Broken At Love (Whitman University) (21 page)

Ruby whooped and threw her arms around my neck in a hug, crushing the breath out of my throat. I didn’t care. Nothing mattered. The connections I made in a month could lead to a job as soon as I graduated. My father would never disinherit me; one day our family would heal. In the meantime, I could live the dream.

Like Anabel wanted. Like
I
wanted.

A quick flash of Quinn’s devastating eyes, trying and failing to hide hurt and pain and regret behind cruelty and indifference, hung in my mind. I pushed it aside. I cared about him, felt more strongly attracted to him than I might feel about anyone else in my entire life, but not more than I cared about me. I couldn’t stay and hope he could find the courage to admit he loved me back.

It would kill me to leave. Kill me to stay.

He had broken my heart like I’d always known he would. Silly me had assumed it would be a clean break, one I could get over and move on, but I’d lost some pieces along the way. It wouldn’t be easy, but what I’d told him three days ago remained true. I loved him too much to watch him throw his life away.

“Something else came in the mail,” Ruby said, crossing her legs and fixing me with a serious stare.

“Get off my pillow. You stink.” I wrinkled my nose.

In response, Ruby pulled the pillow out from under her butt and snuggled it in her armpits.

“Lovely.”

“Okay but seriously, I’m not sure I should tell you.”

“Nothing can ruin my mood right now.”

“Not even Quinn Rowland?”

My heart stopped at the sound of his name hanging in the air between us. I swallowed and shrugged, but Ruby’s keen blue eyes said she wasn’t fooled. “What about him?”

“Green envelope. Addressed to you. No plus-one.”

The French Open started tonight. Or I suppose the matches were starting this morning, since Paris was seven hours ahead. I wondered if Alexandria would win another major. Or if Quinn would have been ranked number one if he were still playing.

“I’m not going to his party. He made it perfectly clear that while he’s certainly interested in rolling around naked with me, he’s not willing to admit any feelings, and he’s not interested in changing his life. I can’t keep going back.” The words sounded strangled. The lump in my throat burned.

“He does have feelings for you. He told me.”

“So what? Who cares how many people he tells if he doesn’t tell
me
, Rubes? And what about his not even trying to fight Sebastian’s blackmail?”

“You can’t expect him to change overnight. And you want him, too. I’ve never seen you like this—half the time you don’t even notice the guys panting after you at parties and in bars. I’m just saying maybe he’s not ready yet. Are you willing to give up on the possibility that one day he will be?” She kicked her armpit pillow onto the floor, avoiding my gaze.

“What are you saying? You like him?”

Ruby snorted. “Hell, no. But I love
you
. And this could really be it—the once in a lifetime chance to find the person who loves you and challenges you and makes you want to spend every spare moment in bed all wrapped up in one guy. What are the odds you’ll find that again?”

“When did you become a romantic? Are you a pod person? Are the aliens here?”

I tried to tease her out of her serious mood, but she was right. I’d never met anyone who made me feel every single emotion, every slide of a gaze or flick of a finger against my skin the way Quinn did. I knew that. I didn’t know if my heart could take another rejection. “What if he can never admit it, Rubes? What then? I keep waiting around like a kicked puppy?”

“No.
No
, Em. I’m saying he invited you to the party so he must want to see you. Maybe the idea of losing you for real changed his mind about everything. Give him another chance. One more.” She covered my hand with hers. “And then you walk away knowing you did absolutely everything you could, and that if anyone is going to feel regret in twenty years it’s going to fucking be him.”

The party invitation seemed like a peace offering. “That makes sense. Even if it is only to say goodbye.”

She smacked my hand. “Hey. Get that goofy-ass look off your face. You are not going to have sex with him again, do you understand me? It distracts you. No more Emilie vagina for Quinn Rowland until he breaks. Feelings or no lovin’.”

Breaking Quinn’s emotional barriers would be harder than breaking his service game. Which was saying something; ask any guy on the tour.

I laughed, rubbing my hand. “I’ll do my best, but you haven’t had that boy kiss you senseless. It’s not so easy to remember your name, never mind anything more complicated.”

“I’ve seen him. I can imagine.”

