But I did feel it. Something was about to go wrong.
I let out an annoyed breath and wondered if I'd ever be able to kick back and relax for longer than a day. I was always scurrying back to the rat race, or anticipating doom and gloom. Still, I was usually right.
James had changed. He held a secret, or a thought he didn't want to share with me. I felt it the most during sex. His usual ferocity in the bedroom, that gorgeous, rough, raw quality that reminded me of a sleek animal in the wild, was tamed. It was almost as if he was afraid to let go with me, no matter how hard I urged him to. His lovemaking was controlled and tender, but was missing an element that had burned between us from the moment we met.
Was he getting bored of me?
I shifted in the booth uneasily and sucked at my Coke, having adeptly maneuvered out of drinking beer tonight. When I tried to bring it up before, he'd told me he always wanted me. His words still rang true. His gaze still seethed with a fiery lust I adored. But when he touched me, he was careful, refusing to take me in the ways I dreamed of.
"Quinn? Are you okay?"
I looked up. Brian was staring at me with a hard intensity that made me a bit uncomfortable. I hoped he wasn't getting the wrong impression. I loathed the idea of having an intimate talk to remind him I was with James and was happy, but how awkward would that be if those weren't his intentions?
I forced a smile. "Sure, my mind was wandering."
"How's James?"
My smile deliberately widened. "Great. We're great. Both of us are looking forward to getting out of town for a few days."
He nodded thoughtfully. "Key West, right? Sounds fun." Brian paused. "Did he tell you we ran into each other earlier in the week?"
I frowned. "What do you mean?"
Brian shrugged. "He came looking for you, and we chatted a bit in my office."
Jessica overheard our conversation and cut in. "James is one hunk of a specimen," she said teasingly, giving me a naughty wink. "Quinn definitely scored in that department."
My cheeks heated, but I knew Jessica enjoyed a good banter. "Hands off, girlfriend."
Jessica grinned and put her hands up. "Fine, fine. Brian, you're gonna have to hook me up with one of your friends, dude. Someone who looks like James. Golden hair, blue eyes, slamming body. I'll close my eyes and pretend." She batted her lashes, and I laughed.
"I gotta go. See you guys later." Brian slid out of the booth, ignoring everyone's protests, peeled off some cash, and left it on the table. "You got one more round, then I want you guys home."
He left without turning back, and once again, I felt as if I was missing a huge piece of the puzzle. Why hadn't James told me about their conversation? I knew James got jealous easy, but it was weird how he didn't even mention the exchange.
Maybe I'd try to talk to him tonight and find out what was going on. I glanced at my watch, then pulled out my phone. I hadn't heard the text come in.
Babe, gonna be at the studio late. Breakfast in bed tomorrow?
I tapped out my response. Pancakes and bacon?
A few seconds later, a smiley face popped up. Definitely. Love you.
Love you, too.
I finished my Coke, pondering our relationship. We'd come so far since we met in Key West. From a week of sun, sand, and sex, into the bustling city of Chicago, we'd both grown up and grown even closer. I loved how he was strong enough to say "Fuck you" to his parent's money and try things on his own. I'd only fallen deeper in love with him this past year, knowing in an odd way, we'd been waiting for the other in order to feel whole.
Suddenly, I just needed to see him. Maybe I'd surprise him at the studio. It had been a long time since I was able to drop by and see his work. There was something so intimate about watching him sketch, and I craved to be in his presence. We'd also have a safe place to talk. James liked to bury himself in his art when he was working out issues. Maybe it was the best place to really dig deep.
I grabbed my jacket and purse, said goodbye to my friends, and headed out.
Chapter Fifteen
JAMES
I HAD NO CLUE the day would turn into the biggest clusterfuck of my life.
I should've known by the crappy start. After being with Quinn, I felt as if I could handle anything thrown my way, so I started out strong. I'd already accepted I didn't get into the expo, but then had to deal with a crappy shift at Joe's, where I spilled an expensive cup of mocha from burning my damn hand, and was stalked by a bunch of giggly teens who lingered far too long at the tables, watching me.
