Quinn gulped and took a deep breath. “Please.”
Nina lifted Quinn’s chin with a cool hand. “Hey, kiddo. What the fuck?”
No. She couldn’t do this right now. “Nothing. It’s nothing. I’m just tired and this match is making me crazy and I don’t want to muddy my emotional waters by talking about anything but this match that needs making.”
Nina gave her a guarded look. “Okay.”
Quinn’s mouth fell open as she set her coffee down and quickly braided the length of her hair. “You’re just going to let it go? No badgering, name calling, threats?”
Nina grinned. “Just like Frozen.”
Quinn giggled and rubbed the vampire’s shoulder. “Aw, nice Nina is nice.”
“Fuck you.”
She giggled again, straightening as Khristos came out of the bedroom dressed in low-slung jeans, work boots and a fitted black pullover sweater. If not making more of their night together was the right thing to do, why did it feel as if it were ripping her in half when she looked at him? Tall, strong, good. So good.
But that feeling in the pit of her belly began to mushroom, trumping everything else—even how confused Khristos appeared, judging by the look on his face.
“We have to hurry!”
Grabbing her purse, she threw the strap over her head and ran for the door, following her gut, burning with a new urgency she hadn’t experienced in her other matches.
Feet pounded behind her as Khristos and Nina caught up, flanking her on either side. Yet, she didn’t have time to notice anything but the path before her. She followed this crazy pounding in her veins, slipping through the crowds of commuters, listening the way Khristos had taught her.
She almost didn’t even look up until she landed exactly where she needed to be without even knowing the route she took.
Quinn stopped dead, the haze of the chase clearing enough to see where she’d landed.
The Spotted Pig.
Aka, Shawna “Cantaloupes” Sutter’s place of employment.
No. This couldn’t be right. Why, in all of the universe, would she have to make a match here? She dug her phone out and checked the time. Shit.
Igor always got his coffee here at exactly eight sharp on his way to work, and it was five after.
Khristos put a hand at her elbow. “Quinn?”
She peered through the glass window, etched artfully with the name of the coffee shop, and saw Igor playfully feed Shawna a piece of strudel. And the urge, deep and growing inside her, became more insistent.
But those sharp pangs had nothing to do with Igor or any type of longing for him. She didn’t want to hack his testicles off with a butter knife. She didn’t want to see him writhe in agony. She didn’t feel that empty feeling of betrayal he’d left her with when he’d told her about Shawna.
Oddly, when it came to Shawna, she found herself admiring the skillful use of a scarf she’d made into a vest by folding it and tying the square edges into knots at her shoulders. It was a nice color on her, and accented her flame-red hair.
And she took great care managing the coffee shop. The orange and funky-green walls, dressed here and there with animated pictures of various musicians playing instruments, were artsy and fun. The pebbly surface of the sheet-metal countertops shone, and the multicolored mugs they used were hung perfectly from pegs on guitars and banjos that acted as racks all around the space.
But this had to be some cosmic joke.
“I take it that’s Igor and Shawna?” Khristos asked, startling her from her thoughts.
“How’d you guess?”
“Those cans. How the hell does she stand up without tipping over?” Nina asked on a snort.
Khristos jammed his hands into the pocket of his down coat, obviously fighting a snicker. “The name of the coffee shop. You mentioned it.”
“Right. The dreaded Parthenon confessional.” She’d never live that down.
“So what do we do next, Aphrodite?” Khristos put his body between her and the coffee shop door.
And in the midst of all this, she still couldn’t look at his handsome face. Her eyes sought the ground and her fuzzy boots. “I don’t know. I do know I arrived here like some kind of homing pigeon, and my gut tells me to go inside. I don’t like it, but there it is.”
“Shall we?” he asked.
Yes! her mind screamed, even if her feet were reluctant.
Squaring her shoulders, she straightened and lifted her chin, marching past Khristos and Nina and walking directly into the coffee shop as if someone in the joint owed her money—boobs and all.
Which would have been fine if someone did owe her money. At least she’d appear as though she had a reason to be there other than a public, spiteful, jealous rage.