Frog and Quinn: Chapter Three (Patreon)

After a full night of unpacking, exhaustion should’ve pulled at my achy limbs and dragged me to sleep. My brain had different plans. I. Am. Wired. Not just from the notifications buzzing my phone (which feels a lot like a salesperson spamming me with Someone liked your profile!), but my boosted energy is supercharged from being in a new place.

New apartment.

New building.

At 3 a.m. with barely a wink of shuteye, I find myself sneakered-up and outfitted in my favorite Nike leggings and baby blue ribbed sports bra. I feel cute as I roam the building, discovering all the new fancy features and locating the nearest vending machine, which is upscale. With freaking gourmet nuts and rosemary crackers.

I’d wonder if rich people ever eat junk food, if not for my job and being one-degree away from billionaires. Luna stuffs Cheez-Its in her backpack on the regular, and I’m fairly positive the Hale family swears by the Hot Pocket.

This isn’t really my first venture in this New York high-rise. I’ve been here plenty, seeing as how four out of five Cobalt brothers live here.

Hales.

Meadows.

Cobalts.

Those three families are so famous they’ve hired private security to protect every person in each loving brood. They aren’t politicians, pop stars, or actors—though, some could be mistaken for models. They’re just heirs to Fortune 500 conglomerates, mainly Fizzle. A soda company that is the crème de la crème (sorry, Coca-Cola) of all sodas. After a long-ago scandal involving Luna’s mom made national headlines, they were all catapulted from nobodies to somebodies.

Instant notoriety.

I can’t even figure out a time where I didn’t know who these families were. They’ve been dubbed American royalty for an entire generation, and they’re a part of the cultural heartbeat of the country. People want to know everything about them. From where they’re eating, what they’re wearing, and who they’re hanging out with and dating.

In sixth grade, my short-lived friend Janna had the biggest crush on Eliot Cobalt.

For no reason other than she thought he was cute. But I guess, what other reason do you need at twelve? I fully supported it.

I even used to flip through Celebrity Crush magazines at the Target checkout line. I never believed everything I read, but seeing paparazzi catch pics of Charlie Cobalt in Central Park was fascinating. He’s the most enigmatic Cobalt brother, and most bodyguards still act like he’s an unsolvable mystery.

So as an outsider looking in, I totally understand the allure of these families.

Now as an insider looking out, all I care about is creating a safety circle for these people I consider friends by proxy. I’m not full-fledged friends with all of them…or most of them, really. But the only friendship I feel like I need is Luna’s.

Anyway, her cousins Tom Cobalt and Eliot Cobalt are her best friends, so this building in Hell’s Kitchen has been a frequent layover.

But it’s different now. I’m living here. This will be my home, and I want to take in the lay of the land with a newfound perspective. I note the hours for the Starbucks in the lobby (the most important feature), find my new mailbox in the mail room on the second, check out the rec floor on the fifteenth and assess the infinity pool and sauna, then head down the hall to the gym.

Treadmills face full-length windows. Glittering skyline views of New York City are breathtaking, and I smile a little. New York was home once upon a time.

It’s not terrible being back in the state.

I meander around the gym. Leather weight benches and state-of-the-art bikes, ellipticals, and stair climbers fill the space with plenty of room for yoga mats. I consider myself a cardio queen with less emphasis on weightlifting, which sent my Auntie Mint into a fit when I trained with her.

“You need balance, Frog,” she told me pointedly while tugging a boxing glove onto my hand. “Quickness will only get you so far. You need to be able to use your fists, too.” She was a Muay Thai champion around my age, and to even be considered for a position in my cousin’s security firm, I had to learn how to fight and defend from his mom.

I smile at the memory, but it fades fast with grief. I miss her. Only a month training with Auntie Mint and it felt more like years. Maybe it’s a me thing. I attach myself too hard to the people around me.

Freshman year of high school, my best friend told me I occupied too much of her time, so she ditched me for the Yearbook girls. I didn’t realize hanging out every weekend was a cardinal sin, but it’s not like I had siblings to spend time with. I am a certified only child without receiving all the attention from being the solo spawn. My parents getting divorced overshadowed a lot of my childhood. But I’m not about to feel sorry for myself.

