Chapter Seven
The Perfect Girl
Damien
There’s a specific kind of torture involved in realizing you like someone at exactly the wrong time. Not the casual kind of like. Not the she’s pretty and fun to talk to kind of like.
I’m talking about the kind that sneaks up on you slowly until one day you realize the person has somehow taken up permanent residence inside your head. And you can’t evict them.
That’s where I’m at with Quinn Thomas.
Unfortunately for me, Quinn Thomas also happens to have a boyfriend. Which means the smartest thing I can do is exactly what I’ve been doing. Nothing.
Instead of going upstairs to my office like I know I should, I sit at the small desk in the corner of House of Ink, staring at a spreadsheet full of numbers that suddenly seem a lot less interesting than they did ten minutes ago while pretending not to stare at her.
Across the shop, Quinn laughs at something Skye just said.
It’s not a loud laugh. More like a soft burst of sunshine that slips into the room and brightens everything around it and my eyes flick up automatically. Because apparently I have the self-control of a goldfish when she’s nearby.
She’s leaning against the counter with a coffee cup in her hands, blonde hair falling loosely around her shoulders. Sunlight from the front windows catches the edges of it, making it glow like something out of a shampoo commercial.
She looks comfortable here. Relaxed. Like this place belongs to her just as much as it does to the rest of us.
Which is both wonderful ... and a problem.
I force my gaze back to the laptop screen.
Numbers. Focus on the damn numbers. Numbers don’t flirt with you by accident.
Numbers don’t smile in that soft way that makes your brain forget basic human functions.
Numbers definitely don’t date former high school quarterbacks who used to shove you into lockers.
That last thought drags my attention away from the spreadsheet again.
Because no matter how hard I try to ignore it the image of Quinn standing in that grocery store aisle last night keeps replaying in my head. The humiliation in her eyes, the way she tried to brush it off like it was nothing, and the way Emette Black walked away without a second thought.
My jaw tightens and I look up again. She’s still talking to Skye, completely unaware that half my brain is busy analyzing every tiny detail about her existence. This is not healthy. I lean back in my chair and rub a hand across the back of my neck.
“You’re staring.” Laine’s voice appears beside me like an annoying ghost.
I glance up. My older brother stands next to my makeshift desk with a cup of coffee in one hand and an expression that says he’s been watching me longer than I realized.
“I wasn’t staring,” I say.
“You were absolutely staring.”
“I was observing.”
“That’s just a fancy word for staring.”
I sigh. “Don’t you have clients to harass?”
“Not right now.”
Of course he doesn’t. Because apparently my personal misery is today’s entertainment.
Laine leans against the edge of the desk and follows my line of sight across the shop. Quinn is now laughing at something Alistair said while trying to balance a cupcake wrapper on Skye’s head.
“She’s something, huh?” Laine says casually.
I stare at him. “What?”
“You heard me.” He nods in Quinn’s direction.
“She’s nice.”
“Nice,” he repeats.
“Yes.”
“That’s the word you’re going with.”
I close the laptop halfway. “What do you want from me?”
“Honesty.”
“You can’t handle the truth.”
He snorts. “Try me.”
I run a hand through my hair. This conversation is heading somewhere I don’t particularly want it to go. “She’s dating someone,” I say.
“That wasn’t my question.”
“It’s my answer.”
Laine studies me for a moment. Then he takes a slow sip of his coffee. “You like her.”
I feel my shoulders tense. “I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
I glance across the shop again. Quinn is helping Skye clean frosting off the counter now. She’s smiling. God, she has a nice smile.
“Damien.”
I drag my gaze back to my brother. “What?”
“You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Looking at her like she’s the last cupcake in the bakery.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s dramatic.”
“It’s also accurate.”
I lean back in my chair. “Even if I did like her...”
“Which you do.”
“...it wouldn’t matter.”
“Because she has a boyfriend.”
“Yes.”
Laine nods slowly. “Fair point.”
“End of conversation.” I really fucking hope it is. I can’t keep having this conversation with him. She is off limits and I can’t do anything about it. No matter how hard I want to.
“Not quite.”
I glare at him. “Why?”
“Because you’re forgetting something.”
“What?”
He gestures vaguely toward the front of the shop where Quinn stands. “She deserves better than Emette.”
“I fucking know that.”
“So does more than half the town.”
“Still not my problem.”
Laine raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure about that?”
“Yes.”
“Because you looked pretty ready to punch him in the face last night.”
I grimace slightly. That’s another thing about small towns. Nothing stays private.
“You heard about that, too?”
“Luke’s cousin was in the grocery store.”
Of course he was. Franklinton apparently has the best gossip network in the country.
“It wasn’t a fight,” I say.
“He called her stupid.”
My hands curl slightly against the edge of the desk. “I was there.” I glare at my brother.
“And you didn’t punch him.”
“I wanted to.”
“Growth,” Laine says approvingly.
I shake my head. “You’re missing the point.”
“Which is?”
“This isn’t my situation to fix.”
Laine studies me for a long moment. Then he nods slowly. “You’re right.”
“I know.”
“But...”
I groan. “There’s always a but.”
“But feelings don’t care about logic.”
“I’m not acting on anything.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
I lean forward and reopen the laptop. “Then we’re done here.”
“Sure.” Laine pushes away from the desk and heads back toward his booth. But just before he disappears, he pauses.
“Damien,” he says casually.
“What?” I snap.
“Careful, kid.”
“With what?”
He glances toward Quinn again. “Falling for a girl who already has a boyfriend.”
I stare at him. “That’s not happening.”
He smiles. “That’s what everyone says at first.”
Then he disappears into his booth, leaving me alone with my laptop ... and a brain that refuses to focus on numbers anymore.
Across the shop, Quinn looks up again and our eyes meet. She smiles. Not the polite smile she gives strangers. The real one. Warm and genuine, like she’s actually happy to see me.
Something inside my chest shifts. This is dangerous territory.
I look back down at the spreadsheet immediately. Focus. Numbers. Math. Anything but the woman standing twenty feet away who somehow makes my entire day brighter just by existing.
Because the truth is ... Laine might be right. Not about the falling part. That hasn’t happened yet. But about the other thing.
Quinn Thomas deserves better than the guy she’s dating. And if she ever figures that out, there’s going to be a line of men waiting to treat her right. The only question is, will I be brave enough to stand at the front of it? Or will I stay exactly where I am now...
Quietly watching from the sidelines.