“Yeah,” I whisper, and when she looks up and smiles, her dark eyes crinkling into crescents, my pulse races.
I squeeze her hands before extracting mine and using it to nudge the pizza box and the glass of Nocillo toward her. Her smile grows even wider, and I want to throw myself at her feet.
“You got me food?”
I shrug. “I figured I was standing in line, anyway.”
We sit in companionable silence while she eats. The crowd in the square’s getting rowdier, the Nocillo doing its job and loosening everyone up. I watch her watch the festival, so beautiful and carefree in a way she hasn’t been all summer. Brightand addictive, just like she was when we came here at twenty-one.
Over the past decade and a half, I’ve become an expert at keeping the wall up between my feelings for her and our friendship. I’ve been respectful and welcoming to her significant others without letting my jealousy take over. We’d fall asleep together on my futon after a long day of studying without it turning into anything more. We’ve gone to the movies or dinner or the goddamn opera without me wondering if it was a date. But I can’t seem to think straight today, and I’m so fucking mad at myself. How many magical moments like this will I miss out on with my favorite person because I can’t wrangle my dick under control?
I clear my throat. “I think I’m going to head back to the hotel. It’s been a long couple of days and I want to get some sleep.”
“Are you sure?” Her voice cracks on the last word, and the hurt reflected in her eyes feels like a blunt sword thrust straight into my stomach. “The fireworks haven’t gone off yet.”
“Yeah, go have fun. See you at the hotel.” I turn before I can see more of the pain reflected at me. I make it a few steps before turning around. “Call if you need me, okay?”
“Yeah. Will do. See you later.” She won’t meet my eyes, turning her attention back to the pizza box, and another rush of shame shoots through me.
Back in our room, the bed taunts me. It haunted me all day, a specter settling over us. I get ready for bed, changing into plain black running shorts and a t-shirt. But despite what I said to Quinn, sleep isn’t an option. I sit down on the large love seat and pull out a book to try to relax. No luck. I pull out student essays to grade—nothing like undergrad writing to put you to sleep—but even that doesn’t work.
The door creaks open an hour later. Her head peeks in, and when she sees me on the love seat, she doesn’t smile. “Glad I’m not waking you up.”
“Yeah,” I say awkwardly. I settle the book I picked back up on my lap. “How was the rest of the festival?”
“Good. Great.” She shifts from foot to foot, and I wonder if it’s a nervous tick or if she partook in some more Nocillo. Finally, she settles her hands on her hips and faces me head on, determination brightening her eyes. “But we need to talk.”
I run a hand through my hair. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left, but I was tired.”
She narrows her eyes and points at me. “Liar.” I try to stand up, and she shoves me back onto the love seat. “You’ve been weird all day.”
“No, I haven’t,” I say, even though I definitely have.
“Yes, you have. We both have. I hate being like this,” she says, a pleading note in her voice, “and ignoring it isn’t going to make it go away.”
“Quinn, we’re fine.”
“No, we’re not, and we need to talk.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”I just need to figure out how to stop wanting you so badly and we’ll be golden.
“You’re either a liar or in total denial,” she says, crossing her arms.
She’s so beautiful this way, strong and passionate and not willing to take any bullshit. I start to harden—fuck, I’m a mess—and I know it’ll only get worse the longer we speak. Avoidance is the only logical way to handle this.
I stand from the love seat, but Quinn abruptly steps in front of me, determined to finish this conversation. Our bodies collide, and Quinn gasps at the feel of me pressed against her stomach. Her mouth opens in a perfectohshape that has me imagining all the things I could do with it.
We hold each other’s gaze, neither speaking as the moment stretches between us. I brace for what will follow—her shuffling away and avoiding me for the rest of the trip, or her letting medown easily. We promised not to go there again, and I’m the one breaking that rule.
But instead, Quinn’s hand comes to my hip, so close to where I desperately want it that I have to stifle a groan.
“Sit down, Colton,” she says, softly pressing my body back onto the love seat. “Please.”
I go willingly, hypnotized by her wide eyes. She slowly places a knee on either side of my lap, like she’s giving me time to stop her. When I don’t—how could I?—she lowers down, then intentionally rocks herself over me, never taking her gaze away from mine.
“What are you doing?” I barely get the words out of my mouth.
“Just for a minute,” she murmurs.
