Broken At Love (Whitman University) Page 5

  “You are well, Mister Quinn?” Angelica slid my jacket over my shoulders at the front door, turning me to face her so she could adjust my tie.

  “I’m doing fine.”

  She pulled me into a hug, which I didn’t return. I never did, but it didn’t stop her from trying, which made me the slightest bit warm. Her chubby hands gripped my cheeks, forcing me to look at her. They smelled like onions and pine floor cleaner. “You no let him ruin you, Mister Quinn. You are good boy.”

  That she thought me a good boy throbbed a dull ache in my gut that might have been guilt. Or it might have been withdrawal from the booze.

  “Okay, Ang.” I gave her my standard response, then stepped away.

  Out in the car, I stared at the house my father had built with his sheer force of will. Probably more than a few legal breaches, too, though I’d never seen proof of anything. I put the giant brick, black-shuttered monstrosity behind me, still mulling over Angelica’s mantra.

  My father hadn’t ruined me. It was impossible to ruin a person who had never been formed correctly to begin with, but I had ruined a few people of my own over the past several months.

  Emilie’s smooth, peachy cheeks and coal black eyes rose in my mind. The fact that she’d not only refused me, but left the damn party all together and hadn’t returned, intrigued me more than a little. For the first time in a while I felt the rise of competition in my blood, the desire to spar with an opponent. I almost hoped she’d be harder to bed than I expected.

  My mind’s eye wandered back over the way Alexandria’s t-shirt stretched over Emilie’s much fuller chest. Not to mention her trim waist, and the way those legs looked in shorts. I imagined her skin, the indefinable color of cream swirling into a cup of coffee, and what it would look like under my hands when I won.

  Because I would win. My father couldn’t ruin me further, but I planned to deliciously defile Emilie Swanson as soon as she’d let me. I might even enjoy it.

  Chapter Six

  Emilie

  “So what happened with you and Quinn the other night? Obviously something, so don’t give me that nothing bullshit again.”

  I sighed, setting my paintbrush down and peering around my canvas at Ruby. She sprawled on the old comfortable couch I kept in the studio for nights that got away from me. Ruby raised her threaded eyebrows expectantly.

  She hadn’t given up over the past two days; I may as well have confessed everything immediately. There wasn’t even really a reason to play mysterious, because nothing had happened, but I knew Ruby would blow it out of proportion.

  “Nothing, Rubes. I spilled an Irish Car Bomb on your dress, he took me upstairs to change clothes, wekissedandIleft.”

  Mumbling the last part didn’t work. Ruby shrieked loud enough to mate with the mastiff that lived in the space above me, then shoved herself between my canvas and me.

  “You kissed? Emilie Ofelia Swanson, I can’t believe you held out on me! Spill.” Her blue eyes sparkled, mischievous but also a little hurt.

  I should have told her right away. I don’t know why I didn’t.

  The painting behind her whispered my name, calling me back to the canvas. It wanted to be created, and if I could finish it by next week it might be my centerpiece in the show. Quinn was to thank for that inspiration, in a way, but the work would have to wait. My eyes slid back to Ruby.

  “Seriously. Everything. Who kissed who?”

  I searched my memory, the exact actions leading up to the moment clouded by hormones and whiskey. “It was mutual, I think. I mean, he kissed me but I let him? Maybe?”

  “How was it?”

  “You saw him, Ruby. How could it be anything but sexy as hell?” It had been more than that, too. Some kind of force. The idea that I wanted to taste him had been first in my mind, a thought I never remembered having before in my life.

  And he was delicious.

  “Sexy as hell. That about sums it up. Sexy but dangerous. Like hell.”

  “Dangerous? He wouldn’t have hurt me. He was surprised I didn’t want to sleep with him, but he didn’t attack me,” I explained, feeling the need to defend Quinn for some reason.

  “No, I don’t mean that. Dangerous as in, you’ve got a thing for him.”

  “I do not.”