These days are brighter.

I might not have siblings, but I have an entire badass security team behind me. I’m a part of an elite group—it’s way better than growing up with a snot-nosed older brother or bratty little sis. It’s one of the many reasons I will hold onto this career with my strong-as-hell grip.

I take that thought with me to the treadmill and mess with the screen. Nice, it’s one of those newer machines with Netflix.

The gym door opens.

I check my watch. 4 a.m. Two college-aged guys are mid-conversation as they stroll inside.

Quick scan: they’re both brown-haired, fair-skinned, and wearing light blue Columbia University tees. I pretend not to notice them and fix my sights on the treadmill’s screen.

“Yeah, I heard she lives on the sixteenth floor.”

My sixth sense (bodyguard intuition) tingles—even though there’s a slim chance they’re talking about my client who lives on the eighteenth floor.

“You heard or you saw? Because last time you told me Zendaya moved in here, it was a load of crap,” the second guy says, his voice deeper than the first.

“Damn, Neal. Why are you giving me such a hard time? I’m just telling you what I heard. Yes, heard. But it’s from a good source. Candace lives on the sixteenth and swears she saw her.” His voice grows closer as they both move toward the rack of free weights.

“I don’t know, Gus,” Neal says warily. “Seems too good to be true. Doesn’t she live in Philly with her brother?”

“Which one?”

“Maximoff Hale.”

My blood goes cold. They are one-hundred percent discussing my client.

“Some forums say she transferred to Manhattan Valley University. But with her other brother.”

“Xander?” Neal snorts. “Doubtful. He’s basically a recluse. And forums are full of shit, man.”

Gus lets out a heavy grunt as he picks up a weight. “Luna Hale is the girl you’ve jerked off to since the tenth grade. I’m just relaying what I heard. Don’t shoot the messenger, bro.”

I spin around at her name and let out a gasp. “Wait, Luna Hale?”

They both swing their heads my way like I teleported into the room. “Yeah.” The deeper voice, who I take as Gus, eyes me up and down for a quick beat. “You heard anything about her moving in?”

“I had no clue,” I say, jumping off my treadmill. “I just moved in last week to the eighteenth floor.”

“No shit,” Neal grins, sizing me up like his friend just did. I’m careful to wrap my arms around my bare torso, concealing a tattoo on my ribs.

SFO

Security Force Omega.

It was my first tattoo. Every Omega bodyguard got the same ink last month, and I can’t be certain whether these guys will understand what it means or not.  

Neal asks, “You go to school around here?”

“Starting Manhattan Valley in the fall.” I tilt my head toward their Columbia University tees. “It’s no Ivy, but they have a really good business program.”

“Yeah, I know, my dad went there,” Neal says. “Now he works at Goldman.” I note the unsubtle hint of that drop.

Gus starts curling the forty-pound dumbbell, and nods toward his friend. “Don’t mind Neal, he’s just showing off. It’s not often a young, pretty girl moves into this building. It’s usually filled with old men one filet mignon away from cardiac arrest.”

I laugh at the lame joke and eye Neal. “You’re the one with the crush on Luna Hale?” I question.

His face flushes, probably since his friend did not refer to her as a “crush” but as his spank bank material. “I mean…she’s cute. She’s kind of a freak though. Have you read her leaked fan fiction or stories or whatever? It’s legit tentacle porn with aliens and shit.”

Asshole. I refrain from curling my fists, and instead, I go to the glass-door mini fridge.

“I think she’s creative,” I defend casually and grab a Voss water. I kick the door closed with my sneaker, aware that they’re both watching my movements like I’m this year’s main attraction. Jeez, maybe there really aren’t many college-aged girls living here. “Hey, isn’t she dating someone? That tattooed bodyguard, right?” I feign confusion.  

Neal shrugs. “Maybe. It probably won’t last long though.”

I nod away my anger. “Well, I haven’t seen her around. Are you sure she moved to this building?”

