Chapter 15
QUINN
It takes us fifteen minutes to walk from our apartment to the club across the river in the Testaccio quarter, and I miraculously make it the entire way in heels without tripping on the cobblestones.
Music floats down from the surrounding rooftops, pounding in my veins.
This is exactly what I need. To give myself over to the music and think about nothing else.
Not the blowup in front of the professors or the very tempting job Inez is considering or what this change on campus would mean for my own work.
I spot Tomasso pacing in front of the club, and he waves enthusiastically when he catches sight of us. Then his eyes land on Inez, and he trips over his feet, landing on his knees. She rushes forward and grabs his arm to help him up.
“Grazie. Scusa,” he says as he gets to his feet, pushing his glasses back up his nose. “You must be Inez.”
“I am,” she says, a pretty blush painting her cheeks. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Colton nudges me with his elbow, widening his eyes when I look up at him.
“May I escort you in?” Tomasso asks, offering her his arm.
She giggles, slipping her arm through his. “I’d love that.”
Colton snorts next to me, and I elbow him hard in the side. He lets out a little oof, and then whispers, “Come on, it’s like we’ve stepped into one of your period movies.”
“It’s adorable,” I whisper back. “This summer’s been stressful for Inez. She deserves a little fun.”
“The band tonight is great. You will love them, Quinn,” Tomasso says as he guides us inside and up to the roof, his eyes never leaving Inez’s face.
The lights are low everywhere except along the bar, and the dance floor is already packed.
Inez squeals and pulls me out, and I glance over my shoulder at Colton, who settles at the bar with Tomasso at his side, whispering frantically and sending Inez longing glances.
Colton says something back, clapping him on the shoulder and pushing him in our direction.
His eyes sparkle when he catches me watching him, and he gestures that he’ll order me a drink, the move so reminiscent of our college years that the world shifts in front of me, Colton’s hair growing out and his face taking back on the softer features of his early twenties.
Tomasso was right. The band’s fantastic, playing a mix of covers and originals.
The three of us dance together, though it slowly transitions from us all dancing together to me dancing next to them.
I’m starting to feel solidly like a third wheel, and my eyes automatically seek out Colton.
He’s still at the bar, though now there’s some woman cozying up to him, and I ignore the swirling in my stomach.
If he wants to hook up with a gorgeous Italian woman, it’s none of my business.
I fight to lose myself to the music, but my eyes keep wandering to him. He leans against the bar, all relaxed and casual and confident. I see a glimpse of his smirk, but I’m relieved to see no dimple. That woman may flirt with him, kiss him—hell, even fuck him—but that dimple’s mine.
I catch her hand landing on his forearm—exposed by those damned rolled sleeves again—her head thrown back in laughter. Why the hell is she laughing so hard? Colton isn’t that funny. She leans forward to whisper something in his ear, and a weird, growly sound escapes my throat.
I push my way off the dance floor to join Colton like it’s a compulsion. As I approach, she excuses herself with one last flirty glance in Colt’s direction. He hands me a rum and coke without a word, and I take a couple long gulps to calm myself.
“When are you getting out there?” I ask with a little shimmy.
“Never, and you know it.”
I face him fully, studying him over the lip of my glass as I take another sip. “I figured someone would have taught you to love dancing by now.”
“If you couldn’t get me on the dance floor, there’s no one in the world who could.” He holds my gaze and my heart jumps in my chest. Is he saying… “I mean, the badgering. It was constant.”
He laughs at his own joke, and I force one myself as I push him. Of course, that’s what he means. And what I want him to mean. God, I’m acting like a lunatic tonight.
“Not even the bombshell?” I ask, wagging my eyebrows to cover my scowl. “She’s been looking at you like you’re a nice plate of tartufo.”
“Who?”
I clench my jaw. “You’re full of shit. The tall, skinny brunette with the great boobs who’s been hanging all over you since we walked in.”
He shrugs, and my blood boils. “Not my type.”
I don’t believe him for a second. She’s everyone’s type. “Great boobs aren’t your type?”
His eyes flick down to my cleavage and the heat in my veins shifts to something else. I remind my overeager libido that he isn’t expressing interest. He’s a heterosexual male. I say boobs; he looks at boobs. That’s it.
