Chapter 18
QUINN
JUNE — SEVEN WEEKS TO WIN OVER THE FACULTY
I’m fine.
Completely and totally fine.
I’m not hiding in my room. My books just need organizing.
I’m not avoiding Colton. It just so happens that our schedules have been opposite since that night.
That epic night.
Get yourself under control, you horny bitch.
I thought we were fine, but when Colton touched me at the forum, I felt the electricity of it through every inch of my body. I wanted to climb him like a tree, and at the same time, I was terrified by the reaction. What if I can’t get this under control? I’ll lose him.
My bedroom door creaks open and Inez peeks her head in.
“She’s dressed,” she says, over her shoulder. A second later, she and Colton push into my room.
“What are you doing?” I sputter as she throws herself next to me on the bed and Colton walks to my closet, sliding the hangers one by one along the metal pole.
“You’ve been weird,” Colton says without looking away from his search.
“No, I haven’t! I’ve just been busy.”
“Nope, you’ve been weird,” Inez says, lowering her voice. “Is this because of me? The job stuff?”
I squeeze her hand. “No, not at all.”
I’m still worried about her leaving, obviously, but I feel more positive after my conversation with Andrea.
I’m being weird because a week ago I had my other best friend’s hand down my underwear and then talked him through his own orgasm, which is totally fine and I’m super chill and not at all freaking out.
My eyes shoot to Colton’s, who has finally looked back at me, and I give my head the smallest of shakes so he understands I haven’t looped Inez in on the latest…
developments. She’s perfect and lovely and supportive, but she’s also a surprisingly pushy hopeless romantic who already thinks Colt and I should be together, and I don’t need her getting ideas.
“It’s just been a lot all at once,” I say, my eyes still locked on Colton’s, and he nods slightly.
Inez grabs my hand. “Well, we’re here to break you out of it.”
“So because I’ve been weird, not saying I agree”—I’ve definitely been weird—“you’re messing around in my closet?”
“We’re going out tonight,” Colton says, eyes back on the shirts and dresses.
“How do you know I’m not busy?” I ask indignantly.
He turns and points back and forth between me and Inez. “Because you two are codependent and she’d know if you had plans.”
“We’re not codependent.” I turn to Inez for back up.
She scrunches up her nose. “You come into the office to have me check your breath before each class.”
“The room is tiny! I don’t want to subject my students to onion breath!”
Colton raises an eyebrow. “Codependent.”
I raise a brow and lean toward him. “Jealous?”
His lip quirks in that not-quite smile. “I plead the fifth.”
I huff a laugh. “Fine. Where are we going?”
As I ask, he pulls something from the closet and tosses it on the bed—a red floor-length gown with stunning embroidery. I raise an eyebrow.
“We’re going to Turandot.” He holds up his hand to stop me when I open my mouth. “And, yes, I know you’re going to say it’s flawed, but it’s the only thing playing right now, so you’re shit out of luck.”
I’ve loved the opera my entire life. The magnitude and drama of it all.
Everything’s big. The costumes and the sets and the voices.
Their extreme emotions are revered, and for someone who was constantly told her enthusiasm and joy—everything about her, really—needed to be tamped down, it’s a relief to sit with something even bigger.
I dragged Colton to plenty of shows during our college years, and he didn’t care for it nearly as much as I did.
In other words, it put him to sleep. Literally—every time.
It got so ridiculous that we started making bets on how long he’d last, and whoever won got to choose the next movie night.
I ended up spending half of those shows watching him instead of the stage.
I raise an eyebrow. “You hate the opera.”
He smirks. “Yes, but you love the opera. They’re at the Baths of Caracalla, so there’s a little something for me, too.”
The Baths were one of the largest structures of Roman life; brick, concrete, and marble mixed together to create a towering complex. Like almost everything from ancient Rome, it fell to ruins over a millennium ago.
The ruins are beautiful in their own right, but a few times a month, the Rome Opera House sets up a stage within the structure. It breathes new life into the crumbling construction and gives audience members a one-of-a-kind experience.
Inez gathers the pile of fabric onto her lap. “Quinn, this is an actual gown. Why did you pack a gown?”
My brow furrows. “I said I packed for every potential activity.”
Her eyes bug out. “Some people will be in jeans and t-shirts, and you can’t wear a sundress?”
“Just because they’re going to be underdressed doesn’t mean I have to be. There are—”
“Few opportunities to get dressed up, and the opera deserves our respect,” Colton finishes in a ridiculous impression of me.