“Take whatever you’re thinking and multiply it by a thousand.”

“See what I mean? You’re never going to be able to forget him if you feel like you held something back or didn’t try your hardest. Go to the party tonight. Look sexy. Don’t sleep with him, unless he stares into your eyes and tells you he loves you. Then fuck his brains out.” Ruby nodded, slapping me one more time before getting off the bed.

She strolled over to the walk-in closet and started yanking dresses off hangers. “Now, let’s find you something to wear.”

I sat and watched her, a little unsure whether or not this was the right decision. Even if Quinn could admit he had feelings for me, would that change anything as far as Sebastian was concerned? I didn’t know. The way he talked on the tennis court the other night, it didn’t seem like either was a possibility, but he had sent the invitation. Why would he want me at the party if not to square things between us?

I guess I could cross the bridges as the came up. Feelings first. If we never got across that one then what he chose to do with Sebastian was none of my business.

***

Most of my certainty had fled by the time I made it to the overflowing beach house. It was late; I’d changed my clothes fifty times and dawdled for an hour in the bathroom. The results were not bad, if I did say so myself, and the proof was in the way every guy’s head turned when I passed through the front door.

At least, I told myself they were staring because of my short purple dress and silver heels, and not because they couldn’t believe the girl Quinn had dumped so publicly had the balls to walk back into his house.

I took a deep breath, intent on finding Quinn and dragging him down to the beach for a quiet conversation before the unwanted attention made me bolt. It helped that I felt sexy and desirable. The plum-colored chiffon dress swirled against my bare thighs and the plunging neckline showed off my breasts—which I knew Quinn loved even though he’d never said so aloud. I’d pinned my hair up to showcase the equal dip on the back of the dress, too, although the stray curls tickling my skin said at least a few had escaped.

Quinn was nowhere to be seen—thankfully, neither was Sebastian—and I decided a drink might help calm my trembling nerves. At the bar in the living room I asked for a mojito. The fresh coolness of the soda and mint quenched the nervous flush heating my cheeks. Better yet, it didn’t taste at all like Quinn’s lips.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite DE.”

I turned at the sound of the unfamiliar voice. It was a boy I’d seen around, though it took me a moment to pinpoint where. It came to me finally and I smiled. “Hunter, right?”

“You look damn beautiful tonight, Emilie Swanson. Though I am surprised to see you here.” He smiled, white teeth flashing, and leaned across me to grab a drink.

The smell of cologne or body wash of some kind wrinkled my nose. Hunter was an actor—we’d met when I helped do the set design for the theatre department’s production of
The Boys Next Door
—but I hadn’t realized he was an SEA.

His gray eyes, smoky like the remnants of a bonfire against the night, were keen and sharp. He was smart, I remembered that much, along with handsome and not a bad actor. We’d flirted a bit but he struck me as a bit too aggressive and I’d kept it friendly.

“Thank you.”

“What are you drinking, can I get you another?”

“Sure. Mojito.”

I trailed off as I glimpsed Sebastian’s short blond head out on the porch. He faced me, talking to a tall blonde. Her hair spilled down her back in wild ringlets, and she had impossibly long legs. From the back she could be Quinn’s ex, Alexandria Ikanova.

It wasn’t her, of course. She was in Paris. Still, a pit of worry landed in my stomach and sprouted roots. Hunter pressed another cold drink into my palm, his fingers caressing mine suggestively as he let go, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the deck bar.

He followed my gaze, grunting when he caught sight of the scene through the sparkling clean glass. “You might not want to watch.”

I ignored him. It was like an accident on the highway or the part of a horror movie you know is going to be über-gory but you can’t look away. I sucked the mojito dry and asked for another, with an extra shot of rum this time.

Jack, Marla’s stupid ex-boyfriend, rammed into the curly-haired blonde from behind and her shriek penetrated the soundproof glass. He disappeared into the crowd before she turned, but when she did I saw the black and tan result of a spilled Irish Car Bomb leaking across her white dress. Which meant a minute later we were all looking at her naked from the waist up.

