Her back arches into me, and I dip my head to the crook of her neck, drowning myself in her intoxicating scent.
“Where are we going?”
My mouth moves along her neck, hand tangles in her hair. “Mmm, not telling.”
“I hate when you try to surprise me.” She attempts to pull back, surely with a look of disapproval warping her face, but my grip tightens and she goes nowhere. I smile against her soft skin.
“This I know.”
~*~
“You could’ve just told me we were coming to your place.”
“Oh, we’re not going to my place. Yet.”
I park in the lot behind Merriam Hall and pull a bottle of champagne from behind the passenger seat. Quinn raises an eyebrow. Smiling, I shove the bottle into my backpack and climb out, the cool evening air replacing the stuffiness of the car. “We’re celebrating today. Zoe’s twenty-first.”
“Torrin.” My name is a warning; Quinn’s way of saying please don’t do this, and I refuse to let her suppress the pain of her sister’s death any longer. She’s grown a lot in the few months we’ve known each other, talking about life when her sister was alive instead of running from it, but old habits die hard and I know this will probably be challenging for her.
I round the front of my car, grab her hand and tug her off the front seat. Bending to her level, our lips millimeters from touching, I say, “You said it’s what she would’ve wanted—champagne instead of flowery cake. Don’t fight it, Quinn. We’re celebrating, and you’re going to enjoy yourself, and there will be no sulking because this is not a pity party.”
Unenthusiastically, she smiles, and I drop a kiss onto her mouth.
“C’mon.” I take her around the waist and guide her east of Merriam Hall toward the gymnasium where the entrance should be. “The Blazin’ Bluegrass Festival is calling our names.”
Her steps slow. “Bluegrass Festival? Are you kidding me?”
“I kid you not.” I nudge her forward. “Complete with clogging, arts and crafts, and a corn hole tournament—which sounds a little kinky to me, but whatever attracts the community, right?”
That elicits a giggle from her.
Out from the shadows of my dorm, the festival comes into view. A small stage erected on the grass in front of the library, booths and stalls encircling out from it with large, colorful signs for every type of carnival-like food imaginable: kettle corn, cotton candy, smoothies, and barbequed chicken legs. After I pay the six dollar entrance fee for her and show my student ID to get me in, we make our way to the grass field and find a sunny spot off to the side of the stage.
She watches as I yank a small blanket from my backpack and spread it out. I sit, then pat the stretch of fabric in front of me. She lowers her back to my chest, fitting perfectly in the nook between my legs, and I didn’t realize how much I wanted to be touching her until the weight of her is pressed in to me.
I pull two Burger King cups from my backpack, cough loudly as the cork on the champagne is popped so those on blankets and towels surrounding us won’t hear, which makes Quinn laugh again. No sadness, yet. So far so good.
I fill our cups to the rim, emptying the bottle completely, then return it to my backpack.
“Happy birthday, Zoe,” I whisper into Quinn’s ear as I place the cup in her hands.
She sits up and looks over her shoulder, eyes on mine. A moment of silence between us, the musical melody of banjos and fiddles filling the air.
“Thank you,” she says, cupping a hand to my cheek. “I don’t know what I ever did to deserve someone as attentive as you.”
If I was attentive I would’ve picked up on the way she pulled back a week ago. Realized it was about her instead of selfishly assuming it had something to do with me and my life.
I kiss her palm and change the subject. “Do you remember her last birthday?”
Returning her back against my chest, she sips her champagne. On the stage, the banjo’s melody slows and a man with a harmonica steps up to the edge of the platform, cheeks puffing and pulling with a fast-paced tune.
“Is it horrible I don’t remember any of Zoe’s birthdays except one?”
“Tell me about it.” I take a swig of champagne, the fizziness snapping at every nerve in my face.
