Not the Marrying Kind Read online

  I spoke before she could say anything. “I know I’ve always been the different one. The rule-following Quinn. I know all of my reminders are annoying and totally un-cool, but someone has to make sure the roof gets fixed and the bills get paid and the two of you get your flu shots. Being some corporate drone—” I winced, but continued. “—means that I can help plan your futures a little better. Make sure you and dad can play music when you’re old and gray. What you and dad said that night, it was like you saw my value. Not as your daughter. I know you love me. But as a person.”

  My mother’s jaw went slack, and I thought she was going to drop the spatula. But then she turned, digging through a drawer overflowing with receipts, ticket stubs, old pictures. She walked back over, squeezing in next to me and wrapping an arm around my shoulders.

  “Fiona.” Her voice was a little shaky. “I am sorry from the bottom of my heart for making you feel that way.” She tapped the picture, and I picked it up. The couple I recognized as my grandparents, although much younger. My aunts and uncles. And then Mom. I could tell it was Mom because of the way she was dressed. It was the early eighties, that much was clear, and where everyone else was rocking big, poofy hair and bright patterns, my mom looked like she’d walked right off the stage at CBGB. Tattoos on full display, all leather, hair dyed black, piercings everywhere.

  Everyone was smiling. But even I could tell they were a little… embarrassed by her. “Grandma June looks like she wants to wash your mouth out with soap.”

  “Oh, she did,” Mom said. “Two parents and two siblings, and they were the most strait-laced squares on the planet. Still are. They liked our house to be quiet and untouched. Spotless and absent of joy. They enjoyed smooth jazz and respectable pop and thought punk rock was the devil’s music.”

  “So they weren’t anarchists?” I asked with a wry smile.

  “Oh, they would have rather run through the street naked than talk about the things I was passionate about. They made fun of me all the time.”

  I stilled, looked up at Mom. My cheeks were hot from being so honest, but her arm around my shoulders was a comfort.

  “I missed you so much last year,” she said. “I know you were off, pursuing what was important to you. I want that for you. But now, knowing how easily I made you feel the way I felt growing up… well, I won’t let it happen again. We won’t.”

  I put the picture down. “It’s okay. Really. You love me so much—”

  “It’s not okay,” she said firmly. “It has nothing to do with love and everything to do with respect. You, Fiona Quinn, were born with so much self-assurance I didn’t know what to do with you. You were so confident, and so smart, and your father and I couldn’t have been prouder of your accomplishments. I forget sometimes that you’re human, like the rest of us. That means we need to honor your choices and uplift them.”

  I sighed, relieved. “I know I’m a lawyer, but I’m not evil. And what we do isn’t evil. If it was, I wouldn’t do it.”

  “I know, dear,” she said. “And I’m sorry. It adds up, over time, those little cuts. I remember. And I could sense you pulling away because of it.”

  I looked down at my coffee cup. “My job makes it hard to see you guys. Your schedule isn’t normal. I go without sleep a lot to see you guys on your timetable. Maybe we could do, like, Sunday morning pancakes sometimes?”

  Our Friday morning pancake tradition had always been a favorite. I just—literally—had to bend over backwards to get here for it given my job. And then I spent it stressed out and anxious and secretly mad that my parents never seemed to notice how inconvenient it was.

  “Done,” she said. “Traditions are for destroying anyway. Progress is the only thing that matters. And we should keep talking about this, okay?”

  I laughed, let her kiss the top of my head before she walked back to the skillet. “Okay. I’d like that.”

  “And for what it’s worth,” she said. “I believe this heartache will be temporary.”

  “I’ll find someone new,” I said.

  Roxy strolled in, wearing Edward’s shirt and black yoga pants. “No way, babe. Mom and I talked about this last night after you fell asleep.”

  “Um, good morning? And what are you talking about?”

  Mom turned around and handed me a plate with a giant omelet. I could have wept. “Don’t you think Max made a mistake?” she asked.

