She nodded. Satisfaction coursed through me. At least she wanted me just as much, evident in her inability to mutter a word and the confused heat in her gorgeous chocolate eyes. I needed to pace myself for the day and not move too fast. I’d be happy to drag her into the cabin right now and keep her naked all day, but I bet that wouldn’t go over too well.
At least, not yet.
“Uh-oh. What are you thinking? You look extremely...satisfied.”
I grinned. “Really wanna know?”
Her cheeks grew pink. God, she was cute. “Never mind,” she muttered. I couldn’t help it. I laughed and pulled her into me, holding her tight. She relaxed in my arms like she belonged there and we held each other. When she finally broke away, I caught a worried gleam in her eyes. “How many girls have you taken sailing on break?” I knew she regretted the question by the way she chewed her lip, stuck out her chin, and pretended she didn’t care about the answer.
Normally, I would’ve rolled my eyes and said whatever would make her happy. Women always wanted to know if they were special, or just one in a long line. Usually it was the latter, but the game rules were simple. Never admit it was temporary. Use present tense, make sure they felt safe, and at the end I could honestly say I never promised them a thing. That I never meant to be cruel or take advantage. I had played my part for so many years and been disappointed too many times to change the outcome. Either my friends, a girl, or my parents made me feel like shit, like they needed me to be something else. Smarter, richer, funnier. Better. So, I tried not to get too involved anymore with the outcome, because it always went to shit anyway. Be cool, I reminded myself. I had an instinct this woman had the ability to shred my barriers to pieces.
Instead, I did the worst thing possible. I told the truth.
“No one,” I said. “I’ve taken out big groups and my friends. But I’ve never sailed with just one girl before.”
“Why?”
I blinked. Why hadn’t I? My boat was a frickin’ chick magnet, priming them to drop their panties. “Because I like coming out here alone,” I admitted. “It’s a place for me to think. Reset. I never thought a woman would fit out here before.”
She didn’t get mushy or reflect on further feelings. Quinn nodded and sat on the bench, stretching out her long legs and crossing them at the ankles. I reminded myself this was about her seduction, not mine. I settled beside her, lifting her legs and dropping them onto my lap. How the hell did she make Keds sexy? “Have you always lived in Chicago? Is that why you went to that particular university?”
“Yeah, I’ve lived there my whole life. Never really wanted to move, even though we don’t have this.” She swept her hand in the air to encompass blue sky and the rush of the water.
“You said you work in rehabilitation or something?”
“I have two jobs. I’m interning in an alcohol abuse program, and I work part time at a senior residence home.”
I stared at her. “That’s a lot of unglamorous work for someone so young.”
She shrugged. “I have issues.”
A laugh escaped my lips. She was a pisser. “What type?”
“Obsessive compulsive. Control freak. Classic codependent personality that I had to recover from. You know, some of the classics. What’s yours?”
I thought for a minute. “Peter Pan syndrome. Poor little rich boy beliefs. Fear of success. Fear of rejection.”
She gave me a thumbs-up sign. “Nice.”
I grinned and shook my head. “Why are you a classic codependent?”
That shadow of darkness loomed, but she kept talking. “My dad’s an alcoholic. My mom died of cancer when I was really young, and he never recovered. He always had a tendency to drink but kept it in check for my mom.”
“How old were you?”
“Eight.”
“God, that’s young. I’m sorry, Quinn. Sucks the big one.”
“Yeah.” She seemed deep in thought for a while. I didn’t push for more information, but I hoped she’d give me more. Imagining her as a child without a mother and having to take care of her dad was awful. “It started small at first. Beer at night, and I’d find the bottles in the morning. Missing work because he claimed he was sick. Got bad.”
I fisted my hands and asked the question I dreaded. “Was he abusive?”
She looked surprised, then laughed. “Oh God, no. Dad was an emotional drunk. Got sloppy, fell down, cried over Mom. Begged my forgiveness. Maybe that’s why it seemed even harder. He was always so sorry and swore to never do it again. I just kept believing him, until I stopped questioning his excuses. I kept the secret and helped him function. Classic codependence.”
“What happened when you got older?”
She remained still, as if images played on a screen before her. “Things got worse. We had little money since he couldn’t keep a job. Unemployment ran out. I worked on the side, but with school I was limited. Then he started having me apply for credit cards. We’d get these preapproved offers in the mail in my name, and I filled out every one. Do you know at eighteen years old I had almost fifteen thousand dollars in credit? And I was wiped out at nineteen because he’d used up everything but begged for more.”
I reached out and snagged her hand. Squeezed. She seemed startled out of her reflections, and my heart split at the sight of her face. She was beyond beautiful. She was strong and brave. “You had nobody to help you?” I asked.
“No. But I reached rock bottom along with him. Broke and dead tired. Trying to keep everything together was killing me. I reached out to Al-Anon and for me, everything changed. I realized I couldn’t protect him from himself, that I was actually helping him drink. I met people involved in the program—people like me, and I confronted him. Had an intervention and moved out.”
“What happened?”
“He fell apart. Begged me to help. I refused. That was the hardest part, realizing he had to do it himself. Had to want to stop the cycle. Eventually, he went to rehab, and he’s been sober now for almost a year.”
“And you? How are you?”
A ghost of a smile touched her lips. “Better. Paying off my debt. I love my jobs because my work helps people, and it makes sense. I take it day by day a lot, just like my dad. He’s making amends and seems happy. That’s all I ever wanted. For us to be okay and happy.”
Isn’t that what I searched for day-to-day, too? To be at peace with my emotions that always seemed to torment, reminding me I was nothing in a world of everything? The pain clawed for daylight, but I struck it back down and locked it up. Quinn was beyond me. She owned character and had no one helping her. I had a pot full of money, opportunities everywhere, and I still failed.