WITHOUT YOU (STRIPPED) (3 page)

“I take it you weren’t visiting your dad today. Considering business has nothing to do with fine arts.”

She sits at the edge, a good two feet of space between us and another few unusually quiet seconds pass. On top of picking her nails and the poor attempt she’s taken at avoiding my eyes, I’d recognize her troubled expression underwater.

Obviously she’s not telling me something.

Tucking her feet in close to her body, Quinn shakes her head. “I wasn’t visiting my dad.”

I face her, clasping a pillow beneath my arm, and wait. For an eternity-like, quiet moment she fingers the camera sitting beside the bed, the tip of her nail tracing button after button. Her lips part and, just when I think she’s going to spill it, she lifts the camera to her face and squints at me through the lens.

“Babe,” I lower the camera and say, “you can’t hide behind the camera.”

She puckers her lips and releases a slow breath. “I’m not hiding. Just avoiding.”

“Me?”

“Telling you.” She sets the camera between us, rubs her face, then looks me straight-on. “That I’m going back to work for Mr. Hunter. As a model.” Her words sound strong and sure, but as I look into the depths of her eyes I see a flicker of something old and painful and definitely not forgotten.

“Hold up.” I sit upright and lean in close enough to smell the mint on her breath. “Why would you need to go back to that? Your tuition is covered. For as long as you need it to be.”

“Yeah, by you. And your family.” Her words snap and immediately the expression on her face softens, like she didn’t mean to raise her voice. It’s only been a month since my dad offered her family money for Quinn’s schooling, a reimbursement of sorts for all the damage my father and I caused when I came to Pacific Rim. She takes my pillow and hugs it against her chest. “I just can’t stand that I’m your fucking charity case.”

“You’re not my charity case.” I run my fingers up and around the back of her neck, tangle them into her hair. “You’re my girlfriend, Quinn. Who I love. Who I would pay a gazillion dollars just to never see stand naked in front of strangers again.”

She rolls her eyes. “It’s not that bad.”

“When all I’ll be able to think about is other dudes checking you out it is. Do you know what that could do to my ego?”

A tiny giggle bubbles off her lips, and she leans into my hand. “I’m sure your ego will survive, Mr. All-the-girls-look-at-me-‘cause-I’m-captain-of-the-rowing-team.”

The thought of her stripping off her clothes in front of other people burns a venomous hole into my stomach. “Why not something else? I can talk to Sal, get you a job at the sandwich shop. You’re really good at cooking. Remember that chicken wrap you made? The one with the pineapple? Sal’s thinking about putting it on the menu.”

“That’s preparing, not cooking,” she says, a small smile sweeping over her lips. At least once a week she comes in during my shift and plays with the ingredients, creating out-of-the-box subs. “And no offense, but you of all people should know how shitty Sal pays—I’d barely be able to afford my cell phone bill working for him, let alone books and housing.” 

No, no, no. On top of everything else, I can’t handle this right now. I pull her near, close my eyes, and whisper against her lips, “
Please
, for me, don’t take the job. I’ll help you look for something else that pays well.”

“I have to, Torrin.” She hooks her finger on the collar of my shirt and tugs it down then softly kisses my chest. Strands of hair whisper against my chin. “I know I won’t make enough for my full tuition working for Hunter,” she continues, her lips tickling my skin, “but it’s something. And it’s now. And it’ll be enough so your dad won’t think I’m mooching off him. Or you.”

My brow shoots up. “Is that why you’re doing this? Because you’re worried what he thinks? My dad’s a bit of a hard-ass, but he would never think that.”

“No.” Hot breath edges up my neck, followed by a lick of her tongue so slow and deliberate my skin ripples with shivers. “I’m worried about me. This is for me. I don’t want to feel like a complete loser for the next year or two or three—however long it takes my parents to pay your dad back.” Her words are silky smooth, which means she’s already made up her mind. No changing it now.

“When do you start?” I ask, squirming against the words.

“Tomorrow. Mr. Hunter wants the remainder of the quarter to feature dual models. I’ll be working with some girl named Crystal.” With an arch of her back, the material of her black tank top brushes against my chest. Fire blazes beneath my skin. The laziness of her touch, careful twists and turns of her body to lure mine into moving closer…

“Babe, are you trying to seduce me so I won’t talk you out of the job?”

“Maybe a little.” She catches her bottom lip between her teeth, raises her eyes up to mine with a mischievous glint. “Is it working?”