  I’d spent two weeks without sleep. And just had a sweet talk with my mother. And had a pit bull asleep on my lap and an older sister refilling my coffee cup. I was as safe and protected as ever. And so I told them the hard truth. “I really, really do. Because I’m head-over-heels in love with Max, and I think we’re meant to be together forever. Here or in California or anywhere.”

  Roxy punched her fist into the air. “That’s the spirit. Now what are you going to do about it?”

  I shoveled bacon into my mouth. “I don’t know. Get day drunk with you today and then mope around until I fall asleep?”

  “Try again, Fi.”

  I sighed, put the plate down. Thought about Max on that bike with me, the way he spoke of his motorcycle as a form of total liberation.

  The way he thought I’d secretly enjoy it.

  It’s a machine that takes whatever the fuck it wants, whenever it wants. It crushes speed limits and dominates bends in the road. And in a race? It always wins.

  What would it be like to go get Max? Because even if he turned me down—and it was likely he would—maybe riding a metal death-machine by myself across the country would be my own form of liberation? The last time I’d taken a vacation was never, and a few weeks cross-country might go far in mending my heart. This plan felt terrifying and reckless, but I was discovering that true love was a risky leap after all.

  “I can see you coming up with a bad-ass idea,” Roxy said

  “Really?” I waggled my eyebrows, teasing her. I was Fiona fucking Quinn after all. I didn’t kiss Max and dance for hours and blow up my systems and crowd surf with my sister and let myself finally feel for nothing.

  I’d wanted to take a risk.

  This was a damn risk.

  “What if we went motorcycle shopping today?” I asked.

  My mom and Roxy said, “Yes, absolutely” in unison.

  “I’ve always loved a motorcycle.” Mom sighed. “And you can learn very quickly.”

  “There’s nothing more dramatic than going to get your hot man on a hot bike,” Roxy said.

  Edward walked in, yawning. “What on earth are the Quinns up to now?”

  “Going motorcycle shopping so I can ride all the way across the country and convince Max he made a big mistake and that we’re soul mates,” I said, all in one breath.

  Edward considered it. Poured himself a cup of coffee. “This seems like the typical blend of chaos and spontaneity this family is known for. So I say let’s buy a bloody motorcycle.”

  I laughed. And then googled, how do you ride a motorcycle?

  48

  Max

  Two weeks later

  Charlie took my keys and my documents, even though he still looked confused. “I am sorry it didn’t work out. I’m a little surprised, is all.”

  I ran a hand through my hair. Looked around at this shop I’d dreamed of working in for years.

  It was funny how those things changed once more important things demanded your attention.

  “I wish I had a better answer for you,” I said. “But I need to be home right now, and there are a hundred mechanics just as talented who would do anything for this job. They deserve it. Not me.”

  Charlie nodded, mouth tight. “You’ve been a little out of it. Everything okay back home?”

  Just that I realized Fiona Quinn is my soul mate and I intend to beg her for forgivingness for years if she’ll take me back.

  “Things are fine,” I said. “I really need to be around my family and friends more. Took getting all the way out here for me to realize it. Thank you for this opportunity. I’l
l never forget the bikes I got to work on. Real once-in-a-lifetime shit.”

  Charlie clapped me on the shoulder. “Good luck.”

  I strolled back through the shop, waving goodbye to the mechanics I’d barely gotten to know because I didn’t feel like it. My fourth week here was, by far, the worst. I missed Fiona, thought about her, dreamed about her, thought I saw her everywhere I went. Mateo and Pop staged a video intervention at the end of the third week, and I spilled my guts to them both.

  They’d both been right, of course.

  Fiona was the love of my life. I’d made a huge mistake. I needed to correct it. Immediately.

  The next day, which was yesterday, I’d told Charlie it wasn’t working out, and since I was one day shy of the end of my trial period, he didn’t need my two weeks’ notice. There were dozens of mechanics vying for this job anyway.

  Now I was on my bike, heading to my apartment. It had taken me only an hour to pack up, and I’d already sent a flurry of resumes out to shops in New York. Pop was letting me crash at our old place until I landed an apartment. A home. One I hoped I’d be enjoying with Fiona if she’d take me back.

