Oh, here we go. “No.”
“Why not? She’s got bartending experience. She used to work at the country club back home.” Quinn looks tentative, but it doesn’t stop her. “Oh, and she has no idea I brought that up, so we could pretend it was your idea.”
Now that makes no sense. Why would Tayler want to be anywhere near me?
“She needs the money, though.”
She does? “Is she okay?”
Quinn shrugs. “Mostly. School’s stressing her out. Money is stressing her out, and that jerk Dylan wants her back. He’s getting sort of creepy about it.” She stops talking for a second. “Shit. Don’t tell her I told you all of that. She’ll kill me.”
I ignore that first bit, needing to know more about her ex-asshole. What the fuck does that mean? “What’s Dylan doing?”
She shakes her head quickly. “I promised I wouldn’t tell you, so forget I mentioned it.”
The hell? That’s not gonna work. “Is she in danger?”
“Oh.” Quinn looks up like she’s giving my question some thought. “Probably not.” She waits a beat. “Maybe?”
Fuck.
And then it hits me. I shake my finger at her. “Oh, I know what you’re doing.”
She turns back, looking coy. “I’m not doing a thing.”
“Are you trying to worry me so I’ll go over and check on her?” Because it’s working.
I watch Quinn’s face turn from puzzled to smiling wide. “Wow. I’m flattered you think I could be that devious.” She taps her chin with her finger. “I wonder if Cooke thinks I’m that sneaky.” Pulling her phone from her back pocket, she begins to text.
“No fucking cell phones!”
“Oh.” She titters nervously. “Oops.” Sliding it into her back pocket, I watch her walk away.
“Bus the damn tables,” I yell loud enough for everyone to hear.This place is a mess.
She lifts her hand and waves. I half expect to see her middle finger, but I don’t. Instead, she begins to bus the table in front of her.
Good girl.
* * *
Quinn’s wordskeep tumbling around in my head. Tayler is broke, she’s stressed, and most importantly, what’s her ex doing? I wish I knew.
I left the bar soon after our conversation because the headache I’ve been fighting off is back. I touch my forehead; positive the fever is back too. I need to go to the doctor, but why when over-the-counter medicine seems to help most of the symptoms? Not the pain in my upper torso, though. Forthat, I probably do need to see the doc. Still, it’s not a constant pain—it comes and goes.
Changing out of my jeans, I throw on some sweats in preparation of sitting on my couch for the rest of the night. I touch my head again and decide I do feel a little feverish. Retrieving some aspirin from my bathroom medicine cabinet, I also find a lone beer in my fridge. Sure, I know it’s not a great idea to mix meds with beer, but who gives a fuck?
Not me.
Back on the couch, I look around my living space. Tayler was going to tell me what color I should paint this room. I wonder what she chose. I bet it was the perfect color. Most likely something true to the Craftsman style of the house. I bet she’d have ideas for the kitchen too. It’d make sense since she wants to design interiors.
“I should ask her.”
My head chooses that second to pound. Lying down, I grab the lone pillow I’ve got on my sofa. Placing my hand on my head again, I moan. Yeah, that’s what I said, I moan. I can’t help it. I feel like shit.