Quinn swallows another sip. “It was her sixteenth birthday. She didn’t want a party, and insisted a group of her friends go shopping at the mall instead. Typical teenager, right?” The cup lowers and rests on her stomach. “I begged to tag along because what annoying little sister wouldn’t? My mom dropped us off and as soon as we were out of the parking lot, Zoe stripped off her sweatshirt and started prancing down the middle of the mall in a bright blue tube top.” She leans her head back on my shoulder, the scent of sweet champagne lacing her words. “A fucking tube top! My parents were really strict about what we wore back then. Anyway, that entire afternoon I watched my sister become this person I had no idea she was. Flirting with boys, pocketing the sample lip glosses from a store’s makeup counter. At the end of the day, right in front of everyone, she walked up to one of the boys she’d talked to and kissed him—a complete stranger. Later that night when I went in her room to ask about it, where she got the guts to kiss him, I found her staring out the window with a lifeless expression on her face. At the time I chalked it up to exhaustion, after being excited all day about finally being allowed to drive a car…” Quinn sets her cup on the grass and rests her hand on my thigh, swirling tiny circles with her finger. “Now I know it was her disorder. You know, the manic and depressive moods?”
Finding out about her sister’s bipolar disorder was a shock to us both last spring. Her parents had only known for a few months before Zoe took her life with pills and never told Quinn. Since then, she’s remembered a few instances where she was witnessing the disorder.
“Her friends never picked up on the manic behavior?”
She shakes her head. “The girls she hung out with weren’t exactly her friends. They just wanted to jump on the popular-girl wagon.”
I smooth my hand over her hair and lower my voice, erasing any trace of sarcasm. “I was kind of expecting a cake, balloons, creepy clown sort of story.”
“I told you, she wasn’t a birthday cake kind of girl.”
Her words trail off to the wheeze and whine of an accordion. For a moment we watch the spikey-haired woman push and pull the ends of the instrument into a rhythm that matches the harmonica. A few minutes pass and the song comes to an end, summoning a dull applause from the sprinkle of bodies on the lawn.
“Maybe this should be the birthday you remember,” I say. Before she can spout a word I grab our cups, haul her off the blanket, and lead her back toward the pathway that swoops behind the library and in the direction of the gym.
“Babe.” She stops. “What about our stuff?”
“I doubt anyone’s going to steal an old backpack and empty champagne bottle. More help to me if they do, anyway, so I won’t have to come back for it.” I return her cup to her hand, tap the rim of mine to hers with the word “cheers,” then chug.
“Jesus, you’re crazy,” she mutters, but does the same. Blinking against the rush of bubbles, laughing, we toss our cups into the trash and continue up the path to the gym. I hold open the door to the gym and poke her hip as she enters. Even though the main door to the gym is unlocked, the one to the pool is not. I retrieve my keys from my pocket, locate the main key, and slip it into the lock.
Quinn’s hands are on me—lifting my shirt, skimming up my back—before the echo of the lock clicks into the door. As one, we enter the pool room and as soon as I have the door shut and locked, I turn into her, covering her mouth with mine.
With a gasp, her lips separate and I kiss her deeper, holding tight around her head so she can’t escape. Her hands slide my T-shirt further up my chest and, though it almost kills me, I pull away. Having sex with her in the school pool was not my intention. I take a breath and internally shake away the heat building in ever
y part of my body.
“Let’s swim,” I say and remove my shirt. Quickly I slip out of my jeans, not paying attention to the smirk she directs at the bulge in my boxers.
“Here?”
“The door’s locked, there’re no windows and, besides, I doubt any staff member is going to be walking in when there’s a festival going on outside. I think we’re safe.” Then I take off and front flip into the six-foot deep Olympic-size pool. By the time I emerge, cool rivets of water trailing down the side of my face and neck, Quinn’s already standing in her purple thong and black bra with her flowered skirt and thin-strapped tank top resting at her feet.
Despite the temperature of the water, a hot rush darts to the lower half of my body. I’m not sure how I got to be with someone as stunning as her.
The corner of her mouth lifts deviously, and then she dashes across the rubber floor mats and dives into the pool with a squeal. Adjusting the slight twist in her bra as she breaks the surface of water, she says, “You’ve gone absolutely out of your mind. Can’t we get in trouble for this?”
