Page 9 of Parker
I sit up straight to find you-know-who sitting at a cocktail table about twenty feet to my left. While he hasn’t noticed me yet, it’s only a matter of time until he does.
There goes my short-lived moment of zen…
“You don’t have to call me ‘sir.’ I’m just Quinn.”
“I hope you enjoy the beer, Mr. Quinn,” says the server, bowing slightly before turning away.
Quinn lifts his beer, his eyes following the server who stops in front of me. I watch recognition flit over his features, but he controls it quickly, neutralizing his face completely and turning away from me.
“Can I get you anything from the bar, miss?”
I realize I’m still staring at Quinn and jerk my gaze away from him.
“Yeah, um, wine…I like wine.” My voice lifts on the word “wine,” like I’m asking a question.Damn it. Why am I flustered?
“Red, white, or rosé?” asks the server.
“Bubbles?”
“Of course, miss. Prosecco?”
“Perfect.”
The server places a cocktail napkin on the small table before me, then steps away to collect my drink. I glance over at Quinn again, expecting him to be staring at me in some sort of annoying or provocative manner, but he mostly has his back to me. I watch as he lifts his beer, takes another sip, then places the glass back down on the table. He doesn’t glance at me over his shoulder. He doesn’t boom my name. He doesn’t bound across the room to bother me. He doesn’t regard me at all.
He’s keeping his promise, it occurs to me, and it’s oddly touching.
The click-clack of high heels makes me turn to the right where I find two young women entering the lounge, pulling their expensive suitcases behind them. They’re both dressed in brightly colored mini-dresses, and one of them carries a small dog in her arms like a baby.
Quinn shifts in his seat to check them out, grinning languidly in their direction, and lifting his glass in salute as they get closer. No doubt they will find him charming and adorable. And objectively, I grudgingly admit, especially with his recent grooming, he is looking better than usual.
They stop between us, whispering to each other before sharing a giggle.
“Is that…a beer?” asks the one with the dog, a nasty little smirk tilting up her glossy, hot pink lips.
“Sure is,” he says, leaning back in his chair. He’s still smiling at them like they’ll find his Alaskan accent and checked flannel lumberjack shirt charming. He hasn’t realized yet that they’re way out of his league, and their snotty giggle was about him.
“Beer,” says the Dog-Mommy, glancing back at her friend with another little giggle. “That’s, like,so basic.”
“Basic?” asks Quinn, leaning forward a touch. I watch his face, reading him like a book I’ve opened a hundred times. He rubs his beard, his smile faltering a bit as he tilts his head to the side. “What’s that mean?”
Dog-Mommy flicks her dark, salon-wavy hair over her shoulder, looking at him like he’s caked mud on the bottom of her Jimmy Choos. “You don’t know what ‘basic’ means? That’s, like, so basic of you.”
“And now he’s meta,” says her friend, who’s wearing sunglasses, even though there are no windows in this lounge.
“Basic…means…boring,” says the Dog-Mommy, enunciating every word like Quinn’s an imbecile.
“Unsophisticated,” adds Sunglasses, staring down at her phone and looking bored.
“Uninspired.” Dog-Mommy moves her dog from the crook of one elbow to the crook of the other, laughing over her shoulder with her friend. “Beer. I mean, is he at his first frat party?”
“Is he twelve years old? He looks bigger than twelve years old.”
“He could’ve ordered anything, and he chose a beer. Ohmigod. Can you imagine?”
“Canyouimagine,” asks Quinn, his loud voice overpowering theirs, his forefinger circling the rim of his glass, “being less of a bitch to a total and complete stranger?”
Dog-Mommy gasps from several feet away from him. Her friend lowers her shades to stare at him.