“Yeah, that’s one of the downers for the night. Your sister, God I love her, but she had to remind me that my time is about to expire. It’s like watching your life come to an end, ya know. I know my end date.”
“That’s some crazy Hunger Games way to look at things. You’re going home. Nothing wrong with that. California will always be here.”
“Unless a massive earthquake sends it out to sea.”
Carson rolls his eyes. “If that happens… no, I don’t even want to think about it. Come on.” He grabs my hand, pulls me out of my seat, and drags me to the dance floor. Carson spins me into his arms before resting his hands on my hips.
My body can’t help it. I start moving to the beat of the music, right along with Carson. We’re gyrating and grinding. Hands are places they probably shouldn’t be, but I don’t care. I’m finally starting to enjoy myself. Carson has managed to turn my mood right around. I’m thankful because I was headed down a path I don’t even want to think about.
Three, maybe four songs in, and we’re still dancing. I don’t know how Carson managed to get the time off, but I’m forever grateful. I’m in a groove, feeling the music, when I turn and spot Quinn. Not the Quinn I’m used to, but this done up, beyond gorgeous man who has the most beautiful smile I have ever seen, wearing a button-down shirt, which isn’t fully buttoned and hair that looks like fingers have run through it.
I stand still, with bodies flaying around me. Quinn approaches, his movements are slow and it’s like the crowd is parting for him. His lower lip rests between his teeth, temping me to rub my thumb there to release it, to feel the plumpness left by his bite mark. He stops in front of me, leans down and whispers, “Is that your boyfriend?”
My head starts shaking before it turns slowly to look at Carson. He smiles and disappears into the mob of people, leaving me to face Quinn. “No, he’s a friend. Nothing more.” I don’t know why I added the last part, but something inside tells me Quinn isn’t like the other guys here, or at least like Kellie said earlier when he’s only looking for a booty call.
We start swaying to the music. He has one hand resting on my lower back, his fingers pressing into my ass and his other… well, those fingers are playing with my hair. Every so often, his knuckle brushes against my neck and my flesh turns into one giant goose bump.
“I thought this wasn’t your thing.”
“It’s not, but you are,” he says, sending a massive shockwave of lust, desire, and longing through me. I refuse to think he only wants to get laid. I’ve seen the women at the Bean Song chasing after him. He ignores them. Plus, the two women I’ve seen him with are beautiful. He can have his pick of anyone out there, and he’s here, with me. This isn’t about sex, it’s something else. I just don’t know what.
I move in closer, pressing my body to his. He does the same, but leans into me, his breath fanning over my already overheated skin, sending chills down my back. My body responds. My hand moves from the waist of his jeans to his shirt where I can feel his skin through the flimsy fabric.
“Do you want to get out of here?” he asks.
I nod against him. Our hands link, and he’s pulling me through the crowd. I rush after him, staying as close as I can. Outside, Quinn hands the valet a piece of paper and pulls me close. His arm is over my shoulder and mine is around his back. To anyone looking at us, we’re a couple, likely heading home after a night out. To me, we’re two people trying to find a path. Where it leads, neither of us know, but something tells me we’re about to find out.
19
Quinn
I’m a lot of things in life. Just ask my mother. She’ll tell you that I’m talented, good-looking, sweet, kind, good-n
atured, a rule follower, and shy. All really great attributes to have, except the last one. Being shy can be a hindrance. It can hold you back from trying out for a school play that the drama teacher desperately wants you to star in or putting yourself out there when you really want something. Shyness can also make someone appear aloof or rude. Neither of which I am.
There are other drawbacks to being shy, like being so reserved you don’t realize a good thing until it’s passed you by. I’m sure I’ve missed a few opportunities in my life especially when it comes to finding the right woman to spend time with. Having two sisters, girls were in and out of our house, most of them with a crush or at least showing some sort of interest in getting to know me better. Introversion aside, I’d never date one of my sisters’ friends. Not because I don’t like them, but more because I find it awkward and wouldn’t want to put Peyton or Elle in that situation, although, Peyton is engaged to my best friend. The difference being, Noah and I don’t sit around and gossip over bottles of wine.
I’ve never had an urge to chase someone until now. I can’t explain it, and I’m not sure I want to try. There’s something about Nola that pushes all the right buttons to get my heart beating faster, my palms sweating, and my tongue thick and tied which results in my inability to speak coherently when she’s around.
When she invited me to the club, my immediate response was no. Clubs aren’t for me. Sure, I’ve been to some, but mostly when Elle would ask me or if 4225 West was throwing a party. I’ve tried to engage in that lifestyle, use my name to get me things, but it’s not for me. So, when Nola asked, I wanted to say yes. The word was on the tip of my tongue, but reticence held me back. When we hung up, I had to ask myself if she was worth putting myself out there, being uncomfortable. The answer was yes.
And now, as I look down at the woman who has her arm around my back and is resting her head on my chest, I feel like the luckiest guy in the world… but I’m a guy without a plan. I hadn’t thought about where I would take her when I asked her if she wanted to leave the club. I just wanted to get out of there and away from the mass quantity of people. I’d love to take her back to my place but doing so sends the wrong message. Of course, I want to be with her, but getting to know her is high on my priority list.
My car arrives, and the valet hands me my keys. I hold the door open for Nola, waiting for her to situate herself before closing her in and rushing around to the driver’s side.
“I thought you had a motorcycle?” she asks as soon as I shut the door. I look over my shoulder and punch the gas to enter onto the road.
“I do.”
“And a car?”
“Um… yeah.”
“So, you’re not a struggling musician?”
I hadn’t thought about how this would look. What guy, who plays at a café, can afford both? Not many that I know of. I’m really struggling on how to reply to her and can feel her gaze boring into me.
“It’s okay to say that your parents bought them for you or whatever. My daddy bought me a car for graduation.”