Read Give Me Strength Online

Authors: Kate McCarthy

Tags: #Romance, #Contemporary

Give Me Strength (8 page)

I gratefully agreed, grabbing what I needed from
the desk before Mac ushered me into the kitchen where Henry was
pouring a cold drink.

“Where’s our drink, asshead?”

Henry smirked and levered himself up on the
kitchen counter. “Get your own.”

Mac glared and then looked at me pointedly. “See
what I have to deal with? Welcome to my world.” She huffed and
opened the fridge. “Do you know if Sandwich is doing the shop?
There’s no food.” She half turned to face me. “Another drink,
Quinn?”

I declined and she opened a bottle of Diet Coke.
The front door slammed and Evie came whizzing into the kitchen. She
looked different then she did when she took off hurriedly this
morning. A grin was splitting her face a mile wide. It was
infectious and I found myself smiling back as she opened the fridge
and grabbed her own drink, and Mac introduced us properly.

“So tell us,” Mac demanded, hands on her
hips.

Evie raised her brows at Mac. “Tell you
what?”

“Chook,” Henry said warningly to Evie from his
seated position on the kitchen bench. “She’s gonna blow!”

Henry chuckled as Mac tried to push him off.

“Jared bought a house and we’re moving in
together.”

Silence reigned as both Mac and Henry froze, so
I figured this must be pretty big news. I wondered how it would
feel, that sweet burst of love, of sharing it with someone else
every day and building a life together. Immediately I thought of
Travis and my chest burned. I rubbed at it a little. Was it
possible for water to give you indigestion?

“Sorry, did you say you and my brother were
moving in together?”

“Uh, yeah, I did,” Evie replied.

Henry scooted off the bench, folded Evie in his
arms, and whispered something in her ear. I could see her eyes
soften, and then Mac was squeezing her hard. I felt like I was
intruding on a private moment and took a step back.

“I love you, you know I do,” Mac told Evie when
she pulled back, “but you know what this means.”

“I do?”

She started to chuckle slowly until it escalated
into a full on wheezing, tear streaming, hyperventilating moment.
“Sandwich,” she choked out.

“What?” Evie shouted.

“Your days of chips and chocolate are numbered.
From now on it’s mung beans and grilled chicken all the way.”

Henry also started to wheeze with laughter and
looking at the three of them, I had absolutely no idea what was
going on.

She flexed her jaw. “Thanks for the
support.”

Henry waved a hand at her as they both gasped
for air. Evie muttered a “nice to meet you” at me, grabbed her bag,
and said, “I’ll be in the damn car waiting when you’re all ready to
leave.”

***

 

 

At around six that
evening I was utterly exhausted from a day I was still trying to
wrap my head around. Putting a tray of chicken in the oven, I
started to relax, but a phone call from Mac ensured the day had not
finished with me yet. I picked it up, answering absentmindedly as I
placed a saucepan on the stove top.

“Quinn?”

“Hi, Mac.”

She paused. “There’s a slight problem. I missed
giving you some of the paperwork today that needs to go to Jettison
Records in the morning.”

“Oh. Well that’s okay. I can just leave a little
earlier and swing by to get it first thing.”

“That won’t work because we’ll be out early.
They want us on set at six in the morning, and I forgot to give you
a key. Can you come get it now?”

“Actually, Mac, I sort of can’t leave right now.
I’m sorry. Can I swing by in maybe an hour or so?”

Justin was eating dinner here tonight, and I was
in the middle of making it. We traded business. He walked Rufus for
me every other day, and I fed him a home cooked meal. Food for
Justin was a high commodity. It made sense because not only did he
share an apartment with three other guys, he was also Lucy’s
younger brother. Justin never ate anything at their place. Neither
did I for that matter, but Justin was moving soon. Finished with
uni, he was taking a new job interstate, and I was losing my dog
walker.

“Okay. Um…hang on,” Mac told me.

I heard a muffled sound as though she was
putting her hand over the speaker. “Travis,” she hissed.

