Make My Heart Come All Undone 3/4
Title: Make My Heart Come All Undone
Chapter: 3/4
Pairing: Mike/Quinn
Word Count: 6,174
Summary: AU He knew he liked Quinn before. She's beautiful and sweet, and he was completely enamored with her. Now that he knows her just a little bit, he's sort of dying to spend more time with her. (This follows Just To See You Go By.)
Disclaimer: Not mine.
They go to Barnes and Noble one night after dinner to pick up a picture book that Quinn ordered for school. Mike reads before bed most nights, and he likes bookstores, so he's more than happy to tag along.
"I hate James Patterson," Quinn comments when they're looking at the bestsellers at the front of the store.
Mike doesn't even look up from the Malcolm Gladwell book he's looking at. "He doesn't write most of his own books."
"That's part of why I hate him."
He lowers the book in his hands and looks at her. "You give me more reasons to like you every day."
She tilts her head and smiles, then leans forward to kiss his cheek. "I'll be in the kids' section."
He watches the sway of her hips when she walks away. He can't really help himself.
*
"What's this?"
Mike glances up from the grocery bag he's unpacking to see Quinn standing in front of his fridge, peering at a postcard hanging there. "It's one of the decorative panels on the inside of a carousel," he answers. It's a close-up, so it's hard to tell exactly what all the shiny stuff in the picture really is, but Mike thinks the colors are great.
"Matt took this?" she asks, her voice laced with disbelief. She's examining the back of the card when he looks back at her. "Matt's a photographer?"
"I thought you knew that," Mike says, folding up the reusable cotton bag and sliding it into the drawer with the others. Quinn shakes her head. "That's the announcement for his exhibit. A bunch of his stuff is being shown at a gallery downtown, and he's doing an opening and everything."
She looks more closely at the card in her hand. "This is next Friday." The expression on her face is almost stern when she says, "We have to go to this."
He was already planning on asking her if she wanted to go with him, but it's better this way.
She wears a simple white dress for the exhibition, dressed up with a pair of red high heels that Mike immediately falls in love with. Her only jewelry is a pair of sparkly stud earrings - diamonds, he assumes - and a gold filigree bracelet, and her hair falls in soft waves over her nearly-bare shoulders. It's just proof of how gorgeous she is, that she can do so little and still be the most beautiful woman in the room. And maybe he's a little biased, given that he's half in love with her, but he's pretty sure that she is the most beautiful girl here when he looks around.
Quinn sips a glass of white wine while they walk around the hall of the gallery where Matt's photos are being displayed, her heels tapping on the industrial-chic concrete floor, not bothering to talk to anyone else unless it's someone who Mike happens to know. She slips her fingers between his while they wander from photo to photo, making up stories about each and talking about their favorites. They don't like all the same things, which makes for more interesting conversation. Matt's photos are all about perspective, about the angles and the way the light plays on whatever the subject is. All photos are like that, of course, but there's something different about the way that Matt sees things, about the things that he chooses to frame.
"What do you think?" Matt asks when he finds them among the crowd.
Mike pulls him into a loose hug, patting his back once. "I think this is the best show you've done," he tells him. Not only are the photos beautiful, Mike's pretty sure this is the best turnout that Matt's ever had for an opening.
"Thanks, man."
Quinn puts her hands on his shoulders and leans forward to kiss his cheek. "I had no idea you could do this," he hears her murmur before she pulls back to look at him seriously. "This is amazing."
"Thanks, Quinn," Matt says simply, but Mike's known him for long enough to be able to see how much her comments mean.
"I really like the one of the girl," she goes on. "I love that you can't see her face, and you can't even tell what she's looking at."
"I could tell you," Matt offers.
She shakes her head emphatically. "Not knowing is part of the appeal."
Matt grins. "Are you sure you wanna be with this guy?" he asks, jerking his head in Mike's direction. "'Cause I'll totally treat you right if you want to go in a different direction."
Quinn laughs softly. "I'm pretty happy with the boyfriend I have now," she says, then leans in conspiratorially, "but I'll let you know if that changes."
It's the first time that either of them have used the word, and the way that Quinn slips her hand into his again lets him know that she's just as aware of it as he is.
Matt heaves a dramatic sigh and looks at Mike. "Lucky bastard," he grumbles.
Mike doesn't disagree.
Mike gets out of the car when they get back to her house later because a gentleman walks a girl to her door at the end of a date. It doesn't matter who she is or what kind of relationship you have or even how the night went, you walk a girl to the door.
Quinn steps close to him when they get onto the porch, her heels making her tall enough that she just barely has to lean up to kiss him. "I love the way you look in a tie," she tells him, smoothing her hand over the gray silk.
"Thanks."
She kisses him again, just a brush of her lips against his, teasing. "I want you to stay," she murmurs. She feathers little kisses along his jaw until she can whisper, "Stay with me tonight," against his ear.
She's doing that really distracting thing with her teeth on his earlobe, but he pulls back to look down at her. "Quinn, you don't have--"
"I want to," she interrupts, locking eyes with him. "I want you."
The words make something tingle at the base of his spine. He's been fine with the slow thing; it's kind of nice, actually, having some mystery still there, even if it makes him half-crazy sometimes. But he loves Quinn - he's falling in love with Quinn - and he wants to have this with her. He forces himself to keep his hands resting lightly on her hips when he asks, "You're sure?"
His heart sinks when she pulls away from him, slipping her keys out of her bag to unlock the front door. The little part of his brain that's ruled by his libido curses the nice guy part that asked the question, but he wants to be sure that this what Quinn wants. He hasn't ever pressured a girl into having sex with him, and he isn't going to start now, not at all, and especially not with this girl.
But then she's circling her fingers around his wrist and pulling him through the open door with her, watching him with as sexy a look as he's ever seen in her eyes.
"Wait," he says when she starts to lead him down the hall, presumably to her bedroom.
"What?" she asks when he tugs her toward the couch in the living room. He kisses her gently instead of answering, curving his hand around her cheek and guiding her to sit with him. "Mike--"
"Shh." He sips at her lips, sinking his hand into her hair and feeling the way the strands slip between his fingers. "I just want to kiss you for a while," he whispers against her mouth, and he knows this is the right thing to do when he feels some of the tension go out of her body.
Quinn told him once, in passing, that her last relationship ended over a year ago. Mike was smart enough to pick up on what she was telling him: Quinn hasn't had sex in over a year. It's not something that she takes lightly, and Mike respects that. Since she's waited this long, he thinks that he owes it to her to make it worthwhile.
