Just Say Yes (9 page)

Marinate

Clarabell dropped them off at a small motel just off the highway. She thanked them for listening to all of her stories—especially the one about her cousin getting married in a barn, which she'd told several times along the way, putting a different twist on it each time. “It was nice to have company on the drive for a change.”

Tim and Quinn wished Clarabell good luck at the auction before saying their good-byes and heading for the motel office. “See, told you we wouldn't get murdered,” Tim said confidently.

“Too bad we can't say the same for the pigs she's about to buy.”

They both laughed loudly, and Tim held the door for Quinn to enter. A woman greeted them warmly as they stepped inside. “What can I do for ya?” She spoke in a strong Southern accent, and her gray hair was as big and round as she was.

“We just need a room for the night,” Tim said, reaching into his pocket to grab his wallet.

“Sure. So what brings you to Sceaty?” she asked as she reached behind her to grab two keys off the hook.

“Just passing through. You have a beautiful town,” Tim replied. And it wasn't a lie. The place was as rural as he'd expected, but from what he'd seen, the landscape was pretty, with bright green grass that seemed to go on for miles due to the flat terrain. They'd passed a few quaint shops on the way to the motel, and Tim guessed they were still owned by the same families who had originally opened them. He could see the appeal of a town like Sceaty, with its slow-paced living.

“Why, thank you,” the woman replied. “Hope you enjoy your stay. It's room six. To your left when you walk outside.”

Tim handed the woman some money and thanked her before taking the keys. But just when he was about to turn around, he spoke again. “Sorry. I totally forgot to mention this, but is this a room with two beds?”

“Just a king bed. It's the only one we've got left. Lots of folks are in town for the auction.”

Tim hesitated, turning to Quinn, whose expression gave no indication of her thoughts. “If that's all you have, it'll be fine, I guess. You have a cot or something, right?”

The woman stared blankly before answering. “We have a
floor
, honey.”

“Right,” Tim replied with a polite nod before turning toward the door.

•   •   •

“You hungry?” Tim asked, tossing the bag onto the small burgundy desk chair near the door.

“Yeah, I am, actually,” Quinn replied. “I guess we haven't eaten anything since this morning, huh?”

“Nope. I'm starving. All that talk of swine made me want some bacon or something.”

“I actually may never eat that again,” Quinn admitted. “I did see a pizza place up the road though. Not sure how it'll be, but it's probably one of the safer bets. How bad can you screw up a pizza, right?”

Tim shook his head and let out a soft laugh. “You and your safe bets.”

Quinn gave an innocent shrug. “Shut up,” she said playfully. “I'm making progress.” She pointed over her shoulder toward the bathroom. “Do you mind if I hop in the shower first? Clarabell's backseat had some sort of a red stain on it, which I tried to pretend was fruit punch.”

Tim furrowed his eyebrows in disgust. “By all means.” He gestured to the bathroom. “Don't let me stop you.” Then he added, “Actually, why don't you relax and take your time. It's been a long day. Do you want me to just go pick it up and we can eat it here?”

“That works. You sure you don't mind?”

Mind? Is she kidding?
First of all, Tim felt it best to escape the room while a naked Quinn showered just a shabby wooden door away from him. And second, Tim would never mind being alone with Quinn. Because even though he reminded himself hourly that there could never be more between them, that didn't stop him from wanting it. Wanting a private evening with Quinn—one away from piercers, amateur singers, and friends—that he could store in his mind for when he needed a reason to smile. “Nope. Not at all. Take your shower and I'll be right back.”

•   •   •

Tim returned about a half hour later to find the bathroom door shut and the water running. He set the pizza on the bed and removed the napkins and paper plates he'd gotten from the restaurant. For a place in rural Virginia, the pizza actually smelled pretty good. “I forgot to ask you what kind of pizza you liked,” Tim called when he heard the shower shut off.

Quinn's voice echoed through the door. “All the normal stuff . . . plain, pepperoni, mushroom.”

“Oh, good. I got those, plus sausage, Hawaiian . . . Sorry, forgot about the pig thing.” Tim smirked as he lifted the lids, trying to remember the rest. “Peppers and onions, ground bee—”

“How many pizzas did you
get
?”