I laugh and pull her onto my lap. “Maybe. A little.”

Her gaze skips up and over my shoulder, landing somewhere in the vicinity of my desk. Her expression hardens then she tilts her chin and says, “Another project? You really did have homework this week? But I thought…”

“It wasn’t an excuse.” I kiss her then to keep the lie from evolving into something worse. As of now, it’s somewhat manageable. And believable.

Her hands drift up my arms and through my hair, and after only a few minutes she mumbles, “You have too many clothes on.” She struggles with my shirt at the same time scraping hers up her belly. I was planning to hint at the internship tonight, make up some story about a classmate who was accepted into one and gather her reaction to it, but when her shirt flies off and the black lace bra stares at me, all plans sail out the window.

Our fingers scrabble with the rest of my clothes then I peel off her jean shorts, throw them to the floor. Sitting on the end of the bed, legs draped over the sides, she watches me as I kneel on the carpet in front of her and run my fingertips up and down her thighs. My skin tingles under her longing gaze, the way it slithers over my body and settles on my face. Eyes. Mouth.

Clutching her hips I scoot her closer, shut my eyes against the heat her legs sear around my back. There’s an infinitesimal moment of silence, the two of us reading each other’s thoughts—I love her, I want her, she loves me, wants me—and then I grin, nudge her flat on her back, and pounce.  

The mattress whimpers with my weight. Quinn’s fingers glide through my hair and guide me down on top of her. Skin to skin. Lips on lips. Jagged breath mingling between our mouths when I reach beneath to unhook her bra.

She wiggles out of her underwear and, this time, the words “I love you” don’t accompany the crinkly rip of a condom packet. Our fingertips don’t linger on creases or freckles or any other insignificant piece of each other we’d typically take the time to absorb. Nothing about our movement is gentle or unhurried, and something tells me if it was, the guilt would discover a way to tiptoe back in. Instead we become a knotted web of arms and legs and strands of hair catching on skin beaded with sweat.

At some point she yanks me off the bed and splays her naked body against the bathroom door, cheek pressed to the painted wood; an invitation to take her from behind.

Slowly I do, dropping kisses along her shoulder and neck. She peers back at me and smiles, at the same time directing my hand to the swell of her chest. My other hand journeys lower, and when I softly touch her, she dips and falls back against me.

A few intense minutes later, Quinn’s back arches followed by “mother of Jesus” rolling off a deep exhale. I shuffle her to the bed, and she leans over the edge, gripping clumps of comforter into her fists. The stretch of her limbs, the golden plane of her back, her ass and its impeccable roundness…only another few seconds pass before the words “holy shit” come out of my mouth with a burst.

A slick sheen of sweat coating her back, Quinn collapses, burying her face into the blanket. “That was amazing,” she slurs, still breathing heavily. I kiss her head then lie beside her, trying to find a breath of my own. “I wouldn’t mind doing that every day.”

Every day
.

Every day.

Every day.

Two words that have the power to make me wince.

Without too much time passing, I force a believable-sounding laugh and mutter, “It’s probably not smart to admit that out loud with me right beside you. I might hold you to it.”

April 12
th

I didn’t bring up the internship. Perhaps after a night like we had, my skin still tingling from her touch, washing it away so quickly wasn’t exactly a priority.

A dick move? Yep. Selfish? Yeah, that too. But things are going to change irrevocably between the two of us once she finds out I’m leaving in five weeks, and I don’t know if I’m ready for those changes yet.

Or ever. Just the thought of miles and miles between us, not seeing her every day, crushes my chest like a mile’s weight of water. A jittery panic scrapes over me, invisible hands smothering me from the inside out. Christ, I don’t know how much longer I can do this, fight the feeling that I’m drowning.

A cluster of freshman passes and I quickly scan their faces—young, naïve and very much male. Very much like they’d get off watching my girlfriend pose without her clothes for an hour. A tangy haze of paint and turpentine fumes dizzies me as I continue down the hall of the art building toward Quinn’s changing room.

Voices echo from around the corner. One Quinn’s, the other deep and…teasing?

“At least I didn’t trip,” the guy says, and Quinn laughs.

What the hell?

“Whatever. You try being the center of attention like that. It’s not easy.”

My feet itch to move faster, but I consciously slow my steps. She’s only talking with another student, nothing wrong with that.

“It’s obvious why Hunter asked you back, though,” he says lowly then clears his throat. “You’re really talented.”