He lets her set the pace, following her lead when she straddles his thighs, carding her fingers through his hair and kissing him slow and deep. It feels different than usual when she strokes her tongue along his, he thinks because he knows that this is leading somewhere different than it ever has before.
She tugs at the knot in his tie when he kisses the side of her neck, loosening it and undoing the first couple of buttons of his shirt even as he sucks gently at her pulse point. "Mike," she breathes, slipping her hand under the collar of his shirt so she can curl her fingers into his shoulder. "I want..." He scrapes his teeth gently over the hinge of her jaw, then brushes his lips against it. Her fingernails bite into his skin, her hips shifting subtly against his. "Please."
He tips his head back so he can look up at her. "Please what?" he asks.
She takes a shaky breath and blinks her dark, lidded eyes at him, then climbs out of his lap, holding his gaze. "Come to bed with me," she says, her voice just loud enough for him to hear.
Mike makes it his mission to touch every inch of her skin when it's exposed, listening carefully to every little gasp of breath, every moan, every whimper that escapes from her throat. He keeps his eyes locked with hers when he sinks into her for the first time, struggling against the urge to close them and just feel, to revel in how warm and tight she is around him.
"Are you okay?"
"Yes," she answers, her voice tight, but he waits until the death grip she has on his biceps loosens to draw his hips back, watching her eyelashes flutter when he slides back in slowly. "Yes."
She keens out his name when she falls apart, and Mike presses his face against her neck when he stops holding back and lets himself trip over the edge with her.
The gentle scrape of her fingernails against the back of his neck starts to bring him back into himself, prompts him to kiss her gently even though they're both still catching their breath. "Oh, my god," she murmurs, whining against his lips when he pulls out. "That was--"
"Perfect," he interrupts, kissing her again.
*
Mike wakes in Quinn's bed the next morning with her lips against his forehead and the scent of coffee in the air. "Good morning," she says quietly when he blinks his eyes open, squinting a little against the light seeping in around the edges of her curtains. "Coffee?"
He lets out a little hum and pushes himself upright to take the mug she offers, watching her over the rim when he takes a sip. She's wearing pale blue slip of a nightgown and has woven her hair into a messy braid over one shoulder. "You look really pretty," he says without thinking. It's true though, and the hint of pink that colors her cheeks even as she rolls her eyes at him makes it more true.
"Is it okay?" she asks, nodding toward his coffee cup.
"Really good," he says.
"I thought it was about time I make coffee for you," she says. He can tell she's trying not to smile. "Even the score a little."
He's careful not to spill his coffee on her pretty white duvet when he leans forward to kiss her. They get a little carried away, but it's okay. The way Mike sees it, they have some catching up to do.
*
When Mike was still in college in New York, he was part of a crew of guys who danced, most of whom were doing all of the stuff that they weren't able to do in their school-sanctioned classes. A lot of it was about mashing styles together and performing wherever they could get on stage, though there were a few members of the group who were legitimate street dancers who either freestyled or performed in styles that weren't really accepted by any of the big, mainstream dance organizations. With one notable exception, most of his best friends were in that crew, and they were like a family. One of the hardest things about deciding to leave New York for Los Angeles was leaving them behind.
So when he gets a call from one of the guys who used to pretty much be in charge, Tadd, who says that he and some of the guys he's dancing with now are going to be doing a show in LA and asks if Mike's interested in being part of it, he doesn't even have to consider his answer.
Rehearsals are intense, learning a lot of choreography in not a lot of time, and he pays for it with all sorts of aching muscles. Sure, Mike works out, and he's been teaching dance a few days a week forever, but it's not at all the same as preparing for a performance. The evenings that he's gotten used to spending with Quinn are mostly spent in rehearsals, and by Saturday night - a week out from the performance - he's really missing her on top of feeling like every muscle in his body is staging a revolt against his treatment of them.
When she shows up at his door with a six-pack and and a pizza, he has to stop himself from letting the words I love you trip off his tongue.
(He would mean it. He does love her, But telling her he loves her for bringing him alcohol and food doesn't really express the sentiment the way he wants.)
He ends up stretched out on his stomach on his bed with his shirt off while Quinn sits back on his thighs to massage his back. For a girl with such long, delicate fingers, she has strong hands, and the massage is simultaneously borderline-painful and relaxing.
"I've watched videos of you on YouTube," she admits out of nowhere. He'd like to look at her face, but she has him basically pinned to the bed.
"Yeah?"
"A while back, actually." Mike grins to himself. "You're amazing, you know that? I can't imagine being able to do something like that."
"I can't imagine not doing it," he says quietly. Quinn's fingers have stopped kneading at his muscles, and now she's just smoothing her hands over his skin, almost like she's trying to lull him to sleep. "Even when it was behind closed doors, I was dancing."
"I don't think I've ever felt that way about something," she says, sounding almost sad. Mike reaches back to catch one of her hands in his, tugging gently until he can feel her leaned over his back. He presses a kiss to her palm and doesn't say anything else.
*
He's in bed with Quinn, lying on his side and trailing the pads of his fingers up and down her spine, watching her body rise and fall with each breath. He loves being like this with her; it's the second-best thing that came out of introducing sex into the relationship. (Second only to the obvious.) She's pretty like this, all sleepy and mussed, and he likes looking at her.
"You know," she says, blinking her eyes open at him, "if this goes bad, I'm going to have to start drinking Starbucks coffee again."
He snorts out a laugh, the palm of his hand flattening between her shoulder blades. "You could buy an espresso machine."
She shakes her head against the pillow. "It's so complicated."
"Your drink is not complicated," he insists. She shrugs one shoulder. "Come on," he says, climbing out of bed and stepping into his boxers. He tosses the tee shirt he was wearing earlier to her and walks out of his room without waiting for her.
He's already tamping the grounds into the basket of his espresso machine when Quinn steps into the kitchen. "What are you doing?" she asks.
"Teaching you how to make a skim latte with no foam," he answers, glancing over at her. God, she looks good in his white tee shirt and nothing else.
"Mike! It's twelve-thirty," she laughs, watching him pull the milk from the fridge. "We'll be up all night."
He raises one eyebrow and looks at her, grinning at the blush that stains her cheeks and the part of her chest that's exposed by his shirt. She just shakes her head and nudges him with her elbow when he steps past her to get to the sink.
