QUINN

Cash said some pretty gross things the other day. Like, vomit-worthy gross. It was mushy and sweet, and the words didn't have the black licorice flavor I expected from him. So, why did it still make me feel sick to my stomach, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth?

At first, it made me feel good. Great, even. Then angry. Good. Angry. Scared. Good. Confused. Sad. Hopeful. People have made jokes about my need for medication in the past, but now I think I'm starting to believe them because my emotions are all over the place and show no signs of being tamable.

My head is a damn cluttered mess every time I replay the argument, wondering if he was being honest or, yet again, trying to win a bet. I guess both can be true.

In the year I was with Hunter, he never said anything like that. He told me I was beautiful and smart, and that other people just didn't get me like he did. That was all in the first month. After that, nothing nice came out of that boy's mouth unless he needed something from me.

Ethan told me I was funny once and I think he complimented my hair the one day I straightened it. Neither one of them ever made me want to throw up like this, though.

When I catch his eye across the club, I'm searching for the nearest trash can just in case I need to empty the contents of my stomach. When he smirks at me, my eye twitches and I think I might pee everywhere. He extended his promise not to kick me out for beating someone up for the entire week instead of one night, but what about public urination?

I would just simply stop thinking about it, but I don't have adequate control over my life right now. Which is why I'm heading to the conference room. I don't know what it is exactly that I'm looking for, but I'm sure Joey can help me figure it out. He's good at listening to vague problems and prescribing the perfect medicine to take the edge off.

I'm halfway there when I notice Cash making a beeline for me, no longer grinning like he has been most of the night. I pick up my pace, practically jogging to my desired destination.

Spirit cheetah, please grant me your grace and speed.

I'm just a few feet away from the opening to the room when big, dumb arms envelop my waist, and my feet aren't touching the ground anymore. I don't kick or put up a fight, just dangle there like a wet noodle. Limp and lifeless, my limbs swaying from side to side with every giant step Cash takes.

Which, according to my plan, makes things more difficult for him when he tries to put me down.

"Come on, lock your legs." He grumbles, still trying to stand me up.

No sir! You did this to yourself!

"Quuinnn." He growls when my legs fold underneath my weight.

He's pouting. Poor baby. Guess he should have just let me be, like he promised. Well, that's not exactly what he promised, but there aren't many viable targets for tonight. In lieu of fighting, I'd like to participate in illegal activities. I think that's a fair trade.

He sighs angrily but, before I get the chance to laugh at the misfortune he brough upon himself, I'm hanging upside down. It all happened so fast that I don't understand how he managed it.

My phone falls to the ground, followed by a cascading waterfall of change and a loose piece of gum. I was wondering where that went. I could have used it after my garlicky snack up at the bar earlier.

All the blood is rushing to my head and my vision is growing fuzzy. When I stretch my hands out toward the ground to try and support myself, he just lifts me even higher so I can't reach. Damn my short arms!

His hands tighten around my ankles. The fear of falling has never been ingrained in my head, thankfully. But his grip still just further comforts me, and I know I'm not going to bust my face open. Not today, at least. I try to reach one more time, to no avail.

"Nuh-uh. Not until you promise to stand up." His tone is too serious for this moment, and I would laugh if I was capable. For some reason, everything is more difficult when you're upside down.

"Never!" I strangle out.

"Cassius! What the hell are you doing?!"

My blurry vision doesn't allow me to see who's talking right now or where this mysterious voice is coming from. But he sounds genuinely concerned, so maybe he's my savior.

"She's refusing to cooperate." Cash replies.

Is he smiling?! He sounds like he's smiling! That asshole!

"Uhh...alright then. Carry on." Says mysterious not-my-savior man-voice.

"Will do, Max!"

Noooo! Don't leave me with this animal!

"Ready to surrender?" He asks.

"I don't negotiate with terrorists!" I manage to screech hoarsely.

He starts shaking me by my legs, making my body sway. I might throw up all over the place, for a completely different reason this time. I've done a lot of stupid things at this club, but I've never vomited in it. I refuse to break that streak!

"Fine! I give up!"

I half expect him to drop me right then and there but, instead, an arm somehow folds around my lower back, and I'm being lifted upright very gently. My legs instinctually lock around Cash's waist for extra support and my head lolls back from the dizzy sensations swirling in my head. I stay there as I try to get my bearings.

His leg is bent at the knee the slightest bit, his thigh helping to hold me up against him while I regain my vision and let the blood start flowing through all the appropriate channels.

And one not so appropriate channel. I become aware of the position we're in and boooy does my traitorous body like it.

So much so that I swear the blood drains right back out of my body, forcing my arms to stop working. This can't be healthy.

I accidentally slip, but Cash grips tighter to keep me in place, my body now forcefully huddled against his. I can't be sure, but I think his eyes are roaming over my face, trying to figure out what to do next.

By the time his features come into focus, his gaze is warm and endearing and, for half a second, all his words from the other day become the truth in my mind. Even if it's not true, that doesn't mean I can't enjoy whatever we're doing. After all, that's what I was doing with the guys before him.

If I was willing to give sweet-talking-TA and Ethan Dickface the opportunity to pretend to like me, I think I can afford to do it with Cash-Money too. He's done more to earn it, anyway.

If I start getting to the point of digging up the forbidden organ, I'll cut our ties. It'll be just like all the other times.

I got this.

"Do you wanna kiss me?" I ask with a teasing grin.

Instead of verbally answering, he takes one step forward so my back is resting against the brick accent wall as he continues to support me with his leg. His lips crash down on mine and, for the first time, we're playing our own little game of tonsil hockey.

Oh! That's a good comparison for a former hockey player! Brownie points to me!

But it's not sloppy like you'd imagine the vigorous sport to be. It's controlled and methodical and timed to the point of perfection. Our tongues meet at just the right moment, our mouths move in unison, and I can't recall a time when I've enjoyed a kiss so much.

I wonder how well he handles his stick – Quinn! Focus on the kiss, ya damn pervert!

When his warm tongue glides across the ridge of my teeth, my stomach becomes an inferno of heat that frantically claws its way up through my chest.

If vaginas could talk, mine would be singing right now, performing the most sophisticated mating call.

All too soon, our mouths are separated, and his lips tenderly press against mine two more times before he nuzzles the tip of my nose with his own. Oh! And another kiss!

Can I have ten more, please? I think that will satisfy the cravings.

But no. I'm being slid down the wall, back on my very unstable feet. I should tell him it's not safe for me. He'd pick me back up and carry me around all night like a queen. Cash would make a cute servant.

His rough hand caresses the side of my neck, his thumb stroking my jaw as he stares down at me like he's lost at sea. I can't catch my breath because it keeps getting stuck in my chest.

I might not got this...

"That was a nice distraction, Quinn, but you're not getting in that room."

Oh, you have got to be kidding me! That's what I get for being a master of trickery! I wasn't even thinking about the damn conference room.

But now that he mentions it...why am I not getting in that room? That sounds like a challenge to me. And there's nothing I dislike more in life than being told I can't do something.

Challenge accepted, mothersuckaa!