so that’s what they were having, come
April fifth. (My brother is a much nicer
person than I am.)
“What can I do for you?” My breath
escaped my lips in silvery puffs as I
crossed the frigid parking garage after
work. It was about five o’clock, the
earliest I’d left the office in two solid
weeks, but it had been a long day and all
I could think about was taking off my
heels and pouring some wine. I still had
work to do, but I could work from home.
“Don’t tell me—Nolan wants drone
photography.”
Alex laughed. “No.”
“A pair of llamas?” I switched my
cell to the other hand and unlocked my
car. “A hot tub? Ariana Grande?”
“Why, can you get Ariana Grande?”
“If I can, does that mean I don’t have
to make a toast at the reception?”
“Nope.”
“Then no, I can’t.” I slid behind the
wheel and shut the door. “But if you’d
like any celebrities of the automotive
industry to make an appearance, I’m
your girl.”
Actually the marketing firm I worked
for handled all kinds of clients, but since
we were located in Detroit, many of
them were businesses related to the auto
industry. Was it the most glam job in the
world? Not by a long shot, but I’d take
grit over glitter any day.
“No, thanks. And anyway, it’s not
about the wedding. It’s about the house.”
“Oh?” I backed out of my spot and
began the wide spiral down to the exit.
“Yeah. I might have a tenant, if
you’re OK with it.”
“Of course I am. Sorry I haven’t
been more help with that. I know it
stinks not to have rent coming in for
downstairs. I was just so busy over the
holidays, and then I had that huge
presentation last week.”
“That’s OK. We’re all busy, and
eventually I
will
need your help, since
this solution is really only temporary.”
“Why’s that?” I swiped my pass at
the gate and eased onto the street,
frowning as someone jaywalked right in
front of me.
“Because he only needs a place to
stay for a month while his condo is being
finished. He wasn’t supposed to move in
until March first, but he leased his L.A.
house starting first of the year. He’s been
living in a hotel downtown for two
weeks, but he’s sick of hotel living,
hates the food and noise and how much it
costs. Plus I think he’s kind of lonely. I’d
have him stay with us, but with the
wedding and everything, it’s really
hectic at our house. And since the lower
flat is already furnished, it seems like a
perfect fit.”
Lonely?
“Wait, do you know this
guy?”
“Yeah. It’s…” He cleared his throat.
Never a good sign. “It’s Quinn.”
I groaned.
“I know, I know, he’s not your
favorite, for whatever reason—”
“The
reason
is that he was a cocky,
condescending asshole to me. Other than
that, he’s adorable.”
“Come on, it’s been ten years since
the thing.”
My eyelid twitched. Did he have to
bring it up?
“Look, I’m sure he’s forgotten all
about it.”
“
You
haven’t. I can’t even believe he
told you.”
“He felt like he had to. He knew you
were upset and felt bad. He also wanted
me to know he hadn’t done anything to
encourage it and never touched you.
Mom and Dad were paying half his
college tuition—what was he supposed
to do?”
Kiss me back, dammit. Love me
back.
Cringing, I recalled the way I had
attempted to seduce my brother’s closest
friend at their joint graduation party at
our house. The horrible details rushed
into my mind as if a dam had burst…the
wine I drank from a red Solo cup as I
worked up the nerve to act on my crush.
The artless way I shoved him into the
downstairs bathroom and shut the door.
The sound of my pounding heart as I
pressed my bikini-clad body against
him, lifting my lips toward his.
That awkward moment when I
realized he wasn’t into it.
Instead, he laughed.
That asshole
laughed
at me.
“Jaime, what the hell are you
doing?” He turned on the light and stared
at me, a look of bemused embarrassment
on his face. His eyes were so beautiful
—the kind of blue that made you shiver.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Bravely, I put my
hand on his crotch and felt his dick stir
beneath the nylon of his damp swimsuit.
“Jesus. Stop it.” More nervous
laughter as he swatted my hand away.
“Why? You don’t want this?” I
blinked in confusion. Did he not feel the
same pull I did when we were together?
For months he’d been looking at me
differently, teasing me more than usual,
flirting with me in front of other people.
Just an hour ago, he’d gotten handsy with
me during a game of chicken in the pool
—I was positive I’d felt his fingers
graze my ass multiple times. Had I
misread him?
He looked uncomfortable as he
adjusted himself. “Look, you’re like my
little sister, and—”
“I’m only a year younger than you,” I
said, trying to sidle closer again. “And
I’m definitely not your sister.”
Backing away from me, he ran a
hand through his dark blond hair, still a
little wet from the pool. “Yeah, but…I’m
sorry. I just can’t.”
And that’s when I said it.
(Brace yourself.)
“But I love you.”
He blinked. “What?”
“I’m in love with you, Quinn.”
After a moment of stunned silence,
during which neither of us blinked, he
burst out laughing.
Shame and humiliation coursed
through me. “Oh, God. Just forget it.
Forget this ever happened.” Without
another word, I yanked the door open
and ran from the bathroom straight to my
bedroom, hot tears burning my eyes.
How could I ever face him again?
Lucky for me, I never had to. I didn’t
know whether he’d avoided the house
(me) on purpose, or whether he was just
busy getting ready to leave for school,
but a month after that, he left for UNC
Chapel Hill without ever showing his
face again.