I toss my pillow at him, and he stretches one arm straight in front of him, snatching it out of the air before it comes close to making contact. It’s hot, and I hate him for it.
Inez stands, shaking out the dress so she can lay it flat on my bed before heading to the door. “I personally didn’t pack something fit for the Oscars.”
“Boo,” I call at her back, and she laughs, her long dark curls shaking behind her. “I’m gonna look silly dressed up all by myself.”
Colton walks over to the bed, tossing my pillow back and forth between his hands. “Don’t worry. I have a suit.”
I’m too busy picturing Colton in a suit to notice the pillow flying at my face.
Fuck me, that’s a suit.
This isn’t my first time seeing Colton in one, but that was back when we were in school, when what he wore was practically an ill-fitting bag, a hand-me-down from some guy in his hometown.
He used to yank the sides of the gray jacket over his chest, like tugging the fabric would make it magically alter to his slim body.
It’d been almost compulsive when we sat at the banquet for the Harrow Fellowship, a bunch of kids dolled up just in case we were the one out of five to have their lives changed overnight.
This is not that suit. The black fabric’s perfectly fitted to the lines of his body, his sleek tie the perfect, tempting tool to grab and yank him forward.
He still fiddles with his clothes, but now when he tugs on the sleeve of his shirt, it’s like watching one of those ridiculous but somehow still hot as hell cologne commercials play out in real life.
Colton’s eyes land on me, and I can feel his gaze as it follows the path of my formfitting dress, clocking the slit that comes to my upper thigh.
I shiver under his watch, and all my concerns from earlier come flying back.
How are we supposed to move forward with all of… whatever this is between us?
His eyes settle on the curve of my hip, and I heat up to the point of near combustion. I have to tell him this is too much, that I need time and space to reset and get rid of this sexual tension so we can be us again. I’ll never move past it when he looks at me like that.
“You may want to pull the dress out of your underwear before we leave,” he says with that little lip quirk, and all those warm, confusing feelings fly out the window.
He isn’t checking me out. My ass is hanging out. Anyone would notice that, and thankfully he’s kind enough to point it out instead of awkwardly ignoring my little show.
I tug the material and smooth it out. “You’re a fashionista now?”
He chuckles, and I love that rumbling sound. “Don’t need to be a fashion designer to know dresses aren’t supposed to break public decency laws.”
“Tell that to Rihanna.”
He keeps fiddling with his sleeves and jacket. At first, I think it’s because he feels as awkward as I do with all of this, but then he starts bouncing on his toes like he’s physically incapable of staying still.
I eye him speculatively. “What’s going on with you?”
“What do you mean?” he asks, the words coming out in a rush as he glances at his watch. “Do you think Inez will be ready soon? We should probably get going. It may get crowded.”
“It’s less than fifteen minutes away. We’ll be fine.”
“Yeah, you’re right. I’ll take care of a few things since we have the time,” he says, gathering the books I left on our dining table and dropping them in my room before rushing back to fold the throw blanket on the couch.
When he moves on to straightening the decorative bowls on the shelves, I know something’s up.
“Are you on something?” I ask him, only half joking.
“What? No, of course not,” he answers, still moving.
“In all the years I’ve known you, you’ve never talked like that. Or moved like that. What drugs did you take?”
He stops walking suddenly, his body swaying forward like it hadn’t expected to stop. Colton brings his hand to his heart. “I swear to you, no drugs are in my system right now.” He starts moving again, then abruptly stops. “I lied to you.”
“I knew it!” I yell, pointing at him.
He lifts his hands. “Not what you think, but caffeine is technically a drug.”
“Caffeine?” I ask, he nods happily, bouncing on his toes again. “How much have you had?”
“Solamente tre.”
“Three? You had three espressos?”
“No, doubles.”
“Colton! Three double espressos? Your heart’s gonna explode.”
He shakes his finger at me, eyes narrowed like he’s letting me in on a secret. “But I won’t fall asleep.”
“Because you’ll be dead!”
“Colton’s dying?” Inez asks as she comes bounding out of her room in a sundress completely at odds with my gown. She’s glowing and adorable and perfect, and yet I still shake my head.
“You look stunning, and yet you disappoint me,” I say.
She smiles and twirls, the light blue fabric making her brown skin pop as it flows around her. “Some of us have to make do without our entire wardrobe to choose from.”