Page 63 of Under Pressure

My entire body bursts into flames. One second, I’m plain old, regular Quinn, and the next, I’m on fucking fire, and the last thing I feel is ordinary. His words jab so deep inside my chest that they may as well cup my soul. My nose burns, and I blame it on the emotions lingering from talking about Nan.

I’m not close to crying because a man said something sweet to me. That’s not who I am. I’ve never been that person.

You are now, the annoying voice in my head says.

“It kills me that you don’t believe me,” Beck rasps.

I swallow. “I do.”

And I think that’s the most horrifying part.

23

She remembers me.

For a while, I worried she didn’t. It’s not like we were friends back then, but I still knew her. Watched her more than I should have. I meant what I said to her tonight—she’s always intrigued me. Then, now, in the future.

Regrets aren’t my specialty. I don’t believe in allowing the choices we make in the past to carry weight in the present. They become excuses for bad behaviour or missed opportunities, and it gets too easy to repeat the same mistakes because, well, it’s happened before, right? You either grow as a person or you don’t. It’s as simple as that.

With Quinn, though, I do have one. She’ll never admit it to me, but I know the people I hung around with in high school were rude to her and her friends. The company she kept was far better than mine. I allowed myself to sit back and stay quiet because I hated making waves, especially knowing I was so close to getting out of town and starting fresh playing college ball.

Thinking back on it now, I hate that I didn’t risk it just once. I have no way of truly knowing if a scolding from me would have had everyone leaving her alone. Still, I should have tried. It doesn’t matter that it’s been over a decade by now. The mistreatmentthat I sat back and allowed has done damage between us now. It’s lingering like a foul smell, and I don’t blame her. Not one fucking bit.

Insecurity is a poisonous disease, and once you become infected, you lose your grip on who you are. I’ve watched it happen repeatedly, back in school, throughout my stint in Triple-A, and in the MLB especially. Women like Quinn don’t come around often, and I can’t for one second blame anyone for finding themselves intoxicated by her. Jealousy latches onto them, and once those claws are inside, there’s no shaking them free.

That’s the reason the girls in school bugged her so much and why the guys acted out in her presence. She intimidated and enthralled them at the same time. Their every flaw was magnified around her, and they were right to feel that way.

There hasn’t been a single day that I haven’t felt like I paled in comparison to Quinn, but instead of letting that turn into resentment, I use it as a chance to be better. Because fuck if I’m not going to try to win her over, even though I’m well aware that she’s way too good for me.

Even leaning over my kitchen island with bags under her eyes and a set of oversized, silk-like PJs covering her gorgeous body, she’s the most beautiful person I’ve ever laid my eyes on. She ignores the way I’m staring at her like I want to lift her onto the expensive marble and turn her into what I know will be my favourite meal and focuses on sipping her tea.

Peppermint with a drop of honey and a squeeze of lemon.

I’ve made a mental note to stock up for as long as she’s staying here. The few bags I have left from when my parents stayed here for a couple of nights last month won’t last. Not if I can pull off convincing Quinn to stay a few extra nights.

“They’re going to drag their feet. I’ve already been blown off twice today, and the longer I wait, the more money I lose by staying closed,” she says a beat later. The steam curling in the air above her mug changes direction when she exhales hard, nostrilsflaring. “I’ve got employees to take care of, not to mention my actual home. I’m too old to be couch hopping.”

I don’t tell her that technically she isn’t couch hopping because first, she isn’t sleeping on my couch, and second, she isn’t going to stay with anyone else but me. Common sense tells me it isn’t the time to poke at her.

Digging my elbows into the island, I stare into her wandering eyes. “My uncle owns a reno company. If you’re not opposed, I can ask him to come out tomorrow morning and at least take a look. Who’s your insurance through?”

She rattles off the name before adding, “I’d appreciate that, actually. Once the adjuster takes a look, it might be a good idea to have someone else do the work in case they try and take their time getting that done, too.”

“He’ll give you a good deal, too.” I might have to do some begging, but it’ll be worth it.

Her eyes narrow slightly. “You won’t butt your head in, though? If I actually do use him, that is. I don’t want you to pay for anything, Beck.”

“Yeah, of course not.”

“Beck,” she barks, clearly not buying my flippant tone.

My smirk forms on its own. “What?”

“I’m serious. I’m already staying here for free when I could be paying to be in a hotel.”

“You’re not paying me, Quinn.”

Suddenly, we’re in a very heated staring contest. She’s glaring so beautifully, but it’s not intimidating in the slightest. And when I grin in response, the intensity cranks up. That familiar crackle of heat between us begins to roar, and I nearly give in, spreading my hands until I’m pressing both palms into the cool marble. On the other end of the island, she keeps a firm grasp on the handle of her mug.