Chapter 2
Quinn
UNEXPECTED VISITOR
“Spike, you need to get your shit together. We live in the desert. Why are you wilting? You should be thriving.” I shake my finger at him for good measure. “Thriving!”
The small, round, prickly cactus doesn’t respond, but he never does. None of my plants do. Maybe I should adopt a cat. One that no one else wants. At least maybe I’d get a meow or something when I talk out loud.
Shaking my head, I drip water into Spike’s dry dirt and sigh.
How is it possible that I can’t even keep such a tiny, supposedly easy-to-grow plant alive?
I water it. I move it around my apartment to get optimal sunlight.
I even sing to it. Yet it’s definitely on its way to the grave.
I know this because it’s the sixth cactus that I’ve adopted from the discard pile at the local succulent store.
One day, I’ll rescue one of these little things successfully.
Or I’ll end up in tears and give up on cacti and move on to trying to save succulents. Or cats.
Cats are judgy, though. Right? And honestly, I’ve had enough of that.
Dogs love unconditionally. Unfortunately, I can’t have any animals.
I work way too much. Besides, I would have to take it for a walk every time it needed to use the bathroom.
That would suck. I’m less of an exercise type of girl and more of an extra fries kind of girl.
The sizzle of water boiling over the edge of the pot snaps me out of my bumbling thoughts.
I grab the pot and pull it off the heat for a second while adjusting the temperature.
Once I have that done and the noodles are cooking again, I look inside my fridge, trying to decide whether I want to stick with my garlic buttered noodles or spruce things up for fun and add a little shredded cheese.
Why not live it up? Life’s too short to wait for a special occasion for everything.
On the counter, my phone sounds, so I plop the butter and cheese down and answer it as soon as I see who it is.
“Hi, Mike,” I say. “I know I’m late on this month’s dues. I almost have it.”
Mike huffs. “You know I wouldn’t have an issue with you being a little late, but you still owe three months of dues, and now you’re late… again. I can’t keep your mom here if I’m not getting paid to take care of her, Quinn.”
Blowing out a breath, I drop my shoulders. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“You took responsibility for your mother’s care, and you’re not doing a very good job keeping up your end of the deal. I let her stay here, even though she was a year behind, because you said you would get her account all caught up,” Mike snips.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I press my fingers to my forehead and try to breathe slowly. “Right. I know. And again, I’m sorry. I really am working to get caught up. I’m waiting for a check from one of my jobs.”
“When do you get paid by them?” he demands.
I swallow and look down at the floor. “I should be getting it in the mail any time. I expected it a week ago.”
The tension is so heavy that I can feel it weighing on me even down the phone.
This guy freaking hates me, and I don’t know why.
I’ve never done anything to hurt him, but ever since I got the call from the care facility, saying that my mom was about to be kicked out, he’s been nothing but rude.
Sometimes, I wonder if he has a stick up his ass or if it’s just his shining personality.
Unfortunately, I really need my mom to stay in that facility, so I keep those thoughts to myself.
“I’ll give you three more days, Quinn, but I’m charging an additional one hundred dollars a day for being late, starting on the first. As of today, you’re up to six hundred dollars in overdue fees.”
My mouth falls open as I drop the wooden spoon I’m holding. Is he serious right now?
“Wait, what? Is that written in the contract because I don’t remember reading it.” I went over that thing twice to make sure I didn’t miss anything. I knew there was a fifty-dollar late fee, but there was nothing about a daily accrual in the terms and conditions. I can’t… Fuck. I can’t afford that.
“Neither was the part where I let your mother stay here for a year, even though I could have thrown her out on the streets. You can come get her if you’d like to take care of her.”
Squeezing my eyes shut, I swallow and shake my head, even though he can’t see me. That isn’t possible, and he knows it. My mom needs around-the-clock care, and I juggle three jobs. There’s no way I can take care of her.
Or if I’d even want to.
Deep down, I love my mom. I always have. But when I got the call from the care facility asking for money so she could stay living there, I almost told them to shove it. As far as I was concerned, my mom had been dead to me for the last eight years.
Then, the guilt ate at me so much that I showed up at Caring Hearts Recovery Center the next day, asking for a payment plan. Because, for some reason, even though I want to hate her, I don’t.
She might not be addicted to drugs anymore, but that’s only because she isn’t capable of taking care of herself, much less going out and getting loaded.
“Right,” I breathe out. “I’ll get your money as soon as possible.”
Without even saying goodbye, Mike hangs up, and I blink back the tears threatening to spill over. I’ll never understand why he has to be such an asshole. He knows I’m trying. Hell, I pay the care facility before I settle my own rent or buy groceries.
I glance at the bag of cheese on the counter, then toss it back in the fridge. I might need to stretch my food out a little farther, so I’d better save the cheese for another time. Thank God for spices and salt. With those things, I can make any meal a freaking delight.