My fists clench. I’ve seen the way other guys look at Quinn, like they wouldn’t mind seeing what’s beneath those little dresses she wears. And…this guy’s already seen it.

Her.

All. Of. Her.

An explosive fire detonates inside me, and I jog the last few steps. As I round the corner, both heads turn. I stop, taking the two of them in: Quinn standing against the wall, bulky pink bathrobe she uses to get to and from the classroom hanging to her ankles. A foot beside her, shoulder pressed to the cinderblock wall, is the source of the voice: taller than Quinn, yet wiry with straight blond hair sagging past his ears. His eyes, the color of the sky, assess me too.

Quinn faces me, folding her arms across her stomach. “Taking a detour from the gym?” A distinct
Are you checking up on me?
tone slickens every syllable. 

“Um…” I don’t have a reason for coming here, just felt the need to see her. Though I’m not confessing that in front of this guy. I don’t know why I’m feeling this, like I want to punch him. I’ve never cared when my girlfriends have talked to guys before.

But none of them were like Quinn.

And I wasn’t on the verge of possibly leaving.

Hands shoved deep into my pockets, I shorten the gap between us and swallow down the itch to scream. “…thought we could get some lunch. Maybe go to the beach?” It takes everything in me to not wrap my arm around Quinn and pull her toward me, away from him. “It’s nice out today and your suit is still in my car from last time.”

It’s a dig to this guy—making clear I’ve had the privilege of witnessing her in a skimpy blue bikini and he hasn’t. I don’t even care how pathetic I sound. Looking to him, I extend my hand. “What’s up? I’m Torrin.”

Returning my handshake with a lingering glance to my tensed forearm he says, “Billy.”

“Billy is Mr. Hunter’s T.A.,” Quinn announces, stepping closer to me, her shoulder brushing my arm. “He took the class last quarter. I guess you could say he’s a decent artist.” Her bantering tone elicits a grin on Billy’s pale face, and my hand bolts around her waist. He’s seen her pose nude on more than one occasion.

Pain like a vise clamps my gut.

“Babe…” I breathe in and out, and the sense that I can feel and hear my own heartbeat diminishes. “Why don’t you go get dressed.” It’s not a question, and my voice is a touch too hard.

For a moment her eyes skim my face, looking like the same thought has crossed her mind, wondering why the hell I’m being an ass. Then without a word to me she turns, telling Billy she’ll see him in class next week, and disappears behind the door.

“I better go, too,” Billy says quickly, an uneasy waver in his voice. He whirls back toward the row of classrooms. Halfway down the hall he tugs a phone from his pocket, scans the screen, and responds with a quick tap of his fingers. He slips into an office just as the door to Quinn’s room opens. She steps out: a duffle bag slung over her shoulder, hands on her hips, unsmiling.

“Is this how it’s gonna be now?” she says. “I get a job, and you’re a jerk about it?”

Ignoring her question I scoop her into my arms, drop a kiss onto her cheek. “Nice to see you, too.”

“God, Torrin. I’m serious.” She pushes out of my grip and tugs at her shirt. “What was that about? And since when did you become the jealous boyfriend?”

I shift on my feet and sigh, rubbing the back of my neck where residue from the earlier tension still lingers. I told myself I didn’t have a reason for showing up here unannounced, but somewhere deep in my conscience, I know there’s something that needs to be said to her. Just not here.

With my finger, I brush back a thread of hair from her face and answer anyway, this response just as truthful. “Since I had to start worrying about what every guy is thinking as he watches you stand naked before them. As they scrutinize every inch of your body, beautify it, and keep it in a notebook where they can drool over it…
any
time they want.”

She rolls her eyes, but a trifling grin betrays her look of annoyance. Which concerns me even more. She likes them looking at her?

“That’s a bit farfetched. Artists take Hunter’s class because they want to learn technique, not so they can go gaga over the models.”

“When I was a freshman, I wouldn’t have taken the class for that.” She lifts an eyebrow and I add, “Plus, I just watched some dude get all puppy-eyed when you were talking to him. And that fucking kills me.”

“He’s just a friend.”

“In your eyes,” I challenge and she blinks, taking a minute to let my words soak in. My fingers trail along the underside of her jaw as I step closer, lower my voice, and add, “Is it so horrible to want you all to myself?”

Pink creeps into her cheeks, and her gaze falls to the dirty linoleum floor. I bring her hand to my mouth and kiss each of her fingers, watching how the hardened mask of her face softens each time my lips touch her skin. Over two months together and I can still recognize the very look that had me diving head first into a relationship with this girl.

