12. Quinn
Quinn
“This place is unreal,” I say as Reid and I walk into the dining room of Kingsley Hall post ceremony, hand in hand, mind you.
“My thoughts exactly,” Reid mutters.
“I mean, look at pillars. And the marble flooring. And the ceiling! It looks like we are in the Sistine Chapel!” I gush; my neck craned upward in awe. It’s a good thing I am holding Reid’s hand, or I’d probably fall off my heels.
“Hardly,” he huffs. “I’ve been to the Sistine Chapel, and this is not it. Not even close,” he says, looking at his smartwatch and then shoving his free hand in the pocket of his black slacks.
“How can you be in a room like this at a wedding like this and be so disgruntle?” I ask, still staring up.
“Your answer is in your question,” he says, and I look back over at him. “It’s a wedding.”
“New rule,” I say without a smile because he has succeeded in sucking all the joy out of me. “You have to play the part while we are at the weddings.”
“What part is that?” he asks.
“The part of a supportive friend to the groom. The part of a decent human being who doesn’t see marriage as a death sentence.”
“I’ve never been good at acting,” he says flatly.
“Bullshit,” I whisper-yell because it’s not like we are alone in this room. “You’re a lawyer. All you do is act.”
“Correction,” he says. “I perform,”
“Well, you better up your performance, Hamilton, because the bride and groom are headed our way and you’re center stage,” I mutter before smiling.
“Reid! You made it!” Andrea gushes, and her voice rattles through the room.
“He’s been my friend for ten years, Andie. I told you he’d be here,” AJ says as they stop in front of us.
“Yeah, well, considering who he is, I needed to see it for myself,” she says. “And here he is. With a date, nonetheless.”
“Nonetheless,” I smile back. “I’m Quinn,” I say, extending a hand. And it’s no secret they are studying me. But it’s less summing me up and more curiosity, probably because the infamous Reid the Love Killer doesn’t usually have a girl on his arm.
“It’s so good to meet you, Quinn,” Andie gushes, and AJ smiles too, though I do notice the eye he gives Reid.
But I choose to ignore it and all other things negative because we are at a wedding in NYC’s version of Michelangelo’s best work and about to eat amazing food and drink fancy drinks and then dance so I blow a raspberry on their sad boy parade.
“This is just amazing,” I tell her. “The ceremony was amazing. Like, waterproof mascara amazing. I love the decor. And your dress is lovely! And the location? Chef’s kiss, seriously!”
“Awe thank you!” Andie says, pressing a freshly manicured nail to her chest with a pouty lip. “I like her. Reid, don’t fuck this up,” she says, and he grimaces. I love it.
“I don’t know what I like better,” I say, nibbling on baby quiches at our designated table. “The ceremony or the reception.”
“I know which one I like better,” Reid says, stabbing a quiche with a fork, and I look up at him. “Neither.”
I roll my eyes. “Now, Reid, what did we say about being a Debbie Downer?” I ask the question like I’m talking to a first grader who wants a snack but didn’t finish cleaning up the blocks on the floor.
“I’m not being negative,” he argues around chewing. “I’m stating facts.”
“Well, be less factual and more…fun,” I say for lack of better words.
“You can’t expect anything different from Reid, I’m afraid.”
I look up to see a couple taking seats across from us at our table. She is thin, covered in fine-line tattoos and naturally lovely, and he has a warm smile, warmer eyes and, wait for it, a man bun.
“He’s an eternal pessimist,” Nick says.
“Those seats are taken,” Reid says flatly, and I swat at him, forcing him to smirk.
“Be nice,” I giggle. Because I am good at playing my part. Unlike some people. “Also, you didn’t tell me Nick and Ophelia were going to be here,” I coo at him.
“Please call me Phee,” she says. “Everyone does.”
“Unfortunately for this asshole, everyone who is not in the wedding but still considered AJ’s best friends are at this table,” AJ says.
“Okay, I need to know how everyone knows each other,” I say, ignoring whatever face Reid is making. “I know Justin and Reid were in law school together, and Justin works in the music industry. But what about you two?” I motion between Reid and Nick.
“So Reid and I met through Justin’s job,” Nick says, and I take mental notes while putting my hand on Reid’s leg just for good measure.
He softens and wraps a loose arm around the back of my chair, his fingertips brushing my bare skin.
