“Believe it or not, most of this came from the same group of trespassers a decade ago.”
“Oh, I believe it. And I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that the group of trespassers was none other than your coyote pack.”
I laughed. “Such a quick study.”
Walking over to the far wall, I slid down onto my butt. Quinn claimed the spot beside me.
“See that opening?” I asked, pointing to the space opposite us. “It’s the hole you hit the golf ball into that then drops to the lower level. When I was a teen, I’d hide out in here and quietly roll the ball back out. They didn’t know I was in here, and they couldn’t figure out how come the ball kept returning to them. You can imagine how pissed people would get.”
Quinn eyed me, amused. “You’re diabolical, Jess. I love your wicked mind.”
“I was such a shit back then. Don’t be me.”
“You? Don’t beme. I’m about to be humiliated on national television.”
Quinn adjusted his leg, resting it against mine. The contact sizzled through me, and I envisioned my hand sliding down his muscled thigh. Oh god. “You know, I almost googled you. Back at the car when you were changing.”
He didn’t seem surprised. “What stopped you?”
“The thought that you might google me.”
He sat up straighter at my admission. “Why? What would I find?”
“Nothing good. I was arrested once.”
“For what?”
“Trespassing.”
He busted out laughing. “How am I not surprised?”
“Right?” I laid my head back against the wall. “Actually, I’m being modest. I was charged with breaking and entering. Destruction of property. Burglary. Theft.”
“Okay, well, that’s worse,” he said, appearing a little less amused but far from judgmental. This guy was a keeper. “What did you steal?”
“My mother’s jewelry. My stepfather’s money.”
“Oh, shit! You burglarized your own house. Again, I say, diabolical.”
“Not my house. I’d long been discarded.”
Quinn didn’t say anything; he just sat there staring at me with an unreadable expression. I’d lost him. Honestly, how long did I think I could hold on?
“I know a thing or two about being discarded.”
Now it was my turn to gawk at him. This perfect, handsome, self-assured man had once been rejected like me? It seemed almost unfathomable, but just from his expression, I knew it to be true. “Then you know the anger?”
He looked away, nodding. “Oh, I know the anger.”
We sat in silent understanding. He and I seemed so different, but we weren’t. Not really.
“This place here,” I said, knocking my knuckle against the wall. “It wasn’t just a love shack. It was also a roof over my head on more than a few occasions.”
“Were you a runaway?”
“Not technically. My parents divorced when I was eight. At first, I bounced between the two—my mother’s during the weekdays and my father’s on the weekends. But then Mom met this rich Hollywood producer guy, and suddenly I was at my father’s during the week and hers on the weekends. Eventually, she gave up custody altogether, and I went to live with my father full time.”
There was no way to hide the pain that still lingered. I’d been thrown away. You didn’t just get over that. Quinn’s fingers gently touched the back of mine. “You were nicer than me. I probably would’ve torched her house.”