Neal spins toward his friend with raised brows like I told you so. Gus lets out a lengthy exhale and drops the weights to the ground. “Candace wouldn’t lie to me,” he tells Neal in exasperation.

“I could look out for her,” I offer before they resume that back-and-forth again. “Do either of you have Instagram? I can follow and DM if I spot the one and only Luna Hale.”

“Yeahyeah,” Neal perks up. “Great idea.” He’s pulling out his phone at the same time as Gus. Within a minute, I’m following them on my throwaway account. The one I made with aesthetic pictures of my iced lattes. My username is groundedbean4life. They follow me back, and I say a quick, friendly goodbye before hightailing it toward the elevators.

Neal (aka @nealleniumfalcon) and Gus (aka @nycustommade1) both need to be background checked and put on security’s watch-list. Only one issue—I have zero idea if I’m supposed to be reporting to my old lead or if there’s a new one now that I’m in New York. That wasn’t something we were told in the meeting before the move here.

The security hierarchy is…complicated.

Before I joined, it’d been far less so. There was just one single security firm back in the day—Triple Shield. Underneath that were three different Forces: Alpha, Epsilon, and Omega.

Each bodyguard was split into a Force depending on who they protected, but after a sexy Christmas video of the SFO bodyguards went viral, their notoriety shot up in the media.

On top of that, most Omega bodyguards grew closer to their clients…and formed romantic relations with them. Which, granted yes, they probably should’ve been terminated for violating the biggest rule of them all.

Don’t fuck your client.

Instead, they split off from Triple Shield to do what they wanted. Kitsuwon Securities was born as a result, and I will go down on the record saying it’s a renegade security firm that is 100% better than the sticklers on Triple Shield.

I also might be biased because my cousin is the boss, and he did, in fact, fuck his client. But they’re married and have a baby, so Alpha and Epsilon can suck it.

Or…maybe not. Akara has been trying really hard to create a more symbiotic relationship with Triple Shield, and I can hear his frustrated sigh at me for telling them to choke on a big one.

The only distinguishable difference these days, we’ve been told, is who cuts the paychecks. “Otherwise, you all follow the same rules, the same standards,” Akara told us during a joint security meeting. 

No more renegade firm.

Those lawless days are over.

I punch the elevator button, still trying to determine who I should call when the doors slide open. I step inside then rock abruptly back out. The elevator isn’t empty.

“Eliot?” I say, surprised to see this Cobalt, considering midnight has already struck and it’s June 1st. His birthday.

“Frog.” He says my name like we’re friends, but this is a friend by proxy of Luna.

“Solo b-day party in the elevator?” I ask.

“You just missed the champagne pop. Corkscrew nearly took out my right eye.”

I peek into the elevator as he comes out. Holy shit, no one is actually with him. Not even his bodyguard.

Eliot has a magnetic grin on me, as if he knows that I know he is up to no good. His confidence should be bottled and tested for carcinogens. It feels lethal being around him. Like I will get in big fucking trouble or find myself in grave peril.

Neither of which I want this painfully early in the morning.

Eliot spins around me, and I naturally follow his movement to keep my eyes on his.

If Janna thought a young Eliot Cobalt was hot, I wonder if she’s made a shrine to a twenty-two-year-old Eliot now. He towers at six-four and has a strong jawline and body that rivals Superman.

I mean, fans have literally wanted him to be cast in the new Superman reboot. Considering he’s the only one with major acting talent in these families, it’s not a bad pick, but Luna says Eliot would never be a movie star. His heart is on a theatre stage.

“You’re up early,” I note since he’s a night owl like my client. I pride myself on knowing the sleep schedules of these families. In a non-stalkerish way. It’s my job to be thorough.

“I never went to sleep.” He briefly glances behind me. “Luna isn’t with you?”

“No, just me.” I don’t detect any disappointment from Eliot. I do notice he’s in gray sweats, a white tee, and carries a water bottle like he plans to hit the gym.

A gym that is not empty. He should have security detail on him.

“Not that I don’t love this meet-and-greet,” I say, “but where’s your bodyguard?”

“Fell into the elevator shaft.” Eliot keeps walking backward. “Very gruesome, very sad.”

