Broken At Love (Whitman University)

by Payne, Lyla

  There was nothing I wanted more than for her to stay. She’d called us friends—friends stayed. Maybe I could see her and talk to her while I sorted everything out.

  “I think you’re worthy, Quinn.” Her husky voice stood my hormones at attention, the now familiar ache she pulled from my center resurfacing in the blink of an eye.

  “Then stay. No one has ever stayed.”

  I wanted to be horrified about the tears gathering in my eyes, but the love shining back from her eased the shame. She crossed the room and brushed them away, then kissed me lightly on the mouth. The taste of her summery lips made me hungry for more but she stepped away before I could act.

  “I can’t stay, Quinn. It hurts too much to be near you and not have you. I hear what you’re saying, and if that’s what you need then I can give you the space.”

  “But you said we were friends.”

  “I am your friend, Quinn. But I can’t be your friend.” She paused in the doorway, not turning around. Her midnight hair spilled down her back, hiding the skin bared by her dress. “You know where to find me.”

  She left. And I let her go.

  I thought I’d won the match when she’d fallen into my arms, heart and all. The truth was, she’d beaten me. Snatched my soul and shattered all the lies I’d built around me to keep the pain of connecting at bay. In tennis, losing your service game was called being broken. If you lost your service without scoring a single point, you were broken at love.

  Emilie had done that to me. While I assumed an easy match, like all the others, she’d broken me at love.

  Wimbledon

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Emilie

  It turned out that New York City and I got along well.

  It was the last day of my fellowship and it made me sad to think of going home, even if I did miss the Florida beaches and the fact that the streets didn’t sometimes reek like a sewer. The energy surrounding the city like a force field, the endless wonders waiting to be discovered, and the act of brushing elbows with so many people every day, more than made up for the downsides.

  My technique had grown by leaps and bounds while my eye for critiquing others had improved as well. I’d made countless connections with the New York art world and knew I’d have no problems getting a job in graphic design after school. That is if my new plan to become a museum curator didn’t work out instead.

  The five weeks had been a whirlwind, packed with creating and networking, parties, dresses, and immersing myself in that amazing city. It didn’t make me forget Quinn—nothing could do that—but it did give me something else to focus on and it felt good to watch my future solidifying in front of my eyes.

  Quinn was doing well, based on what I’d seen on the news and heard through various friends. He’d started his own sports media company and had slowly been collecting overseas clients by focusing on non-American-centric sports. I was proud of him, and I was proud of me.

  It was getting harder to believe every day that there would ever be an us, though.

  There had been guys who asked me out during happy hours or classes, but I hadn’t gone. I wasn’t waiting for Quinn. Not really. The idea of moving on scared me, and the thought of anyone else’s hands or mouth or eyes or smile didn’t seem like reality.

  Maybe I just needed more time.

  The rest of my life seemed to be falling in place, and I was grateful. My parents were waiting to spend the next month with me before I had to be back at Whitman for rush, and hopefully they would see how well things were going and decide to be happy for me.

  My cell phone erupted somewhere in the apartment. Things were a mess because I’d been packing—a few boxes to be shipped and my luggage, plus an overnight bag to take as a carry on. By the time I tracked my cell down it had stopped ringing, but I called Ruby back with a smile.

  I’d missed her. She was playing Rosalind in a Shakespeare in the Park production of As You Like It in Tampa so we’d both been busy, but I planned to catch her last performance over the Fourth of July.

  “Hey, what, are you screening my calls now?”

  “Never. How’s it going down there? Any real-life romance between you and the guy playing Duke? What was his name again?” I remembered, but Ruby rarely had crushes and I was enjoying being able to tease her mercilessly.

  “Liam.”

  “Oh, right.” I grinned into the phone, folding a shirt and lowering my voice conspiratorially. “Is it Liam Hemsworth? You can tell me; I’m a vault. Miley will never know.”

  “Very funny. I wasn’t calling to talk about my unrequited adoration, as it happens.”

  “Make it quick, my car’s going to be here any minute.”

  “I called to say I promise to forgive you for not coming to see me play Rosalind if you promise to forgive me.”

  “Of course I’m coming. And forgive you for what?”

  “Gotta go. Love you!” Ruby made kissing noises into the phone and the call disconnected.

