5. Reid
Reid
She’s a smart girl, this Quinn Delaney. Not that I ever questioned that.
She was also not very hard to find. Turns out nonprofit centers for matching unhappy couples to couple’s shrinks is a bit of a niche industry, and figuring out that her business is in Washington Heights was as easy as finding a pizza joint with Sicilian crust.
And as she sits in her pleated, fitted gray suit pants and her button-down white shirt that hugs her in all the right places with her long blonde hair pulled into a high ponytail, I’m not going to lie–I missed this.
She’s even wearing a little more makeup than before, which she doesn’t need, but I have to admit…I am a sucker for lipstick, especially red.
She’s staring at me with a fixed smile, one that tells me she’s up for a challenge. And of course, I don’t back down from challenges. Ever.
“Well?” she asks. “Are you going to tell me why you’re here?”
“I was hungry,” I say, backtracking just to get her panties in a wad. Then I remind myself that the slacks I am wearing are very fitted and I should probably refrain from thinking about her panties.
“No, no,” she shakes a finger in my face. “You said you were here for a reason. And if it’s to try and fail again at convincing me to sleep with you, you might as well stop at CVS for lotion and tissues on your way home because it’s not going to happen.”
Damn. She is brutal.
“Has anyone ever told you that you’d make a great lawyer?” I ask simply to rev her up even more.
“Has anyone ever told you that when you open your mouth it makes their eyes twitch?”
I realize that between the two of us, this could go on forever. And considering the fact that I am actually hungry and tired, I decide I should probably cut to the chase.
“I looked you up because I am looking for a plus-one to a handful of weddings I am obligated to attend over the course of the summer,” I say as the bartender sets Quinn’s dinner down in front of her.
Without missing a beat, she takes a bite of the sandwich, licks mayo off her thumb, and scoffs at me with a full mouth.
“You go to weddings?”
“Not willingly,” I say, and I have to admit, this girl is something else.
She doesn’t care if she offends me. She doesn’t care if people hear us talking.
And she doesn’t care that I am watching her annihilate a BLT in front of me.
As I watched her take a bite of potato salad, I can’t help but wonder where she puts it all.
“So why go?” she asks. “God knows you hate them.”
“Listen, I might not be a fan of weddings or the institution of marriage for that matter, but I do support my friends. I’m loyal to a fault, even. And if I am being honest–”
“Lawyers can be honest?” She cuts in, licking her finger again. Fuck me. I wish she wouldn’t do that. I keep talking, dodging both the jab and the feeling I get in my crotch every time I see her tongue.
“If I am being honest, I don’t want to go stag to a string of weddings. It looks bad,” I admit, taking another sip of my wine.
Quinn nods, dabbing her mouth with her napkin. “I see. And how is this my problem?”
I click my tongue before answering as matter-of-factly as possible.
The last thing I want is to sound needy.
Because I’m not. “I thought maybe you’d want to go with me,” I state.
“The only thing worse than showing up alone to consecutive weddings is showing up to consecutive weddings with a different woman each time.”
“Why does it matter?” She asks before reaching for her sandwich again.
“Divorce lawyers have a reputation of being man-whores. And I’m not,” I say. “Consistency would aid in breaking that stereotype.”
Quinn simply chews pensively, still nodding her head. “And you want me to be the consistency…”
I offer half a shrug. “Yeah.”
Again, she narrows her eyes as if to sum me up. She gives it a hot ten seconds before speaking, but I don’t mind. I am a patient man.
“And what’s in it for me?” she asks.
A smirk crosses my mouth. “I knew you’d ask that,” I say. “It’s simple. You get to go to lots of lavish weddings. My friends are not cheap. And girls love weddings, right? Especially you…”
“Yes, she says before coating the rest of her response with spun sugar and sarcasm. And we also like shiny things and ponies and chocolate cake!” she says, and I suck my teeth with a nod.
“So is that a yes or a no?” I ask.
“No,” she says flatly before downing her wine and turning her stool away from me.
I throw a hundred on the bar top and walk out without another word. But despite the road rash I’ll have for at least a day or two from that conversation, I’m smirking. She’s stubborn as fuck. But I’m alright with that. I don’t mind the challenge. It’s what I do for a living, after all.