"You ready?" he asks. She nods and steps closer, leaning one hip against the counter and watching him turn on the machine. "The espresso part is easy. You make sure you tamp down the grounds, then you just turn to knob." He's basically on auto-pilot as he talks her through steaming the milk, distracted by how how close she's gotten to him, close enough that his arm brushes against her breast as he moves. He really wants to pull his shirt over her head, lift her up onto the counter, and have his way with her right here. He's pretty sure, judging by the little smirk on Quinn's lips, that she's aware of what she's doing to him, so he resists the urge.
"Got it?" he asks when he's pouring the milk into a mug along with the espresso. She nods and lets out a little hum of agreement that sounds way too sexy for what they're doing. He pulls out the basket, juggling the hot metal a little while he dumps the spent grounds into the trash can under the sink. "Let's see it then."
However distracted Mike was when he was showing her how to do it, Quinn must have been paying attention, because other than making a bit more foam than she really likes and making the milk squall once (she'd grimaced and corrected quickly), she makes herself a perfect latte.
"It tastes better when you make it," she says after taking a little sip. Mike takes a drink of each latte, and other than the one he made being a little cooler, they taste the same. She shakes her head when he tells her that. "It's never as good when you have to do it for yourself."
He shakes his head, laughing when she takes the latte that he made and takes another drink. "I though you were worried about being up all night?"
She sets the mug on the counter, licking her lips and shrugging one shoulder. "Maybe it wouldn't be so terrible. We don't have to work tomorrow. You'd keep me company, right?" He just watches her when she steps forward and grazes her fingernails over his abs, stopping just above the waistband of his boxers. "I'm sure we could find something to occupy ourselves."
He resists the urge to put his hands on her. "Mmm. What did you have in mind?"
She looks up at him from beneath her lashes, then tips her head back and slips just the tips of her fingers beneath the elastic of his shorts. "Mike."
He just watches her, waiting until she pushes up onto her toes to kiss him to slip his arm around her waist. He feels like she's been teasing him the entire time they've been in the kitchen, so he doesn't put his tongue in her mouth or slide his hand beneath the shirt that she's wearing. He simply kisses her, smiling against her mouth when she makes an impatient noise. "You're a tease," she accuses, speaking between kisses.
Mike chuckles. "Yeah. I'm the tease."
Quinn leans back and stares up at him for a moment, then takes a step back. Mike watches her grab the hem of his tee shirt and pull it over her head, leaving her naked and pretty much perfect in his kitchen. She pushes the shirt into his hands and and turns away, walking out of the room without another word.
Mike catches her before she even makes it to the bedroom, pinning her against the wall in the hallway and kissing her until she's pushing his boxers down off his hips and mumbling something about the bedroom against his lips.
They don't make it.
*
Quinn is crazy busy as the school year comes to a close, finishing end-of-year projects and getting grades together and organizing her classroom, something she says she likes to do at the end of the year instead of waiting until the beginning of the next. She'll have two weeks off, then she's doing summer school half a day for the next four weeks. Neither of them has any big summer plans, but Mike is going out on another tour in November, so he's looking forward to just being able to spend some more time with her.
When she tells him that she's going back to Ohio for a week after school ends, he's admittedly a little disappointed.
"I go every year," she says by way of explanation when she tells him, not even looking up from her computer. She's transferring grades from her handwritten gradebook to the one online, sitting on the floor between her couch and her coffee table.
"I didn't think you were close to your parents." He's not upset, and it's not like he expects her to stay, he just doesn't get it.
"I'm not," she says easily. "I go back twice a year, every year." She turns to look up at him. "It's just what I do."
"Okay." He leans down to kiss the top of her head. He convinces her that he should stay with her that night even though they both have to work in the morning, and he combs his fingers through her hair until she falls asleep.
He goes to her school on the last day, waiting until after all of the students are gone so he doesn't have to worry about checking in as a visitor at the office. He knows that she plans to stay late and then go straight to the airport from there to catch her flight back to Ohio, and he wants to be able to see her before she goes.
Mike's been in her classroom once before, for just a few minutes when they were here at school for that music recital back when they first started dating. He doesn't even remember what she got off of her desk that night, but he does remember how to get to her classroom, helped by a sign declaring that he's in the third grade hallway and a bright handmade banner over her door that reads Welcome to Miss Fabray's Class!
She's at her desk, sitting on the edge of her chair, pulling things out of an open drawer and tossing them into the nearby trash can. "Hey," he greets quietly, hoping not to startle her.
She looks up and smiles brightly. "What are you doing here?"
He holds out the cup from the cafe he has in his hand. "I thought you might like one more before you head out."
She takes the cup and stands, tipping her head back to kiss him gently. "Thank you."
"I really just wanted to see you one more time before you go," he admits. He feels a little silly for it, but Quinn just smiles over the top of her cup and takes his hand, slipping her fingers between his. He perches on the edge of her desk when she sits back in her chair, leaning back a bit and taking another sip of her latte. "How was the last day?"
"Loud," she laughs. "I'm going to miss those kids," she says softly, meeting his eyes. "I always do."
He tilts his head, rubbing his thumb back and forth lightly against the space between her thumb and forefinger when he sees the tears that have welled up in her eyes. "I love you." Her lips part when she inhales slowly. "I just...I do."
She sets her cup on her desk when she stands up, stepping between his legs and putting her hand on his cheek when she leans in to kiss him gently. He knows then that she isn't going to say it back, but that's okay. Mike isn't the guy who says or does things to get something in return; he told her he loves her because he does, regardless of what she feels for him. If she isn't there yet, that's fine.
He's not worried about messing things up between them. They're good.
He sits with her for a while, watching her finish cleaning out her desk and listening to her tell stories about her students, names that he's gotten used to hearing over the last few months and he thinks he might miss hearing about.
"I'll call you," Quinn says when he's leaving a little later. She closed the door so she could give him what she called a proper kiss goodbye, and now they're just standing together, with his hands on her waist and hers resting flat against his chest.
He nods, leaning down to press another quick kiss to her lips. "Have a good trip."
She smiles and holds his hand even when he steps away, not letting go until they're too far apart to keep touching.
*
"So when does Quinn get back from Oklahoma?" Matt asks. They're at their favorite sports bar, eating wings and drinking beer and half-watching the Royals fail at playing good baseball.
"Ohio," Mike corrects. "Her flight gets in on Friday night." They've been texting every day, and he's talked to her twice, but he's totally ready for her to be back in California.
"Are you going to do the cheesy thing where you meet her at the gate and declare your love for her?" Matt teases. Mike just shakes his head. "Seriously?"
