Chapter 40
“NAKED IN MANHATTAN” BY CHAPPELL ROAN
By the end of the week, I’d convinced Mustang to join me in my home. It was the first time I’d ever had a girl over who wasn’t already arching off the mattress, moaning my name. It was . . . both exciting and terrifying.
We rode here together on my motorcycle. She looked adorable in my helmet with her big eyes, terrified of the road ahead. I helped her relax as much as possible, but Quinntessa still seemed shocked since discovering I lived over in Coven Hills—the upper-class district.
I sat on my bed, rubbing my sweaty hands down my pants now and then.
She walked through the room without much of a reaction, curiously examining everything she could.
I knew she’d come here today, so everything she might find unappealing was already hidden in my closet, under my bed, Estelle’s bedroom, or locked up in the bathroom in my mother’s room.
Lukas better not destroy anything, or I’d turn his ass into a stuffed animal for Quinntessa.
I tilted my head and observed the way Quinntessa skipped over every pop station on my radio. I thought she liked that genre the best. It was one of the reasons I left the radio there for her. I never expected she’d turn on country music.
“You listen to that country garbage?” I asked, leaning back against my headboard. “I thought you were from New York. Shouldn’t you like . . . Katy Perry or something?”
If this were a Katy versus Gaga competition, she’d be a Katy.
“My neighbor was an Amish family, and my teacher was also the can collector for the town. Country might not be who I am, but the genre has such sweet songs.” She tossed her hair out of her eyes and gifted me a small smile.
I liked learning new things about her. She didn’t look like a country girl, nor did she act like one. It was nice to know she was honest about her taste.
She continued around my room with bright eyes. Somehow, she looked more interested in being inside my bedroom than she did when I showed her the front corridor. Most jaws dropped when they saw the house, and though Quinntessa’s had, she looked by far more shocked to see my childish bedroom.
“Your daughter is so cute,” Quinntessa gushed. “Did you take these?”
My eyes follow her fingers as she gently touched the pictures I’d taken of Estelle within the many photos of my friends. She was delicate, more careful than she needed to be. It made my stomach flip-flop the way Quinntessa’s eyes filled with hearts at Estelle’s crayon masterpieces.
“Yeah.” I tucked my legs underneath me.
“How long have you known Erica?” Quinntessa asked. “And Olivia?”
I inhaled. Another fucking question. Did she ever give up being so nosy?
“A while,” I retorted.
“A while?” Her bushy brow quirked.
“Mhm. A while.” I rolled my eyes and looked down at my jeans.
I didn’t want to interrupt her adventuring.
I didn’t have many people over like her, people I didn’t want to screw things up with.
I had to sit tight and wait for her to take it all in.
This was what people did when they went to each other’s houses and weren’t best friends or planning on having sex.
I raised my eyes from picking at the comforter after a few silent minutes passed. I frowned, then pushed my brows up to my hairline when I found Quinntessa’s gaze with ease.
“What?” I asked.
Quinntessa floated closer to stand on the other side of the headboard. Her fingers wrapped around the thick wood as she leaned closer to me.
“Why did you bring me here?” she asked, looking around. “To your home. Where you’re . . .”
“Where I’m . . .” I squinted accusingly.
“You’re acting really weird.” She nervously shuffled, disappointment curling inside my chest. “Or maybe I only know the flirty, cocky you, and this is new to me, but you’re . . . I can go home if you don’t want me here.”
“No, no.” I shook my head. That wasn’t it at all. “No, I want you here.”
It was the fear of my family showing up randomly with her here that scared me. My mother already spotted her. For all I knew, she was hoping this would all be over and thought she needed to leave the house because I was going to murder her in here.
It would be easy to take care of things here and move the body, but then I would have to think about Quinntessa’s honeycomb eyes losing their light three feet from where I slept.
Part of me wanted her here to learn about her, to prove to myself I could get close to her safely without accidentally becoming a murderous, psychopathic monster. She was not dying today.
I had until Valentine’s Day to make a plan, to find a good opportunity and do it when she least expected it.
“Are you sure? Because?—”
“Quinntessa, I need you here.” I tossed the decorative pillows my mother added to my bed away and turned to face her. “I don’t want to make the same mistakes I made before with you.”