But he hadn’t even lasted a year
there, because some model scout
“discovered” him—every time I think of
it, I roll my eyes—and plastered his
stupid perfect face and hot body in
catalogs and magazine ads and on
shopping bags in stores that ripped off
teenagers with overpriced clothes made
in China. And he didn’t even wear the
clothes in all the pictures! Half the time
he was nearly naked—it was ridiculous!
(Didn’t stop me from hoarding every one
of those catalogs under my bed.)
Eventually, after I went to school and
studied marketing, I realized that those
pictures weren’t necessarily meant to
sell the clothes—they were selling an
idea. A lifestyle. A
brand
.
That was also about the time I
learned not to trust anything or anyone
that looks too good to be true. Everyone
is selling something—and if you’re not
selling, you’re buying.
I’d bought enough assholery in my
life already.
“Jaims, you there?” Alex sounded a
little impatient.
“Yeah, I’m here,” I said. “Sorry.”
“So is it OK?”
I wanted to say no, and Alex had
always told me I could have final say
over who lived downstairs, but I
couldn’t. He barely charged me any rent
and always came through with favors for
me when I asked. “It’s just one month?”
“One month,” he promised. “And
then he’s out. Maybe even less, it just
depends on when his new place is ready.
You work so much anyway, I bet you’ll
barely even see each other.”
“Good.” I turned onto my street and
noticed a black BMW with California
plates parked at the curb. Lights on in the
downstairs flat. “Jesus Christ, Alex…is
he here already?”
“Ummm…I gotta go.”
“What were you going to do if I said
no?” I grumped, turning into the
driveway. At least he hadn’t blocked it.
I’d probably have to clear out the other
half of the garage and give him the
second space, not that I had time to do
that.
Already he’s inconveniencing me.
“Beg. Listen, I actually do have to
run, we have an appointment with the
florist that Nolan says I have to show up
to, but do me a favor and be civil, OK?
You heard about his mom.”
Some of my irritation eased when I
thought about his mom. She’d been our
housekeeper for as long as I could
remember, a single mother who’d also
worked nights as a waitress, which left
Quinn to fend for himself a lot. Growing
up, he’d probably eaten more meals at
our house than at his own, although I
remember her being a fantastic cook.
Our mother, with her graduate degree in
biomedical engineering, could hardly
boil water, but Mrs. Rusek used to bring
over delicious homemade soups and
bread and meatballs and pierogies,
maybe because she felt guilty about how
much time Quinn spent at our house.
“Yeah, Mom told me when it
happened. Cancer, right? Like two years
back?”
“Yeah. He brought her out to
California for treatment, but I think he
felt guilty that he’d worked and traveled
so much she was able to hide her illness
from him for so long. He told me she
should have seen a doctor long before he
took her. I think he blames himself.”
“That’s terrible.” When I’d heard
that Mrs. Rusek had died, I’d thought
about reaching out to Quinn, even bought
a sympathy card, but in the end I’d
decided against it. The card was still at
the bottom of a desk drawer at work.
“Then he was in Paris during those
attacks. Kind of messed him up a little.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“I didn’t either, not until recently. We
haven’t spoken much over the last few
years, we’ve both been so busy, but I
think he really needs old friends right
now.”
“So he’s moving back to Detroit for
you?”
“No, but I think it’s part of wanting
to go back to when things were simpler
or something. He said he’s been feeling
kind of lost and wants to ground himself
again. Make sure he’s doing the right
things with his life.”
“Hmm.” Inside the garage, I turned
off the car, disquieted by the way my
heart was thumping. It had been ten years
since I’d seen him—and probably at
least
a month since I’d stalked his
Instagram—how annoying that the
thought of being next to him again was
doing things to me. “So did he quit
modeling altogether?”
“That’s the impression I got.”
“Maybe he’s lost his looks,” I said
hopefully. “Or gained fifty pounds.”
Alex laughed. “I doubt it. And I
really have to go, Jaims. But why don’t
you go in and say hello? I’m sure he’d
love to catch up.”
I sniffed. “No, thanks. I’ll keep my
distance.” My dignity had suffered
enough at his hands.
“Have it your way, sweet pea,” he
said, using our dad’s nickname for me.
“Thanks for this.”
We hung up, and I took a minute to
gather myself before going into the
house. There was a chance I could get in
without seeing him, although we’d share
a front and side entrance. Both doors led
to a hallway; at the side door were steps
leading to the basement, and at the front
door were the stairs to my flat and a
door to his living room.
I walked around to the front, my legs
trembling. Maybe he wouldn’t hear me
come in, and I could get up to my
apartment without talking to him.
Stop
being ridiculous. It’s been ten years.
Maybe Alex was right and he wouldn’t
even remember that night. Maybe he
wouldn’t even want to talk to me. Maybe
we’d just ignore each other for a month.
No chance.
Before I even got the key in the lock,
the door was pulled open and there he
was, all huge grin and open arms.
“Sweet pea!” he exclaimed, like we
were long-lost pals reunited at last.
Any hopes I’d harbored about his
good looks being the result of countless
hours of retouching were immediately
dashed. He was even more gorgeous and
vibrant in person than in print, a fact I
found grossly unfair. I frowned as he
scooped me up in his arms and
practically dragged me over the
threshold into the hall. My God, his body
was so
hard
. Hugging me was probably
like squeezing a marshmallow. I wasn’t
exactly overweight, but I was short