"We're not like that."
"Bullshit."
"Seriously," Mike laughs, tossing a crumpled napkin in Matt's direction. "She drove herself to the airport, dude."
"So you're just a bad boyfriend." Matt shrugs and changes the subject, but it bugs Mike for the rest of the night.
He's a little drunk when Matt drops him off, which is precisely why he calls Quinn and asks, "You don't think I'm a bad boyfriend, do you?"
"What?" she laughs. She's still laughing when he finishes telling her what Matt said. "No, Mike. You aren't a bad boyfriend."
"That's a relief," he says, letting his head drop back against the back of the couch.
"It sounds like you need to drink some water and sleep it off," she suggests gently.
"Probably," he agrees easily. "Are you having fun at home?"
She's quiet for a moment, then finally says, "This isn't home. This is just the place I grew up. The place where I made all of my mistakes." The words make him feel less drunk than he did even thirty seconds ago.
"Quinn--"
"It's fine," she interrupts before he can say anything else. "I'll be back in two days. Maybe then I can get some decent coffee. Everything here is terrible."
"Yeah?" He doesn't really know how to respond to the way she's changing the subject. It's pretty obvious to him, even drunk, that she doesn't really like being at home. He doesn't understand why she's there at all if that's the case.
They talk for just a few more minutes, during which she asks him about what he's been up to and doesn't say anything else about what she's been doing while she's been at home and why she sounded so down on it. Mike doesn't know what to make of it, but there isn't anything he can do when she's in another state. He figures he'll listen if she wants to talk about it when she comes back, but otherwise, he's at a loss.
He does drink a glass of water that Quinn suggested, along with some microwave popcorn that he eats while he watches a show about Pompeii on the History Channel.
*
Mike knew that Quinn was planning to come by his place when she got back into the city, but he's really surprised when he pulls his front door open on Friday night and sees her standing there with tears on her cheeks.
"Quinn, what's wrong?" he asks after he's ushered her into the apartment. She closes her eyes and shakes her head. "Quinn."
"I don't want to talk about it," she says coldly. Her tears but just a hint of a waver in her voice. "Will you just--" She cuts herself off with a sniffle. "Will you lie with me? Can we just go to bed?"
He needs to know what this is about, because it's freaking him out not a little, but he also wants to give her whatever she needs, so he nods. Her body visibly relaxes, her shoulders slumping a little, and she drops her purse onto the bench by his door and slips her feet out of her sandals.
She doesn't even pause to take off her jeans before she crawls into his bed, so he follows suit, pressing his chest against her back and pulling her close. He tightens his grip when she clutches at his hand, and her breathing is all messed up from the way that she's crying.
"Quinn," he whispers after he's stayed quiet for as long as he can stand. "Baby, I need you to tell me what's wrong." Her body trembles when she inhales, and his heart breaks for her, whatever is making her feel this way. "You're scaring me," he admits, hoping that it will make her explain something.
"I just really hate being back there," she finally manages. Her voice is so quiet that he can just barely hear it. "Everything in Lima reminds me of how much I screwed up." He presses his lips against her hair but doesn't say anything. "Can we just sleep? Please?"
He's not totally sure that she's capable of falling asleep with the way that she's still crying, but he just says, "Yeah," and pulls her closer, doing his best to wrap her up in his arms completely.
Mike hates listening to her cry. Her body shakes, and she takes these gasping breaths that he can tell she's trying to suppress; she sounds so broken that he aches for her. He has a million questions about what she just told him, but now isn't the time to ask them. He's hoping that she'll feel better in the morning after she's gotten some rest and a little distance. Maybe then she'll be able to talk about it and deal with whatever it is that had her showing up at his door in tears.
She finally does fall asleep, her breathing evening out for the first time since she got to his place and the sobs no longer wracking her body. Mike finally feels like he can breathe a sigh of relief, and so he lets himself drift off.
*
He wakes up in bed alone.
That's not so weird. They don't spend the night together that often in the first place, and when they do, he has to be at work at the cafe earlier than Quinn has to be at school. He's up before her on weekdays, but on weekends, he tends to sleep in while she gets up at the same time that she always does. She'll get up and make coffee, and he usually finds her in the kitchen making breakfast or sitting in the living room reading a book and half-watching Good Morning America or whatever.
He feels grungy after sleeping in his jeans all night, but he ignores the feeling and goes looking for Quinn, scrubbing his hand over his face and hoping that she's already made a pot of coffee so he can have caffeine within the next ten minutes.
She's sitting right in the middle of his couch in the living room, her shoes on her feet and her purse on her lap. Her hair is in a ponytail and she's washed the tear stains off her cheeks, but otherwise, she looks a lot like she did last night when he opened the door for her. "Hey."
"I'm sorry about last night," Quinn says, looking up but not quite meeting his eyes.
"It's fine," Mike says. He has an uncomfortable twisting sensation in his stomach.
"It really isn't," she says quietly. Her voice sounds different than he's ever heard, almost like she's reciting something that was written by someone else. "Mike, I don't think this is working."
"What?"
"This relationship. It isn't working for me any more."
"What are you talking about?" Maybe they haven't been together for very long, but he thinks their relationship has been pretty good so far.
"I'm breaking up with you."
"Why?" She's quiet, looking up at him with unreadable eyes. He doesn't know what the hell is going on here, but he's pretty sure it has something to do with the way she showed up here last night. "Quinn, what was last night about?"
She squeezes her eyes shut and takes a breath. "I had a baby when I was sixteen," she all but blurts out. "I gave her up for adoption to a family who lives in the town closest to where I grew up. I go back and see her twice a year."
"Quinn--"
"It happened," she interrupts, "because I let myself get caught up in something." She finally looks up and meets his eyes for real. "Just like I've been doing with you."
He thought that listening to her cry last night broke his heart for her, but hearing this makes him so incredibly sad, both for the woman she is now and for the girl she was then. He wants to gather her up in his arms again, but she's sitting there looking like her spine is made of steel, holding her straight and rigid, and wrapped in glass, that she would shatter if he tried to touch her.
"This can't be anything like that was," he says before he can stop himself. Her eyes narrow. "I don't know anything about that, but Quinn, you're twenty-five, not sixteen."
"I know that," she answer softly. "I really do." She swallows hard. "But I'm still done doing this with you. Please leave me alone."
He could probably say something else when she stands up and walks to the door, but he can't. Even if he could, he doesn't think that it would do any good.
