Mile High Weekend (Opposites Attract Book 1) (25 page)

“I hadn’t planned on it,” Quinn said – not because the joke-of-a-doctor told him he couldn’t, and not because Ginnie very likely wouldn’t let him in, even if he begged her, but because he couldn’t bear the idea of trying to explain. 

And even worse…he couldn’t stand the thought of saying goodbye all over again.

Lawrence blinked at him, and for a second, Quinn thought he might not agree to his terms.  Then he stuck out his unarmed hand, and with bile in his throat, Quinn shook on the deal, quick to pull away his fingers as soon as he could.

“Let’s move then,” the other man said. “The gun’ll be in my pocket. If you break your word…”

“I won’t.”
Not until I’m sure she’s out of harm’s way anyway.

“Stairs,” Lawrence ordered. “You stay in front of me. And just in case you
are
thinking about changing your mind…Liv – my girlfriend – is going to come looking. She knows just as much about you as I do, and I left PJ as speed dial number one in her phone.”

Fuck.

He didn’t know if the doctor was bluffing or not, but once again, he couldn’t take a chance.  Quinn had no choice but to let the other man usher him down the near-silent corridor of doors. 

As he pushed open the door to the stairwell, he wished he’d taken more time to
linger
.  To stare at the gentle rise and fall of Ginnie’s chest as she slept.  To kiss her breathless one last time.  To linger.  And to beg.

His throat constricted; he was dangerously, humiliatingly close to tears.

But her former fucking husband had his gun bumping against his shoulder blades.  So he kept moving.

Sacrifice and resolution and strength.

So this is what love feels like,
Quinn thought.
Kinda hurts.

Thirty-Three

He’s not coming back.

Ginnie tried to tell herself that didn’t dig.  Didn’t hurt.  That it was what she wanted.

But she was alone, and that made it harder to maintain the lie. 

She did another slow circle of the room.  She wasn’t sure how many times she’d walked around it already.  Touching the furniture, imagining Quinn’s big body taking up space in the bed, wishing she was stronger.

Instead, all she ached to do was to crawl back into the bed.  To wrap the blankets around her, to inhale the residual scent of him.  Or better yet…To close her eyes and pretend that his arms were around her.

If you want him so badly,
asked a small voice,
then why did you chase him away?

She shoved aside the question and wondered why she couldn’t just walk away.  Like, literally.  Not just turn her back on the last two days and pretend they hadn’t happened, but actually step out of the room.  After all, nothing in it was hers. 

Some of it was
Quinn’s
.  His suitcase and his toothbrush were still in the bathroom.  A pair of his jeans were draped across the chair in the corner.

And there were a lot of things that didn’t belong to either of them, too.  Like the pile of underwear and skimpy clothes.

But nothing is mine.

Woodenly, Ginnie bent to pick up a few the discarded items.  She folded them and tucked them into the suitcase that was hers (but not
actually
hers) and when she stood up and looked around again, she felt no better.  In fact, she spotted a pair of silky undies snagged under the dresser.

“It’s like the damned things are multiplying,” she muttered.

She wanted to laugh.  But she couldn’t.  Because laughter would turn into tears.  She was sure of it.

Get rid of the evidence completely. That will help.

She bent again.  And again and again.  Her clean up became frenzied.  The little bits of fabric flew from the floor to her hands to the bag, landing in a frustratingly silent pile.  Ginnie thought they should sound like shattering glass.  Like a breaking heart. 

She spun around in search of something solid.  Something that would make the noise she so desperately needed to hear.

She snapped up her dead cell phone and hurled it at a wall.  It thudded in a satisfying way.  But the bejewelled case split, sending rhinestones bouncing through the room, minimizing Ginnie’s momentary sense of fulfillment.

“Dammit!”

She grabbed Quinn’s jeans and threw them as hard as she could at the suitcase.  They sounded like an exhale. 
Less
than an exhale.  And they sent the panties flying all over again.

