She snorts. “Yeah, that’s not gonna happen. Come with me. We’ll grab something later. We won’t watch the whole parade, just a few boats.”
I send one last longing glance towards the food stalls and let her drag me onto the Ponte Aragonese. Quinn’s fingers slot through mine, and my heart skips a beat. It feels so right, our hands wrapped together, a small point of connection even in a sea of other people. But it only lasts for a few seconds before sherealizes what she’s done and yanks hers away like she’s been burned.
“Sorry,” she mutters.
We shouldn’t be this awkward. She’s held my hand walking through crowds dozens of times, and it was never weird. That night was the best of my life, but if this is how it’s going to be between us now, I’d take it all back.
The sun’s setting over the harbor, nearly gone now and casting a pink and orange glow over the calm, lapping water. Slowly, the space around us fills, bodies pushing us more tightly to the edge as everyone tries to work their way to the front.
Quinn sends me a victorious smile. “See! I told you my plan was better.”
My stomach disagrees, but it’s worth it for the way her dark eyes sparkle, like there are stars hidden in their depths only I can see.
The crowd continues to surge forward, shuffling us around until Quinn’s pushed into me, her back to my front. All I can think about is how easy it would be to slip my arms around her waist and inch her back farther, to drop my lips to the curve of her neck, the spot that’s tempted me from the first time I saw her. I bite my tongue hard enough to draw blood, desperate to distract myself.
She turns to face me, every curve of her body dragging across mine. I don’t know if this is heaven or hell.
She tilts her head back to look at me. “I’m sorry. It’s packed. I swear, a few boats and we’ll get out of this crowd.”
Someone pushes me forward. My hands come down on the top of the stone wall behind her, trapping her body between my arms. She fists the material of my shirt as she steadies herself, and I barely keep our lower halves from touching. Thank god, because one brush would make my issue obvious.
I’m not sure if it’s a conscious decision or not, but Quinn’s fingers flex in my shirt, tugging my face closer. Her other handsettles on my stomach, trailing down to the top of my jeans, and I close my eyes to hide the way they roll back in my head. When I open them, our gazes clash, her brown eyes going even darker. Her hypnotic lips part on a gasp. It’d be so easy. Two, maybe three, inches, and my mouth would be on hers again.
Someone shifts behind us again, breaking our staring contest and bringing me back to myself. I clear my throat. “I think I’m going to grab food now. You enjoy the parade and I’ll meet you in the square.”
She chews on her bottom lip. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I’ll see you soon.”
“Okay.” She forces a smile and turns back toward the water. I watch her for a minute, unable to move. It’s subtle, but her hand comes up to touch the corner of her eye in a quick movement that has my heart clenching.
I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me. All I know is I can’t turn it off after waking up next to her, wrapped up in her scent, her touch, her voice when she said my name. A persistent part of my brain argues she wants me, but one word muttered in her sleep doesn’t overrule the dozens of words she’s said consciously.
I grab pizza from one of the local shops, then find a rickety table, unhappily munching down while keeping an eye on her from a distance.
My phone vibrates on the table, and my heart stutters at the 304 area code. West Virginia. Unknown numbers never call me from West Virginia, and my mind fills in all the possibilities. My mom’s sick. There’s been an accident or a fire or a burglary.
Breaking out of the trance, my hand shoots forward, answering on what’s likely the last ring. “This is Colton Miller.”
“Hey, man,” says a voice I don’t recognize. “How you been? It’s Bobby.”
I wrack my brain for a Bobby and come up empty.
When the silence stretches uncomfortably, he elaborates. “Bobby Campell. From high school? We sat next to each other in American history.”
A blurry image takes shape, a short, skinny white guy who would pop into the seat next to me every third class and promptly fall asleep. I wonder how he got my number, then remember it’s Grand Creek. Everybody’s in everybody’s business.
“Hey, Bobby,” I say absently, eyes pinned back on Quinn. “What can I do for you?”
“I sent over a contract for the new countertops for your mom’s house. Not to rush you, but I need that deposit before I can order anything.”
He rattles off a number that has me choking on my own spit.
“That’s not what my mother and I agreed to,” I say when I recover.
“She decided to upgrade from the laminate to the marble.”
“I didn’t approve that,” I shout.