He just lets her go, closing his eyes when he hears the front door close behind her.
Chapter: 3/4
Pairing: Mike/Quinn
Word Count: 6,174
Summary: AU He knew he liked Quinn before. She's beautiful and sweet, and he was completely enamored with her. Now that he knows her just a little bit, he's sort of dying to spend more time with her. (This follows Just To See You Go By.)
Disclaimer: Not mine.
They go to Barnes and Noble one night after dinner to pick up a picture book that Quinn ordered for school. Mike reads before bed most nights, and he likes bookstores, so he's more than happy to tag along.
"I hate James Patterson," Quinn comments when they're looking at the bestsellers at the front of the store.
Mike doesn't even look up from the Malcolm Gladwell book he's looking at. "He doesn't write most of his own books."
"That's part of why I hate him."
He lowers the book in his hands and looks at her. "You give me more reasons to like you every day."
She tilts her head and smiles, then leans forward to kiss his cheek. "I'll be in the kids' section."
He watches the sway of her hips when she walks away. He can't really help himself.
*
"What's this?"
Mike glances up from the grocery bag he's unpacking to see Quinn standing in front of his fridge, peering at a postcard hanging there. "It's one of the decorative panels on the inside of a carousel," he answers. It's a close-up, so it's hard to tell exactly what all the shiny stuff in the picture really is, but Mike thinks the colors are great.
"Matt took this?" she asks, her voice laced with disbelief. She's examining the back of the card when he looks back at her. "Matt's a photographer?"
"I thought you knew that," Mike says, folding up the reusable cotton bag and sliding it into the drawer with the others. Quinn shakes her head. "That's the announcement for his exhibit. A bunch of his stuff is being shown at a gallery downtown, and he's doing an opening and everything."
She looks more closely at the card in her hand. "This is next Friday." The expression on her face is almost stern when she says, "We have to go to this."
He was already planning on asking her if she wanted to go with him, but it's better this way.
She wears a simple white dress for the exhibition, dressed up with a pair of red high heels that Mike immediately falls in love with. Her only jewelry is a pair of sparkly stud earrings - diamonds, he assumes - and a gold filigree bracelet, and her hair falls in soft waves over her nearly-bare shoulders. It's just proof of how gorgeous she is, that she can do so little and still be the most beautiful woman in the room. And maybe he's a little biased, given that he's half in love with her, but he's pretty sure that she is the most beautiful girl here when he looks around.
Quinn sips a glass of white wine while they walk around the hall of the gallery where Matt's photos are being displayed, her heels tapping on the industrial-chic concrete floor, not bothering to talk to anyone else unless it's someone who Mike happens to know. She slips her fingers between his while they wander from photo to photo, making up stories about each and talking about their favorites. They don't like all the same things, which makes for more interesting conversation. Matt's photos are all about perspective, about the angles and the way the light plays on whatever the subject is. All photos are like that, of course, but there's something different about the way that Matt sees things, about the things that he chooses to frame.
"What do you think?" Matt asks when he finds them among the crowd.
Mike pulls him into a loose hug, patting his back once. "I think this is the best show you've done," he tells him. Not only are the photos beautiful, Mike's pretty sure this is the best turnout that Matt's ever had for an opening.
"Thanks, man."
Quinn puts her hands on his shoulders and leans forward to kiss his cheek. "I had no idea you could do this," he hears her murmur before she pulls back to look at him seriously. "This is amazing."
"Thanks, Quinn," Matt says simply, but Mike's known him for long enough to be able to see how much her comments mean.
"I really like the one of the girl," she goes on. "I love that you can't see her face, and you can't even tell what she's looking at."
"I could tell you," Matt offers.
She shakes her head emphatically. "Not knowing is part of the appeal."
Matt grins. "Are you sure you wanna be with this guy?" he asks, jerking his head in Mike's direction. "'Cause I'll totally treat you right if you want to go in a different direction."
Quinn laughs softly. "I'm pretty happy with the boyfriend I have now," she says, then leans in conspiratorially, "but I'll let you know if that changes."
It's the first time that either of them have used the word, and the way that Quinn slips her hand into his again lets him know that she's just as aware of it as he is.
Matt heaves a dramatic sigh and looks at Mike. "Lucky bastard," he grumbles.
Mike doesn't disagree.
Mike gets out of the car when they get back to her house later because a gentleman walks a girl to her door at the end of a date. It doesn't matter who she is or what kind of relationship you have or even how the night went, you walk a girl to the door.
Quinn steps close to him when they get onto the porch, her heels making her tall enough that she just barely has to lean up to kiss him. "I love the way you look in a tie," she tells him, smoothing her hand over the gray silk.
"Thanks."
She kisses him again, just a brush of her lips against his, teasing. "I want you to stay," she murmurs. She feathers little kisses along his jaw until she can whisper, "Stay with me tonight," against his ear.
She's doing that really distracting thing with her teeth on his earlobe, but he pulls back to look down at her. "Quinn, you don't have--"
"I want to," she interrupts, locking eyes with him. "I want you."
The words make something tingle at the base of his spine. He's been fine with the slow thing; it's kind of nice, actually, having some mystery still there, even if it makes him half-crazy sometimes. But he loves Quinn - he's falling in love with Quinn - and he wants to have this with her. He forces himself to keep his hands resting lightly on her hips when he asks, "You're sure?"
His heart sinks when she pulls away from him, slipping her keys out of her bag to unlock the front door. The little part of his brain that's ruled by his libido curses the nice guy part that asked the question, but he wants to be sure that this what Quinn wants. He hasn't ever pressured a girl into having sex with him, and he isn't going to start now, not at all, and especially not with this girl.
But then she's circling her fingers around his wrist and pulling him through the open door with her, watching him with as sexy a look as he's ever seen in her eyes.
"Wait," he says when she starts to lead him down the hall, presumably to her bedroom.
"What?" she asks when he tugs her toward the couch in the living room. He kisses her gently instead of answering, curving his hand around her cheek and guiding her to sit with him. "Mike--"
"Shh." He sips at her lips, sinking his hand into her hair and feeling the way the strands slip between his fingers. "I just want to kiss you for a while," he whispers against her mouth, and he knows this is the right thing to do when he feels some of the tension go out of her body.
Quinn told him once, in passing, that her last relationship ended over a year ago. Mike was smart enough to pick up on what she was telling him: Quinn hasn't had sex in over a year. It's not something that she takes lightly, and Mike respects that. Since she's waited this long, he thinks that he owes it to her to make it worthwhile.
