Crazy For You (28 page)

Quinn looked away from Edie and saw Thea on the other side of the stage, laughing with the boy cast as Cinderella’s Prince. “She’s just being friendly.”

“He’s the biggest hound in school.” Jason narrowed his eyes in accusation at Quinn. “And you had to make things worse by casting him as a prince. Way to go, McKenzie.”

“I didn’t cast him,” Quinn said, and then to pour salt on the wound, she said, “Maybe he’s asking her to prom.”

“Prom is not for weeks yet. He is not asking her to prom.”

“You never know,” Quinn said. “Leave her alone. She’ll find somebody to go with.”

“Thea shouldn’t be with somebody,” Jason said. “I can’t believe this.”

“I can’t believe you.” Quinn smacked the script down on the table to get his attention “If you’re this jealous, why aren’t you dating her?”

Jason shrugged. “She’s smart. She’ll want to talk Shakespeare or something.”

“Well, you’re smart, too.” Quinn shook her head. “I don’t get this. Just ask her out, for heaven’s sake.”

“I did,” Jason said, hell in his voice.

Quinn sat down so she could concentrate. “What happened?”

He shrugged again, painfully nonchalant. “I told her we should go out so people wouldn’t think I was hot for you. She said people didn’t think that and thanks anyway.” He looked at her, suddenly concerned. “Hey, don’t worry, nobody thinks that. I just thought it would be a good way to, well, you know, ask her.”

“No,” Quinn said. “That was a lousy way. Go tell her you want to go out with her for you, because you want to be with her.”

“I can’t do that.” Jason’s expression looked vaguely familiar, and then she realized where she’d seen it before: on Max and Nick. It was that mule I-don’t-want-to-hear-this look.

Quinn stood up carefully, her voice brisk again. “Then you’ll never date her. No big deal.”

“Says who?” Jason said, outrage in his voice.

Quinn leaned against the table. “Jason, for crying out loud, just go over there and ask her out and be honest. She likes you. She wants to go out with you. She just doesn’t want you doing her any favors.”

Jason looked back at Thea, who was laughing at something Brian had said. “If she likes me, why is she messing with him?”

“Because you’re ignoring her and she’d like to have children someday. And that is my final word on this subject.” Quinn picked up the prop box. “Here, take this over to her and tell her I said the two of you should run inventory.”

“That’s lame.”

“So are you. Go.”

Quinn took her crutches and went to lean against the wall, where she could see them better. Jason carried the prop box across the stage, looking grumpy and vulnerable, and for the first time she wasn’t worried about Thea. If Thea was lousy to him because he’d been such a dope—

“So what do you do when you’re not getting dates for techies?” Nick said as he dropped a coil of wire on the prop table.

“I think about my own lousy love life,” Quinn said, refusing to look at him. “Which has gotten so much better since I don’t have any. A huge improvement.”

He came to stand in front of her, making her see him, and he looked dark and hot and dangerous, and she realized she was enjoying it all, him chasing her for a change. He smiled at her, confident as ever. “Okay, I’ll say this again, I screwed up.”

Quinn stuck her chin out. “You certainly did.”

“Well,” Nick said, “Jason screwed up, and you’re hoping Thea’s going to take him back anyway.”

“Jason didn’t pancake on Thea three times.”

“I did not pancake the third time.” Nick came closer, blocking her off from the rest of the stage, and her pulse kicked up as she edged back until she was flat against the wall. “I may have made a small musical error and blown my dismount, but pancake, no. As I keep reminding you, you came.”

“I faked it,” Quinn lied.

“You did not,” Nick said. “You were like wet Kleenex afterward.”

“Thank you,” Quinn said. “That’s very romantic. You can go now.”

“You liked it,” he said, and she refused to meet his eyes.

“Some.”

“A lot.” He leaned over her, his hand on the wall above her head, and she could feel herself flush, just because he was that close. “We should try it again. Why should Jason and Thea have all the fun? Want to talk Shakespeare with me?”

Quinn put as much scorn in her voice as she could. “You don’t know Shakespeare.”

“ ‘Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds,’ ” he said. “And I didn’t even alter. Except I’m smarter. No Fleetwood Mac, which is a crime because they did some good stuff.”

Quinn tried to glare at him without meeting his eyes. “Where’d you read the sonnets? They putting them on cereal boxes now?”