Ugh.
I spent the rest of the day researching other art schools and hitting the pavement at various stores and museums, asking for applications while well-dressed receptionists wrinkled their noses at me, asking me first what my degree was in.
I didn't care. In fact, I began sifting through the idea of doing something completely different. I'd take extra shifts at Joe's, maybe add another odd job for the money, and build my own collection. Then I'd use the Internet to market it. I'd noticed some craft stores where artists gave up a percentage of commission to sell. Hell, I'd take the time to build my contacts, and create my own shit. I didn't need Ava or the Brush Institute to validate my talent, and if I tapped into my own drive, I'd build something on my own.
I headed to the studio, feeling stronger about my direction, and when I got there a big crowd had formed around a posted piece of paper in the hallway.
"What's going on?" I asked a pretty blonde, who was leaning against one of the art cases.
"The artists for the expo were picked."
"Oh." I didn't even bother, not wanting to depress myself any further. I headed toward my workroom to set up for class, already prepping for my confrontation with Ava. I wouldn't let her win. She'd probably made all that shit up just to cover her ass for not picking me for the expo. I was over it.
I was laying out my charcoal pencils when Tony, a guy from my class, came rushing in. "Dude! Did you see? I can't believe it."
"See what?"
He stood there, gaping. "The expo, man. Your name is listed. You made it!"
I blinked. Wondered if I'd heard right. Then, shaking my head, I raced back down the hallway and pushed my way into the crowd so I could read the list.
#4 - James Hunt.
What the fuck? I stood in shock while the students clapped me on the shoulder, offering their congratulations. Impossible. She'd picked me even after our episode.
But why?
I should have been over the fucking moon, but my gut clenched with worry. Something was off. I needed to talk to her, make sure she wasn't playing any mind games with me. My head spun, but already, the possibility had been extended, and now I wanted it so badly I couldn't think of having it yanked away from me. Would she blackmail me? No, she should have known I'd never agree to do anything that would hurt my relationship with Quinn, even for the expo. I tried to calm my beating heart, act cool, and wait for Ava to show up and make some sense of it.
She never did.
Instead, another instructor came into class, explaining he'd be taking over for the day. He congratulated the students who'd made the list, and everyone clapped for me since I was the only one from Ava's class to get in.
Shit. I wouldn't get my answers yet.
My head wasn't in the right place, but I tried to make the best of it, using the class time to try to clear my mind by losing myself in work.
I checked my watch and decided to get something to eat. I kept thinking of Brian's words, warning me I'd never be good for Quinn. I turned over Ava's declaration that Quinn wasn't a good fit. It seemed no matter who I spoke with, everyone was against us. Normally, it would make me want to fight harder, but the doubt had been seeded, and I was afraid it was starting to sprout.
Would she be better off without me? Was I being a selfish prick by not letting her go?
I didn't know how long I'd brooded and thought and pondered. It seemed like no matter how hard I fought or tried to get into p
ositive space, my doubts roared over me like a monster hiding under the bed.
I finally decided to do the only thing that made sense. Work. I quickly texted Quinn I'd be at the studio till late and offered her breakfast in bed, then headed back. Maybe if I immersed myself into the only world that ever made sense, I'd find the answer to this world. Scoffing at my philosophical thoughts, I decided to go for oils, setting up a brilliant white canvas before me. I stared at the blank space, relishing that first moment of competition, the stare-down between artist and canvas, the challenge on who would win. My blood warmed and my head cleared, and I attacked, letting all the mess flow through my brush and out.
I worked like a demon, losing myself, without any idea how much time had passed. Eventually, I began to surface, splatters of paint on my shirt, my hand cramped, and I blinked, coming to.
"Not bad."