  Suspicion twisted my lips. Whatever it was, if Ruby felt the need to apologize in advance then I probably wasn’t going to like it. But by the time I’d finished packing and called the bellhop to take all of my bags downstairs, I’d forgotten about it completely.

  Until I stepped out into the warm Upper East Side summer and saw the bright sun land on Quinn’s black head of hair. His eyes drank me in like a man who had been a week without water, then he broke into a beautiful smile that took my breath away.

  I smiled back more hesitantly. It was too much to hope, that he’d come here finally ready to admit his feelings and that he wanted a life with me. I had promised myself in these weeks away from the intoxicating nearness of him that I wouldn’t settle for less.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I had a layover at JFK and Ruby gave me your address.”

  A layover. He’d come to torture me for a few hours, no big deal.

  “Where are you headed?”

  “Wimbledon. I have some business to take care of, and I thought it was time I stopped avoiding my old friends. I’ve missed them.” He stepped within touching distance but didn’t reach out. “And you. I’ve missed you, Emilie.”

  The admission shot straight into my heart. It swelled around the hope I’d so carefully kept in check. “I heard things are going well with the new company.”

  “I’ve heard you’ve been impressing everyone you’ve come in contact with up here, too. Not that I’m surprised.”

  “You’ve been checking up on me? How?” For some reason, I wanted to cry.

  “I prefer not to reveal my sources. And no, it’s not Ruby. You wouldn’t believe what I had to promise to get her to cough up your address.” The smile dropped from his lips. “I had to see you.”

  “Why?”

  “I thought I could stay away. That for once in my life I could do the noble thing, the selfless thing that no one has ever done for me and let you live your life. But I can’t stop thinking about you. All I do is work and dream about all of the things I want us to do.” He chuckled. “It turns out I’m not that noble.”

  Quinn shifted even closer but I put out a hand, pressing it to his chest. It was hard enough to breathe the way it was, and the feeling of his heart beating under my palm, the salty sweet smell of him wrapping around me, made holding my ground an agonizing venture.

  “I want to believe you, Quinn. But after everything, after all of the times I put my feelings on the table and you swept them onto the floor, I don’t know if I can.”

  “How about this? Come to England with me. I have two tickets and I called ahead to make sure I had plus ones at all the events I’m planning to attend. I want you there.”

  A smile crept onto my lips at the earnestness in his face. He looked like a little boy waiting to hear if he’d be allowed to go ride bikes with his friends. I wondered if young Quinn had ever been innocent enough to have a moment like that; the fact that he probably hadn’t ever been young made my soul ache.

  “Why d
o you want me there?” I asked, still keeping my distance but feeling more confident.

  Quinn shuffled his feet, then met my eye. I saw confidence there battling with fear; behind them both was the same cautious hope that existed inside me. That if two people were meant to be together they would find their way to a place where they could make it happen.

  “I want you to know that I have no idea what I’m doing. I’ll probably still fuck up. There’s never been anyone, not in my whole life…” He sucked a deep breath. “I love you. I fell in love with you the day you threw me out of your studio and I’ve been drowning ever since.”

  Joy burst through me, exploding like fireworks at the edges of my vision. My smile ached in my cheeks and my heart pounded so loud it sounded like pounding hooves in my ears. Quinn reached out, his arms circling my waist, and pulled my body to his.

  Pleasure at touching him again after all this time lit my skin on fire and I tilted my head up to look into his eyes. They were happy, that electric blue clear and dancing, and when he crushed his lips against mine I wanted to live in this one perfect moment for the rest of my life.

  As good as he tasted, I pulled back after a few quick seconds.

  “What?” Concern edged his thrill.

  “I just…could you tell me again?” I asked, feeling silly but not enough to stay quiet.

  “I love you, Emilie Swanson.”

  It sounded amazing on his tongue, the way it landed on my ears in his silky deep voice. I kissed him again, opened my lips and body and heart to this man who had stolen all three. We lost track of time on the street for long enough that my body flushed with heat.

  He eased away, looking forlorn that he couldn’t ravage me here and now. The expression shot an intense shudder down my spine.

  “Our flight leaves in an hour. We should go.” He looked at my luggage. “Do you want to go upstairs and repack for England?”