I bite my tongue from saying, not really. His 24/7 protection is Vance Wreath. I’ve imagined him plummeting down an elevator shaft more than once. But there’s an unspoken code of ethics within security. Do not bad mouth other bodyguards in front of clients.

A tiny growl tries to escape my throat. It’s so tempting. “That is sad.”

“I see no tears,” he teases.

“I don’t cry easily,” I lie, “and seriously, where is Vance?”

Eliot acts bewildered. “Was I not serious?”

“As serious as the meme of your brother gasping with his hands on his head.”

“Tom? Classic. And that was a semi-serious situation, Frog. Tom witnessed a murder right before his eyes.”

I squint. “A murder?”

“The murder of a pedestrian’s self-esteem. Poor guy walked straight into a signpost while texting. Almost knocked himself out cold.”

I force a smile to keep a real one at bay. Eliot has this expression like he’s well aware he can charm the pants off anyone with a pulse. I try so hard not to fall victim to it, but Cobalts are just certified entertainment. It’s fun being around them.

“Okay, but we both know Vance isn’t dumb enough to drop into an elevator shaft”—ugh, did I just compliment him? I try not to make a face like I ate a rotten tomato—“so where did he go?” I raise my voice because Eliot is adding more and more distance between us.

“If you ask Luna, she’d say the pigeons got him. I heard they were out in droves yesterday.”

“Or you didn’t tell him you left your apartment.”

“Or that.” His grin grows and brightens. “Are you going to rat me out, Frog? You do know what they say about traitors?” He mimes slitting his throat.

It’s difficult not to smile back because he really is so unserious. I should be more loyal to Vance than to Eliot. Security is supposed to be my family, not the Cobalt Empire, but I haven’t really adopted all of Epsilon the way my cousin wants me to.

Instead, I tell Eliot, “I was never here, and you should call Vance. Guys are lifting in the gym. And one is obsessed with Luna.”

Eliot screeches to a halt and cranes his neck over his shoulder, eyeing the gym entrance like it wronged him. “Obsessed how?”

“Not creepy creepy or else I would’ve called Donnelly.” Luna’s boyfriend. “One is just very interested in whether she lives here now.”

Eliot says a word in French I don’t understand.

Reminder: brush up on French if I’m going to live among Cobalts for the next three years.

I leave out how that Neal guy masturbated to Luna. Eliot has been known to defend her in creative ways. And I don’t need him to take creative measures on two rich residents here.

“Au plaisir.” He lifts a hand in goodbye while pushing into the gym. That phrase, I know, means until we meet again.

I spin back to the elevator. The doors have shut. Crap. I push the button repeatedly.

My phone blasts out a series of notifications. You’re popular! The Luvvy dating app tells me. Check out who likes you *wink face. It feels so aggressive. Maybe I should have gone with Tinder.

I swipe out of the notifications. Last night, Quinn and I went through the likes (the guys who swiped right on me)—but they were all duds. Many were accounts without photos or just really strange mirror selfies that I didn’t vibe with. After unpacking, we were both beat, so I didn’t have time to do the whole “swiping” thing myself.

I’ve received double the number of likes since I’ve woken up. I’d check them without Quinn, but this feels more like a group project than a solo adventure.  

The elevator button is an unlit gray. What the hell? After pushing it again, it turns off in three seconds. Did the elevator just die on me?

I wait another four minutes, jabbing an angry thumb in the button, and I determine it’s broken.

I guess I’m taking the stairs.

Pushing open the heavy door, I dial Quinn. He answers a groggy “hello” on the second ring.

“Hey, I have a question,” I say.

“What time is it?” he groans. “Why does it sound like you’re in a cave?”

“Almost five,” I answer quickly. “Stairwell. Who does background checks these days?”

“What?” Quinn asks, his voice more gravely in a just-woke-up way. It is…beyond sexy. I’m glad he can’t see my cheeks turn red. I can only imagine his bedhead hair being equally attractive. Lucky are the girls that got to spend all the early mornings cuddling him.