Oh no.

“I need you to drop some papers over to Quinn’s
on your way to Mum and Dad’s place.”

Her words left me feeling like my body had just
plummeted through an open trapdoor beneath my feet. I spun around
from the stove and glanced down at my very unsexy, but very
comfortable, pink fairy princess pyjamas, and I knew that just
having washed my hair, it would be fluffed out to wild
proportions.

“Mac,” I heard him say, sounding put out. “Can’t
you do it?”

“No, I have to get to Mum’s early to help with
dinner. I don’t have time. Come on, asshead. It won’t take a
second.”

“Mac,” I shouted down the phone. “Really, it’s
okay. I can—”

“No, no,” she cut me off. “It’s all good. Travis
said he’d love to help out.” I heard a loud thump and a muffled
ouch
. “He’s going to deliver them to you, okay? Just hang
tight. He’ll be there in half an hour.”

“Uh…well I think—”

She cut me off again with, “Anyway, I have to
go. Thanks so much Quinn. I’ll see you tomorrow,” and hung up the
phone.

My fingers dialled Lucy in a panic. Yes, she
only lived next door, but there was no time for such pleasantries
as knocking on the door.

“Yo, Quinny,” she answered.

“Lucy.” I poured out two wines and tucking my
phone between my ear and my shoulder, I raced into the bedroom and
sat them on the bedside table. “I have a problem and I need you
here yesterday.”

I flung open the wardrobe door.

“Calm down and tell Lucy what’s wrong,” Lucy
said in her fake, soothing voice. I know it’s fake because it takes
on a low, drawn-out pitch when she thinks I’m behaving like a five
year old, which quite frankly, I knew I was doing right now, but I
had good reason.

“It’s Travis,” I half yelled as I rummaged
through my shelves for something I could wear. “He’s on his way
here. And if you speak in the third person again, I’ll slap you,” I
added as an afterthought.

“Oh Em Gee, Quinn!” she squealed. “You rang him
after all. You sneaky hooha! You told me you never got his
number.”

“I didn’t.” God. Where to begin with that? “I
don’t have time for explanations. I need you.”

“Fine, but you better tell me everything when I
get there. I’ll just grab my bag of tricks and be right over.” She
hung up.

Lucy’s bag of tricks was actually a suitcase
sized bag of makeup, hair products, and all types of beauty
related, mind-boggling, electrical devices. This bag had wheels and
a combination lock that Lucy gave to no one, not even me. Not that
I ever had much use for it until now.

I rummaged through all my clothes, lamenting
that nothing was clean. All my favourite items of clothing, like
the dark, skinny jeans that made me look taller, or the soft pink
knit that made my skin less pasty, were in the laundry. I held up a
pair of denim shorts that I rarely, if ever, wore, but I bought
them for the colour. They were hot pink with black piping along the
pockets—bought in a mindless splurge simply because they were a
bargain. Emerging from the wardrobe, I found Lucy striding in,
wheeling her suitcase behind her.

She looked at me and flinched. “You invited him
over looking like this?”

“I didn’t invite—”

“Just shut up,” she snapped, her eyes flashing.
“I’m so disappointed in you. There’s no time to perform miracles
here.”

Crouching, she unzipped her suitcase and pulled
out her curling wand. She plugged it in and left it to heat on my
bedside table. Next she moved to the wine I’d set out and took a
large gulp, leaving me feeling like I had somehow become Jack
Bauer, starring in my very own series of
24
.
Between the
hours of six pm and seven pm
…..

I picked up mine and took a sip, using my other
hand to toss the shorts I was holding at her. “Everything’s in the
laundry. Are these too short?” She looked at them and opened her
mouth to speak. “Don’t answer that. I know they’re too short.”

She set her wine down and held them up.
“Rubbish. For a little person, you have great legs and a cute butt.
Put them on,” she ordered. She flung them back at me and took a
turn in the wardrobe, coming out with a loose turquoise cotton top
that fitted snugly around the waist and fell off one shoulder.

