“Just be glad it was him.”
Before Quinn could ask who this mystery man was, Mr. Rey disconnected the call. Short of calling back just to demand that tidbit, there was nothing she could do. Cheeks puffing out with her sigh, she slumped down the hall to Nora’s door.
“My Gods, Quinn you look awful!” Nora wrapped Quinn in a suffocating hug full of bountiful breasts and motherly care redolent with the scent of cloves and Beta. “Have you been eating? You’re nothing but sticks.”
“I’m fine, just tired. I have Colby’s clothes for you.”
“You didn’t have to wash them, sweetheart,” Nora said as she bounced around the living room in a flurry of activity. She was getting ready for work, the orange and green striped uniform of the late-night diner doing nothing for her complexion. “Gods know that boy doesn’t. I swear his underwear could crawl away all on their own.”
“Well, I didn’t want Leah to get jealous because she smelled me on him.”
“Leah was last week, this week it’s a sweet little Beta named Rita. I give it a week before she rips his head off.” Nora stopped to lean against the wall, sighing and looking a good ten years older. “No one ever tells you how hard it is to raise an Alpha, especially now that he’s all raging hormones and opinions.”
“But I still love my mama,” Colby said in a deep bass that didn’t match the tall, skinny boy that ambled out of the kitchen with a paper bag. Stooping to give Nora a kiss on the cheek, he grinned when she ruffled his hair. Turning to Quinn, he eyed the basket. “Are those my clothes?”
“Yeah, your mom loaned them to me. They’re all washed and folded. I had to use the blue stuff to get the smell out. Sorry.”
“I don’t mind.” A roll of bird thin shoulders that seemed too wide was given, a twiggy arm reaching out to pluck dark sweats from the top of the stack. “It’ll thrill Rita that I smell like laundry.”
“Ten o’clock, mister.”
“Mom, come on! It’s a long weekend and I—”
“And you’re sixteen years old without the sense the Gods gave a goose!”
Quinn pursed her lips hard to keep from laughing, giving a stilted wave before making a quick retreat. Their argument followed her back down the hall towards her own apartment and the family bickering gave her a warm, fuzzy feeling. A pang of sadness swept her up, tumbling her through a lonely childhood where hugs were a scarce commodity and the only time Marina was willing to touch her was when she was crying drunk.
Sniffling back the burn of ridiculous tears, she leaned against the wall and moped her way down until her doorjamb thumped into her shoulder. Fishing keys from the basket, she unlocked the door. The stomping of multiple shoes made her pause halfway through the threshold. As heads appeared over the top of the stairs, she ducked inside and threw the two deadbolts, rolling her eyes even as she slipped the safety chain into place.
She was becoming paranoid. Leaning back against the door with a shake of her head at the state of things, Quinn berated herself for being so edgy. She doubted the Alpha from the club would send people to accost her in her own home.
The rapid-fire knock at her back wrenched a shrill scream from her throat as she leapt away from the vibrating panel. Laundry flew, the cheap plastic basket clattering across the floor. Catching herself against the entry corner with hands splayed to hold her up and tether her to the moment, Quinn drew in a ragged breath. Panic sluiced through her veins, fear scrabbling up her spine to dig its jagged claws into her neck.
There was no pretending she wasn’t home after that klaxon wail.
“Delivery,” a voice called through the door, young and male and friendly. It was also unfamiliar.
She had only received a single package at this address in the time she’d lived there. It had been delivered to the wrong apartment. All manner of scenarios embarked on a wild journey through her thoughts. Panic turned to terror in the span of a stuttering heartbeat.
“I didn’t order anything.”
“Well,” the voice drawled, the scuffing of boots against the worn carpet coming clearly through the thin pane of wood. “This is the correct address, ma’am. It’s all bought and paid for. If you don’t accept it, it all gets tossed out.”
Curiosity piqued, Quinn strained up on tiptoe to look through the peephole. In a watery fisheye view, she saw four men, all young, all in the same green jacketed uniform. She didn’t recognize anything about them or the bags they carried.
“What is it?”
“It’s food, ma’am. You understand you can’t hold us to the hot delivery guarantee if you make us wait out here much longer, right? It’s all automated so they know where we are at all times.”
“You have got to be kidding me.” Quinn slid the deadbolts free but kept the safety chain on. Peeking through the cracked door, she canted her head towards the one that seemed to be in charge. “What restaurant?”
“It’s from Carmela’s, ma’am. We’re up on Fifth and Archer, best Italian food in the city.”
“What the hell are you doing all the way down here?”
“Ma’am, are you going to accept,” the man asked with a glance back at the others waiting. Holding a large plastic bag in each hand, the name Carmela’s was indeed blazoned across the side in fanciful script. She’d read about the restaurant in the newspaper just like everyone else. It had been an instant success in Alderbrook, and critics raved about it. She’d never even thought about eating there. Four people seemed a little much for a meal.
Groaning a sigh, Quinn closed the door and slid the safety chain back. This was a terrible idea, and she knew it. She also knew she was starving and there was only a lone pack of crackers in her cabinet. Swinging the door wide, she eyed the deliverymen with obvious distrust. Teeth clenched against the sudden pool of saliva in her mouth as the heady aroma of tomato sauce and garlic punched into her empty stomach.