Tim looked up to see Quinn standing at the bathroom door, steam escaping from behind her as she bent over, drying her damp hair with a towel. “Um . . . only two. But I had them split the toppings into quarters. I wanted to make sure I got something you liked.”

Quinn lifted her head to look at him, her loose white tank top revealing a dusting of freckles on her smooth shoulders.

God, she's beautiful.

“That's cute,” she said as her pink lips slipped into a sweet smile.

Tim wasn't sure he'd ever been called “cute” in his entire life. But he liked the way it sounded. Especially coming from Quinn. And as she strolled toward him in those turquoise cotton shorts, Tim felt a stirring in his pants.
Get some fucking control. If you can't even look at her for ten seconds without getting hard, how the hell do you expect to sleep in the same room as her?

Quinn plopped down on the bed, legs crossed in front of her like she was in preschool. “I hate to disappoint you, but I'm pretty sure I can't eat a whole pizza,” she said, looking at the two open boxes.

Tim laughed. “That's okay. I'm pretty sure I
can
. So there won't be much going to waste.” He thought for a minute. “Or any really. They have a fridge. So we can eat the rest for breakfast.”

Quinn's eyes lit up. “You like cold pizza too?” she asked. “The girls always make fun of me because I prefer it to hot pizza. I eat tons of things they think are weird. Popcorn in milk like you'd eat cereal, French toast with ham and melted cheese in between it, bacon and jelly on toast.”

“Yeah, Quinn?” Tim's eyebrows shot up. “I hate to break it to you, but those things sound totally disgusting . . . in my professional opinion. Remind me to never let you cook me breakfast.” Tim immediately realized the implications of what he'd said. There would be only one reason why they would have breakfast at one of their apartments.

“Shut up,” Quinn said with a playful punch to Tim's arm. “Don't knock it till you try it.”

They spent the next few minutes eating silently. Tim had moved to rest his back against the pillows on the headboard as he finished his fourth slice. He took a sip of his soda and let his gaze move toward the middle of the bed where Quinn was. She sat comfortably as she reached into the box for a second slice of extra cheese. A little sauce rested below the corner of her mouth. “You have a little something,” Tim said, gesturing to his own lips.

Quinn's face got visibly flushed as she wiped her mouth with her napkin, somehow still managing to miss the sauce.

Tim smiled. “It's still—” He didn't bother to finish his thought. He just reached over and wiped away the sauce slowly with a clean corner of his own napkin.

“Thanks,” Quinn said softly. She dropped her eyes to the bed for a moment before raising them again to meet Tim's.

He wasn't sure what he saw in her stare, but when her mouth dropped open, he recognized the emotion immediately: fear. “What? What's wrong?”

Without warning, Quinn bolted off the bed, crashing her back into the opposite wall and pointing. “Get it! Get it! It just jumped. Do spiders
jump
?”

“Some do,” Tim said on a laugh. “Where is it?”

“It's near the corner of the pizza box closest to you. It jumped off the wall right over your head. I don't know how you're so calm right now.”

“Most spiders are harmless,” he said, picking up the bug with a napkin and then getting up to flush it down the toilet. When he emerged from the bathroom, Quinn was still against the wall. “It's gone. You can relax.”

•   •   •

Quinn's heart beat rapidly as she watched Tim return to his seat on the bed. “I'm guessing you're afraid of spiders?” he asked, though it obviously wasn't really a question.

“Yeah, just a little,” Quinn answered, poking fun at herself. “Though I swear I'm not usually
that
crazy. I don't think I've ever seen a spider move that fast before.”

“I don't think I've ever seen a
human
move that fast before.”

Quinn was self-conscious of what Tim probably thought was an overreaction to a tiny insect. But it was impossible for any amount of embarrassment to last more than a few seconds around Tim. Things felt so comfortable with him. So . . . easy. She liked that he always made her feel taken care of—like he was watching out for her . . . protecting her. Slowly, she peeled herself away from the wall and walked toward the bed, searching for a place to sit like she was trying to avoid broken glass. “Now you know one of
my
fears. So tell me,” she said, finally finding a place to sit that felt relatively safe. “What's the big, bad Tim Jacobs afraid of?”

He shrugged. “Not much, really.”

