But now that I had his attention— if only for one day—what was the point in wasting it? At the very least, I could spend the day with a future star. Yes, I knew he’d just imploded on stage, but I had a feeling about Quinn. There was something special about him that I couldn’t exactly pinpoint, but I knew extraordinary when I saw it. Sometimes people came along in life you just knew would make a difference. They had an aura around them, something intangible that made them shine. In a weird way, it felt as if I was witnessing a star being born right before my eyes—that this career-ending mistake he’d made really wasn’t a mistake at all but a speed bump on his road to fame.
The questions I had circulating through my head only grew louder. Who was Quinn, and why had Alan Forrester woven his family’s name into the fabric of his success? And why did he look so damn familiar? I’d seen him somewhere before; I just couldn’t put my finger on where. Had he once been a child star? Maybe a one-hit wonder? Of course, I knew the information I was seeking was readily available. All it would take was a couple of keywords typed into my phone and I’d know everything there was to know about this afternoon delight. Fact-checking him on the internet wouldn’t be as fun as drawing the information out of him one tantalizing bit at a time, but it would satisfy the curiosity building up inside.
I pulled out my phone and entered the keywords into the search engine.
Quinn. Next in Line.
My finger hovered oversend. In a matter of seconds, everything ever written about my studly companion would arrive right there at my fingertips, yet I was hesitating. Did I want a behind-the-scenes glimpse of Quinn, seen through other people’s eyes, or did I want to hear it straight from the living, breathing source? And could I even believe what I’d learn about him on the internet—the place where even truths could be wrapped in lies? Most of all, would I want Quinn to google me? My past wasn’t exactly a shining beacon of success. But I wasn’t the sum of my researchable facts… and neither was Quinn.
Hitting the back button, I deleted the keywords from my search engine and turned my attention to another man altogether.
Opening my messages, I tapped out,Any word on my dad?
There was no need to identify myself. The person on the other line already knew who was texting—who was always texting. I sent the same message out every day. Sometimes it took hours to get a reply, but not today. This time my answer arrived only seconds after delivery, making me wonder if Maria had set me on some automated response program.
No, sorry, sweetheart. Maybe tomorrow.
Yeah, sure, tomorrow. Pain flared up in my chest as it always did when I got this familiar response. At least she was nice about it. The last person I’d sent my daily texts to, Harry, had pawned me off on Maria after getting his fill. At least he’d handed me off to someone with more patience.
But nice person on the line or not, the answer was never the one I wanted to hear. No news was good news, or so the saying went, but in this particular situation, that assumption was all wrong. No news on my father was always and forever bad news.
A multitude of worst-case scenarios filled my head, threatening to take me to a place I didn’t want to go. Not today. I couldn’t keep doing this to myself. Dad had chosen this path he was on through his own reckless decisions. It wasn’t fair for me to go backwards just because he refused to go forward.
I send off a thank you to Maria before returning my phone to my purse, my heart breaking a little bit more as I tucked my dad away for another day.
Checking my watch, I was surprised that only six minutes had passed. Six minutes without Quinn felt like an hour. But then, it probably had less to do with him and more to do with me being a notoriously punctual person. Getting people places on a strict timetable was what I did for a living, and I’d adopted into my personal life the strict protocols that went with it. Nothing slowed me down these days except traffic, teenagers crossing the road, and unbeknownst to me until today, hot guys changing out of their concert pants in the front seat of my car.
“Do you need help getting dressed?” I called out. “Pants? Shirt? Anything?”
Quinn stuck his head out the passenger side door. “My, aren’t you helpful.”
I burst to life inside his flirt-bubble. “That’s me. Always willing to lend a hand to my fellow man.”
“I’m inspired by your selflessness.”
Right there. That sarcasm. I loved it. Where had this dude been all my life? He was perfectly wired to complement my energy flow. Usually I nitpicked any potential suitors to death. They were too loud or too dull or too arrogant or too timid. None had hit the bullseye until this unassuming superstar crash-landed in my lap. God, he was going to ruin me. From here on out, every man I met was going to have to live up tothat! Quinn was like a long-awaited sequel, one you’d worried might suck but turned out to be a masterpiece of cinematic perfection.
Quinn was myEnd Game.
“Would you mind terribly speeding it up?” I teased. “The sun will be setting soon.”
“It’s two o’clock.”
“I know but each minute waiting on you is like twelve in Jess years.”
“Which makes you…?”
“Is that your way of asking how old I am?”
“Yes, but in Jess years.”
He was too cute to deny an answer. Besides, I had nothing to hide. Quinn might have been younger but we were at least born in the same decade. I pulled out my phone and punched in the numbers.
“I’m currently three hundred and twelve,” I announced, impressed with how well I was aging.
“So…” He paused for a moment. “That makes you twenty-six.”
“Whoa, you do math in your head?”