He lets her set the pace, following her lead when she straddles his thighs, carding her fingers through his hair and kissing him slow and deep. It feels different than usual when she strokes her tongue along his, he thinks because he knows that this is leading somewhere different than it ever has before.
She tugs at the knot in his tie when he kisses the side of her neck, loosening it and undoing the first couple of buttons of his shirt even as he sucks gently at her pulse point. "Mike," she breathes, slipping her hand under the collar of his shirt so she can curl her fingers into his shoulder. "I want..." He scrapes his teeth gently over the hinge of her jaw, then brushes his lips against it. Her fingernails bite into his skin, her hips shifting subtly against his. "Please."
He tips his head back so he can look up at her. "Please what?" he asks.
She takes a shaky breath and blinks her dark, lidded eyes at him, then climbs out of his lap, holding his gaze. "Come to bed with me," she says, her voice just loud enough for him to hear.
Mike makes it his mission to touch every inch of her skin when it's exposed, listening carefully to every little gasp of breath, every moan, every whimper that escapes from her throat. He keeps his eyes locked with hers when he sinks into her for the first time, struggling against the urge to close them and just feel, to revel in how warm and tight she is around him.
"Are you okay?"
"Yes," she answers, her voice tight, but he waits until the death grip she has on his biceps loosens to draw his hips back, watching her eyelashes flutter when he slides back in slowly. "Yes."
She keens out his name when she falls apart, and Mike presses his face against her neck when he stops holding back and lets himself trip over the edge with her.
The gentle scrape of her fingernails against the back of his neck starts to bring him back into himself, prompts him to kiss her gently even though they're both still catching their breath. "Oh, my god," she murmurs, whining against his lips when he pulls out. "That was--"
"Perfect," he interrupts, kissing her again.
*
Mike wakes in Quinn's bed the next morning with her lips against his forehead and the scent of coffee in the air. "Good morning," she says quietly when he blinks his eyes open, squinting a little against the light seeping in around the edges of her curtains. "Coffee?"
He lets out a little hum and pushes himself upright to take the mug she offers, watching her over the rim when he takes a sip. She's wearing pale blue slip of a nightgown and has woven her hair into a messy braid over one shoulder. "You look really pretty," he says without thinking. It's true though, and the hint of pink that colors her cheeks even as she rolls her eyes at him makes it more true.
"Is it okay?" she asks, nodding toward his coffee cup.
"Really good," he says.
"I thought it was about time I make coffee for you," she says. He can tell she's trying not to smile. "Even the score a little."
He's careful not to spill his coffee on her pretty white duvet when he leans forward to kiss her. They get a little carried away, but it's okay. The way Mike sees it, they have some catching up to do.
*
When Mike was still in college in New York, he was part of a crew of guys who danced, most of whom were doing all of the stuff that they weren't able to do in their school-sanctioned classes. A lot of it was about mashing styles together and performing wherever they could get on stage, though there were a few members of the group who were legitimate street dancers who either freestyled or performed in styles that weren't really accepted by any of the big, mainstream dance organizations. With one notable exception, most of his best friends were in that crew, and they were like a family. One of the hardest things about deciding to leave New York for Los Angeles was leaving them behind.
So when he gets a call from one of the guys who used to pretty much be in charge, Tadd, who says that he and some of the guys he's dancing with now are going to be doing a show in LA and asks if Mike's interested in being part of it, he doesn't even have to consider his answer.
Rehearsals are intense, learning a lot of choreography in not a lot of time, and he pays for it with all sorts of aching muscles. Sure, Mike works out, and he's been teaching dance a few days a week forever, but it's not at all the same as preparing for a performance. The evenings that he's gotten used to spending with Quinn are mostly spent in rehearsals, and by Saturday night - a week out from the performance - he's really missing her on top of feeling like every muscle in his body is staging a revolt against his treatment of them.
When she shows up at his door with a six-pack and and a pizza, he has to stop himself from letting the words I love you trip off his tongue.
(He would mean it. He does love her, But telling her he loves her for bringing him alcohol and food doesn't really express the sentiment the way he wants.)
He ends up stretched out on his stomach on his bed with his shirt off while Quinn sits back on his thighs to massage his back. For a girl with such long, delicate fingers, she has strong hands, and the massage is simultaneously borderline-painful and relaxing.
"I've watched videos of you on YouTube," she admits out of nowhere. He'd like to look at her face, but she has him basically pinned to the bed.
"Yeah?"
"A while back, actually." Mike grins to himself. "You're amazing, you know that? I can't imagine being able to do something like that."
"I can't imagine not doing it," he says quietly. Quinn's fingers have stopped kneading at his muscles, and now she's just smoothing her hands over his skin, almost like she's trying to lull him to sleep. "Even when it was behind closed doors, I was dancing."
"I don't think I've ever felt that way about something," she says, sounding almost sad. Mike reaches back to catch one of her hands in his, tugging gently until he can feel her leaned over his back. He presses a kiss to her palm and doesn't say anything else.
*
He's in bed with Quinn, lying on his side and trailing the pads of his fingers up and down her spine, watching her body rise and fall with each breath. He loves being like this with her; it's the second-best thing that came out of introducing sex into the relationship. (Second only to the obvious.) She's pretty like this, all sleepy and mussed, and he likes looking at her.
"You know," she says, blinking her eyes open at him, "if this goes bad, I'm going to have to start drinking Starbucks coffee again."
He snorts out a laugh, the palm of his hand flattening between her shoulder blades. "You could buy an espresso machine."
She shakes her head against the pillow. "It's so complicated."
"Your drink is not complicated," he insists. She shrugs one shoulder. "Come on," he says, climbing out of bed and stepping into his boxers. He tosses the tee shirt he was wearing earlier to her and walks out of his room without waiting for her.
He's already tamping the grounds into the basket of his espresso machine when Quinn steps into the kitchen. "What are you doing?" she asks.
"Teaching you how to make a skim latte with no foam," he answers, glancing over at her. God, she looks good in his white tee shirt and nothing else.
"Mike! It's twelve-thirty," she laughs, watching him pull the milk from the fridge. "We'll be up all night."
He raises one eyebrow and looks at her, grinning at the blush that stains her cheeks and the part of her chest that's exposed by his shirt. She just shakes her head and nudges him with her elbow when he steps past her to get to the sink.