“College,” Nick said. “GI Bill, remember? Business major, English minor. Good for seducing women. ‘The grave’s a fine and private place/But none, I think, do there embrace.’ Be a shame if we never tried again and died not knowing.”

“I can live with that.”

He leaned closer, his cheek almost touching hers, and whispered in her ear, “ ‘License my roving hands, and let them go/Before, behind, between, above, below.’ ” His breath was warm on her skin. “Let me touch you again. Come back to me, Quinn. I’ll drive you out of your mind, I swear.”

She felt her breath go. ‘“Who was that one? I got Marvell, but not—”

“Donne. My favorite.” He looked down into her eyes, so close. “ ‘Thy firmness makes my circle just/And makes me end where I begun.’ Come home with me tonight.”

His mouth was so close to hers she thought about taking it, right there on the stage, everybody watching, but she’d been here before. “No,” she said, so dizzy she wasn’t even sure what she was saying. “Don’t stand so close. People are going to notice.”

“Screw people,” he said, but she shoved past him to cross the stage to Edie, feeling rattled.

“You okay?” Edie asked. “You look feverish.”

“I’m trying to remember why I’m saying no to Nick.” Quinn shook her head. “I had a good reason.”

“Fleetwood Mac,” Edie said.

“I like Fleetwood Mac,” Quinn said, and then she got a good look at Edie’s face, pale and drawn, and forgot about her own problems. “What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

“It’s nothing,” Edie said. “Really.”

“It’s the BP,” Quinn said, and watched Edie’s smile evaporate. “What did he do?”

Edie closed her eyes. “He’s had parent complaints.”

Quinn frowned. “About the play? That can’t be. We—”

“About my morals.” Edie looked ghastly as she said it.

“Your morals?” Quinn felt her temper rise as she thought about Bobby’s smug little face. The treacherous rat. “That’s not parents, that the fucking BP. Don’t worry, I will fix this. Tomorrow morning, I’ll make him sorry he ever lived.”

She slammed into Bobby’s office and said, “Robert, you have gone too far.”

“Greta, where’s my coffee?” he said, and from outside, Greta said, “On the corner of my desk.”

“Well, bring it in here, damn it.” The BP’s voice was full of exasperation.

You are such a moron
. “Robert, you have to stop harassing Edie.”

Greta brought the coffee cup in and set it in front of him. “Was that so hard?” Bobby said to her, and she ignored him with studied completeness as she left. “That woman’s got to go,” he told Quinn and sipped the coffee. He made a face. “It’s cold, too. It’s always cold.”

“Robert, are you listening to me?”

He shoved the cup away. “She has to go,” he said, and Quinn stopped.

“Greta?”

“No,” he said, “although I’ve put her on notice, too. I mean Edie. We can’t have her type here.”

Quinn swallowed so she wouldn’t start screaming at him. “Her type has been teaching here for thirty years,” she told him as evenly as she could. “She was Teacher of the Year three years ago. Her students adore her. Parents ask for her—”

“That was before,” Bobby said. “They’re not asking for her now.” His voice was smug.

“What did you do?” Quinn said, already knowing.

“When they call, I have to tell them the truth,” he said.

“I think our teachers should have the highest morals—”

“Why did they call?” Quinn leaned over the desk, aching to smack his stupid little face. “You started it, didn’t you? You told a couple of people she was morally unacceptable, and they started talking, and then—”

“Quinn, she’s a lesbian,” Bobby said. “An open lesbian. She’s influencing children. Look at Thea Holmes.”

Quinn straightened in confusion. “What’s wrong with Thea Holmes?”

“All that black clothing,” Bobby said. “She wears those heavy shoes.”

“This is a joke, right?” Quinn said. “Not even you can be that much of a moron. Thea wears Doc Martens. They all do. And just to usher you in to the twentieth century before it’s over, you cannot tell a lesbian by her feet.” She shook her head at him, hating him suddenly, amazed by how much she loathed him. “I don’t believe this.”

“She could be dangerous to our children,” Bobby said stubbornly.

“How?” Quinn was so enraged her voice broke.

Bobby’s mouth got smaller and tighter and he glared up at her. “Just being around her is an influence.”

“Oh, absolutely.” Quinn held on to the desk because she was shaking so hard. “That lesbian stuff is highly contagious. Why, yesterday I was having a Coke with Edie, and I was suddenly overcome by the urge to go down on Daria.”

“There’s no need to be offensive,” Bobby said, drawing back.