  “Emilie. Come on. Every girl on this campus has a thing for him, not to mention every girl in the world between puberty and menopause. But he’s not the type of guy you fall for. He’s maybe the kind of guy you have amazing sex with for a couple of nights, but we both know that’s not your style.” Ruby pursed her lips. Her arms crossed in front of the small chest she hated, and she eyed me like a prison guard waiting for an inmate to make a run for it.

  When she and I first met that might have been my response—to run. Ruby had seemed so glamorous then; she was the girl the boys wanted to talk to at the parties or clamored to accompany to a sorority function. It wasn’t like I came to college a virgin but she definitely outranked me in experience.

  “He’s gorgeous, but trust me, I know what I’m dealing with in Quinn Rowland. Maybe I just wanted to see what it felt like to kiss him.”

  “Mmhmm. And maybe you just want to see what it’s like to see him naked, too?”

  “Maybe. But that doesn’t mean he’s interested. I’m not exactly his type. And even if I were, I’m not sure I could stand to be a notch on some guy’s belt.”

  The memory of my body, pulled toward his like he had magnets under his skin, made me tingle all over again. The last time I was attracted to a guy that strongly was…never. My serious high school relationship had been all butterflies and the bumbling sweetness of first times. That, plus one fun and flirty summer fling, made up the total of my sexual experience and neither came close to what I felt sitting on that bed.

  Maybe being a notch was worth snapping up that experience.

  “Okay first of all, you’re everyone’s type. Besides the gorgeous face and fantastic tits—so jealous of your rack and you know it—the rest of you is perfection. Quinn would have to be dumb and blind to not want to bone you, and everyone knows he’s not that discerning anyway. The question is, what are you going to do about it?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t…I don’t think I can just sleep with him.”

  “I don’t think he’s the dinner and a movie type.”

  Even the thought of that made me laugh, but the smile dropped off my face soon enough. She was right. I wasn’t the jump-into-bed-with-the-campus-heartthrob type and Quinn didn’t seem keen on even a short-term fling, outside of his strange party relationship with Annette.

  Something about her story bugged me—even though I’d been attracted to Quinn in the room, it had never crossed my mind that he might be interested in more than the night, or a couple of romps at the most, and I didn’t know how she thought he would, either.

  It all felt like an orchestrated series of moments, somehow.

  Except that last one, when my teasing had gotten under his skin and his temper escaped. What he said about his ex and his father, his career, that felt real. And maybe the discussion on the stairs. He couldn’t have faked the familiarity with the art world or knowledge of painters. It drew me to him even more, to know we shared a passion.

  I slid a practiced gaze toward my best friend. “Maybe he’s different than people think, Rubes. There must be more to him than parties and girls, and I sensed something.” Ruby rolled her eyes and my hands curled into fists. “I did.”

  The contempt on Ruby’s face turned to compassion, because for all her brash and borderline insensitive commentary, she cared about me. Her fingers loosened my fists, then squeezed. “If you want to get mixed up with Quinn, you have my blessing. If you live to be a hundred goddamn years old you will never, ever get into bed with a guy as beautiful as him again. But don’t imagine there’s more to him. There isn’t. Promise me.”

  I knew she was right. The problem was, I couldn’t be sure what exactly I wanted from him. But either way, I still needed to r
eturn his clothes.

  ***

  The party thrummed, as loud and crowded as when we’d left two nights ago, alive with drunk, loud college kids. The nip in the air chilled me, probably because there was no alcohol to counteract it this time. I pulled the cardigan around my shoulders, wondering again about my decision to wear a dress.

  I left the borrowed clothes in the car because it would be too embarrassing to drag them through the house, pretty much advertising the fact that I’d been in Quinn’s bedroom. Then again, if the rumors were to be believed, so had half the girls in the house. Not to mention that “shacking and shopping” was a sorority girl’s favorite pastime. And my roommate was proficient.

  Still. What did or didn’t happen between Quinn and I was no one’s business.

  The valets stared me down since I parked my own car, but I wanted to be able to get away fast. Or maybe I didn’t, but having the option seemed like a good idea, so I ignored them.