This was true, although I’d never been tasked with killing someone I was sleeping with.
“With your other girlfriends or . . .” Quinntessa nervously laughed as she joined me on the bed.
I couldn’t hold back. An anxious, unsure laugh left me, amused at how she looked so pretty yet acted like she could set off a bomb by asking the wrong questions. Eventually, I finished avoiding the question and sighed.
“I’m sorry,” I apologized. “I’ve never done this before, and I don’t know what’s not going to scare you away when it comes to getting to know me for me.”
Quinntessa squinted at me, and I worried she knew something. As much as I did want to get to know her, this was as close as I felt was safe. If I went too fast and someone caught us, Victor would make sure Mishka took care of Papa’s wishes without any hitches.
“You’ve never had someone over to your house?” she asked me, confused.
Here we go . . .
“I’ve never brought a girl home who wasn’t getting naked in my bed,” I awkwardly replied, hoping the truth would set me free enough. “I’ve never . . . had one not like me either. Usually, people are chasing me, not the other way around.”
“Oh.” Quinntessa’s eyes looked up at the ceiling, deep in thought.
Worried she might feel I was acting too much like a whore, I tried to ease the situation. It turned out, I was not that great under pressure when it came to her either.
“Honestly, by week one, I would have had sex with them, if I hadn’t already.” I gulped and stared at her confused eyes, rushing to add a quick note at the end. “But not with you!”
“Thanks?” Quinntessa frowned.
“You’re welcome.” I winced at my words and quickly forced a chuckle. Quinntessa looked down at her hands, so I sighed and quickly spoke up again. “I don’t want a one-night stand or situationship with you.”
Her eyes raised to mine.
“You’re different. You deserve better than that, than me . . . and stuff.” I cleared my throat.
Holy shit. This was a lot harder than I imagined. I liked her. I liked her, yet it felt like I needed to walk on eggshells with her. That was my fault. I doubted she imagined there was a gun pointed at the back of her head every time she got near me.
“You’re telling me Quincy Battles can’t handle someone who doesn’t get on their hands and knees for her at first hair swoosh?” Quinntessa tossed her hair to the side dramatically. She smirked and looked me straight in the eyes. “Wow. You aren’t as smooth as I thought.”
I rolled her eyes. Biting back a smile, I rubbed my face and leaned back until my head fell to the soft pillows below me.
“If you’re going to pick at me, just go home,” I scoffed.
“No. I think I’ll stay here,” she refused, standing and walking away from me. “Tell me how Miss Flirty-Flirt went from head cheerleader dating the quarterback to here.”
I felt the mattress dip as she joined me on the bed. When I glanced to the side, Miss Nosy held a picture of me and Christian from my shelf. I sighed and took the frame, holding it up to examine.
“Haven’t you already heard this story?” I asked. “Everyone talks about it.”
“I haven’t heard anything from you. I’d much rather know the truth,” Quinntessa giggled. “People say you’re a lot of things, Quincy. So, unless you’re ready to tell me you’re in a spork stabbing gang in Murdafest, I think I’d rather hear the truth from you, not these stupidly made-up stories.”
I’d heard that rumor. People thought I was in some spork gang after I was accused of carrying around knives in my boots.
I played with their heads and told them it was a spork, but we all knew the truth.
Just like a lot of people in Murdafest and Coven knew what was really out there, it was all just a matter of opinion.
They were, or they weren’t, willing to turn a blind eye to the mob and other odd things that happened around our part of Indiana.
I lowered the picture to my chest and inhaled deeply.
I’d thought a lot about Christian and my relationship since learning who Sebastian really was.
I hadn’t had any full confirmation, but Christian kept photos hung all around his house.
If I had the courage, I could go there, or ask someone to grab me a pick picture of the man to compare.
Quinntessa was waiting for me to respond. Although I found it adorable how she melted into my mattress, it only made me think about how much sleep she wasn’t getting at home.
“I thought I would marry Christian. I never intended to find someone I cared about back then,” I quietly explained, heart throbbing. “He was my best friend. A good guy. His friends were shit, but I thought I could see through that. Ultimately, though, it was me who was the issue.”
And my family.
I brushed under my eyes to check if I was crying. I felt her move closer, joining me in fully laying down on my bed.