“You’re right, you’re offensive enough for both of us.” Quinn loomed over him, making him meet her eyes, so intense she almost lifted the desk. “Listen to me, you little worm. You give Edie any more trouble, you
cause
Edie any more trouble, and I will hunt you down and make you wish you’d never been born.”

“Is that a threat?” Bobby said.

“Hell, yes, it’s a threat,” Quinn said. “The best thing I could do for this school is get rid of you completely, and don’t think I can’t do it. You cause any more trouble for me and mine, and I’m going to stop working around you and go through you. You leave her alone.”

She swung around and saw Marjorie Cantor standing in the doorway, quivering with delight. Marjorie was probably going to throw out a hip getting to the teachers’ lounge with this one. “Anything there you missed, Marge?” Quinn said. “Instant replay?”

“Well, really,” Marjorie said. “I just wanted to give Robert the textbook inventory.” She drew herself up until she looked like a dingy pouter pigeon, all ruffled dignity and outraged innocence, but the gleam was there in her eye.

“Wonderful,” Quinn said and turned back to Bobby, who was glaring at her with what looked like terrified rage. “You stick to counting textbooks and leave teaching to the pros like Edie. We put up with you because you don’t get in our way much; but you start screwing with the quality of education around here by running off our best teacher, and we’ll take steps.”

She shoved past Marjorie and into the outer office where Greta was shaking her head over her keyboard.

“How can you stand him?” Quinn asked and Greta said, “Who says I can?” and kept on typing.

It wasn’t like him to leave her alone.

Of course, Bill hadn’t come near her for a week, so that threat was probably over. Her dad had made Frank Atchity talk to him; maybe that had brought him to his senses—

“I’m going, McKenzie,” Thea said from beside her. “I’m the last one. You need anything before I go?”

“Nope.” Quinn tried to sound nonchalant. “How are you doing?”

“Jason’s taking me home,” Thea said, and then she grinned. “I can’t believe it. He came over last night when I was talking to Brian and said, ‘Go away,’ and Brian sort of got huffy and left, and then he said, ‘I want to be with you.’ I wasn’t exactly sure what it meant, but it sounded good.”

“He’s trying,” Quinn said. “Cut him a break. Guys are inept.”

“I am,” Thea said. “And he’s not that inept.”

Quinn raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“He took me home last night,” Thea said. “Good kisser.”

Quinn laughed, delighted that something in her life was finally going right. “Good for you.”

“Hey, Thea!” Jason called from the door. “I’m getting old out here.”

“You’ll get old whether I’m there or not,” Thea called back.

“Yeah, but it’ll be more fun if you’re here,” he said, and Thea flushed.

“See you,” she said to Quinn, not taking her eyes off Jason, and then she went to him.

Jason grinned and waved at Quinn and then let his arm fall around Thea’s shoulders. She glowed up at him, and Quinn ached inside for them.
Horrible things are ahead of you,
she wanted to tell them, but she didn’t. Maybe there weren’t horrible things, if you paid attention to what you wanted, if you were honest with yourself and didn’t settle.

The door clanked behind them, and she almost called, “Slam it or it won’t lock,” but they were gone before she could. She could get it later. She had all the time in the world, alone.

“ ‘Had we but world enough, and time,’ ” Marvell had written, “ ‘This coyness, lady, were no crime.’ ” Nick reciting poetry to her, who’d have thought it? And today the florist had shown up again, this time with gold and copper Gerbera daisies.
They look like you,
Nick had written on the card—really written it, in his handwriting, not the florist’s, he’d gone to the shop—and she’d put the vase in the middle of the dining-room table and the huge flowers had glowed there, bright and ridiculous. It was impossible not to smile when she saw them, impossible not to feel warm.

“Where’d you get those?” Darla asked when she got home, and Quinn had said, “Nick,” and felt stupidly proud of him, trying to hide it because Max still wasn’t getting it.

Then she saw the huge purple orchid pinned to Darla’s T-shirt and winced. It had scarlet and gray ribbons trailing from it, truly the ugliest corsage she’d ever seen. “Max?”

“Yeah,” Darla said, and grinned. “Isn’t it great?”

No, it’s ugly
. “I didn’t know you were an orchid fan.”

“I’m not.” Darla’s grin widened. “Homecoming, nineteen eighty-one.”

Quinn started to laugh. “He got you an orchid for
Homecoming
?”

