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His chuckling stopped abruptly. “Wait a sec, you’re describing me, aren’t you? Runs fingers through hair as though he’s attractive and knows it?” Quinn’s voice faltered. “I’m not all that attractive. I’ve got weird ears . . .” He raised both brows and shook his head. “Which you haven’t failed to note here either. Ears look like they’ve had a serious clubbing. Ouch, Liam.”
I shifted my weight onto my other foot. “Those are mere physical notations. To create a picture. I certainly wasn’t deriving any conclusion about you as a person from your looks.”
Quinn looked up sharply from the notebook. “No, not based on my looks, but my actions. The details you use to describe my break-up scene says as much. And then his eyes clasp on a male making out in the foyer. Hurt flashes in his eyes, but he swallows it back as if he doesn’t care. Or isn’t entirely surprised this is happening at all. Wow. I don’t even know what to say to that.”
I opened my mouth to assure him he would remain anonymous—that the notes were more for me than for the column. They were just to recreate the atmosphere in my mind, so I could analyze it and explore my theme. Sometimes I’d transpose the emotional elements onto a fictitious character to play out an example—but enough details were changed . . .
No sooner had half a syllable passed my lips than Quinn spoke, “Actually, I do have something to say.”
He tossed the notebook onto the couch and used his fingers to count. “First impressions of Liam. Moves with the grace of a giraffe in stilettos. Brown eyes behind thick, black oblong glasses—like you’re going for the Clark Kent look, which you might pull off if your dark hair weren’t such a tousled mess and your front tooth wasn’t chipped.”
He took a step toward me, stirring air over my skin and sending an unfamiliar shiver down my spine. “Has glossy skin—almost elf-like, but with an uneven tan that, judging by the pastiness of your upper arms, you got by accident. Perhaps reading a book in the sun too long?” Another finger uncurled. “Has a sharp nose that’s reddened by the constant pushing up of glasses. Wears slacks and a short-sleeved shirt that was hurriedly put on. Fresh, but not ironed.”
Quinn inched even closer, his eyelashes lowering as he raked a slow gaze up and down my body. “Fidgets with the pen in his pocket when he’s uncomfortable or nervous.”
I immediately let go of my pen and dropped my arm to my side. “Keen observation skills.” I picked up my notebook from the couch. “And it was a newspaper, not a book.”
“And I was born with ears like this.”
I looked at him and nodded. “But I was right about the hair. Bleached.”
Quinn closed his eyes and shrugged. “And everything else.”
I slid backward toward the hall and my room. “Look, you provided a theme for my column. You’re my angle, that’s all.”
“Yeah,” he murmured quietly, but my skilled ears heard. “Being someone’s angel would’ve been too good to be true.”
“Liam? Wake up.”
I jerked upright. “Huh?” I blinked, grabbing at the open laptop that had slipped off my lap.
Quinn murmured something along the lines of “figures” and then passed me a glass of water.
I took the water and drank it all. I swiped my arm over my mouth. “Must have drifted off.” Quinn plucked the empty glass from my grip, and I unlocked my computer screen. I’d only written three paragraphs? “Gah! Thanks for waking me! I didn’t get half my thoughts down.”
And why is that surprising, considering you can only concentrate on the attack? Who jumped me, and why? And even more importantly—
My gaze flickered from the bright computer screen to Quinn’s tired face, lined with shadows. It made me glance at my radio clock on the bedside table. 2:00 a.m.
“Who was the hooded figure?” I asked.
“Hooded who?” Quinn ran a hand through his hair but this time it didn’t seem so self-assured. He swallowed, his large Adam’s apple jutting out. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I cocked my head and studied him. He held my gaze squarely but there was a slight twitch to his jaw. “There was a guy who came and tossed Freddy off me. He was wearing a hooded coat, I think. I didn’t see his face.”
“I didn’t see any guy in a hood,” Quinn said, and spun on his heel, moving toward the door. “It was just you, lying unconscious on the grass. Thought you were passed out from too much alcohol. But you didn’t smell like it.” He paused, one large hand clutching at the doorframe, and looked over his shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell the police someone else was there?”
I rested my head against the cool wooden headboard. It stung a bit where I’d bruised it, so I lifted it off again. “I’m not sure, exactly. It didn’t feel right. I guess I wouldn’t want him to get in trouble. He might have given Freddy as much as I got.”
