Chapter 24 Colton
COLTON
I’m still trying to piece my mind back together. This woman just sucked my soul out, and she wants to talk about this now?
I drop down into the armchair in the corner of my room, my head falling back so I’m looking up at the ceiling. My chest is still heaving and if I answer now, I’ll probably declare my love and blow up our entire friendship.
“Give a man a second to recover, Chaos.”
When she doesn’t laugh, I look up to find she’s started pacing the room again.
The lush bottom lip that gave me more pleasure than I imagined possible is tucked between her teeth, and she’s tapping her fingers on the side of her leg like she always does when trying to keep herself from talking.
She looks terrified, and it’s all my fault.
I could feel the love shining from my eyes as I looked down at her, so perfect on her knees for me, and now I’ve scared her off.
Quinn stops in front of me. “Colton, answer my question.”
My eyebrows draw together. “Isn’t that what you want? Just sex?”
Her eyes go wide, like a sweet baby deer. “Yeah, obviously that’s what I want.”
I nod, even though I feel like I’ve been thrown into an MMA ring with no training and am getting the shit beat out of me.
“I’m freaking out, Colt,” she says.
“Why are you freaking out?”
“Because,” she says at an octave I’ve never heard from her. “This is the sort of thing people freak out over. We’ve hooked up twice now.”
“Technically four times.” My lip quirks up at the memories of the night before, and Quinn smacks my shoulder.
“Stop being cute,” she says, like it’s the most painful thing she’s ever experienced.
I grab Quinn by the waist and pull her to a stop between my legs. “You’re scared about our friendship? We felt like us on the trip home, and that was after we slept together. I don’t feel like it’s ruined. Do you?”
She chews on her lip again and shakes her head.
“Right. Because there’s no universe where you aren’t my best friend. No choice that could be made to drive me away.”
She rolls her lips together to try to hide her smile. “Promise?”
I groan. “Yes, I promise. Damn, you’re needy.”
She laughs and pushes my shoulder, the light back in her eyes.
I pause, doubting if I should ask this question but desperate to know the answer. “If you’re so scared, why did you come to my room tonight?”
“I don’t know,” she says quietly, and I lift a brow. “Because… because I wanted to.”
My heart does a flip in my chest. I’ll never get tired of hearing her say she wants me. I give her a little tug, and she falls onto my lap, legs going to either side of mine. Her mouth is an inch away from mine when I whisper, “Good. I wanted it, too.”
Our lips touch, and I combust all over again. Will she ever not wreck me completely? I can’t imagine a day when even the smallest touch from her won’t electrify every cell in my body.
An idea comes to me, one that will probably leave me destroyed at the end.
I never should have kissed her, never should have let myself see what I’ll spend the rest of my life missing, but it’s too late for that now.
The damage is done. Shouldn’t I take as much happiness as I can while it’s available to me?
If she wants me for now, I’ll gather as many of those memories as possible, like a squirrel hiding away food for the winter.
I pull back so I can see every microscopic reaction to what I’m about to suggest.
“I have an idea,” I say.
She blinks away the haze in her eyes. “An idea…”
“We have another five weeks here. We’re too busy to meet other people. And even if we did, it’s not like it could go anywhere since we’re leaving. What if we… don’t stop?”
“Don’t stop having sex?” she asks, her eyes wide.
“I don’t think I’ll be able to continuously fuck you for the next five weeks, but I appreciate the vote of confidence,” I say drily, and she punches my arm.
“You think we should keep hooking up for the rest of the summer?”
“Why not?” Besides the inevitable heartbreak coming for me in five weeks’ time. “Neither one of us wants to stop. We know and trust each other, and we’re together all the time anyway, so it’ll be convenient.”
“You sure know how to make a girl feel wanted,” Quinn deadpans. “Convenient may be the sexiest thing I’ve ever been called.”
“Do you want pretty words, Quinn? For me to wax poetic about your dark eyes and soft skin?” I ask, and her eyes go wide as she frantically shakes her head.
She looks away, and for the first time in our friendship, I’m the one fighting to keep my mouth closed. I want to give her the space to think about this, not steamroll her into a physical relationship.
“If we’re going to do this, I think we should set some ground rules,” she says.