  No Sebastian accosted me at the door. Two nights ago he’d clung like an algae-eating fish to the side of a tank, and though I never thought to care if I saw him again, walking alone through all of these people surrounded by laughing friends clenched my stomach.

  It was stupid. Most of them wouldn’t remember if they saw Zac Efron tonight, never mind me wandering around alone. Except Quinn wasn’t in the house. He wasn’t at the deck bar, either, and I had no intention of going upstairs again, especially since there was a good chance I’d find him with another girl.

  “Jameson neat, please,” I asked the bartender on the back deck.

  There was no reason not to just leave the clothes upstairs, or in the bathroom, or something, but here I was ordering a drink. Which meant I wanted to see Quinn.

  Admitting it lifted weight off my shoulders. So what if he’s the biggest playboy in Whitman University history? He was beautiful and, I thought, sad.

  I chuckled under my breath and took a sip of the sweet drink. Ruby would kick my ass for even thinking such a thing, but it didn’t make it less true. He was a mystery. I’d made a promise to my baby sister not to let any of life’s little mysteries go unsolved.

  From the edge of the deck, I saw the spot where I sat with Marla the other night and made a mental note to call her. Poor Marla. Jack had been part of her life’s plan since high school. I knew what it felt like to have a readied plan for the future ripped from under your feet like a rug.

  I’d been tumbled on my ass by my own when leukemia took my sister three years ago.

  A figure stood down by the ocean, alone. It gave me déjà vu from the other night, when I remembered thinking that it looked like Quinn. It still did, so before I could change my mind or get scared enough to leave, I started toward him.

  The sea breeze scattered shivers over my skin, and the cool sand clung to my bare feet. He turned, sensing my presence, his face tensed as though expecting confrontation. The sight of my face shot his eyebrows up in surprise, but he quickly settled into a forced smile.

  “Sorry to surprise you. I wanted to bring back the clothes I borrowed.” His eyes traveled down to the drink in my hand, lighting every inch of skin he passed on fire. “I also borrowed a drink.”

  “You’re welcome to whatever you’d like.”

  He grinned and the subtext of his gracious statement curled heat through my abdomen.

  An awkward silence slithered between us when I didn’t respond to his teasing. Until now we’d been strangely at ease with one another, and the discomfort made me babble. “I left the clothes in the car. We can go get them. Why are you down here instead of inside with everyone else?”

  His electric gaze found mine, and shit if my heart didn’t pound so hard it made my ears ache.

  “You mean why aren’t I upstairs banging some chick?” The wry smile climbed into his eyes, a teasing glint relaxing my shoulders.

  “Maybe. Why aren’t you?”

  “I know you thought I was playing you the other night, trying to get you into bed, but I wasn’t. We don’t know one another and you’re making assumptions.”

  The wheels in my head turned, processing the statement. The thing was, the first part sounded like a lie—and I was pretty sure he wouldn’t have protested if I’d jumped him—but the second part felt like truth. “I’m starting to wonder if anyone really knows you, Quinn Rowland. You’re quite the enigma.”

  “That’s a big word,” he replied, turning back toward the water and dropping into the sand.

  “You can handle it.”

  Quinn patted the beach at his side and I didn’t think twice about not sitting. I wasn’t planning on partying and the dress wasn’t one of my better ones. My curiosity increased with every moment we spent together.

  The thing was, so did my fear.

  I picked up piles of sand and let it spill back through my fingers while I tried to figure out what scared me. I’d promised my sister before she’d died to not be so careful, to take chances, to do the things that scared me because she would never get to do any of the things that scared her. The day she’d died, her hand going limp inside mine, I’d worked to change my outlook. Regret would never be a part of my life. I’d promised Anabel.

  I thought I would regret not uncovering what about Quinn drew me in with such force. So even though nerves twisted my stomach, I stayed.

  “I love it out here, at night. It’s quiet,” he said softly.

