The Best Part of Me (7 page)

Instead of letting her hair air dry like normal, she'd taken the effort to make it look nice by blow-drying it. Her yellow wrap dress looked especially cheerful this evening, its thin straps hanging daintily over her shoulders under her navy cardigan. The dress tied snugly on the side and flowed down to a couple inches above her knees.

With the exception of Lisbeth, who was as pretentious as they came, Erin's friends seemed really nice. They sat in the corner booth at Katie's and were on their second round of drinks. Rory, Erin, and Quinn had met Darcy, Lisbeth, and two of Rory's bandmates, Ian and Charlie, at the pub. For every glass of wine Quinn drank, Rory, Ian, and Charlie drank two beers. Darcy sipped on a tumbler of whiskey while Lisbeth and Erin nursed their beers.

“So Quinn, is it true that Ewan McKenna gave you a black eye?” Ian asked. The only way to describe the guy was eclectic. His long brown hair was pulled up into a man bun, and his dark-framed glasses made him look like Buddy Holly.

“No, he didn't. It was some other guy who bumped into me, not Ewan.”

At the mention of his name, Quinn looked over at the bar to steal a glance at the man in question. She wasn't sure if it was the wine, but he looked exceptionally good tonight. He wore a white long-sleeved thermal shirt with three buttons down his chest. The sleeves were pushed midway up his forearms, which appeared dark against the light-colored fabric. His chest and shoulders were broad and his waist slender. The muscles in his arms were impressive, not like a body builder but like someone who hauled kegs and trays of glasses all day. His dark hair was unruly, and a few strands hung down toward his eyes. There was a dark shadow of stubble along his jawline.

He was extremely masculine, in every sense of the word. He had a dangerous air about him, almost primitive. Her eyes ran over his body, soaking in every feature.

When she'd first come in, she'd involuntarily sought him out. When she'd found him, he was looking in her direction with his dark soul-searching eyes. Her heart had taken a leap up into her throat. It'd lasted only for a moment before he'd turned to talk to another man behind the bar. She later found out that the other man was his cousin from Boston. The only thing the two of them had in common was that they were both extremely attractive. Other than that, Sean's light hair and eyes were a stark contrast to Ewan's dark…everything.

“He could bump into me anytime he wants to.”

Quinn looked over at Lisbeth, who was staring at Ewan with a dreamy gaze.

“He'd probably rather not wait in line,” Darcy deadpanned, not looking up from her phone.

Lisbeth snorted. “I'd let him move to the front of the line. Jesus, I'm sure even a lesbian could appreciate Ewan McKenna. We should ask Darcy. She'd know the answer to that.”

Darcy pinned her narrow eyes on her friend. “I'd say that
if I were
a lesbian, I might think Ewan McKenna was hot. But I sure as fuck wouldn't touch you with a ten-foot pole.”

Lisbeth rolled her eyes. Darcy caught Quinn watching her and winked. Quinn took a quick sip of her wine to stop from laughing. Darcy and Lisbeth had some sort of love-hate relationship that she hadn't quite figured out yet.

“So, let's talk about next weekend!” Erin blurted out. She had just started on her second beer, and she was already slurring her sentences.

Rory draped his arm around his fiancée's shoulders. “It's gonna be our biggest gig yet. Whatever the plans are, you can count me and the boys out. We'll be practicing and setting up all day on Saturday.”

“Where is it?” Quinn asked.

“Baxter University near downtown Boston. It's the grand opening of their performing arts center.”

“It's my alma mater,” Charlie added.

“My vote is the four of us girls get a room downtown for Saturday night. We hit up Newbury Street and Copley Place in the morning and then glam up at the hotel before heading to the show,” Erin said.

“I'm in!” Lisbeth squealed.

“If I must,” Darcy grumbled.

Quinn shrugged her shoulders. “Sure.”

Rory, Ian, and Charlie started talking music, and Lisbeth and Erin started chatting about the stores that they all must go to next week. Darcy finished her whiskey and looked over at Quinn and shook her head.

“Tell me you are dreading next weekend as much as I am.”

Quinn laughed. “You don't like shopping?”

