Twenty-Seven
QUINN
God, she was gorgeous. That dress she was wearing clung to every curve. Fuck, I missed those curves. And her hair. I missed the way it felt in my hands, the way it smelled, the way it looked spilling across the pillow. Those shoes were the ones she’d been wearing the night I took her to The Whitney, the night she’d asked me to stay over, the night of the Finger.
My cock jumped, and I stifled a groan.
I’d known she would be here tonight, and I almost hadn’t come, but hiding out wasn’t my style. Then when I saw her, standing there in the living room by herself, looking so beautiful, so vulnerable, I nearly lost it and ran right for her. Not a day went by that I didn’t want her back.
But not on her terms, and not with her boundaries. I wanted more.
She walked up to me, and I could tell right away she was tipsy. Her eyes were glassy, and she didn’t seem too steady on her feet. “Excuse me,” I said to Nolan and the woman he’d introduced me to (although I’d forgotten her name instantly). Moving away from them slightly, I turned to Jaime.
“Hi,” she said, so friendly it was as if she’d forgotten she broke up with me three weeks ago.
“Hi.”
Suddenly she took me by the arm and pulled me into the hallway, past the kitchen, and into the bathroom. She let go of my arm and shut the door, setting her wine glass on the vanity. The light was off but a huge green candle with three wicks had been lit by the sink.
“I’m so glad you’re here.” She moved closer, pressing her chest to mine and running a hand up my lapel. “I missed you. You left without saying goodbye.” She had lipstick on her teeth.
“Are you OK?” I asked her, feeling the way she swayed toward me.
“I’m totally fine,” she said. “Mmmm, you smell good.”
“How did you get here?”
“I drove.” She toyed with the collar of my shirt. “Why, do you want to take me home?”
“I want to make sure you get home safely.”
She giggled. “You’re worried about me. I like it. And look where we are.”
I looked around. “The bathroom?”
More laughter. “Yes. I want a do-over.”
It hit me right as she spoke what she was doing.
“I think I love you, Quinn.”
Oh, Jesus. “Jaime.”
“I want you back.”
“Back where?”
“With me. In my bed.”
“Why?”
“Because I miss you there.”
I stared down at her, searching her face for the truth, for some evidence that she knew what she was saying to me, for some sign of change in her.
I didn’t see any of it.
“No.” It was hard keeping my hands to myself the way she was hanging on me, but I did, one clenched around a beer bottle, one fisted at my side.
“What?” She blinked.
“Why are you doing this, Jaime?”
“I told you,” she said, one hand sliding down the front of my jeans, the other snaking around my waist. “I want you. I want back what we had.”
“Why did you throw it away? Be honest this time.”
She lifted her shoulders, her focus on my chest. “I was just being silly.”
I set my beer down and gently pushed her away, holding her forearms out in front of me, forcing her to look me in the eye. “Answer the question, Jaime. I deserve the truth from you.”
“You know why.”
“Say it.”
“Because I was scared, OK?” She stepped back, knotting her fingers at her waist. “I’m scared of the way I feel. I’m scared that when things fall apart, I will too. And they always fall apart, Quinn.”
“Bullshit.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re not scared it will fall apart. You’re scared it won’t.”
“What do you mean?” Her voice shook.
“You hide behind this ‘love is just a fairy tale used to sell lipstick’ wall so you don’t have to make yourself vulnerable to another person. So you don’t have to trust someone and let him trust you. So you don’t have to fucking commit to someone and be willing to say I’m sorry or I forgive you or help me or I need you. So you don’t have to be humbled by a feeling so fucking strong it changes your life. Well, I want that. I want to trust you. I want to need you. I want to be humbled by love, because it makes me feel alive and part of something good.”
“What we had was good! Why can’t we go back to it?”
I shook my head. “Because I changed my mind. I’m in love with you, but I want more. I want a commitment from you, a future with you, not just a fling. I want to hear you say you believe it’s possible.”
“That is what I’m saying, isn’t it?” she asked, but I heard the doubt in her voice.
“No, what you’re saying is that you want me back in your bed, because the sex is fun and you miss what we had, but it’s just temporary because these feelings won’t last.”
“But I said I love you! Isn’t that enough?”
“Those are pretty words, Jaime, but right now it sounds to me like you’re using them as a means to an end. That isn’t love.”
“You think I’m lying to you?”
“No. I think you’re lying to yourself. I think you want more too, and you’re scared to take it.”