CASSIUS

Ten minutes. Ten fucking minutes and Quinn has already managed to involve herself in yet another precarious situation. I'm not even kidding; I checked the time on my phone. Nine minutes and fifty-six seconds after she walked away from me and she's in a confrontation with three guys double her size.

To make matters worse, the crowd is in an uproar because Wyatt has stopped the fight while he watches the altercation from the stage, shouting at anyone who will listen.

A lot of people have money on him and a lot more are betting on him to lose. None of those people will be happy if the fight doesn't happen. I know I wanted to see some action, but not the kind that involves Quinn being right in the middle.

A deer. That's what she looks like right now. A tiny baby deer, wide-eyed and frozen. These assholes don't care that she's a woman but they sure as hell will in a minute. I barrel toward them and shove the main instigator with forearm so hard that he drops to the ground, taking two of his friends down with him like bowling pins.

My breath hitches as I watch his head come dangerously close to bouncing off the ground. It's eerily similar to the situation where I sent Ryan Farrow to the hospital and had my freedom revoked. Luckily, this guy's skill hits someone's shoe instead of the tiled floor.

While I take a protective stance in front of Quinn, Silas leaves his post by the conference room and comes to help escort the three men out. They throw a fit the entire time he attempts to lead them to the back door. When Silas' hand gravitates toward his waistband, they wise up and cooperate.

They got off easy. They'd have a whole different set of problems if their disturbance shut the main event down early. A mob of gambling addicts pissed about losing money is a worse fate to endure than being removed from the premises.

Fury is running hot in my veins, and I'm kind of pissed at Quinn too, but I'm not entirely sure why. She didn't start this. All she did was cheer on her friends – I guess they're friends? But she sure as hell ended up as the main attraction, like always.

I remain stationed in front of her, legs spread, arms crossed. I don't want any other dickwads thinking they can come over here once I step away. So, I don't.

Wyatt studies me from up on stage and, when he's sure everything is settled and I'm staying put, he goes back to the center of the ring with Logan to finish the fight.

The crowd roars to life as soon as punches are being thrown again. They're pushing and pulling all around us like an uneasy tide. Quinn never moves despite not being able to see over me. She doesn't scream for the guys' performance anymore, or even make a sound at all.

Anxiety creeps through my chest at the thought of her being scared or upset and, again, I don't know why. No matter the reason, I've become her person fucking bodyguard for the duration of the event.

Wyatt put up a better fight than expected, but the end result is the same as usual. Logan takes the victory. The majority of the crowd goes wild and starts rushing over to the conference room, lining up to collect their winnings from the bookies.

Once the area around the stage is completely cleared out, Quinn sulks from behind me and makes her way up to the ring. She perches her elbows up on the bottom rope and says something to Wyatt.

I decide I should go over there too. If she's hooking up with him, that's something I need to know. Not for personal reasons, but for safety ones. Any time a competitor brings his girlfriend along, there needs to be extra security on her. The kind of people that come in here aren't known for being upstanding citizens and pissing off a fighter by fucking with his girl is the perfect storm for ruining a match.

Wyatt is icing a cut under his eye while he bumps my fist with his glove. Logan is already long gone, but Wyatt stays behind. This is his third fight at our venue, and he handles it the same way he did his first. He stays to help clean the mats and deconstruct the ring. Which is precisely one of the reasons I have so much respect for him.

"Thanks for gettin 'er." Wyatt mumbles past the guard hanging from his mouth.

"That's the job." I keep my tone bland.

He nods, accepting my answer, and then looks down at Quinn with a huge, bloody smile. It rubs me the wrong way and I have to stare past him to avoid letting it get to me. Wyatt's a good guy. Nothing to worry about, there.

When he runs off to help Max clean up, Quinn turns to face me but, like many times before, ends up having a conversation with my chest instead.

"Sorry. Thanks. The usual." She flips her hand through the air and starts to walk away.

I know I complain about her antics, but I don't think I like this side of Quinn. She just seems so...defeated.

"Stay for a drink. Everyone'll clear out soon." I call out to her retreating back.

"Not drinking tonight." She says without turning around.

"Just one."

Why am I practically begging her to stay?

Wyatt returns for a brief moment to extend the same invitation I just did. Only this time, she seems to consider it instead of shooting him down. A tiny pang of frustration slaps me in the face.

When she finally nods in agreeance, he lifts her off the ground into a hug. She squeals and finally smiles for the first time since the earlier altercation. He puts her back on her feet and taps his hand against the bun sitting on top of her head.

"Stop, Wyatt! I worked hard on that!" She grumbles, swatting his hand away.

"You worked hair on putting your hair up?" He muses, lips twitching.

"Yes! First, you have to find a ponytail. Do you know how hard it is to find one of those if it's not already on your wrist? They are everything except where they're supposed to be! And then – then you have to put it up but there's all these lumps you have to smooth out the first time. It's a tedious process, Wyatt!"

Now I'm smiling too because she is never not overexplaining shit.

"Lumps, huh?" Wyatt questions. "You mean like these?" He asks, pointing at all the different bumpy spots in her hair.

"Are you guys a thing now or something?"

Fuck. That was not supposed to come out of my mouth.

Wyatt's smile grows wide and mischievous as he pulls Quinn in close to his side.

"Quinn's my number one fan, isn't that right, babe?" He stares down at her while she huffs in annoyance.

"Is that so?" I ask, raising a brow.

His answer wasn't a fucking answer at all.

"I don't have much choice in the matter." Quinn rolls her eyes.