"You ready?" he asks. She nods and steps closer, leaning one hip against the counter and watching him turn on the machine. "The espresso part is easy. You make sure you tamp down the grounds, then you just turn to knob." He's basically on auto-pilot as he talks her through steaming the milk, distracted by how how close she's gotten to him, close enough that his arm brushes against her breast as he moves. He really wants to pull his shirt over her head, lift her up onto the counter, and have his way with her right here. He's pretty sure, judging by the little smirk on Quinn's lips, that she's aware of what she's doing to him, so he resists the urge.
"Got it?" he asks when he's pouring the milk into a mug along with the espresso. She nods and lets out a little hum of agreement that sounds way too sexy for what they're doing. He pulls out the basket, juggling the hot metal a little while he dumps the spent grounds into the trash can under the sink. "Let's see it then."
However distracted Mike was when he was showing her how to do it, Quinn must have been paying attention, because other than making a bit more foam than she really likes and making the milk squall once (she'd grimaced and corrected quickly), she makes herself a perfect latte.
"It tastes better when you make it," she says after taking a little sip. Mike takes a drink of each latte, and other than the one he made being a little cooler, they taste the same. She shakes her head when he tells her that. "It's never as good when you have to do it for yourself."
He shakes his head, laughing when she takes the latte that he made and takes another drink. "I though you were worried about being up all night?"
She sets the mug on the counter, licking her lips and shrugging one shoulder. "Maybe it wouldn't be so terrible. We don't have to work tomorrow. You'd keep me company, right?" He just watches her when she steps forward and grazes her fingernails over his abs, stopping just above the waistband of his boxers. "I'm sure we could find something to occupy ourselves."
He resists the urge to put his hands on her. "Mmm. What did you have in mind?"
She looks up at him from beneath her lashes, then tips her head back and slips just the tips of her fingers beneath the elastic of his shorts. "Mike."
He just watches her, waiting until she pushes up onto her toes to kiss him to slip his arm around her waist. He feels like she's been teasing him the entire time they've been in the kitchen, so he doesn't put his tongue in her mouth or slide his hand beneath the shirt that she's wearing. He simply kisses her, smiling against her mouth when she makes an impatient noise. "You're a tease," she accuses, speaking between kisses.
Mike chuckles. "Yeah. I'm the tease."
Quinn leans back and stares up at him for a moment, then takes a step back. Mike watches her grab the hem of his tee shirt and pull it over her head, leaving her naked and pretty much perfect in his kitchen. She pushes the shirt into his hands and and turns away, walking out of the room without another word.
Mike catches her before she even makes it to the bedroom, pinning her against the wall in the hallway and kissing her until she's pushing his boxers down off his hips and mumbling something about the bedroom against his lips.
They don't make it.
*
Quinn is crazy busy as the school year comes to a close, finishing end-of-year projects and getting grades together and organizing her classroom, something she says she likes to do at the end of the year instead of waiting until the beginning of the next. She'll have two weeks off, then she's doing summer school half a day for the next four weeks. Neither of them has any big summer plans, but Mike is going out on another tour in November, so he's looking forward to just being able to spend some more time with her.
When she tells him that she's going back to Ohio for a week after school ends, he's admittedly a little disappointed.
"I go every year," she says by way of explanation when she tells him, not even looking up from her computer. She's transferring grades from her handwritten gradebook to the one online, sitting on the floor between her couch and her coffee table.
"I didn't think you were close to your parents." He's not upset, and it's not like he expects her to stay, he just doesn't get it.
"I'm not," she says easily. "I go back twice a year, every year." She turns to look up at him. "It's just what I do."
"Okay." He leans down to kiss the top of her head. He convinces her that he should stay with her that night even though they both have to work in the morning, and he combs his fingers through her hair until she falls asleep.
He goes to her school on the last day, waiting until after all of the students are gone so he doesn't have to worry about checking in as a visitor at the office. He knows that she plans to stay late and then go straight to the airport from there to catch her flight back to Ohio, and he wants to be able to see her before she goes.
Mike's been in her classroom once before, for just a few minutes when they were here at school for that music recital back when they first started dating. He doesn't even remember what she got off of her desk that night, but he does remember how to get to her classroom, helped by a sign declaring that he's in the third grade hallway and a bright handmade banner over her door that reads Welcome to Miss Fabray's Class!
She's at her desk, sitting on the edge of her chair, pulling things out of an open drawer and tossing them into the nearby trash can. "Hey," he greets quietly, hoping not to startle her.
She looks up and smiles brightly. "What are you doing here?"
He holds out the cup from the cafe he has in his hand. "I thought you might like one more before you head out."
She takes the cup and stands, tipping her head back to kiss him gently. "Thank you."
"I really just wanted to see you one more time before you go," he admits. He feels a little silly for it, but Quinn just smiles over the top of her cup and takes his hand, slipping her fingers between his. He perches on the edge of her desk when she sits back in her chair, leaning back a bit and taking another sip of her latte. "How was the last day?"
"Loud," she laughs. "I'm going to miss those kids," she says softly, meeting his eyes. "I always do."
He tilts his head, rubbing his thumb back and forth lightly against the space between her thumb and forefinger when he sees the tears that have welled up in her eyes. "I love you." Her lips part when she inhales slowly. "I just...I do."
She sets her cup on her desk when she stands up, stepping between his legs and putting her hand on his cheek when she leans in to kiss him gently. He knows then that she isn't going to say it back, but that's okay. Mike isn't the guy who says or does things to get something in return; he told her he loves her because he does, regardless of what she feels for him. If she isn't there yet, that's fine.
He's not worried about messing things up between them. They're good.
He sits with her for a while, watching her finish cleaning out her desk and listening to her tell stories about her students, names that he's gotten used to hearing over the last few months and he thinks he might miss hearing about.
"I'll call you," Quinn says when he's leaving a little later. She closed the door so she could give him what she called a proper kiss goodbye, and now they're just standing together, with his hands on her waist and hers resting flat against his chest.
He nods, leaning down to press another quick kiss to her lips. "Have a good trip."
She smiles and holds his hand even when he steps away, not letting go until they're too far apart to keep touching.
*
"So when does Quinn get back from Oklahoma?" Matt asks. They're at their favorite sports bar, eating wings and drinking beer and half-watching the Royals fail at playing good baseball.
"Ohio," Mike corrects. "Her flight gets in on Friday night." They've been texting every day, and he's talked to her twice, but he's totally ready for her to be back in California.
"Are you going to do the cheesy thing where you meet her at the gate and declare your love for her?" Matt teases. Mike just shakes his head. "Seriously?"