“Background che—” My voice cuts off when I get another call. “Sorry, someone else is calling.”

“Who?”

“Nine…I mean, Akara.” I forget there aren’t many people that call my cousin by his nickname. Though most do know who I’m talking about. I stop in the middle of the stairs. “I’m putting you on hold.”

“Frog,” Quinn’s annoyed voice cuts off when I accept my cousin’s call.

Immediately, I hear the faint sound of a crying baby. “Hey, Frog,” Akara says like this is our everyday catch-up call. It’s not. He just had a baby at the beginning of April. His time is a precious resource that I try not to utilize.

“Hey,” I say, taking each step one at a time again. “How’s Seven?” Seven Kitsuwon Meadows is by far the cutest baby name alive—and I will fight anyone who thinks differently.

“A rascal,” Akara tells me in an exhausted sigh. “All he wants his milk, burps, and sleep.”

“Living the good life,” I say. Sweat starts to build on my chest as I make it up a loooong, endless flight of stairs. How many more of these until I reach the eighteenth level? Jesus. Maybe I’m not a cardio queen?

“How’s everything going with you?” Akara asks. “Anything new?”

“Oh so this is an update call,” I say into a heavy breath. Break time. I pause by an emergency exit-door. I have no clue what floor I’m even near now. “You know you don’t need to worry about me. I’m a law-abiding citizen these days. Haven’t stolen a single thing in months.” I don’t need him to be burdened by me, especially now that he’s a father.

“I’m not worried about that. I just don’t want you to think I’ve forgotten about you.”

My stomach does a turn. “I wouldn’t think that. I’m a part of Omega. I’m almost positive your bodyguards cycle through your head on a daily basis.” My cousin is a workaholic.

Akara lets out a sigh. “I meant more than just as my employee—”

“Yeah, but you don’t need to think about me. I’m fine.”

“You’re family,” he reminds me like that’s everything. I didn’t grow up around Akara. We weren’t close. Hell, we barely knew each other before I even moved to Philly last year. But after his mom, my Auntie Mint, died it does feel like that word holds a different weight.

“So what’s up?” he asks. “Anything new?”

New—I’m online dating in order to lose my virginity. Oh, and your other employee is helping me vet the prospects.

I can’t seem to catch my breath, and I haven’t started moving again.

“Huh, no I don’t think so,” I say evasively. Before he can question me on that, I ask quickly, “Hey, do you know who I’m supposed to report names to for a background check? There are a couple guys living in the apartment building that’ve been fishing for information about Luna. Am I to report to the Omega lead, or is someone in New York going to be a new lead?” I figure Oscar Oliveira, Quinn’s older brother, will be bestowed the promotion. He’s been on SFO the longest and he lives down the hall from the Cobalt brothers in this building.

“No, there won’t be a new lead in New York. We’re trying to work cooperatively with Alpha and Epsilon, so give the names to the Epsilon lead.”

I cringe. “That’s Ian Wreath.” Vance’s older brother.

“Yes,” Akara says like I passed an exam that I didn’t even want to take!

I groan. “Really?”

“They stocked your fridge—”

“It was just some fruits, meats, and veggies,” I complain. “It’s not like they stuffed it with caviar and gruyere cheese.”

“Frog, please,” he says into a deep sigh.

I suck. This is exactly what I was hoping to avoid. I don’t want to add to his stress, and somehow, I always land that way. I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Sorry,” I say. “I’ll work with him.”

“Thank you,” Akara says, genuinely pleased. His son cries louder. “Frick. I need to get Seven more milk. You good?”

“I’m good,” I confirm before we both hang up.

My agitation churns as I stomp up the stairs, then I hear the loud and heavy swing of a stairwell door followed by the hurried rush of footsteps from up above. What the hell?

“Frog!” Quinn’s voice echoes in the cavernous space.

“Quinn?!” I call back and sprint up the stairs. He’s running down them until we both collide at the seventeenth-floor exit-door. His hair is disheveled like he jumped out of bed, and the low-slung flannel pajama pants confirm it. Oh, and he’s shirtless. Still not used to that.

His concerned eyes alarm me more than his appearance.