The timer on my phone goes off, so I strain the noodles and add a generous amount of butter. The cheap fake kind, not actual butter, because hello, I’m broke.
I’m about to find a bowl when someone knocks on my door.
It’s probably Mrs. Cooley looking for her cat once again.
I swear she thinks that thing gets out three times a week.
Except we almost always find him in her freaking apartment.
She hasn’t realized yet that her moose of a cat is too damn lazy to go anywhere.
“Come in!” I shout as I reach for a towel to wipe my hands.
When no one walks in, I call out louder since she might not have her hearing aids in. I make my way to the door, but before I get there, it swings open. With a yelp of surprise and slight terror, I stare at someone at least twice the size of my elderly neighbor. And a hell of a lot hotter.
Goosebumps spread over my skin as I stare up, slack-jawed, at the most gorgeously sinister man I’ve ever seen.
Tattoos everywhere, including some small ones on his face that might mean he’s killed a few people.
I’m not totally sure about that, but I think it’s what I saw in a gangster movie.
I don’t think I want to find out, but I also don’t want to stop looking at him.
“Hi,” I finally say a bit too cheerily as I give the man an awkward wave.
His gray-blue eyes darken like wet stone, and under his short, perfectly trimmed beard, his jaw flexes. “Your door shouldn’t be unlocked. That’s not safe.”
The words sound like a threat, but they send a zing of tingling to my pussy.
His voice is deep and gravelly. Commanding.
He’s got my attention, that’s for sure. Although he’s still a strange man, a large, muscular one standing in the doorway.
And unless I plan to jump off my fourth-floor balcony, I don’t have anywhere to get away from him.
“You shouldn’t invite people to walk into your apartment. The door should be locked at all times.”
I’m starting to agree with him.
“Oh, uh, I thought you were Mrs. Cooley. She lives down the hall.” I smile widely, trying to look as sweet as possible, hoping this man isn’t going to kill me. “Can I help you with something?”
His eyes skirt over my head, which is easy since he’s at least a foot and a half taller than my five-foot-nothing height.
“Did you just move in?” he asks, running his hand over his beard as he scans my empty apartment.
Heat spreads over my cheeks, and I drop my gaze.
No.
No, Quinn.
Do not let what that asshole did embarrass you.
Swallowing down my humiliation as much as I can, I tilt my head back to look at him again. “No. I’ve been here for a couple of years.”
When he doesn’t say anything, I nervously tug on one of my French braids, which I like to wear on my days off. “Um, who are you?” I finally ask.
His perfect lips turn into a frown, and he grunts, holding out a piece of paper. “This got delivered to my apartment. I didn’t look at the address before I opened the envelope and realized it wasn’t for me.”
I move closer to take what he’s offering, and as I do, his spicy scent surrounds me. His hair looks slightly damp, like he just showered. Damn, I’d like to see this man naked and dripping water.
When I unfold the paper and see the check, my eyes go wide. “Oh, thank God. I was about to march into The Ace Bar and tell my asshole ex-boss that I wasn’t leaving until he paid me.”
Running a hand over my face, my shoulders relax slightly. Then I see the amount. Ninety dollars? What? No. It’s supposed to be an eight-hundred-dollar check.
“What the hell?” I mutter as I look over the pay stub part. They took over seven hundred dollars for missing hours? I’ve never skipped anything in my life. I work hard when I’m on a shift.
“What’s wrong?” he snaps, startling me.
Shoot, I forgot he was there.
I force a smile. “Nothing. Thank you so much for bringing this down to me… Uh…”
“Xander Savage.”
Of course, even his name is hot.
“Right. Thank you, Xander. I’m Quinn. Quinn Summers. You probably already knew that, though.”
He narrows his gaze slightly, his jaw twitching again. “Of course it is.”
Xander shakes his head, scowling as he turns to leave. My heart starts to race as I stare at his broad, muscled back.
“Wait!” I say louder than I intend. “Wait. Please, let me feed you to say thank you. Are you hungry? I just made dinner.”
What the hell am I doing? I made noodles, for fuck’s sake. They are barely even a step up from ramen. Well, that’s not true. I can make anything taste delicious. Spices are a poor girl’s best friend.
Xander stops and turns to look at me again, his stony eyes moving over me from head to toe. Suddenly, I wish I had something more on than a tiny pair of shorts and a loose crop top. Is he getting grossed out by my thighs? Meanwhile, I’m practically panting like a dog in heat while I gaze at him.
Rather than letting him turn me down, like he should, I pad over to him and grab his arm, then tug him inside. He didn’t have to bring me my check. He could have thrown it away. But he took the time to come here personally. The least I can do is cook for him.
Or I could just say thank you and let him leave.
Instead, I close the door, shutting us both in my apartment together… alone.