"No choice? Don't think I missed you cheering for Logan too." He smirks.

"It was a momentary lapse in judgement. Won't happen again." She replies with a bored tone, examining her fingernails.

He playfully shoves her face away before returning to Max, removing the ropes from around the stage. After nodding my head toward the bar, she follows behind me.

Gio pours two drinks, already aware of what both of us would ask for. Before we're even settled down in our seats, Ethan joins us. Does this kid ever go away?

Instead of making a smartass remark or telling him to fuck off like I expected she would, she stands back up and smiles at him. They exchange a few friendly words and embrace rather awkwardly before he leaves the club altogether. It blows my mind how easily she lets shit go.

"I don't get you." I mutter over the rim of my glass.

"What do you mean?" She asks while hopping back in her seat, scooting her drink closer to the ledge of the bar top.

"How can you not be mad? He cheated on you. Doesn't that, I don't know, hurt?"

It certainly sucked when I found out.

"Not anymore." She says, nodding her head. "I told you, that's what men do. What's the point in getting upset over it?"

"So, you just forgive him? Because you expected him to do it?"

"Yep."

"Well, that's bullshit."

Her head snaps to me, but her stare isn't angry like I thought it might be. It's curious. I know Quinn doesn't deserve my aggression, but I don't like what she's saying. What Skylar did isn't okay. What Ethan did isn't okay. And what the fuck happened to make her think it is?

"I mean, he was kind of an asshole. The guy before him was an asshole, and the next guy will be an asshole too!" She chirps with a smile, like assholery is completely normal.

"You sure know a lot of assholes." I try to joke, but it comes out sounding like a grumpy declaration.

"Don't worry Cash-Money, I'm sure none of them can compete with you. I bet you're the biggest asshole of them all. The word ass is even in your name!"

"Am not." I grumble.

I know she's joking – I think – but her words burrow in my brain and form a sliver of insecurity. Her shoulder nudges mine.

"I meant what I said earlier, ya know? Ethan may have traded up, but Skylar definitely downgraded."

Traded up? She legitimately thinks Skylar is better than her? If she knew even a fraction of what I do, that wouldn't be a thought in her head. I learned a lot about that girl when I stopped being blinded by what I thought was love.

When I feel pain because of everything, when I feel brokenhearted, it's not because we broke up. It's because I dumbed myself down in an attempt to convince myself everything was okay. It's because I didn't get out sooner.

I loved Skylar. She stole all the parts of me that made me feel good about myself. I loved her until I could no longer love myself because that's what our relationship required. And that breaks my heart. Ethan didn't trade up; he sold his fucking soul.

"I might be an asshole sometimes but, if I were him, I never would have done that to you, Quinn."

She pats my arm, almost like she's trying to soothe me.

"Sure you would, Cash. Look at you. Guys that look like you are the most dangerous ones."

Something washes over me when she states that as fact. Maybe it's the hint of challenge in her words that intrigues me. Maybe it's the subconscious need to feel anything except anger and disappointment. Compelled by the situation, I find myself spinning in my chair to face her.

I grip her seat and twist, making her face me as well. She squeaks at the sudden movement and her knees rest between my thighs. I've been in close contact with her quite often, but this feels more intimate than usual, which only further spurs on my next words.

"Bet I can prove you wrong." My eyes flick between each of hers, trying to read her expression.

"Statistically speaking, that's a very high-risk bet, Cash. There are only two possible outcomes. Either I'm right, and you'll fuck the next girl over. Or you're right, and you end up being faithful. That's a fifty-fifty –"

"Are you with Wyatt or not?" I interrupt. She clearly didn't get the message that I wanted her to give me a shot, not some other girl.

"What? No, of course not. Anyway, that's a fifty-fifty chance for both of us. And I just so happen to know for a fact that I'd win that bet. If you want to put money on –"

Snaking my hand around the back of her head, I gently pull her to me. My lips press against hers, effectively silencing her rant. Something heavy lifts inside of me. She makes a surprised sound against my mouth, but her body relaxes as she returns the kiss.

Against every whim in my body, I pull away, realizing I might be acting like the asshole she just went on about. She didn't give me a single signal that she wanted anything from me. The slew of compliments earlier was just her rambling like always. It wasn't an invitation. Did I just prove her fucking point?

But the way her eyes glisten with curiosity, like she's seeing me in a new light, makes me want to do it again. My heart feels like it's stalling out before kicking into overdrive.

"Oh. Oh!" She yells, clasping a hand over her mouth. After a few seconds, she spreads her fingers and speaks from between them. "You meant let you prove you won't cheat on me? Like, me specifically?"

Yeah, it sounds kind of crazy when she puts it like that. I try to avoid cringing at the awkwardness of my own suggestion. But Quinn is the queen of crazy, so maybe it sounded perfectly normal to her?

Our line of communication has been pretty limited. We've had occasional conversations, but it almost always ends in having to remove her from the club. You don't really get to know someone when you're busy arguing with them about what they did or didn't do wrong.

"Uh, no. I mean, yeah, that's what I was saying. I just – I worded it wrong. But I don't...you know what, pretend I didn't say anything." I backpedal, drowning myself in my drink so I don't make a bigger fool out of myself.

I just unintentionally asked her out and got turned down in the strangest way imaginable. Wait... did she turn me down? This whole thing is a mess.

"And you say I'm weird. You're one to talk." She jabs me in the ribs with her finger.

Yep. I out-crazied the crazy girl. I broke the system. Is insanity contagious? Because I definitely think she's spreading it around. An airborne plague, courtesy of Quinn.