Ginnie bent to grab them, and this time, with each one she dropped into the bag, another tear fell.  By the time she was on panty number twelve –
and dear God…who needed
twelve
pairs for
one
weekend? –
she had lost all semblance of control.  Her face was soaked, her chest was burning, and she was scraping up as much carpet fiber as she did satin and lace and leather garments.  And pretty quickly, it was
all
fiber.

Ginnie blinked back another round of tears as she looked around and realized she’d picked up everything and packed it back into the suitcase.

“Back in its tidy box,” she murmured.

Just like she’d promised Quinn.

But
she
was still empty. 

With lead fingers, she flipped the bag shut.  And when she did, she spotted the one item that hadn’t made it into the bag. 

The big, purple dildo.

As she reached for it, Ginnie decided it was oddly symbolic.  She could stuff everything she wanted into a suitcase, zip it closed, and push it out of sight.  But some sexy part of her was going to be free forever.

The mark she’d expected to see that last time Quinn touched her – the one that had burned so harshly – wasn’t on her skin, she realized.  It was somewhere deep in her soul.  And if she never spoke to him again, never saw his face anywhere but her dreams, she would
still
never be the same.

The irrefutable truth hit her so hard that she almost missed the insistent thump on the hotel room door.

Quinn.

He was probably just there to get his things.

But maybe not.

She battled against the elation in her heart and lost.  There was no denying the thump-thump of hope drumming against her chest.

So why are you just sitting here, then? Let him in.

She didn’t bother to compose herself.  She knew it was useless.  But when she flung open the door, it wasn’t Quinn at all.  Instead, a short, curvy brunette with a downturned mouth stood just outside.  It only took Ginnie a second to place her – Lawrence’s too-young, too-busty, arm-candy girlfriend.  She was dressed in one of Ginnie’s frill-necked blouses and a flouncy skirt, and the ensemble made her look like a kindergartener dressed up for school pictures.

Did I seriously pack that outfit?
she wondered with cringe.

But of course she
had.
Pre-Quinn.

“Can I help you?” Ginnie asked, keeping her voice cool and collected.

“Yes. You can. I just have one question and it’s – ” she started, then stopped, mouth agape.

“Yes?” Ginnie prodded.

The girl blinked several times, then asked, “Is that my – is that what I – what are you
doing
?”

Ginnie’s followed the girl’s gaze to her hand, where her fingers had squeezed tightly around the purple monstrosity.  For a brief moment, she debated throwing it behind her and pretending she had no idea what the girl was talking about.  But what was the point?

“It’s exactly what you think it is,” Ginnie replied, still calm, though she knew her face must be flaming. “And as far as what I’m doing, I’m packing it up. Along with your underwear.” She paused and raised a deliberately sarcastic eyebrow. “But I’m guessing that neither of those were
actually
your one question?”

The girl’s shoulders dropped again. “No.”

And suddenly, Ginnie couldn’t even muster up enough resentment to send her away.  She stepped back, and pretended that it was totally normal to use the giant dildo to gesture that the pretty brunette should come in.  She couldn’t even be annoyed when Lawrence’s girlfriend accepted, then sank down onto the bed like it was
her
room.

Ginnie stared at her for a second, then cleared her throat. “Are you going to tell me what your one question is?”

“Do you still love him?”

“What?”

“Lawrence. Do you still love him?”

“I – why are you even asking?”

The girl met her eyes. “He’s been acting crazy. And I kept just thinking something was wrong. Actually, I thought something was
right.
Even after he apologized to me because he kissed you, I still assumed…But now he’s just
gone
and I’m not sure
why
. This is so much more than cold feet. Something is wrong.”

As she attempted to process the rambling statement, it was Ginnie’s turn to blink. “Cold feet? And wait. Lawrence
told
you he kissed me?”

She couldn’t imagine he’d disclosed the exact details of the assault in the elevator, but the girl was nodding her head.

“Of course,” she said. “He tells me everything. Or mostly he does. When it matters. I assumed it was nerves and the alcohol that made him kiss you, but then I started thinking about it, and I realized something was really wrong. I mean, he’s spontaneous and fun and he makes lots of mistakes, but this?”

“Spontaneous?”

“He was supposed to
propose!
”

“Propose?”

The brunette bit her lip. “You must hate me.”

