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I’m hyperventilating.
“Put me on speakerphone,” she demands. That’s fine by me, because I can’t breathe. “Quinn,” Cayenne says as I hold my phone up, “and for fuck’s sake, breathe, Aria.”
His eyes flick to me questioningly as I hold the phone up.
“Cayenne?” he questions.
“I thought you were a woman,” she says, not holding her punches. I mean, it is what it is, but it also sounds terrible. She’s kept me alive this long though. “You led me to believe you were a woman, otherwise I may not have allowed you to pick up my precious cargo.”
For a moment, the guy, Quinn, just blinks while focusing on the road, clearly dumbfounded. “I…”
“Did not have any gender specs on your profile.” Her fingers clack away. “Damn you, there it is on your license.”
“Okay, but it’s not like I have a soft voice,” he retorts.
“How dare you?” Cayenne says, and I know she is three seconds from throwing down. It doesn’t matter how many miles sit between her and the man in the front seat.
She will fuck him up somehow, and I’m not going to lie, a part of me wants to know how she’ll do it, but alas, I should diffuse the situation.
I interrupt their bickering. “Cayenne, am I safe?”
She pauses. If it were a solid no, she would not have paused. Finally, she answers, “You’re safe,” and then she rushes out, “I’ll be tracking you.” The line goes dead.
“She’s like one of those rottweilers.” Quinn chuckles nervously.
Same, dude. I feel the same anxious energy.
“She’s protective,” I hedge while looking out the window.
“Gathered as much. Cayenne has talked about this mysterious bestie for a long time. Honestly, I thought you were an invisible friend.” He laughs nervously again.
Sighing, I shift in my seat. “I didn’t know she knew anyone in Puritan City.” I’m not mad at him, but I’m annoyed that she knew people here and never told me when she thought this was the best city for me to hide in. Now I’m feeling all kinds of suspicious, because clearly she had some trickery bullshit going on in that mind of hers.
“Looks like Cayenne played us both,” he says softly. “Listen, let’s start over. I’m Quinn Clark. I’m twenty-seven and a Virgo. I live with—” He pauses, glancing back at me. “My roommates. I have three.”
“I once had a goldfish,” I tell him as I ease into the seat, relaxing a little, but just a little. No more.
“A goldfish.” He smiles in the rearview mirror, and it’s damn near disarming. “What was his name?”
“Goldie.” I shift again because this car is fancy but also really uncomfortable.
“How very creative,” he teases me, and the banter feels nice. I usually don’t talk to men.
“The third Goldie just died.” I frown, because clearly I’m a terrible pet parent.
Quinn thinks I’m hilarious though. “Goldie one, two, and three. I like it.” He nods to himself. “We had a hamster once.”
“Past tense,” I note.
“Well, yes. They bite a lot.” He chuckles to himself. “See, this one time—” His phone rings. “Oh, excuse me, I need to answer this.” He presses a green button on his little screen labeled Dash. “Bro, what’s up?”
Loud music blares through the speakers, and Quinn glances at me in the rearview apologetically. “Q!” someone who’s obviously drunk slurs on the other line. “I need you…” There’s a long pause. “To pick me up.”
“Dash, are you drunk?” Quinn clenches the steering wheel with white knuckles. “Dash?”
“Hey, baby,” the other male coos at a girl.
“Don’t fucking touch my girl!” an angry voice yells, and it instantly makes me crouch in the back seat.