“What about this thing? It looks casual enough
to think you were just lounging around at home looking sexy. He’ll
take one look at the flawless skin on that shoulder of yours and
want to lick it all up like a lollipop. Trust me.”

I had no choice but to trust her because I was
running out of time. I got changed and she quickly curled my wispy
strands of hair, finishing by running her fingers through them to
make them look casually tousled. She then attacked my face with
some rosy pink blusher, mascara, and strawberry flavoured lip gloss
and pushed me in front of the mirror.

“Ta da.”

I stood in front of the mirror. The lemon yellow
strap of my bra was showing from where the shirt hung off my
shoulder, and I glared when Lucy suggested taking it off.

“I look like a liquorice allsort,” I announced,
looking myself up and down critically.

“Rubbish,” she snapped. “Well, maybe a little,
but who doesn’t love lollies? You can thank me later. I’ll let
myself out.”

“Lucy, I don’t want to look like a lolly. I
don’t want Travis here at all.”

That was a lie. Sort of. I didn’t know what I
wanted. The thought of seeing him had my heart racing a mile a
minute, reminding me of how I felt when I met Ethan. Only Ethan had
been so young, still growing into himself, whereas Travis was
older, packed with muscle, and one hundred percent pure man. His
body had tattoos and the scars of someone who’d lived hard.

Lucy began shovelling all her tools back in her
suitcase and stopped to give me a dubious look. “Are you sure? Why
did you invite him then?”

She zipped her suitcase and started making for
the door.

“I didn’t invite—”

“Gotta go, fairy princess. He’ll be here in five
minutes. Good luck. I’ll be over later to get the lowdown.” With a
roll of her wheels and a slam of the door, she was gone. I took a
deep breath before returning to the kitchen. I opened a packet of
pasta and poured it into the boiling pot of water.

The knock came just as I was pouring another
glass of fortifying wine. I’d never drunk so much in twenty-four
hours in my life. Apparently that was what being Jack Bauer did to
you.

I ran my hands through my tousled curls,
inspected my shirt for spots, and exhaling slowly, opened the
door.

Travis stood there, one hand in his pocket, the
other tapping an envelope impatiently against his leg. My lips
pressed together before a breathy, little moan could escape.
Tonight’s fitted T-shirt was another band, but this time I could
clearly see it as Jamieson. A pair of mirrored aviators hung
casually in the neckline and long, light beige cargo shorts rode
low on his hips. His hair was scraped back in a tie, but a blond
strand had escaped and fell down the side of his face.

Travis froze, the impatient tapping of the
envelope halting against his leg. His rich, green eyes widened on
my face, recognition lighting their depths. His lids lowered as
they tracked slowly down the length of me. My cheeks heated under
the blatant perusal as his eyes worked their way back up to meet
mine.

He cleared his throat. “Quinn?”

I repressed a shiver at the memories his voice
evoked, aiming for a nonchalant expression by trying to relax the
nerves that locked my body tight. It wasn’t working. My hand was
gripped so tight on the door handle my fingers would need to be
pried away.

I nodded, the movement jerky and awkward.
“Travis.”

His brow furrowed with confusion. “You’re Mac’s
new assistant?”

Sighing softly, I replied, “That would be
me.”

A beat of time passed, and then another, as
though Travis was somehow coming to terms with this freak
coincidence. I shifted my legs as I tried to think of something to
say that would fill the charged silence.

“I’m Mac’s older brother,” he told me.

“Great,” I stated brightly, plastering a smile
on my lips that didn’t reach my eyes. I went to take the envelope
from his hands when I heard a sizzle and crackle coming from the
kitchen.

“Oh shit, the pasta!”

Abandoning the doorway in a rush for the stove,
I found the saucepan boiling over, water running down and hitting
the gas cooktop with hissing sparks.

“Crap,” I muttered, flinching when steamy drops
splattered my hand. I yanked it off the stove and grabbed a cloth
to start mopping up the mess.

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