“Hate you?” Ginnie was really starting to feel like a parrot.

“I know he was your husband first.”

“Actually…he wasn’t.”

“Um?”

“Never mind.” Ginnie let out a breath. “What’s your name?”

“Liv.”

“Okay. Listen, Liv. No, I don’t love Lawrence.”
Damn, does it
ever
feel good to say that.
“So if that’s all…?”

“Do you know where he is?”

Liv sounded a little desperate, and Ginnie realized that it was quite possible that the other woman
did
love him.  And if Lawrence had run off on her…Well.  It didn’t matter how
Ginnie
felt about him because she knew what it was like to lose someone that mattered to her.  So as much as it galled her, Ginnie couldn’t ignore Liv’s feelings…
After all, love is love, isn’t it?

“I’m sorry,” she stated, her tone gentle. “I don’t have any idea where he is.”

“Oh.” The girl’s body sunk in on itself even more.

“I do know that even though you see him as spontaneous, with me, Lawrence was always a creature of habit,” Ginnie added. “If he
was
freaking out – cold feet, or whatever – he’d go somewhere familiar. Home, maybe? Do you want me to – ”

“I called already. I checked home and the office and even the hospitals. Local
and
the one he works at.”

Ginnie suppressed a sigh.  After all, it wasn’t like she had anything more important to do.  Except chase after Quinn.  Which she
couldn’t
do.

“How long has he been gone?” she asked.

More abject misery. “I don’t know.”

“How can you not know?” Because Ginnie was sure she could count the exact seconds since Quinn walked out.

Walked out? You mean after you
kicked
him out. He’s not your father.
Ginnie shook off the snide voice and focused on what Lawrence’s girlfriend was saying.

“Lawrence came back to the room so late and we had the fight about you, and…I was asleep…” Liv trailed off, and it was obvious that she was trying to fight a sob.

Shit.
Ginnie wished she was immune to the other girl’s suffering.  But she wasn’t.

“Okay,” she said, trying to sound patient. “Let’s build a quick timeline. Even if Lawrence left right after you went to bed, and even if he managed to get a flight out the moment he got over to the airport, he’d still barely have had time to retrieve his bags and make it home. And if he just left this morning, it will be at least dinnertime before he strolls through the door, right?”

“You’re so right.” Liv’s face brightened a fraction. “Lawrence always said you were smarter than he was.”

“He said I was smarter than him?” Ginnie knew her question was full of surprise.

Liv nodded. “Smarter. Higher expectations. It drove me crazy at first, how much he talked about you. Then I decided it was a good thing. Like, a blueprint to what was in his head. A what-not-to-do guide.”

Ginnie grimaced, wondering just why the hell she was letting this train wreck of a conversation go on, but somehow not being able to stop it. “So you’re purposely being not
me
?”

“Actually…it turned out I didn’t even have to try. I could just be me, and I’m what Lawrence wanted all along.”

It felt like an insult. “What does
that
mean?”

Liv shot her a knowing look. “He wanted the trophy wife. You’re more than that.”

Weirdly, a blush crept up Ginnie’s cheeks. “I’m sure you’re more than that, too.”

“I don’t
want
to be. I don’t
need
to be. All I want is Lawrence.”

Ginnie stared at Liv, unsure if the sudden, single thud she felt in her heart was a door opening, or a door closing.

Both, maybe.

Lawrence had never been all Ginnie wanted.  Because she
was
more than a trophy wife.  If anything, Lawrence had been the trophy.  The doctor-iffic icing on her cake of a life.  And it turned out she wanted pie.

And Quinn was the pie.

All she wanted was Quinn.

And then – just like that – it hit her. 

It didn’t take true strength to stay mad or to hold on to despair.  It took true strength to admit that she was wrong.  And even more to face what she was actually feeling.  Which wasn’t anger at all.

Love.

Crazy.  Impulsive.  Unstoppable.  Undoubtable. 
Love. 
All for Quinn.

Her heart bloomed for a moment, full of the realization. 

She
loved
him. 

Then it dropped again.

She
loved
him.  And couldn’t do a damned thing about it.