"We're not like that."
"Bullshit."
"Seriously," Mike laughs, tossing a crumpled napkin in Matt's direction. "She drove herself to the airport, dude."
"So you're just a bad boyfriend." Matt shrugs and changes the subject, but it bugs Mike for the rest of the night.
He's a little drunk when Matt drops him off, which is precisely why he calls Quinn and asks, "You don't think I'm a bad boyfriend, do you?"
"What?" she laughs. She's still laughing when he finishes telling her what Matt said. "No, Mike. You aren't a bad boyfriend."
"That's a relief," he says, letting his head drop back against the back of the couch.
"It sounds like you need to drink some water and sleep it off," she suggests gently.
"Probably," he agrees easily. "Are you having fun at home?"
She's quiet for a moment, then finally says, "This isn't home. This is just the place I grew up. The place where I made all of my mistakes." The words make him feel less drunk than he did even thirty seconds ago.
"Quinn--"
"It's fine," she interrupts before he can say anything else. "I'll be back in two days. Maybe then I can get some decent coffee. Everything here is terrible."
"Yeah?" He doesn't really know how to respond to the way she's changing the subject. It's pretty obvious to him, even drunk, that she doesn't really like being at home. He doesn't understand why she's there at all if that's the case.
They talk for just a few more minutes, during which she asks him about what he's been up to and doesn't say anything else about what she's been doing while she's been at home and why she sounded so down on it. Mike doesn't know what to make of it, but there isn't anything he can do when she's in another state. He figures he'll listen if she wants to talk about it when she comes back, but otherwise, he's at a loss.
He does drink a glass of water that Quinn suggested, along with some microwave popcorn that he eats while he watches a show about Pompeii on the History Channel.
*
Mike knew that Quinn was planning to come by his place when she got back into the city, but he's really surprised when he pulls his front door open on Friday night and sees her standing there with tears on her cheeks.
"Quinn, what's wrong?" he asks after he's ushered her into the apartment. She closes her eyes and shakes her head. "Quinn."
"I don't want to talk about it," she says coldly. Her tears but just a hint of a waver in her voice. "Will you just--" She cuts herself off with a sniffle. "Will you lie with me? Can we just go to bed?"
He needs to know what this is about, because it's freaking him out not a little, but he also wants to give her whatever she needs, so he nods. Her body visibly relaxes, her shoulders slumping a little, and she drops her purse onto the bench by his door and slips her feet out of her sandals.
She doesn't even pause to take off her jeans before she crawls into his bed, so he follows suit, pressing his chest against her back and pulling her close. He tightens his grip when she clutches at his hand, and her breathing is all messed up from the way that she's crying.
"Quinn," he whispers after he's stayed quiet for as long as he can stand. "Baby, I need you to tell me what's wrong." Her body trembles when she inhales, and his heart breaks for her, whatever is making her feel this way. "You're scaring me," he admits, hoping that it will make her explain something.
"I just really hate being back there," she finally manages. Her voice is so quiet that he can just barely hear it. "Everything in Lima reminds me of how much I screwed up." He presses his lips against her hair but doesn't say anything. "Can we just sleep? Please?"
He's not totally sure that she's capable of falling asleep with the way that she's still crying, but he just says, "Yeah," and pulls her closer, doing his best to wrap her up in his arms completely.
Mike hates listening to her cry. Her body shakes, and she takes these gasping breaths that he can tell she's trying to suppress; she sounds so broken that he aches for her. He has a million questions about what she just told him, but now isn't the time to ask them. He's hoping that she'll feel better in the morning after she's gotten some rest and a little distance. Maybe then she'll be able to talk about it and deal with whatever it is that had her showing up at his door in tears.
She finally does fall asleep, her breathing evening out for the first time since she got to his place and the sobs no longer wracking her body. Mike finally feels like he can breathe a sigh of relief, and so he lets himself drift off.
*
He wakes up in bed alone.
That's not so weird. They don't spend the night together that often in the first place, and when they do, he has to be at work at the cafe earlier than Quinn has to be at school. He's up before her on weekdays, but on weekends, he tends to sleep in while she gets up at the same time that she always does. She'll get up and make coffee, and he usually finds her in the kitchen making breakfast or sitting in the living room reading a book and half-watching Good Morning America or whatever.
He feels grungy after sleeping in his jeans all night, but he ignores the feeling and goes looking for Quinn, scrubbing his hand over his face and hoping that she's already made a pot of coffee so he can have caffeine within the next ten minutes.
She's sitting right in the middle of his couch in the living room, her shoes on her feet and her purse on her lap. Her hair is in a ponytail and she's washed the tear stains off her cheeks, but otherwise, she looks a lot like she did last night when he opened the door for her. "Hey."
"I'm sorry about last night," Quinn says, looking up but not quite meeting his eyes.
"It's fine," Mike says. He has an uncomfortable twisting sensation in his stomach.
"It really isn't," she says quietly. Her voice sounds different than he's ever heard, almost like she's reciting something that was written by someone else. "Mike, I don't think this is working."
"What?"
"This relationship. It isn't working for me any more."
"What are you talking about?" Maybe they haven't been together for very long, but he thinks their relationship has been pretty good so far.
"I'm breaking up with you."
"Why?" She's quiet, looking up at him with unreadable eyes. He doesn't know what the hell is going on here, but he's pretty sure it has something to do with the way she showed up here last night. "Quinn, what was last night about?"
She squeezes her eyes shut and takes a breath. "I had a baby when I was sixteen," she all but blurts out. "I gave her up for adoption to a family who lives in the town closest to where I grew up. I go back and see her twice a year."
"Quinn--"
"It happened," she interrupts, "because I let myself get caught up in something." She finally looks up and meets his eyes for real. "Just like I've been doing with you."
He thought that listening to her cry last night broke his heart for her, but hearing this makes him so incredibly sad, both for the woman she is now and for the girl she was then. He wants to gather her up in his arms again, but she's sitting there looking like her spine is made of steel, holding her straight and rigid, and wrapped in glass, that she would shatter if he tried to touch her.
"This can't be anything like that was," he says before he can stop himself. Her eyes narrow. "I don't know anything about that, but Quinn, you're twenty-five, not sixteen."
"I know that," she answer softly. "I really do." She swallows hard. "But I'm still done doing this with you. Please leave me alone."
He could probably say something else when she stands up and walks to the door, but he can't. Even if he could, he doesn't think that it would do any good.
He just lets her go, closing his eyes when he hears the front door close behind her.