of it from the very beginning.
Over the years, I started to see things differently. I saw his parents, heard the fights, witnessed the pain reflecting in his young eyes. It wasn’t from anything physical—at least that I was aware of—but more of a mental anguish he carried with him.
Unless he was at our house.
There, he got to be a kid, playing with my brother, eating a good meal, receiving help with whatever homework he had to complete.
My parents made sure he was taken care of, sometimes even washing his clothes while the boys ate and played or telling him to take a shower before he went back to his own place.
I open my mouth to apologize a second time, but any further comment is cut off by Jeff’s appearance. “The very best strawberry and chocolate milkshakes I can make,” he boasts, placing the frosted milkshake glasses on the table.
“Just the shakes, or are we eating too?”
“Oh, we’re eating,” I reply, not bothering to grab a menu.
Jeff smiles. “Your usual?”
“You know it,” I state, removing the paper wrapper from the straw and sticking it in the milkshake.
“And for you?” he asks Quinn.
“Jumbo and fries.”
“You got it,” he proclaims, tapping on the table. “Coming right up.”
I take a long sip of the cold, sweet milkshake. “Oh my God, that’s so good.”
Quinn sticks his own straw in his shake and takes a drink. “He’s the best.”
“You know, when I worked here in high school, I gained like ten pounds that first month because all I did was drink milkshakes.”
“You did not,” he replies.
“No, I really did.”
“Well, you didn’t show it.”
I watch him as a blush creeps up his neck.
I’ve known about Quinn’s crush on me, and for as long as I can remember, it irritated me.
I didn’t want my little brother’s best friend to crush on me.
My friends teased me, so I pushed back at him.
We’ve always had this comfortable back-and-forth banter, a love-hate relationship of sorts.
He’s one of my favorite verbal sparring partners, though I’d never tell him that.
“What about you? Big plans tonight?”
A flash of him on a date enters my mind, and it’s not a comforting picture.
In all the years I’ve known Quinn, I don’t recall many dates or girlfriends.
In high school, sure, but ever since he reached adulthood and entered the workforce full time, not much.
At least not much that was shared with me.
Gabby joins the picture, and the milkshake in my gut sours. It may sound conceited, but I know she’s only hitting on him because of me. Quinn’s crush is no secret, even if he tries to hide it, and she’s using that to piss me the fuck off.
Works too.
“Cam is coming over to watch the Guardians game with me,” he says, taking a big slurp of his own milkshake.
“Eww, gross. Who in the hell roots for the Guardians?”
“Who roots for the Reds?” he counters.
“Me!” I proclaim. “You only cheer for them because of that stupid movie in the nineties.”
He barks out a gravelly laugh, the sound reverberating through my blood and landing with a thud against my clit. “Major League is the best movie.”
I roll my eyes as Jeff approaches our table with two plates of food. “It was cheesy then, and it’s cheesy now.”
Quinn lifts one of the fries off the plate placed in front of him and points it at me. “Them’s fighting words, Charlotte.”
My eyes narrow at the use of my full name, which only makes him laugh harder as he pops a fry into his mouth. His dark eyes sparkle with mischief as he somehow grins and chews at the same time. “Let’s eat.”