  The list I made for her, that had taken a bit of planning. And a fair amount of office supplies. But the planning was the part I hoped Fiona would appreciate.

  I’d done a couple cross-country hauls, so knew I could get home in five days if I played it a little fast-and-loose with the speed limit on some of the back roads. It would give me time to practice my speech and get some of the nerves out. I wanted everything to go perfectly.

  I was only going to have this one chance.

  I pulled up to my apartment, turned off the bike and yanked off my helmet. Another motorcycle—black with hot pink detailing—came idling up alongside me. The person parked their bike right in front of mine, turned it off. They slid one leg over and tugged their helmet off. The woman shook out her golden blond hair. I got a glimpse of pearls and diamonds and red lips twisted in a mischievous smile.

  In slow fucking motion, Fiona Quinn turned towards me, glowing beneath the California sun. She propped her helmet under her arm and cocked her head.

  “This spot taken?” she asked.

  My jaw dropped to my chest. “Fiona?”

  She walked right up to me. I couldn’t breathe. My heart totally stopped. My jaw was still hanging open.

  “Did you… is that… did you ride a motorcycle all the way to California?”

  She blew her hair from her forehead. “I sure did. Took me ten days. I took my time. Saw a bit of this big, beautiful country you were always talking about. I’ve got tons of road trip stories to share now, by the way.”

  I was stunned. “How? Why?”

  “I bought this bike two weeks ago. I crushed the written test to get my license, naturally.”

  “Naturally,” I said. Still shocked.

  “And then I enrolled in an intensive weekend-long training and safety course. After that, I spent a couple more days practicing, but this road trip has really improved my skill and comfort.”

  “Uh huh,” I said. Was I fucking dreaming?

  “Then I took a month-long vacation from work. They couldn’t decline it since I hadn’t taken a vacation in three years.”

  My heart started beating again. Too fast this time.

  “And the why?” Fiona stepped right into my space. “The why is because I came to get you.”

  A smile slid up my face. “Came to… get me?”

  Her green eyes sparkled. “Unless you’re loving your job here. In which case, I came to see if I wanted to stay. Here with you.”

  I exhaled—long, rough. My fingers flexed at my side.

  “Princess.”

  Her lips quirked up. “Is that okay with you?”

  I rubbed my hand against my mouth. “I just quit my job, which I did not love, and was planning on heading back to New York. To stay. With you.”

  Tears filled her eyes. “You’re serious?”

  “I was leaving in an hour.”

  “And why…” Her voice was shaking now. “Why would you be doing that?”

  I spoke the most important truth of my entire life. “Because I’m hopelessly in love with you, Fiona Lennox Quinn. And I’d do literally anything to get you back.”

  “Like… like drive across the country?”

  I laughed, surprised. “Yeah. You could say that was my big play.”

  “Glad we’re on the same page as usual,” she said. Took another step. “Because I’m hopelessly in love with you too. And I’d do literally anything to—”

  I pulled Fiona hard into my body and kissed her. She jumped, wrapping her legs around my waist, and kissed me back so hard I couldn’t breathe. But I didn’t need to breathe. Not with Fiona in my arms after the longest, most miserable thirty days of my damn life.

  I tore our mouths apart to walk us to my door, still holding Fiona. I kicked it open, getting her inside, shoving her up against the first wall I came to. Our motorcycle helmets clattered to the floor as the door slammed shut behind us.

  “I know we have a lot to talk about,” she panted. I ran my tongue up the column of her throat and growled like an animal.

  “I have so much…” I bit her neck. “So fucking much to say…”

  Fiona yanked my shirt off. Yanked her shirt off. I dropped her as she tore off her belt and mine too. “I missed you so much, Max, I was out of my mind.”

  She tossed her boots. I tossed my boots. Tore off my jeans, then scooped an almost-naked Fiona back into my arms. “I kept listening to love songs and crying.”

  “You too?”