“I like shopping. But shopping with these two”—she tilted her head toward the oblivious Erin and Lisbeth—“is like getting an enema.”

Quinn giggled as she drank the last of her wine. Her stomach was nice and warm from the alcohol. She was right at the point where she knew she should stop, but it felt so good she definitely wanted another glass. She looked over and saw Ewan standing next to his cousin at the opposite end of the long bar.

When he'd stopped to help her earlier in the week, he'd seemed so different than the gruff and indifferent guy she'd met that night in the alley. Maybe there was hope for the man after all. Courage swelled in her belly, and she had the sudden urge to talk to him to see if her newfound theory held any weight. A few seats had emptied out near where he was standing. Maybe it was time to order another drink.

She looked over at Darcy. “You want another one?”

“Sure, thanks.”

Quinn weaved around the closely packed tables and chairs, saying excuse me whenever she bumped into someone. When she finally reached the bar, she hopped up on the vacant stool near where Ewan was standing. Quinn plastered a warm smile on her face and was about to call out to him when she saw the stony expression on his face. He was staring down the gentleman to her left.

Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

She was rethinking her brave plan when the gentleman looked her way. Small, close-set eyes assessed her. They were dark, and she couldn't see where his pupils stopped and the irises began. His black hair was cut military short, but his eyebrows were quite large and didn't belong on his face. Her stomach tightened at the way his gaze moved slowly down her body. She instinctually leaned away.

“Hello, darling,” he purred. His voice was low and slimy. He turned back to Ewan and grinned. “If you won't let me buy myself a drink, how about I buy her one?”

“No,” Ewan growled.

Quinn exhaled slowly. Definitely a bad idea to be there. Ewan glanced her way, and his eyes were severe and cold. She slid off her stool, deciding the best thing to do would be to leave. As soon as her feet touched the ground, the guy with the bushy eyebrows put his hand at her waist.

“Don't mind him, darling. He's got terrible manners. Stay awhile.”

“Don't touch her.”

Quinn looked over at Ewan. His eyes were locked on the man with such fearsome intensity it made the hair on her arms rise. He looked like a predator just before he pounced. His whole body was deathly still, but the way his left hand was squeezing the dishcloth, she could practically see the white knuckles splitting through his skin.

“Excuse me,” she said and began to move away.

Ewan looked formidable, like he was barely holding himself together. Surely no man in his right mind would do anything contrary to what Ewan wanted.

The man's arm snaked around her lower back, blocking her from taking another step.

It looked like she was mistaken.

People nearby were staring. Quinn felt like she was in a vacuum and the white noise of the pub was drifting away. The man on the stool grinned down at her and pulled until her hip slid up against his thigh. She couldn't stop staring at his eyes, which sat so close together at the top of his long, bulbous nose. She'd never seen anything like it before. It was so distinguishable that she'd be able to pick him out of a police lineup without any hesitation. And something told her that the menacing man might be very familiar with police lineups.

“What's your name?” he asked.

Quinn said nothing. She leaned away from him, pushing on the bar to break his grip on her waist.

“None of your goddamn business,” Ewan growled. If this guy was smart, he'd leave the pub quickly.

The lecherous man tilted his head to get a better look at Quinn and sneered, “Ah, she is a pretty little thing, isn't she? Those lovely legs and this long, thick hair.” He licked his lower lip. She was able to tilt her head way before he touched her hair.

Sean moved around the side of the bar and grabbed Quinn's hand. Luckily, the man dropped his grip on her but not without trailing his nasty fingers across her backside as Sean pulled her away.

Bile rose in the back of her throat.

Quinn looked over to where her friends were sitting, and all their eyes were glued to the scene unfolding around her. She gripped Sean's hand hard as he led her toward where Ewan stood.

Once they cleared the end of the bar, Sean positioned himself in front of her. The man with the bushy eyebrows was still leering at her, and she could only imagine the awful thoughts creeping through his mind. Even with the distance, his gaze still made her feel like there were roaches crawling all over her skin.

“Get the fuck out of here. All of you,” Ewan said to the men as he moved to stand beside Sean. The side of Ewan's jaw twitched, and she knew that if these guys didn't leave soon, things would get ugly.