“Yeah.” Darla unpinned the corsage carefully. “It was our second date, and everybody else had these huge yellow and white mums, and I got this ugly orchid. And I said, ‘Thank you,’ because it was Max and I would have worn stinkweed for him, and he said, ‘I knew it had to be different because you’re not like the other girls.’ I damn near died on the spot.”

Quinn stopped laughing. “Where’d he ever find—”

“He didn’t. He had it made special.” Darla’s voice shook a little. “I called the florist. They had to send out for the orchid. The girl on the phone apologized for the colors, she said Max insisted it had to look just like this.”

Quinn felt her throat get tight. “He’s trying. He’s listening.”

“I know.” Darla sat down at the table. “I was really hoping for something big, you know.” She looked down at the orchid. “But this is good. I mean, this is great. It’s so sweet. It’s so Max.”

“You’re going back to him,” Quinn said.

“I have to.” Darla leaned back, her grin fading completely. “The boys have been pretty understanding about this, considering, but they need a mother at home. And Max needs a wife. That’s me.” She met Quinn’s eyes. “He really tried. And he did pretty good. That’s enough.”

“I should be happier about this,” Quinn said. “I really want you back with Max. I guess I was hoping he’d sweep you off your feet.”

“I’ll go home Saturday morning,” Darla said. “We’ll have most of the tech in place then. Max can wait another two days. You’ll have Joe here to keep you safe—”

“You can go home tonight,” Quinn said.

“No.” Darla had looked at the orchid again. “I guess I’m still hoping he does that sweeping thing you talked about. Selfish, huh?”

“At least you’ll always have orchids,” Quinn had said.

And she’d have daisies.

She thought about it again now, as she stood on the dimly lit stage. So Nick wasn’t good with commitment and he wasn’t moving in and he wasn’t ever going to sweep her off to the Great Southern for five days and elope with her to Kentucky. But he’d always love her, even if he’d never say it, she knew he’d always love her, no matter what. And she loved being with him and making love with him—she was pretty sure they’d get it right the next time—so it was time to stop being romantic and hoping for anything else. If Darla could be happy with orchids, she’d make do with daisies.

Quinn straightened her shoulders and went to the light box. The stage dimmed as she flipped the lights off one by one until only the last big ceiling light shone high above, making the catwalk look like black net far above her. Tomorrow, she’d take him back, she decided as she stood in the shadows at the side of the stage. It wouldn’t take much to get him at this point; if she smiled at him, he’d probably take her on the prop table. That was pretty flattering, come to think of it, to have somebody like Nick just waiting for her.

So maybe she’d wait to tell him until everybody had left, like now, except by then she’d be this tired, too. Still, there was something melancholy and romantic and sexy about a theater in the dark, even a high school theater with gym mats and fake bushes piled around the edges. Maybe if she smiled at him tomorrow night, he could take her on the wrestling mats at the back of the stage, a sort of pseudo-rape fantasy because she’d be too tired to contribute. He could do all the work. Screw equality.

She rubbed her hands up and down her arms and wished he were there and they were talking the way they used to, that they were making love, and then she told herself that it wouldn’t make any difference if he were, she couldn’t make love here. If the BP was getting his knickers in a twist about Jason throwing longing glances her way—not to mention Meggy and Edie in the privacy of their own home—imagine what he’d do if he caught Nick throwing body parts her way.

She bent to pick up her bag, and it felt good to bend over, to stretch a little. She straightened and turned to press her back against the cool tiles of the stage wall, rolling her shoulders to ease the muscles in her back and shoulders, muscles that still ached from her week on crutches. It felt so good that she dropped the bag and kept stretching, pushing her arms up the wall over her head, flexing her calves, making her whole body feel the stretch and the cool, cool tile. She let her arms slide down the wall until her crossed wrists rested on top of her head, and closed her eyes and imagined how Nick would be the next night, strong beside her, under her, on top of her, doing things that threw her off balance and made her hot and then made her come. Just Nick, the pure pleasure of sliding against him, listening to his low laughter against her neck and the deep sigh of his breath as he moved inside her—

“What are you doing?” Nick said.

She almost let her arms drop when his voice came out of the darkness, but he didn’t sound amused, he sounded distracted, and as she gathered her scrambled thoughts, she realized that she must look pretty interesting with her arms above her head like that.

“I’m stretching,” she said. “Where are you?”