I lift her chin until she meets my gaze. “Come to the beach with me?” 

~*~

“Have you ever had a moment in your life when everything was so perfect, so amazing that you wouldn’t change a thing?”

A crinkle forms along Quinn’s forehead as she rolls onto her side and looks at me. I guess my words sort of came out of nowhere. Lying here on the sand, a breeze drifting over the Mexican blanket I spread out for us, we’ve both been rather quiet.

With her fingernail, she presses a grain of sand into the red and black loops of thread and answers in a cautious tone. “Yes.” Most likely the thought of a time when her sister was alive and her parents had money accompanies that word. I nod, continue softly so the cluster of tourists sitting on the sand beside us don’t hear.

“Then one simple thing changes and, like a castle made of cards, everything starts crashing around you? One tiny glitch that has the power to crumble all the good?”

She sits up at my side, crossing her legs in front of her. “And that glitch in your life is…?” Just below the surface in her eyes, some heavy thought lingers. The awareness she may be the reason things haven’t been as smooth between us? Her sister’s death because it’s the one tiny glitch in her life that changed everything?

Resting my hands on her thighs, just below the frayed hem of her white shorts, I wrap my fingers around her tenuous muscles as if I could physically hold on to her as the next comes out of my mouth.

“You.” I stop. Lick my lips, thoughts sprinting through my head on how to put it. “Last winter I applied for a photography internship with Traveler magazine. The prospect was poor, considering thousands of people apply every year and very few actually get in.”

Her expression un-wrinkles, eyes growing round. “You got in?”

I nod. “Got a letter a few days ago. I was accepted for the summer and fall quarters to study under Joel Harrington, one of the most famous wildlife photographers around.”

My words sit between us, undisturbed, for an uncomfortably long moment. Then a wide smile stretches across her face. “Babe, of course they accepted you. They’d be dumbasses not to.”

I have to look away; the prideful glow in her expression only makes this harder. In front of us, a wave crests then blasts with a boom that echoes down across the sand. I sit, unmoving for a moment, letting the sound of water rushing sand flood the cavity separating us. There’s no easy way to say this.

Closing my eyes, I lower my voice to almost a whisper. “The internship is in Costa Rica. I’ll be there for five months.”     

Another wave shatters against the sand, the impact vibrating clear up to where we’re sitting. I peek through my lashes at her.

Arms wrapped around her legs and chin resting on her knees, she’s staring at me. The silence stretches out until a scrawny kid in the group beside us lets out a “Whoa” as he spots a surfer catch a wave, and then Quinn says, “And I’m the glitch because…?” The wariness of her tone chokes me, as if someone’s thumb is pressed hard into the hollow of my throat.

I take a breath, hold it as long as I can then let it out. “If it wasn’t for you I would’ve already accepted the position.”

She stiffens, eyes narrowing. “Geez, Torrin. What do I say to that? You’re welcome?” She starts to get up, and I grab her arm.

“Stop. I didn’t mean it like that, and you know it.”

“No, I don’t know,” she says, her voice hardening. “What did you mean? Because right now you’ve got me pretty fucking convinced that I’m holding you back from your dreams. A photography internship with some famous guy? Who fucking wouldn’t accept that?”

“A guy who is in love with his girlfriend and couldn’t stand to be away from her for five excruciatingly long months. A guy who is afraid to lose the one person in his life that brings out the better person in him.” My hand slides down her wrist and grips her fingers. “A guy who loves you more than anything in the world.”

She rolls her eyes. “You were just fine before we met. Other than your ridiculous need-to-save-the-messed-up-girl complex, which apparently you haven’t gotten over because any other normal person—even if he loved his girlfriend—would be outta here in a second.”

“Guess that settles it. I’m not normal.” I smile and tug her closer, lean my head into the crook of her neck. Another deep breath, soaking in her scent.

My head dips as she pulls away. “I think you should go.”

I meet her glare with one just as intense and test out the word, “No.”

“Yes! You’re missing out on a really great opportunity. And for what? Me? I don’t think so. I refuse to be the reason.” She stands and stares down at me. “You clearly have a lot of thinking to do.” And then she stalks away.

“Quinn…”

“Don’t follow me, Torrin. I’ll take the stupid bus.”

Faces turn from the group beside me, eyes flicking between Quinn and me.

Ugh. I stretch backward, lumps of sand digging into my back, and rub my face. That went well.