In unison, like they'd rehearsed it before they got there, all four men slid down from their seats. Their stools screeched on the dull wood floor, and the shrill sound rang in Quinn's ears. A hush had fallen over the pub, every eye glued to them.

Before she could process anything else, Ewan turned, grasped Quinn's shoulders, and pushed her toward a nearby open door.

“Go through this door and lock it. Don't come out here, do you understand me?” he whispered harshly in her ear. He pushed Quinn inside and slammed the door behind her, not waiting for an affirmation.

On autopilot, she quickly turned the deadbolt as she was instructed. She looked around and realized she was in a stairway that led up to the second floor of the building. Wanting to put as much distance between herself and the door, she followed the stairway up and sat on the top step.

And then all hell broke loose.

Loud cursing shouts were followed by the brain-numbing squeals of fifty chairs being vacated at once as the entire pub collectively began to vacate. The sound of breaking glass mixed with yelling, and the dull thuds of bodies colliding seemed to shake the stairs as if a herd of wild buffalo were stampeding on the other side of that door. Quinn hugged her knees and closed her eyes as the sounds of the fight came up the stairwell. Several times something or someone hit the door, and she jumped at the sound.

Her blood pressure rose, and Quinn tried desperately to remember the tips her therapist had told her for when she faced a panic attack. She hadn't had one in months, but as she sat by herself in that lonely stairway and listened to the brawl downstairs, the familiar feelings of helplessness swam all around her. Her breath started to run away, and the faster she tried to catch it, the less air she could pull in.

Something heavy hit the door below.

Belly breathing. That's what her therapist had told her to do. She'd practiced it a hundred times.

Quinn quickly placed her right hand on her stomach and her left hand on her chest. She released a sigh, forcing her muscles to relax. She paused at the bottom of the sigh for a couple seconds, then slowly pulled air into her lungs.

A glass shattered against the wall. Quinn opened her eyes in time to see a few shards scoot under the door and hit the bottom step.

She quickly closed her eyes again and concentrated on the feeling of her lungs full of air. Wonderful, powerful air that fueled her blood with oxygen. Blood that ran through her veins and arteries to sustain life in her body. Her body, which was strong and whole.

A man roared on the other side of the door.

She winced but forced herself to gently release her breath. She felt her heartbeat begin to slow, her shoulders relax slightly, and the muscles under her hands unclench.

As if someone flipped a switch, all the noise from below stopped.

She knew it was absurd to feel personally responsible for what had happened in the pub. All she'd done was sit at a barstool. It wasn't like she'd thrown any punches or dumped a drink on someone to incite a riot. Yet her anxiety was racing at the thought that maybe her being there at that time had forced Ewan to be defensive.

God, if she thought the man hadn't liked her before, he was bound to loathe her now. She found herself saying silent prayers.

Please let Ewan be okay. Please let his pub not be in ruins.

After what seemed like forever, she saw a shadow pass under the door. She nearly jumped off the top step when someone pounded loudly on the other side.

“Quinn, open up,” someone yelled.

She quickly went down the steps but hesitated at the bottom.

“It's Sean. Open up.”

She decided to trust her instincts and unlocked the latch. The door opened, and Sean was standing there with a smirk on his face. He didn't look beaten up, but his shirt was torn at the neck and his hair a mess. She tried to look around him to see the pub, but his large, broad frame blocked her view.

“Are you okay?” Quinn asked.

“Yeah. I'm fine,” he snickered, bracing his arm against the doorframe.

“What's so funny?”

He shook his head. “You should see your face. You look downright terrified.”

Annoyed that he found any enjoyment in the situation at all, she chose to ignore him.

“Is Ewan—”

She didn't have time to finish her question. The door swung open and slammed against the pub wall. Ewan came around Sean, and as soon as he locked eyes with Quinn, all the breath left her lungs.

He was seething mad.

She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing would come out.

Ewan pushed past Sean and grabbed her arm right above the elbow, pulling her up the stairs. Sean chuckled and slowly closed the door behind them.