Quinn tilted her head incredulously. “Oh, come on. Our entire relationship was basically founded on my insecurities and fears, and you can't tell me one thing you're scared of?”

She thought she could see the statement register in Tim's mind as his face grew more serious. “I have only one real fear. And it's not the usual, like bugs or heights or anything.”

“Well, then what?” Quinn noticed herself involuntarily inch closer to Tim until they were only about a half a foot away from each other on the edge of the bed.

“It's not a fear I've ever told anyone about before. At least not directly.”

“Is it something strange?” She was excited at the prospect of Tim being slightly odder than she was—even if it were only in one aspect of their lives. “I saw this episode of
Maury
where this person was scared of cotton balls. It was something about their sound. I didn't even know cotton made a noise.”

“No, nothing like that,” Tim said simply. “Just more personal, I guess.”

Quinn's lighthearted smile faded, now mirroring Tim's sober expression. She hadn't meant for her question to have this effect on him. She'd meant it to be harmless—a topic of conversation to pass the time. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—” She placed a hand on Tim's forearm. “You don't have to tell me.”

Tim raised his eyes from where they'd clearly been directed at Quinn's fingers draped on his skin. “No. I want to,” he said quietly, a rough edge to his voice as he spoke. “I've never wanted to tell anyone until now.”

Not knowing what to say to that, Quinn stayed silent.

Tim inhaled deeply as if he needed the extra oxygen to give him the strength to speak. But despite how difficult it seemed for him, he maintained eye contact with Quinn. “I'm scared I'll never be the man I'm trying so hard to be.” It sounded so natural, as if he'd rehearsed the sentence a thousand times. “That these past seven years were all for nothing because no amount of right can undo the wrong I've done.” Tim shook his head. “Sorry. You probably don't want to hear all this heavy shit.”

Quinn looked down to where Tim had placed his hand over hers before bringing her gaze back up to meet his again. “No, I do. Tell me.”

Even before Tim began to speak again, Quinn saw a wave of relief flood through him. His rigid face began to soften, and she felt his muscles relax. She'd never seen Tim like this: so vulnerable. It was such a stark contrast to his hardened exterior.

“I began trying drugs for the same reason most teenagers do. I just wanted to see what it was like. But drinking and smoking a joint here and there just made me want to experiment with other substances. Once I got involved with the harder stuff, it was impossible to stop.” Tim shot his gaze to the floor, clearly ashamed of what he was about to say. “Especially when I didn't want to. Not for a while anyway. Getting high was an escape from some . . . difficult things that were going on at home.”

“What kinds of things?” Quinn didn't want to push for more than what Tim wanted to share, but she also wanted to make it clear that she was interested in his life, that she wanted to know everything he was willing to tell her.

Tim looked down at the floor. “My mom had affairs. When Scott and I were kids, she used to take us to the house of some guy she was having a relationship with so we could play with his kids, keeping us all occupied while they snuck off. One night over dinner, my dad asked what I did that day, so I told him the truth—not realizing its implications at the time.” Tim paused, his jaw flexing. “She never forgave me for that. Said
I
ruined her marriage. Not that my dad divorced her or anything, but things were never the same between them. A day didn't go by when she didn't make some comment about what a terrible son I was. So, since she already thought I was a fuck-up, it made it easier to start hanging around with other fuck-ups. At least they didn't judge me for being myself.” Tim shook his head. “That probably doesn't make a lot of sense.”

“It does actually.” Quinn's heart broke for him. Though she knew about his history with drugs, she hadn't known any of the specifics until he'd opened up to her about them. And even though Quinn's past wasn't nearly as difficult as Tim's, she found herself able to relate to the pressure he'd felt from his parents. “Not that my past is anywhere near as difficult as yours, but I was always afraid of that kind of judgment from my parents too. They have high expectations and have done so much for me. I'm always scared to let them down. Afraid to see disappointment on their faces that I would have caused. So I spent most of my life doing things with their happiness in mind. And it was sometimes at the expense of my own.” Quinn thought about how strangely their lives paralleled each other's. That if either one had taken a different path at one time or another, they wouldn't be sitting there in some small-town motel together talking about things they'd never shared with anyone
.
And she was thankful for that. “That's kind of why we're here right now, I guess. Because we both made wrong choices that felt right at the time.”