Bad Luck (quinn hughes x oc)

VIII.

𝙂𝙚𝙤𝙧𝙜𝙞𝙖

Now that Quinn was standing so close to her, Georgia had resorted to lowering her gaze. She wanted to look up at him-wanted to gauge the honesty of his words-but she was afraid that, in doing so, she would give herself away. He would see that she was all bark and no bite: as much as she had shown for her anger and frustration, none of it was stronger than her desire to believe that Quinn was telling the truth.

She wanted him to like her, even if it would certainly end in flames.

"G," Quinn prompted, and Georgia finally lifted her chin to look at him. His eyes flitted over her expression, searching for something. "Do you believe me?" he asked, voice soft.

The words were spoken with such sweetness that they melted the walls of Georgia's insecurity-at least long enough for her to murmur, "I believe you."

At this, Quinn hung his head and straightened his shoulders. He looked over his shoulder, towards the window of his apartment, which looked out over the water. After a moment, his gaze still fixated elsewhere, he asked Georgia, "What happened to your arm?"

Georgia shook herself from the trance into which she had fallen, replying awkwardly, "My co-worker spilled coffee on me." She pulled back her sleeve to look at the damage, which had at least started to heal. Quinn finally returned his eyes to her, this time to study the burn on her forearm between them. "My brother is a doctor," Georgia explained, "so I've been sending him pictures pretty much every day to make sure it's healing okay."

"Your brother," Quinn prompted, sitting down in the bar stool beside Georgia. "Hoa's dad?"

The mention of her nephew brought a smile to Georgia's lips. "Yes," she giggled. "Jensen. His wife, Tien, is six months pregnant with another boy." Georgia shook her head. "Hard to believe I'll have two nephews to babysit soon."

As she spoke, Quinn's eyes never left her, nor did his smile fade. It was like he was enthralled by her-like he hung hopefully to every word she said. "Is Hoa playing hockey yet?" he asked with a grin.

Georgia couldn't help but smile back, nudging his knee gently with her own. "Of course," she assured him. "I've gotta admit, he's actually pretty good."

"What position?" Quinn inquired as he raised his brows.

"Defence," remarked Georgia. "He wants to be just like you."

This time, when Quinn smiled at her, Georgia felt heat rush into her cheeks. She loved the way he looked at her; she never wanted him to stop looking at her like that. "Well," Quinn concluded, "if he ever wants to come out on our practice rink to run some drills with me, I'd be happy to make it happen."

"Really?" Georgia replied. The kindness of the offer stirred the butterflies in her stomach. Keep it together, G, she reminded herself. He's just a regular guy-forget the famous hockey player stuff. Aloud, she managed, "Hoa might actually pass out if I told him that."

"Sounds like we have to make it happen then," Quinn chuckled. He lifted his chin to meet Georgia's eyes, which were frozen on him in admiration. Before she could even process what was happening, Quinn's fingers brushed against her temple as he tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear.

If Georgia didn't know better, she might have thought he was thinking about kissing her. There was no way, right?

Georgia's phone vibrated on the counter where she'd put it down. It ripped her attention from Quinn. She took once glance at the screen and felt her heart drop into her stomach. Dmitri.

What the actual fuck? Georgia's jaw dropped open a little. Dmitri never called her. Sure, they had exchanged numbers when she was hired earlier in the year, but Georgia had done that with all of her co-workers. And none had ever used hers.

Panicked, Georgia rejected the call, flipping the phone back over so that her screen was face-down on the counter. Quinn, though, had almost certainly seen the name on the call, as well as Georgia's awkward reaction to it.

"Just a-co-worker," hurried Georgia. "Sorry."

"No worries," he promised, though the softness of his gaze had strayed from Georgia and was now fixated on the window once again.

Georgia's chest tightened, and she felt suddenly out of place. With a sigh, she rose up out of the bar stool and murmured, "I don't want to overstay my welcome, so I'll head out."

It caught Quinn by surprise: his head whipped back around as he stood. "Oh," he stammered. "Okay-that's okay."

Georgia nodded, but she made no move for the door. Maybe she was still holding onto some strand of hope that Quinn really did mean everything he said.

He tried, "I've got a game tomorrow afternoon. Do you and Hoa want to come? Your brother and his wife are welcome, too. I can grab you tickets."

Georgia's eyes widened a little in surprise. She thought for sure that she was dreaming. Stuttering, she replied, "Yeah-I would love that. We would love that," she corrected.

Quinn smiled, and Georgia thought fore sure that she heard him let out a little sigh of relief. "Awesome," he breathed. "I'll text you the tickets?"

"That sounds great," Georgia declared, hopeful that the flush in her cheeks wasn't nearly as obvious as it felt. Because she was afraid to look Quinn in the eye, she grabbed her phone off the counter and slipped it into her pocket. "I'll see you tomorrow then?" she prompted.

Again, he smiled, and it nearly brought Georgia to her knees. He replied, "I can't wait."