  I grunted in response because I was kissing her again and couldn’t talk. I dropped her on the kitchen counter and literally ripped her bra in two. “Let’s never spend more than a day apart ever again. I won’t make it.”

  “I love this plan,” she panted. “I’ll put it in a contract.”

  Breasts bared, I cupped her skin, licked her nipples with a wild intensity. Her hands flew back, knocked dishes and plates to the ground. She arched beneath my touch as I palmed her breasts, stroked my thumbs across her nipples. I buried my face against her warm, soft skin. Skin I’d dreamt about. Skin I feared I’d never, ever taste again.

  I tasted it now. Yanked her to the very edge of the counter and knocked a few more plates to the ground. I kissed down her smooth stomach and closed my teeth around her hipbone as she hissed in a sharp breath. Pressed kiss after kiss along her inner thighs as she trembled and gasped.

  I tore her underwear right in half.

  Against all odds, Fiona was now naked on my kitchen counter, begging me for more.

  I growled, buried my face between her legs. She cried out, fingers in my hair. Then I ate her pussy right on my kitchen countertop, licking her with the passion of a man who’d been drowning and finally tasted air. She called my name, knocked over a few more glasses, heels kicking against my back. My tongue dove between her folds as I drank her in, dipping into her center with every bit of desire these past thirty days had given me. This woman was it for me. And now that I had my head back between her thighs, I could die happy.

  Her orgasm was fast and hot and sloppy in the dirtiest way. She tore my hair clean out, and I left bite marks on her inner thighs. She screamed my name, and I groaned hers.

  Dragging my mouth back up her sweat-slicked body, I wrapped my arms around her waist and carried her back into my bedroom. She was boneless but still grinding herself against me. We fell onto the bed, mostly naked, and I searched desperately for a condom.

  “Please, Max,” she begged. “Bare, please. I’m clean and protected, I promise. I need all of you.”

  I prowled up her body, pressing her hands into the mattress. I notched my cock right against her wet, slick heat. “Are you sure?”

  “I’ve never wanted anything more in my life,” she whispered back. I kissed her sweetly, locking our lips together, inhaling on the same breath. She lifted her legs, wrapped them around my waist, and I sl
id inside her.

  We shared one passionate, ragged moan, tongues tangling, fingers entwined. I dragged my cock all the way out. Waited. Slammed all the way back in. The bed smacked against the wall, but the look we shared was more soulful than dirty.

  “I’m not scared anymore,” I whispered. “I should have known the moment you stepped onto that fire escape that you were the one for me.”

  Her eyelids fluttered. A tear slid down her cheek. I kissed it, smoothed her hair back. “I’m not scared, Max,” she whispered back. “You were my soul mate all along.”

  I let go of her hands so she could wrap her arms around me, holding me close. We rocked against each other, and I fucked her in a steady rhythm that kept our lips close and our eyes on each other. Fiona threw her head back and moaned as I fucked us closer and closer. She flexed her hips, knocking me on my back, and then rode my cock with a confident, sly grin. Head tipped back, body writhing, all that hair flowing past her shoulders. I was goddamn enchanted and so in love I was ready to leap those tall buildings in a single bound again. Maybe hire a plane to sky-write I love you Fiona Quinn. Light up an entire city block to declare my feelings for the world to see.

  “Max, oh my god,” she gasped, moving her hips in a circle. I wrapped my fingers around her waist, lifted her up and down, grinned when she panted my name over and over.

  That was the last rational action I was able to do. After that, Fiona planted her palms on my chest and rode me hard and fast, giving me everything I’d ever wanted, ever needed. She dropped down, pressed our foreheads together, kept taking me as deep as she could. I was probably going to actually die from pleasure this time. My hands tangled into her hair, and I lifted my mouth to hers.

  “I love you so damn much,” I whispered. She cried out, shuddered. I flipped her back over, pinned her down, and groaned in wonder as we climaxed together—kissing, sighing, panting.

  “I love you so damn much,” she echoed, laughing softly as I nuzzled against her neck. She squeezed me tight. I held her close. Both of us took long, soothing inhales to slow our breathing.