I’m wearing a simple black dress with no straps, exposing my shoulders and leaving them entirely at his mercy. Good for show, bad for my composure.
I cross my legs as Nick goes on.
“Wait, you work in the music industry too?” I ask.
“Nicky is a music producer,” Ophelia says proudly.
“Oh my god, that’s amazing!” I say and I mean it. It also fits.
“It’s an indie project, probably no one you’ve heard of,” Nick says humbly.
“Try me,” I say.
“Broken Compass Records,” Nick answers. “I’ve produced a handful of bands, including Velvet Atlas, the Northbound Kids…”
“I’ve heard of them!” I say. “Don’t be modest.”
“Nicky is always modest,” Ophelia smiles.
“So are you,” he smiles. “She’s in a band. With me.”
“Wait, you’re in a band together?” I ask, looking at Reid who isn’t surprised at all, probably because he knows this.
“We are,” Ophelia says. “Slow Constellation. We’re actually performing at our own wedding, which Reid better be bringing you to.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” he says. “Wherever I go, she goes.”
“That’s so romantic,” Ophelia gushes.
Romantic. Contractual. Whatever.
“So what about AJ?” I ask. “Where does he come into play?”
“Fantasy football,” Reid answers as he takes a sip of his drink. “We’re all in the same league.”
“Really?” I ask. Then I look over at the main table and watch AJ, who is literally pounding his chest with his fist as we speak, as he talks loudly enough that everyone can hear him. “Okay, that tracks,” I say, and everyone laughs. “But why are none of you in the wedding?” I ask.
“Because all of those guys sitting at that table with Mr. Used To Be A Quarterback himself are either ex-teammates or brothers.”
“That’s a lot of brothers,” I say.
“They’re Mormon.” Ophelia says, and I nearly choke.
Now that I have my bearings on everyone, the conversation shifts to other things. Stories about Reid that rile him up and make me laugh. Eventually, when everyone is tired from laughing so much and full from food and warm from drinks, Nick nods up at me.
“So what about you?” he asks.
“What about me?”
“Why are you dating him?” he asks, and Reid flips him off.
Then it hits me (and I think it hits Reid too because his attention snaps over to me). People don’t think I’m just his plus-one. They think we are actually dating. That’s all fine and dandy except for one thing–
We never established a relationship story.
Which means I have to come up with one on the fly.
“We met at Justin’s wedding…” I start, and of course, they all know that, so they are waiting for me to go on. “And…the connection was just so…undeniable…that he…asked me out…”
Every word comes out broken as if they don’t all belong in the same sentence.
“If I remember correctly,” Nick says. “You two were pretty salty.”
I don’t remember Nick at the wedding, or Ophelia for that matter. Probably because Reid overtook the majority of my attention.
“I…”
“We like it that way,” Reid steps in with an easy smile. “She’s modest about it. But we fell for each other very quickly after Justin’s wedding, and we are just trying to keep it on the down-low until it gets serious.”
I have to admit. Reid’s composure and confidence while making up a story about us is impressive. Not that I should be surprised. He’s a lawyer.
“And is it?” Ophelia asks.
“Is it what?” I ask.
“Serious…” Nick adds to the question.
I look over at Reid, and he smiles back. “I think so,” he says easily, and then he kisses me. Not fast. Not forced. Not Reid.
It’s slow and hot and deep enough to make everyone gasp, but not to be gross.
When he pulls back, I am blushing and spinning, and he goes back to his normal, chill stance.
“Well, I want to know more about you,” Ophelia says to me. “What do you do?”
“I work in relationship counseling,” I say, and everyone stops with the abruptness of a broken guitar string.
“A relationship counselor and a divorce lawyer,” Ophelia says curiously.
“So that’s why you two are so spicy,” Nick grins.
“That’s why,” I grimace into my wine, which is getting dangerously low.
“I personally can’t imagine dating a lawyer,” Ophelia says. “No offense, Reid.”
Reid shrugs.
“I’m used to it,” I say. “Not dating lawyers, but being around them. My dad is a lawyer,” I say, and Reid’s attention snaps over to me.
He’s about to say something, and I am kicking myself when suddenly the band comes to the rescue.
“Oh, it’s time to dance!” Ophelia says, jumping up from her chair. Nick follows, and I am suddenly in danger of being alone with Reid.
“I need a drink,” I say, grabbing my empty glass and b-lining it to the bar.