He chuckles. “Never said that. I said she wasn’t my type.”
I shift uncomfortably. “So, you’re going to stand by the bar all night?”
“That’s the plan.” He salutes with his drink.
“You’re the one who suggested we go dancing!”
He tilts his head to the side. “I suggested we go out so you could go dancing to cheer you up, so go. Dance. Cheer up.”
“Fine. Be boring. If you need me, I’ll be out there having a good time.”
I stomp off, simultaneously frustrated as hell and confused by that frustration.
Colt refusing to join the dance floor is nothing new.
He hates dancing. It was a constant all four years at school.
I’d pester him to come out on the floor.
He’d say no. I’d tell him he was no fun and happily head off.
But now his rejection twists around my ribs, constricting like a snake.
What the hell is happening to me?
I just keep thinking about Colton scratching the itch with the beautiful woman hanging all over him.
Or the perfect woman Tomasso introduced him to and all the other women who touched him when I was across an ocean, only getting glimpses of him through the phone.
And I hate that no matter how much thinking about those things pissed me off, I can’t act on it.
Less than a song later, warm hands slip around my waist. I tense for a heartbeat, and then the scent hits me—cedar and old parchment—and my heart leaps into my throat.
Colton pulls me back against him, and now my heart is beating so hard I can hardly hear the music.
He starts swaying, not even close to being on beat.
But he’s out on the dance floor with me for the first time.
Colton’s breath gusts against my ear. “Why are you mad at me, Chaos?”
“I’m not mad,” I call back over the music.
With the way our bodies are plastered together, I can feel him shake his head. “Liar.”
But he doesn’t push, doesn’t question it or demand an answer. He sucks in a breath when I run my hands down his corded forearms, linking our fingers together and tugging his arms so they’re wrapped fully around me.
When the song ends, he starts to pull away, and my grip tightens on his arm. “Please?”
His shuddering breath blows against my neck, and I have to fight to hold in a moan. “One more.”
His hands slide across my stomach, stopping to grip my hips as we settle into a rhythm.
My eyes drop close as I let myself fall back into him, the bass pounding in my ears and pressure at my back sending me into full sensory overload.
His fingers stretch over the fabric of my tight dress, sliding and flexing like he can’t keep them still.
I’ve danced with better dancers—people with perfect rhythm and years of experience under their belts—but I’ve never wanted a dance to go on forever like this one, and I think I may go into full-blown mourning when it ends.
When the next song starts, I try to twist in his arms to face him, but he lets go of me, quickly taking a step back. “You got your dance, Chaos. Two of them. I’ll be at the bar.”
He doesn’t look back, and the loss of his body heat leaves me cold, even in the warm Roman night. I try to refocus on my friends, but I can’t stop looking back at him, posted at the bar with his eyes glued to the whiskey in his hands.
I don’t want to look at him this way. Don’t want to be so focused on him and desperate for his attention. But it seems unavoidable tonight, and I think I need to go home, go to sleep, and reset my head tomorrow.
“I’m done for the night. Want to head home?” I ask Inez.
“Noooo,” she whines. “Aren’t you having fun?”
“Yeah, but I’m exhausted.”
She looks over at Tomasso, who smiles and nods. Oh god, these two are already communicating without speaking. They’re going to be one of those couples this summer, aren’t they? “You go. I’m going to stay with Tomasso for a bit longer.”
I point at Tomasso. “You keep her safe. If she doesn’t make it home perfectly happy and healthy, I know where your whole family lives.”
He laughs, pulling me in to kiss each cheek. “I’ll guard her with my life.”
I look over at Inez, still hesitant to leave her. She grabs my face between her hands. “Quinn, the past month’s been exhausting. I need this. I’m a grown woman, and I’ll only have one more drink. Go home. I’ll be fine.”
I smile and kiss her cheek. “Make good decisions.”
“Too late,” she hollers and twirls to the music, and Tomasso’s delighted laughter cuts through the air.
I walk over to Colton at the bar. “I’m heading home. You staying for a bit?”
“Hell no,” he says.
My heart jumps, and I remind myself that he’s choosing to get out of the club, not stay with me. I loop my arm through his like I did the first day we met, determined to be us again, without all this weird swirling in my gut, and the two of us walk home.