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The doctor let loose a small smile as she shook her head. “Sorry, no.”
There was more shuffling behind me, and then Quinn yelped. I turned to see him rubbing his side and glaring at Shannon. “Fine,” he said, and then looked up at Doctor Carter. “I’ll stay with him, if he wants.”
“You would?” I asked, sliding off the bed and reaching for the notebook inside my jacket.
“Sure—as my darlin’ here just pointed out,” Quinn looped an arm around Shannon, tugging the back of her hair until she jumped. “I’m homeless anyway. Why not crash at your place?”
Of course I said yes to Quinn’s offer. Why not? I had the space in my apartment, and I could finally write my piece.
It didn’t hurt his case that he was built like one of the superheroes in the pictures that lined the hospital halls. I mean, for tonight, while I was still a touch jumpy, having him between me and any possible Freddy visitation wouldn’t be a bad thing . . .
“Nice place,” Quinn said, following me into my apartment, his shoes squeaking over the threshold. There came a ziiip, and he slung his leather jacket over the wooden coatrack in the corner.
“Yeah. It’s all right.” I took off my jacket, removed my notebook, and kicked off my shoes. My socked feet skated over the floorboards but I caught myself before toppling over, and I continued the short house tour. “Living room and kitchen here. Bathroom just down the hall next to my room.”
Quinn walked to the closed door in the living room and knocked. “And in here?”
He didn’t wait for an answer; he twisted the handle and let himself in.
I waited for him to finish taking a peek, but he didn’t turn around. I tucked my notebook under my arm and crossed over to him. “What is it?”
“Okay, Liam,” Quinn said, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. “I’m officially jealous. I’d be happy with a room—you have a study?” He shook his head.
“I don’t use it as much as I should. If you really need a room, you can use it.”
Quinn snorted.
“I mean, it’s a little draughty,” I said.
“You’re serious?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
Quinn turned and leaned his back against the doorframe, staring. What was with that intense look? I folded my arms, dropped them, refolded them, and glanced at my darkened study, which was mostly an empty room with a wall of bookshelves and a dusty desk in the corner.
“You don’t even know me,” he said. “What’s more, I don’t know you.”
“You knew all your previous roommates?”
“No.”
I pushed up my glasses. “Then I don’t understand your issue.”
He blinked and glanced back into the room. “How’d you score this place, anyway?”
“It’s one of my father’s apartments. I can use it while I’m studying.”
“Why do you talk like that?” Quinn asked. “Father instead of plain old dad? And ‘hoping this will not occur again’? That type of thing?”
I unfolded my arms, catching my notebook as it dropped. “I haven’t really noticed I speak in any particular way. But I chose ‘father’ instead of ‘dad’ because this”—I gestured to the apartment—“we’re not close. I was the product of an affair he had, and we don’t really consider each other family.” If he considered me family, he’d have offered me the apprenticeship without any stipulations.
“And yet,” Quinn said carefully, “he lets you use his place.”
“He can afford it. That way he figures he’s square with my mom.”
A frown etched its way between Quinn’s brows, and I sensed unnecessary sympathy.
“We’re all fine about the situation. There are no hurt feelings hidden anywhere. It is what it is.”
“Huh,” he said, his gaze dipping to the notebook in my hand. “Okay. What’s that?”
I turned the notebook over in my hand and slipped it under my arm again. “My work. Which I’d really like to get started on.” I walked back into the living room, turning another slip into a large stride. If I weren’t careful, I’d end up with another concussion. “There are some blankets in the cupboard next to the bathroom. You can sleep on the couch. I’m going to work from my bed tonight.”
Quinn’s steps came heavy behind me. “Right. Well, I guess I’ll come in on an annoyingly frequent basis to make sure you’re all good. But first”—he pinched the notebook from under my arm—
I twisted sharply, lunging for my notebook. The half-head he had on me gave him an advantage. He whipped the book out of my reach. A dull ache throbbed in my ribs, stopping me from jumping for it.
“Let’s see what your work is, shall we?” He leafed through the pages, scouring their contents. “You can sit down if your side is hurting.”
“I’m fine. Or I will be when you give me back my notebook.”
His long lashes lifted as he glanced at me over the notebook. “I saw you tonight at the party. You were watching my fight with Chris. You were writing something . . . what was it? Ah, here we go.” Clearing his throat, he read aloud, “Jock. Big-boned. Broad shoulders. Tall.” He chuckled. “Jesus, this reads like a catalogue. I’ll have one through four, please.”