Quinn waltzed up, cool as a cucumber and looking beautiful in tan shorts, deck shoes, and a loose blue button-up rolled to his elbows. The tanned muscles in his forearms flexed as he reached out and shook the girl’s hand. I could hear him in my mind, apologizing for the accident and offering to take her upstairs to change.

When they moved away from Sebastian together, toward the stairs at the front of the house, I looked away. Tears burned the back of my eyes and my limbs were cold. Anguish pushed through me like ice water in my veins, pooling in my stomach and turning me numb. Quinn was carrying on like nothing had happened.

He didn’t care. He didn’t want to change.

Quinn had brought me here tonight to shove it in my face just how much my walking out of his life didn’t matter. I’d witnessed it full-on, unable to look away, and the pain in my chest made it clear this was over. He’d never be able to go upstairs with that girl if he’d fallen for me.

I slammed the third mojito and took a shot glass from Hunter’s waiting hand. His gray eyes watched me carefully but not without hunger, and I wanted to forget everything I just saw.

Maybe I could get back at Quinn. I could make him miserable, too. So I took another shot and hooked my arm through Hunter’s, then looked up to where Quinn was disappearing with his Alexandria clone.

Our eyes met. His widened, almost as though he hadn’t expected me to be here, then traveled down to where my arm and Hunter’s intersected. The electric blue hardened to sapphires. The reaction told me that whatever he was telling himself about the two of us in order to sleep with that girl, it wasn’t because he never cared.

Lightning flashed in his gaze and every muscle looked ready to spring, like a wild animal intent on killing for the sheer pleasure of it. When he tore his gaze back to my face I shot him a sardonic smile and slid my hand into Hunter’s, tugging him toward the hallway, where I assumed there would be bedrooms.

I was going to be done with Quinn Rowland when I left this party tonight, no fucking two ways about it. If that meant having my first one-night-stand, then maybe I could drink enough to pretend it didn’t matter.

All I knew was that moving on with the lingering feeling of Quinn between my legs, in my heart, filling my mouth, would never work. He couldn’t be the last person there, or he’d be the last guy there for the rest of my life.

Chapter Twenty-Three

The third room we came to was unoccupied and Hunter entered behind me, squeezing my ass.

“I always knew the two of us were going to end up in bed, you naughty little thing.” He spun me around, clutching me to his chest, and closed his eyes.

Vomit rose in my throat. I swallowed, putting some space between us. “I…do you think you could go grab a bottle of…something? Tequila?”

“Playing the nervous virgin, Emilie? You don’t have to pretend. Quinn doesn’t go for that and neither do I.”

“That’s not it, I just want a drink, that’s all.”

“Later.”

Hunter wrapped his hands around my upper arms, holding me still, and there was nowhere to go. This was what I wanted. A guy that would erase the feeling of Quinn’s body against mine but wouldn’t be there in the morning. I was leaving for New York. I didn’t want a boyfriend, I only wanted to forget.

I forced my body to relax, one muscle at a time. Hunter was perfect for tonight. His brown curls tickled my fingertips as I slid my arm behind his neck.

“Good girl.”

He lowered his face again and this time I didn’t pull away. Hungry, prying lips grabbed mine. They tasted sour, like limes and old tobacco, and he shoved his tongue in my mouth. It was rough, unlike my experiences with Quinn, which had been intense but not forceful.

Memories of kissing Quinn, of being with him, surfaced. I felt sick to my stomach at the sensation of someone else’s hands and tears pushed down my cheeks. Hunter either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

His rough hands squeezed my boobs, dealing a rough pinch and twisting until I cried out against his lips. The sound of my reaction apparently excited him; his erection pushed against my abdomen. That was the moment I wanted out.

I couldn’t go through with it. It would take longer and hurt more to get over Quinn on my own, but jumping into bed with someone like Hunter was only going to make a bad situation worse.

“Wait. Stop.”

“You’re a funny little thing,” he breathed, picking me up swiftly off the floor and throwing me onto the bed.

My head banged the headboard and for a second I saw stars. Then his mouth was all over me, leaving sickening slime in its wake. One hand pinned my arms above my head and the other shoved my bare legs apart, making room for his hips. Panic made my vision swim, but at the last moment my wits stumbled past the combination of grief and rum, and I jerked my knee up into his balls.