  “Who says I’m coming?” I asked, teasing him.

  “Oh, you’re coming.”

  I leaned in, nipping his lower lip between my teeth. “That had better be a promise, Quinn Rowland.”

  Lust darkened his eyes to a dusky blue. “It is. In fact, we’ll be taking a private jet to London, and I intend to fulfill it as soon as we take off.”

  My stomach tightened and the rest of my body responded in the blink of an eye. I cleared my throat. “I had an overnight bag packed. It should be fine. I’ll grab anything else I need once we get there.”

  Quinn handed my overnight bag to his driver, then spoke quietly to the doorman of my building. “They’re going to ship your things back to your parents.”

  I slid into the backseat of Quinn’s limo, marveling at how fast this had all happened. And yet, it seemed to have taken forever for the two of us to get this far. He sat next to me and closed the door, then nodded to the driver that we were ready to leave.

  He twisted to face me, wonder shining in his eyes, and pressed his hands to my cheeks. “I can’t believe you’re here. I’ve dreamed about this every night since you left. I hope…I think I’m on the way to being good enough to deserve you but I’ll never stop trying. I promise.”

  I reached around his hard body, pressing the button to raise the privacy window, then straddled his lap. His desire pressed against mine, and the thrill I got from knowing how amazingly we fit together sped my heart into a gallop.

  “What kind of plans did you have for once we get to Wimbledon?” I asked, running my fingers through his thick hair.

  “Mmm. I don’t have a meeting until the day after tomorrow but we can go to any of the matches you want. Alexandria’s playing first thing tomorrow, and so is my friend Sam.”

  “I was thinking your friends are going to have to wait.”

  His eyebrows rose lazily and his hands slipped under the hem of my sundress. “Oh?”

  “Yes.” The sensation of his rough fingers kneading their way up my back, across my rib case, teasing my breasts, made it hard to form words. “In fact, I don’t think I’m going to be content with airplane sex. You owe me a lot of satisfaction after all of this waiting and celibacy.”

  “So you’re thinking limousine sex would be the best way to seal our undying love?” He murmured against my lips.

  “For a start. Then the airplane, of course, and at least twenty-four hours of uninterrupted hotel sex before we emerge and greet the public.”

  “I’m going to have to amend that request, mi sopresita.”

  “Oh? Well, I love a good negotiation.”

  “We’re going to need at least forty-eight hours at the hotel. And I’m going to need you to stop talking.”

  Quinn captured my lips, our tongues tangling as I let myself taste him without worry. I drank in the sweet whiskey, the salty ocean, the feeling of my skin responding to his hands. Every part of me was opened to him and I was happy.

  I had never felt this way—now that I’d fallen for Quinn, I knew I hadn’t loved anyone before, period—and if it never ended it would be too soon.

  “I love you, too, Quinn Rowland. For always.”

  Acknowledgements

  This story could not have come to fruition without a ton of assistance. I’d like to thank my very first readers, Denise Grover Swank and Alessandra Thomas, who said it was worth revising and showing to more people. To my beta readers—Andy Newman, Leigh Ann Kopans, Kristi Belcamino, and Angi Black—your feedback was priceless.

  I have a fantastic copy editor for this project; Jim Thomsen, thank you so much for fixing all of my grammar and structure faux pas and for making me look as good as humanly possible. My proofreaders are the reason you’re not bombarded by extra space and missing words, and without them the reading experience would be less enjoyable—thanks Leigh Caroline and Adelicia Morris.

  Last, I’d like to thank the writers who opened the doors to this new category of New Adult. You went first and blazed a trail that I’m thrilled and excited to be on. And as always, to the people who read my stories—you’re the best part.

  About the Author

  I’ve long had a love of stories. A few years ago decided to put them down on the page, and even though I have a degree in film and television, novels were the creative outlet where I found a home. I’ve published Young Adult under a different name, but when I got the idea for Broken at Love (my first New Adult title), I couldn’t wait to try something new – and I’m hooked. In my spare time I watch a ton of tennis (no surprise, there), play a ton of tennis, and dedicate a good portion of brain power to dreaming up the next fictitious bad boy we’d all love to meet in real life.

  Contents

  Title page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

 

 

 
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