I jumped, whirling around. Ava stood behind me, studying the swirl of bold colors and jagged lines that made out a couple kissing, wrapped up in each other, pressed against the wall. I'd used colors rather than blacks and whites, and sketchy, rough figures rather than fleshed-out people, giving it an almost crazy, Picasso-like image I'd never experimented with before. It was weird, but arresting, forcing you to try to figure things out. I wasn't even sure what I was trying to say with the piece, but it didn't matter.
Anger shot through me, but I was still a bit weak from the burst of creative work. "What are you doing here?"
"Needed to catch up on some work. See, this is more structured with the lines here." She brushed her finger over air, following the curves of the woman's body and hidden face. "Yet you got messy and real. You're fucked-up in the head right now, huh?"
I stared at this demon creature who somehow managed to beat me up in the same statement she gave me a compliment. I studied her for a while, trying to figure her out. She wore another of her favorite black pantsuits, but it was tight, hugging every part of her body, and the red tank underneath her jacket showed an impressive amount of cleavage. Her hair was scraped back from her face again. I couldn't decide if she was wildly attractive or just plain scary, with the slight sneer on her too-full bloodred lips, white skin, and sharp features.
"Are you proud of yourself?" I asked. "You're the one who fucked up my head. Why did you put me in the show?"
She laughed, shaking her head slowly. "Isn't that what you wanted? What you've been fighting for since day one? If you don't want the slot, let me know now, and I'll give it to another student."
I seethed with frustration, aching to shake her until she dealt with me on a straight level. "Of course I want it! You said in your office I wouldn't get it."
She arched a brow. "No, I never said that. I wanted to find out if you'd be committed and figure out your true intentions. Now, I know. I'm taking a chance on you, Mr. Hunt. But you better make sure you show me this." She jerked a thumb toward my painting. "And not some of that boring crap you tried to pass off as real art. Enjoy your night."
She walked away without a backward glance.
The stress of the past weeks finally broke. My confusion and worry over Quinn. The doubts about myself. And the way my safe place--my art--had suddenly turned into a mind-game explosion due to one raging bitch who wanted to screw with me.
Tendrils of rage licked at my nerve endings, driving me forward. I threw down my brush and followed her into the office, my fists clenched. She looked up from a pile of papers as if I was a minor annoyance. "Yes?"
"I've had enough," I ground out. "How am I expected to work with you? Let you mentor me when I don't trust you? When I know you're just waiting to tie me up in knots because you think I work better when I'm miserable?"
Ava rose from her chair in one graceful motion. Locking my gaze on hers, she strode toward me with slow, deliberate paces. "I'll use anything at my disposal if it makes you better," she drawled. "But let's be honest. You didn't come into this office to talk, did you?"
Shock left me speechless. Not even realizing what I was doing, I backed up until I hit the wall, staring at her in growing discomfort. Holy hell, she thought I wanted to sleep with her. Was I giving off that impression? Sure, she reeked of sex and drama. Back in the day, I would've devoured her whole, not giving a shit because I had a feeling Ava was the mistress of all sex and mind games. We would've happily torn each other apart until we finally parted, exhausted and shattered into tiny pieces.
In that one moment, I had a decision to make. I could choose Quinn and fight for what we had. Or I could slip back into my old shit. Ava would push me further and harder than I ever could imagine. She'd probably make me a star. I'd never have to hide the raw, primitive side of me I tried so desperately to keep in check for Quinn, sweet, sexy, giving Quinn. My brain clicked furiously, trying to choose, while she moved closer until she paused before me, her husky laugh raking across my ears.
I gathered the last of my rage and frustration and battled for the woman I loved. "Fuck you."
Her eyes filled with the challenge, and I knew she relished my fight. I was only a pawn to her in a lifelong game I no longer wanted to play.
"Why don't you fuck me instead?"
I should've pushed her away, because I knew right then, I'd choose Quinn every time.
But I didn't.