I ignore her question. Swimming during closed hours isn’t grounds for another suspension. No doubt Coach would be pissed if we were caught in here, but at the moment Quinn’s happiness is more important than Coach’s.
Hooking my finger under the strap of her bra, I straighten the coiled material. “Name something you’ve never done before.”
“Uh, jump into a school pool with my underwear on?” Beneath the surface, her legs move in alternating circles to keep her afloat. Her body dips lower, water caressing her bottom lip, and I grip her waist then pull her to me. She straddles my torso, settling the warm spot between her legs just above the waistline of my underwear.
Shit, maybe I should’ve kept the space between us.
I step back until my heels bump the edge of the pool. Her arms circle around my neck, fingers comb through the hair. A chill oozes down my spine and I pull her in tighter. Even if someone were to peek in the room, we’d go unnoticed because we’re tucked into the corner, heads below the lipped edge.
“You’ve done that now. Name something else,” I say to distract myself from the little voice in my head that whispers remove the rest of her clothes.
She tilts her head, a small grin sitting upon her mouth. “What is this about?”
I shrug. “If we’re going to make this birthday memorable, you need to do something you’ve never done before, no?”
Her gaze skirts over my shoulder to where two brown doors rest ajar. “I’ve never been inside a boys’ locker room.”
“Suppose I could help you with that.” Carefully, I lift her to the edge of the pool and pull myself up next to her. “Though, I was thinking something a bit more exciting than traipsing a sweat-stenched room.”
“I’m sure we can find more to do in there than traipse the room.” The seduction in her voice is met with a desirous burning in her eyes and, holy hell, I can’t stand up fast enough.
Our feet pad toward the darkened room beyond the door, Quinn in front of me, her barely-there thong taunting me with every step. Once inside, I flick on the lights and scoop my arm around her stomach. She lets out a squeal, but doesn’t protest when I lift her up and press her back against the wall.
My lips ravage her neck, her collarbone, the swell of her breasts. She arches into me, rolling her hips at the same time. My fingers itch to touch her as I remove her bra, letting it fall to the floor, and slide the triangle of damp material between her legs to the side, feeling her wet desire for me on my knuckles.
The right thing would be to stop and talk about the internship—our future and what we plan to do about it. But, like Quinn, I can be good at avoiding uncomfortable topics.
A swipe of my finger draws a delicious moan out from her mouth, and then I lose control. My fingers slip deep inside, thumb rubs circles over the sensitive spot above while she squirms and pants in my grasp. Holding back no reservation, I suck her nipple, flicking my tongue against the hard nub.
Her hands tangle in my hair, and I watch as her eyes roll back into her head and my name purrs off her lips. Little by little her body droops against the wall, a lazy grin on her mouth.
After a few deep breaths she opens her eyes, pinning me with a longing stare as she reaches between our two bodies and shoves the elastic band of my boxers lower, revealing the part of me she’s in search of.
“I don’t have any protection,” I whisper, breaking the silence of the room. With a devilish grin twisting her mouth, she wiggles out from my hold then kneels before me.
“Guess we’ll have to improvise then.”
Just her face this close to me, her hot breath stroking my skin like the measured exhale of a predator within reach of its prey hardens me in seconds. She licks her lips, and I slam my eyes shut just as she takes me into her mouth. Fireworks of orange and red burst behind my closed eyes as her tongue runs up and down the length of me.
Holy…
Oh…
Yes.
The rhythm of her mouth gradually increases and, seeing her beneath me, wet hair caressing her shoulders, muscles strained with intense concentration, coaxes out the surge of pleasure well before I want it to.
“We should…do that…every day,” I say, gasping for breaths in between. She shimmies up my boxers to their proper place then kisses her way up my stomach and neck. Lips to my ear, in a voice so low I almost don’t hear, she says, “I’m going to miss this so much.”
Warily I lean back, meeting my gaze to hers. “Miss this? What are you talking about?”
