Chapter Sixteen
Luke
“Come on, Quinn. Hurry the hell up.” I’m yelling at her from the top of the stairs. She’s gone down to retrieve a couple cases of bottled beer, and it’s taking her twice as long as usual. “Quinn?”
“What?” Her voice startles me, probably due to the fact that it’s coming from behind me.
Turning, I snap, “I told you to get—”
“I did.” Quinn rolls her eyes. “You were chatting up that blonde, so you didn’t see me.”
“I wasn’t chatting up the blonde.” I definitely was. She offered to meet up later, but I haven’t committed to that yet. I think I should, though. It’ll get my mind off the fact that Tayler Sorenson is no longer a fixture in my life.
I laugh and it sounds a little dry. Fixture? Ha! That’d mean she’s a fixed part of my life, and there’s no truth to that whatsoever. As a matter of fact, I haven’t seen or heard from her for weeks, not since the dinner party. I can’t say I blame her. When I went back over the bullshit that spewed from my mouth—“I have feelings for you too, Tayler. Only mine are the ‘fuck you once so I can forget about you’ kind of feelings.”—well, let’s just say I wouldn’t talk to me either.
Truth be told, I miss her. A lot. No way am I admitting that to anyone else, though. It’s for the best.
“So.” Quinn tosses a bar towel over her shoulder, her arms are crossed in front of her, and she’s tapping the toe of her worn-out black Converse tennis shoes on my concrete floor.
“Yeah?” I don’t think I’m going to like this.
“When are you gonna pull your head out of your ass?”
“Excuse me?” The insubordinate little—
“About Tayler.”
I lower my voice because it’s busy tonight. “What about Tayler?”
Quinn tilts her head and narrows her eyes. “You like her.”
“What’s not to like?” I shrug like an asshole. “I’m not looking for a wife, Quinn.”
Her crinkled nose tells me more than words. “She doesn’t want to marryyou.”
Wow, that kind of wounded me a little. “No?” I’m really asking. Did she mean that?
“No way.” Quinn shakes her head back and forth, over and over. “You’d drive her crazy with all your aloofness.”
“Aloofness.” I’m just trying the word out to see if it fits. It does.
“Yeah. Some would say cold, but I’d have to disagree.”
“Cold.”
“It’s not cold. You’re just a very high-maintenance man.”
That one makes me chuckle. “I’m not fucking high maintenance.” When she massages her temples, I stare for a second. “I’m not.”
“Sure.” She pats my arm. “That’s what all high-maintenance people say.” Turning, she pauses. Looking at me over her shoulder, Quinn adds, “Oh, and reminder. Cooke’s going to be here the day after tomorrow to start rehab, so you’ll need to find someone to cover for me during my hiatus.”
Hiatus?That’s what she’s calling it? Now who’s fucking high maintenance? “You’re gonna leave me short-handed. Again.” I haven’t even started looking for someone else, which means my hours here are going to increase, which also means that my house projects will be put on hold.
Quinn scratches her cheek. “Yeah. Sorry about that.” There’s a pause and then, “I know someone who needs a job, though.”
No.
“At least she could work here over the holiday break.”