Her mouth pressed against mine, and those few seconds in my world were to be the ones that destroyed me. I registered her scent, the tip of her tongue ready to plunge, the way her tits pressed up against my chest. But my body cried for Quinn, my mind locking into place, and I was about to shake her off when a low, guttural cry broke through the air.
Ava turned. My gaze lifted.
Shocked brown eyes stared into mine.
Quinn.
"Quinn!" My lips formed her name, horror washing over me in waves as I realized what she saw and believed. My horror increased when I realized that in those few seconds I'd hesitated, I lost the only choice that kept me alive.
My love for Quinn.
I shoved Ava away and went after Quinn.
"Don't--j-just don't!" She turned, and I quickly closed the distance, reaching out to grab her arm. "Leave me alone!" she screamed. I stopped in my tracks, and then she was sobbing and running away from me, and I watched my life shatter into pieces around me.
Chapter Sixteen
QUINN
I knew he'd come after me. I also knew he'd break down the door, and even though I hated him, I had to hear his story. Why he'd betrayed me. What I'd done wrong to place my trust in him when he'd been lying the whole time.
I didn't know how much time had passed. I sobbed and rocked myself, and then finally, the anger hit, so deep and hard, it shook my body like a storm, and I could barely hang on.
He knocked on the door. "Quinn? Please open up. Please."
He had his key, but allowed me the dignity of decision. I swiped at my swollen eyes, got up from the floor, and flung open the door.
Oh, he reeked of guilt. From his distressed, grief-stricken expression to the dim light in his eyes. I almost lost it again, but I was too mad. "How long have you been fucking her?" I finally asked, feeling the bitter words hurt my tongue.
"I'm not. I never was. I'm here to tell you everything."
"How kind of you." I watched him walk in, shut the door, then shove his hands in his jeans pockets. Those burnished waves I'd slid my fingers through tumbled over his brow. His jacket couldn't hide the bulk of his muscles or the lean thighs encased in worn, faded jeans I loved to pull off him as he tumbled me onto the bed. Raw pain sizzled through me, making me want to double over in agony, but I held my position and glared at him with all the loathing I had. "I thought you hated her. I had no idea that was how you hated someone."
He dragged in a breath and met my gaze. Those sky-blue eyes held an array of pain and guilt, but remained drilled on mine, refusing to look away. "Yes. I need to tell you the story from the beginning, Quinn. Everything I said was true. She ripped me apart in class, disparaged my work, and I never thoug
ht I'd get into the expo. One day, she asked to see me after class. I walked into her office and found her blowing the nude model we had in class. It was so fucked-up. I was pissed at her, and I didn't know what she was doing."
"And you didn't go to administration?" I challenged.
He shook his head. "No. I didn't know what to tell them at first. I was afraid they'd think I was making shit up to get into the expo. I finally confronted her, and she gave me this bullshit excuse about needing to push me in order for me to be a better artist."
The ridiculous explanation made no sense. "What are you talking about?" I asked, my voice going higher. I wrapped my arms around my body in an attempt to keep my sanity. "Giving another guy a blow job helps strengthen your art?"
He dragged a hand through his hair. "No. Well, kind of. She said when she pushed me to get in touch with my darker emotions, it was reflected in my work. She said if she picked me for the expo, she'd make sure I succeeded, but I had to push my limits. Said my relationship with you was making me play it safe, and I wasn't built for calm, committed relationships."
My head spun. I began pacing, trying to make sense of all the bullshit being spouted at me by the man I loved. "I'm having a hard time understanding this. She was coming on to you, wasn't she? Saying I was holding you back, and giving you ridiculous excuses so you'd sleep with her. And you bought it, hook, line, and sinker. Why didn't you tell me any of this? Did you want to sleep with her the whole time?"
"No! I never wanted to sleep with her, Quinn, I swear to God. I got confused, and was trying to figure out her game. I'd decided to go to administration the day you told me you got the job, but I didn't want to ruin your good news, and then a few days later, my name was on the list and I found out I got into the expo."