  “I’ve always loved the ocean.” The night was still for so long, only the sighing of the winter breeze and the whisper of the waves against sand around us. The house was only a hundred yards or so from the house but it felt like a different world. The chatter and laughter, the pounding of the bass, barely registered inside this bubble of what felt strangely like peace. “Let’s play a game.”

  It came out without permission, but anything that meant peeking inside Quinn’s brain felt like a good idea. Sitting with him was comfortable, but it allowed him his secrets.

  He looked at me with a bemused expression, almost as though he’d forgotten I sat beside him. The flash of his spectacular smile looked real this time. “I don’t like games.”

  I raised my eyebrows.

  “I don’t like games where I don’t get to whack balls,” Quinn amended.

  “Me, either.” I waggled my eyebrows suggestively.

  He burst into unexpected laughter and I couldn’t resist joining him. We settled down after a few seconds and he turned to face me, sitting Indian style. “You’re surprising me.”

  “Is that weird?”

  “You have no idea.” Before I could ask what he meant, Quinn steered us back on topic. “What did you have in mind?”

  The way his full lips moved made me remember again what they tasted like against mine. It took a minute to shake myself free. “What?”

  The hungry look in his blue eyes said he had read my thoughts, and it spilled desire through my blood.

  “What game would you like to play, mi sopresita?” Quinn scooted forward until our knees touched and he laid his hands on my bare legs.

  His rough fingertips landed underneath the hem of my dress and I nearly lost it. The sense that he knew it kept me from reacting. If I was his little surprise, then I’d continue to play the part.

  As soon as I could breathe again, I smiled my best teasing grin. “Truth.”

  “Like Truth or Dare?”

  “Do you seriously think I’m stupid enough to play Truth or Dare with you, Quinn?”

  “It was worth a shot.”

  “Just Truth. We take turns asking questions, and have to answer with the truth. First person to refuse to answer loses.”

  The game never lasted long. Or people lied. I’d told my fair share.

  “I never lose at games.”

  “Me, either.” The thrill of competition twitched in my muscles, unexpected but strong. A trait my father hated because it had come to me through my Peruvian blood, no doubt. “So are you in?”

  “Not as far as I’d like to be.” Quinn smirked
.

  The heat from his touch sank lower, spilling through my knees, but I refused to react to his husky suggestions. Instead I played back, leaning forward and sliding a hand against his cheek before giving him a playful pinch. “You’re going down.”

  “My pleasure.”

  I was so far out of my league. Every word that slid past his lips conjured images in my brain. The exact ones he wanted to put there, which wasn’t helping, and my mouth was so dry I couldn’t swallow.

  No way was I saying the word swallow.

  “Are you always like this?” I managed.

  “Is that your first question?”

  “No. Where did you learn to speak Spanish?” I hoped my attempt to push the conversation way from anything remotely suggestive would work.

  “Well, there was this Argentine girl on the tour my second year in juniors…”

  I heaved a sigh. “Okay, seriously. You can stop trying to…embarrass me or whatever you’re attempting to do with the all sexy talk all the time.”

  His hands gripped my knees. “I’m not trying to embarrass you. I’m trying to seduce you. It’s still not working, huh?”

  “I’m a tough little nut.” I held up a hand before he could take that one to town. “Stop. That’s too easy of a serve, even for you.”

  “I seriously learned Spanish on the tour. I don’t speak it all that well. Actually, there are about seven languages I don’t speak all that well.” He relaxed his grip but didn’t move his hands from my thighs.

  “Seven? Impressive. Your turn.”

  “Hmm, let’s see.”

  “Nothing sexy, Quinn. If you’re capable.”

  “I’m restraining myself. Which is something I enjoy in the bedroom, in case you were wondering.” He chuckled at the look I shot him. “Sorry. Okay. Good questions…I must have learned something in first-semester philosophy. Are you an only child?”

  “I had a little sister,” I replied before stopping to wonder whether I wanted him to know about her. Too late now. “She died from leukemia almost three years ago. She was twelve.”