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“Go away, Nick.”
She was crying; the air told him that much. Crying because he hadn’t tried to have sex with her in the cab of his brother’s truck.
Irony was like a devil on his shoulder, thinking this was a grand ol’ knee slapper.
He stopped her on the top landing. Her face was flushed and damp, her blond hair wild and full of moonlight. She looked like an angel of vengeance, ready to kick his ass.
“Let me go,” she snapped.
“I know this isn’t all about me,” he said carefully.
That made fresh tears well, and she pressed fingers to her eyes. “You’re right. It’s about like fourteen different people. So why don’t you go away and let me deal with it?”
“Quinn.” He moved closer and spoke low. “Quinn. Please talk to me.”
She swiped the tears free and looked up at him. “Why do you even give a crap, Nick?”
Because she was a hot mess, every emotion on her sleeve, and he admired that—no, he envied that. Because he could feel her intensity when she danced, and he craved that kind of passion in his life. Because she was trapped by circumstance, and so was he.
Because, until tonight, she’d never expected anything from him, and that was damn refreshing.
He studied her face, her eyes that had turned so furious. Every breath that came out of her lungs whispered to him about her tension, her fluttering heartbeat, her anger.
“No one wants me,” she said fiercely.
“Quinn—that’s not true.”
She got right up close to him, putting her chest against his. “It’s not? Do you want me, Nick?”
If it had been any other girl, or any other tone, he could have played along. He probably could have thrown her up against the wall and kissed her silly. But it felt like she was throwing all her cards on the table. Lying to Quinn now would be like the worst kind of cruelty.
It didn’t matter anyway. She’d read his hesitation, or maybe she’d just read the look in his eyes. She turned away.
Shit.
“Quinn. Quinn, stop—”
She whirled. Her hand flew.
She didn’t slap him. She punched him. Hard.
Before he could get it together, she was shoving her key into the door at the top of the steps and then slamming it in his face.
And Nick stood there staring at the wood, wishing he could call her back.
And what would he say? It’s not you. It’s me.
Yeah. Right.
But at least in this case it was true. It had nothing to do with not wanting Quinn.
And everything to do with not wanting any girl.
Quinn just wanted to go to her room, throw her bag down, and crawl into bed.
Unfortunately, Jake was in there.
And he was entertaining. The door was locked. Quinn could hear female giggling and smell pot.
