Quinn left the afterparty early in the morning and made her way up to her suite in the hotel. All in all, it had been a successful night, in spite of the fact Firestorm didn't win a Grammy. Quinn was glad the whole thing was over. As she made her way down the hallway to her room, she knew she really needed a break and was looking forward to being back in LA.
Once inside her suite, she stripped off all the black leather. Jumping into the shower, grabbing her toothbrush on the way, Quinn let the warm water run over her body, leaning her head on the cold tile. It felt good to let all the "rock star" vibe go down the drain. It wasn't who she was. Keeping up that persona in public was wearing her down.
Her mind drifted back to the "Addicted to You" performance. That had been fun, especially when that cute little brunette (what was her name again?) had given her some of her own medicine. She towled off and remembered she had to be up early, her flight back to LA was scheduled to depart at 9:20am. Once in bed, she fell into dreamless sleep, mostly from exhaustion.
Her cell phone alarm went off at 5:00am, she'd only had three hours sleep. It didn't matter really, she'd sleep during the flight. If all went according to plan, she'd be back in LA by lunch and home by 1:00pm Pacific time. She picked up an email from her manager asking to text her as soon as she got in. She dressed down in torn jeans slung low on her hips, a black T shirt, tucked only at the belt buckle, black Chucks and her black leather jacket. She threw on mirrored aviators and was catching a cab to LaGuardia in no time.
Quinn's black Escalade drove through the gate of her Los Feliz home at 1:10pm. The driver opened her door then proceeded to bring in her luggage. Carmen, her housekeeper/cook and Felix, her groundskeeper/handyman met her at the door. The married couple stayed in the guest house and made sure everything was taken care of when Quinn was away. Her home had been built in 1925, a Mediterranean style house sitting high on a hillside on an acre of land. The long driveway had a double gate, the property had a privacy wall surrounding it, and of course, state of the art security. The six bedroom, five bath home had rich wood, wrought iron and oversized windows throughout. To Quinn it was her sanctuary. Her favorite spaces were the rooftop deck where she had a fantastic view of downtown LA and the salt water infinity pool. She dropped onto the nearest sofa and texted her manager.
Quinn: Hey Bobbi. What's going on?
Roberta Martinez-Quesada had been Quinn's manager since the band had formed.
Bobbi: I need to meet you in my office. An opportunity has come up that I think you'll be interested in.
Quinn: Okay, why can't we discuss it now?
Bobbi: It would take too long, besides it's a surprise.
Quinn: I don't like surprises, especially in business.
Bobbi: Trust me, I think you're going to like this one.
Quinn huffed: Okay, Ill come down in the morning, but it better be good.
Passing through the kitchen on her way to the pool-side deck, Carmen handed Quinn a scotch over ice, just what she needed. "Thanks, Carmen." she smiled, loving the way her housekeeper knew all her quirks and eccentricities. Quinn connected her iPod to the WiFi and dialed up one of her favorite playlists. The music filtered through the audio system of the house and she settled in on a chaise to relax with her eyes closed.
By 7:00pm, Quinn was restless and edgy. She knew what she wanted, needed really. She pulled her Jeep out of the garage and headed to MO's, a gay bar in San Diego. She got there a little after 10:00pm, just in time for the place to start rocking. She grabbed a double scotch at the bar (likely to nurse it all night) and planted herself against a wall, close to the dance floor, where she could watch the crowd. She had on black skinny jeans, a white tank (no bra), a black short-cut military style jacket with four silver buttons on each side slanting from the shoulder to the opening and black knee high boots. She covered her blonde hair with a black straw fedora.
It wasn't long before she caught the eye of a cute 20-something dancing with two other women. She wore a sleeveless sun dress, white, short skirt and fuck-me red heels. The girl was obviously staring and when Quinn locked on her gaze, she blushed and diverted her eyes, but only momentarily. She looked back in Quinn's direction and Quinn gave her a half smirk, knowing the game had begun. Two songs and another cocktail later, she approached Quinn with a smile. "Hey" she grinned, "see anything you like?" Quinn nearly rolled her eyes at that.
"Where's your girlfriend?" Quinn asked.
"Oh, I don't have one. "
"Enjoying your evening?"
"Um, I could be." replied the girl, blatantly flirting. Quinn took both her hands and pulled her to within an inch of her mouth, then waited. The girl glanced back and forth between Quinn's eyes and her mouth, clearly wanting to be kissed, so Quinn obliged. She intended for the kiss to be tentative, brief, trying to see how far this chick wanted to go, but the girl melted into her, shoving her tongue in Quinn's mouth as if she was the last lesbian on earth.
Quinn led her out the back door, through the fenced-in patio and around the corner to a dark spot between buildings. She had been there before. Spinning the stranger around and pushing her into a wall, she pinned her with a deeper kiss. The girl was panting now, moaning. Quinn lifted one of her legs and hooked it over her own hip, opening this girl to all kinds of possibilities. Reaching under her skirt, Quinn slid her hand down under elastic. Ms. Stranger was ready. Quinn entered with two fingers and no warning. She pumped hard, pressing her thumb where it needed to be. It didn't take long, and when it was over, Quinn let her go. She leaned with her back to the opposite wall, facing her conquest. The stranger took two steps toward Quinn and dropped to her knees, reaching for the button on Quinn's jeans. Quinn let her.