She heard his feet hit the floor—he must have been on the catwalk ladder—and then heard him walk toward her across the hardwood floor, finally coming into the pool of light cast by the last overhead lamp. The light made the planes of his face sharper, made his hair gleam black, and he looked tall and lanky and strong in his paint-stained T-shirt and jeans, the hottest thing she’d ever seen.

“You shouldn’t be here alone,” he said. “You know that. It’s dangerous,” and she said, “I’m not alone. You’re here.”

“That’s even worse.” He came closer to stand in front of her, not smiling.

Come and touch me
, she thought.

And he came closer.

“Thank you for the daisies,” she told him, meeting his eyes. “They’re perfect. I don’t know how to thank you.”

Nick’s voice was husky in the dark. “Oh, yes, you do.” He took another step closer, until he was almost against her, his eyes black, casting her in the darkness of his shadow.

“I have no idea what you mean.” Quinn met his eyes and didn’t look away, lifting her chin when the staring match moved past comfortable and made her heart pound. Then he smiled, and she shivered a little and smiled, too, a slow curve of an invitation, daring him while her heart thudded.

“Well, you could let me do this.” He put his hand on her crossed wrists and rested against them, just firmly enough so she couldn’t move them. It had been so long since he’d touched her that she let her eyes go closed just from the sheer pleasure of the heat of his hand on her wrists. “And this.” He took his free hand and hooked a finger inside the opening of her chambray workshirt to pop the first button.

“Hey.” Quinn leaned forward to pull her arms down, and his hand closed hard on her wrists.

“And this.” His free hand was on her breast, his thumb tracing a circle over the cotton of her shirt while he smiled into her eyes, his breath coming faster. She shivered, and he let his thumb slip into the vee of her shirt, into the warm hollow between her breasts, popping another button, making her breasts tense and lift against him.

Quinn felt her breath go. “Just for a couple of daisies? I don’t think so.”
Keep going.

He popped another button. “Think again.”

He leaned to kiss the hollow of her neck, and she sucked in a sharp breath as his lips tickled her throat. Then he kissed her again, lower this time, as he popped the rest of her buttons, one after another, slowly, echoing the buttons with kisses above, until her shirt fell open as he licked into the warm place between her breasts. He pulled her shirt open further, his hand sliding against the satin of her bra, baring her to his eyes—“Hot pink plaid, huh?” he said—and looked at her with such satisfaction and possession that she went dizzy with anticipation. Then, after what seemed like hours, he bent to trace the swell of her breast with his tongue, and she began to shudder and soften inside.

She could see the curve of his bicep against the edge of his T-shirt sleeve as he pinned her hands to the wall, the strong line of his neck, feel his hand on her wrists, the other pressed hot against her ribs as he moved his tongue across her skin. She ached to feel him under her hands, to pull his T-shirt up and pull him to her, to feel the fur of his chest tickle against her breasts and the muscles in his back flex under her fingers. “Let me go,” she whispered. “Let me go so I can touch you.”

He lifted his head to stare into her eyes—
don’t stop
—and shook his head, smiling at her and sending heat into her bones. “Not a chance,” he said, and kissed her on the mouth, taking her voice and her breath as he licked into her, making her squirm against him as he pressed her against the cool wall. His hand curved around her breast, his thumb stroked across her and then hooked around the edge of her bra, and she felt the satin slide across her nipple as he pulled the cup down, felt her whole body stiffen against him. Then his hair tickled softly on her throat as he bent to her, and she shuddered at the damp heat of his mouth on her, shuddered harder when he began to suck, shuddered harder still when he didn’t stop.

“Let me go,” she said, and tried to pull her hands from his grip so she could touch him as she rolled her hips toward him, but he tightened his hold, crushing her wrists together, stretching her arms higher, his lips moving against the swell of her breast, moving to bare the other, to tease her again with his mouth. His free hand moved to her zipper, easing it down, and she said, “No,” but she pressed against his hand because it felt so good and she wanted to feel him everywhere. His hand slid around her waist, into the back of her jeans, into the stretchy silkiness of her underwear, around her curves there and under to hold her tight against him, shoving fabric down until she felt the denim and rayon crumple around her thighs. He pressed her back into the cold, smooth tile with his hips, pulsing against her while he smiled against her mouth. Then she felt his fingers slide into her, the hot slick inside of her, and she moaned softly because he felt so good.