Page 26 of Savage Suit

“Oh, Quinn,” I said, pulling her up and hugging her. “Baby, I believe you!” I kissed her cheek. “And I’m sorry for harping. I won’t ever bring it up again. What the hell am I thinking? I know you’d be honest.”

She lowered her gaze and nodded.

“Enjoy yourself tonight. You don’t need my anal retentiveness marring your fun.”

“You’re fun, too, and I insist you come out with me.”

“But—”

“C’mon, Ryan,” she coaxed. “We won’t be at the place that long. There are just three matches before the main event.”

“How long is—”

“Each fight averages between nine and fifteen minutes,” she inserted, interrupting my question with an answer.

The possibility of a job tempted me into reconsidering. I had no interest in paying to watch violence or any type of sports. And the idea of a crowded building with sweaty, cheering people—possibly drunk—sounded like hell.

However, working as a secretary was short-selling my skills. Making a wrong move and dying filled with regrets frightened me. So many times, I wondered if my parents regretted how their lives turned out. From what I’d heard, my parents had experienced love at first sight when they’d met in high school, once my Creole mother and her parents moved from New Orleans. Mom and Dad met on the first day back at school. She’d been a junior, he a senior. Nine months after she earned her diploma, Armani was born. After growing up with each other, my parents were killed in the prime of their lives and didn’t have a happy ending to their love story. My mother had been forty-four, and my dad had been forty-five.

I didn’t think they had regrets, but I’d never know. There’d just been…something…something about them and their ‘happy’ life I couldn’t put my finger on.

Iwouldregret starving though, so secretarial work was better than the alternative. Giving myself to shady men after shaking my ass in the nude or being homeless sounded worse. So as the days dragged on, being picky became less and less of a possibility. Besides, I had only myself to blame. Noah Keegan might've hired me if I hadn’t lost my temper.

“Ryan,” Quinn drawled. “Are you accepting the invitation?”

“You’re pretty insistent on me going.”

“I miss hanging out with you. Other than that infamous ball, ever since you were fired, you’ve just been job searching, watching our sister’s bratty children, or sulking around your apartment. Itisunderstandable, but still…”

“The kids aren’t that bad, and you make me sound deeply depressed.”

“You’re not?!” she exclaimed with genuine surprise.

“Qui—”

“Shut up, stop whining, and give me an answer,” she rushed out, cutting me off again. “Just think of the job I guarantee Paul will give you. I have excellent oral skills, you know?” Giggling at my glare, she waved her hand in dismissal. “You’re bummed out over losing the opportunity to work for Noah Cocksucker, or whatever his name was. So what? Get over it. You need to explore other options right now.”

Upon hearing her nickname for Keegan, I laugh-snorted. “Fine, fine, I’ll go. What time is the match for?”

“10 p.m.” She glanced at her watch. “We have three hours to get ready. Take a shower, and I’ll pick out an outfit for you. I’ll borrow one too if you don’t mind.”

Chapter Five

“Why are these pants so baggy?” Quinn whined three and a half hours later, tugging up the jeans she’d borrowed as we descended the stairs to reach our seats.

On me, the black skinny jeans hugged my hips and ass beautifully. A belt always gathered the extra room left at the waist. But on her, even with a belt, the waistband barely clung to her slenderness and drowned her long legs in a sea of denim.

“I bought them to fit me, not you,” I reminded her, “and my ass is bigger than yours.”

“I’m so happy I wore a sports bra with these stupid jeans; else, I would look like a 2000s backup dancer.”

I smirked at her. “Newsflash: You still look like a 2000s backup dancer. Crop tops and baggy jeans were in back then. Seeing a bit of your thong doesn’t help.”

Quinn pursed her lips. “That is intentional. It’s called fashion, my dear. Y2K is in right now. I just don’t want to look like Soulja Boy.”

“Whatever. Where’d Paul go?”

“To get refreshments,” she answered as we found our seats amid the third match.