“Is Luna okay?” I ask worriedly and pull out my phone. Did I miss a message from her?

“What?” he frowns in confusion. “Luna,” I say again. No missed texts or calls. “Our client. The reason you’re half-naked in the stairwell.”

“I’m half-naked in the stairwell because you’re calling me at the ass-crack of dawn from it,” he says in an annoyed breath. “Are you okay?”

He…he ran here for me?

“What?” I gape.

“Since when have you slipped out this early?” he questions me. “And you were talking about background checks. I thought something was wrong.”

Do I feel honored that he jumped out of bed for me or do I feel like shit for it? Am I a weight dragging everyone down? I do get to see his bedhead hair, and confirmed, it’s sexy-as-hell, so there’s an upside I guess.

“Sorry,” I say. “I ran into a couple guys…” I shake my head. “It’s nothing. I need to give their names to Ian.”

“It’s not nothing,” Quinn tells me. “We’re a team.” Those words send a flush down my entire body. I am hot all over. “What names? What happened?”

I quickly explain the gym conversation, my run-in with Eliot, and how he’s without a bodyguard among potential security threats. “I’ll check on him,” Quinn says.

“Casually,” I say. “I never told you anything.”

“Nothing,” he agrees, and I ask about the French word I heard Eliot say.

I explain, “It was like inqui..something."

“Try to spell it.” He hands me his phone to type into Google translator.

I gasp. “That’s it!” I pass his cell back.

“Inquiétante,” he says in a much better-than-average French accent. Wow, that is insanely hotter than a Cobalt speaking French. “Which means…worrying. Disturbing. Great.”

He shoves his phone in his pocket, just as mine vibrates with another notification. You’re sooooo popular!

“Oh my God,” I groan. “It won’t stop.” I flash him my cell, and he lets out a laugh. His slanted smile does something to my stomach, and I’m quite positive it’s just a superhuman effect he has on people.

“You’re so popular,” he repeats. “You hate that?”  

“I do when it’s telling me it five hundred times. It feels like empty flattery, and it’s just annoyingly relentless.”

He raises his brows. “Do not compliment her five hundred times. Should we have put that on your profile?”

“There’s always time to edit it,” I say, and my phone buzzes.

“Always time to delete it,” he mutters under his breath so softly I think that he thinks I can’t hear him.

Normally, I’d say something, but my focus zones into the text. Quinn takes out his phone, and I realize he’s received the same one.

Luna: Breakfast at Good Syrup @ 11 a.m. 🥞✨

Quinn meets my gaze. “Work calls,” he says. It’s not a goodbye.

We’re working together, but we’ll separate once he goes to check on Eliot. He only drops down to my stair and lingers.

“You want me to delete my profile?” I question.

“What?” he feigns dumb.

“I think I should start swiping,” I tell him, rerouting the conversation. “It’ll be better to get matches, then I won’t have to start sifting through all of these likes.”

He’s stiff beside me…and quiet.

“You still want to help, right?” I ask into a frown. Please don’t jump ship already.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m going to help you lose your virginity, Kannika.”

His eyes find mine, lock there, unbreaking like he’s challenging me to back down from this. Like hearing how it sounds will force me to surrender my goal.

It’s too bad I’m so stubbornly resilient.

Happiest December!! Thank you all for reading the third chapter in Frog and Quinn's story! We're having so much fun writing these two and giving more depth to their characters and the new crew in NYC. It feels like coming home in a way. We hope you enjoyed it!!

Chapter 4 will also be dropping this month, so keep on the lookout!

xoxo Krista & Becca

IMPORTANT: Please do not screenshot and post any part of this chapter to other sites or share with non-patrons. All of the Patreon content is exclusive to Patreon and for current patron's eyes only.  Thank you!!

RESOURCES:  Check out Frog & Quinn's Collection for more of their chapters as their story continues.

MUSIC: We listened to "This One's Gonna Cost Me" by Lainey Wilson and "Chasing the Wind" by Lanie Gardner while writing this chapter. 

 “Frog and Quinn," Copyright © 2024 by K.B. Ritchie