“When you go to Costa Rica.” A slow blink does nothing to disguise the sudden glisten in her eyes. “I’m going to miss this—you…every glorious inch of you.” She forces a smile and, just like that, the balloon of ecstasy in my chest deflates.
“I’m not taking the internship, Quinn. I decided last night.”
“You have to.”
“No.” My voice hardens. “I don’t.”
“Why wouldn’t you?”
“Because I don’t want to leave you.”
Abruptly, she steps to the side and out of my reach. “You’re an idiot if you think staying for me is the right decision.”
“It is the right decision! You need me, and you’re too stubborn to admit it! I saw it in your eyes that night at the beach. And last night. You’re scared to lose someone you love again. Say it out loud, Quinn. Say you don’t want to lose me.”
“Are you delusional? Of course I don’t want you to go! And of course I’ll hate to be apart for months! But goddamnit if I’m the one who’s gonna hold you back. I don’t want that stain on my hands so don’t you dare use me as your fucking excuse.” She reaches for her bra then turns for the door with a pointed glance over her shoulder. “And by the way, saying you don’t want to leave me is a hell of a difference from wanting to stay with me. Don’t think I didn’t catch that. So if that’s your reason—to not leave me—then forget wasting your time. I don’t need your sympathy.” Silent footsteps carry her out of the locker room then across the rubber mats in the pool area.
“I do want to stay with you,” I call after her.
“Too late, Torrin.” Another few steps and she’s disappeared into the shadows beyond the pool.
“Fuck!” My bare foot slams into the wall, and every cell below my ankle ignites with fire. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
I don’t know what’s happening between us. All this fighting, this relentless push and pull of misery masked with the occasional stint of bliss. What happened to before? When our only troubles were dealing with a random scheduling issue, or deciding where to eat?
Will we ever get that back?
I close my eyes against the feeling that the whole building is pressing down on my chest, at the same time remembering something Quinn said to me when we first met.
Only those who avoid love can avoid grief.
Her reasons for avoiding love were different back then; she thought her sister killed herself over
a guy, but…I don’t know, maybe Quinn was on to something: staying miles away from the one thing that’s capable of making her feel like she’s actually dying. Make me feel like I’m dying. Like my heart’s being ripped from my chest. Hollowing me out, emptying my veins until nothing but a fragile shell is left behind.
I rest my forehead against the locker, my hot breath mingling with cold metal. Water drips down my back, the ghost of a touch like one of Quinn’s fingertips. The whisper of her breath I may never feel again.
The heel of my palm slams numbly into the locker, echoing an angry blow throughout the small, stuffy room. No one’s around so I do it again. And again. I don’t know who to hate more; I don’t know who to blame for this ugliness inside me.
My hand balls into a fist, ready to strike again when, suddenly, Quinn’s tiny hands grab my wrists. I flinch at her touch, the way her soft fingers squeeze and restrain against the last bit of will that courses through my body. Dressed now, she looks up at me, eyes and lips flat and unsmiling.
“Torrin,” she whispers, stepping closer. Her leg brushes mine and if it were anyone else, I’d fight. Push away. Leave.
But not with her.
Never her.
“Please don’t say anything,” I say. More words linger under my breath, jagged and raw.
I love you.
You are my everything.
Don’t walk away.
I look into her eyes, try to memorize them without the glisten of tears and etch of lines crawling out from the corners…blurring through my own tears. She blinks, and a tiny teardrop slides onto her cheek.
“Torrin,” she says, louder and with more strength. Taking a deep breath she squares her shoulders, letting her arms fall to her sides and looks me dead-on—cold and hard just like the first time I met her. “You can’t stay.”
“Goddamnit, Quinn. I’m not leaving you!”
Eyes wide, she eases a step back.
I inhale a measured breath, focus on lowering my voice and continue. “Don’t you see? You are far more important than any job—photography or not.” I slide my fingers between hers and gesture to the opening between us. “This, right here…us…I’m not willing to give up. I don’t want to go.”
Without You Page 6