My heart soars. She’s in—or at least seriously considering it—which means I’ll have five more weeks of this. Of the connection and heat that comes with being with Quinn, so much deeper than anything I’ve experienced with any other woman.
“Rules?” I brush her hair back from her shoulder, letting my fingers play over the sensitive skin where her neck and shoulder met. She shivers on top of me.
“To avoid confusion about what this is. So that neither of us forgets that it’s casual.”
I freeze and look up at her. She’s worried that I’ll get too attached, and it’s a fair concern.
What she doesn’t understand is that I’m already too attached, so attached that I’ll cling on after she leaves me because a life without her is inconceivable.
I’d rather watch her live her life with someone else than not have her in mine.
I run my tongue over my teeth. “What do you need?”
She blinks rapidly for a couple seconds, then seems to steel herself.
“Nothing physical except sex. No snuggling up for movies or sweet goodbye kisses. No holding hands while we walk through the market. All heart-to-hearts need to stay clothed. Our friendship and our physical relationship stay separate. This is just sex.”
I ignore the way my ribs constrict my internal organs at her words. She can’t offer more than this, and I won’t try to force more from her than she’s willing to give.
“Got it. Just sex.”
I remind myself of that while we go another round, Quinn pushing us back to a fast, punishing pace any time we veered toward something sweeter.
Just sex.
I chant it as we lay next to each other, sweaty, exhausted, and more satisfied than I’ve been in my life.
Just sex.
And when she drapes herself over my body, I remind myself that she’s staying because she’s worn out and doesn’t want to walk the dozen steps to her own bed, not because she craves the physical connection like I do. I fall asleep to the constant refrain.
Just sex. Just sex. Just sex.
At least, for her.
I juggle the cellphone in my hand, too much nervous energy in my system for my hands to stay still.
The past four days have been an emotional roller coaster. Quinn and I came to an agreement last night—three times, to be exact—but the emotional bomb of the weekend is still hanging over my head.
“You’re asking for a broken screen,” a voice says, and I jump, fumbling the phone and barely catching it before it hits the cobblestones.
Richard is standing in front of our school’s door, shifting his messenger bag higher on his shoulder as he exits.
I smile sheepishly. “Not my best habit.”
He lets out a long sigh. “There’s another habit of yours I wanted to talk to you about.”
My brow furrows. I can’t think of anything I’ve done that would bother him. “Yes, sir?”
“I was talking to Giancarlo Guarino in the common room a couple days ago. He mentioned you’ve been making a stir on campus.”
“I wouldn’t call it a stir,” I say with a little laugh that Richard doesn’t return. “All I did was offer to be a resource for Quinn’s class.”
“We talked about this, son.” He claps me on the shoulder. “No making waves until you’re established on campus. Follow the path I set out for you, and everything will be fine.”
“I wasn’t going to leave her up there alone,” I say, some of my frustration edging into my voice.
“She’s made her own decisions,” he says in the tone of a placating parent. “Don’t throw away your future over some misguided feeling of obligation.”
My stomach plummets. “I believe in what she’s doing, and she’s getting the professors on board. It’s not a risk.”
Richard sighs again and pats my shoulder. “Think about what I said. It’d be a shame to lose another promising mind to my daughter’s whims.”
He turns and heads down the street before I can respond. I want to yell after him that this isn’t a whim. This is the result of years of hard work on Quinn’s part. But by the time I rediscover my voice, he’s been swallowed by the crowd.
I lean back against the stone wall, thinking through everything Richard said. The churning in my gut makes me sick, but I remind myself that it’s just Giancarlo causing trouble. We still have five weeks to win him over.
I close my eyes and release a heavy breath, finally biting the bullet on why I’m pacing to begin with and pulling up my mother’s contact. Might as well tackle all the turmoil at once. It’s early, but she’ll be up. She’s always been a morning person, like me.
It rings three times before she picks up. “If this isn’t the perfect way to start a day, I don’t know what is.”
“Hey, Momma,” I say, unable to keep the smile off my face, even as adrenaline flows through my veins.
“How’re you doing, sweet boy?”
I chuckle. It used to drive me crazy when she called me that, especially in front of the other kids in high school. But now it feels special, a recognition of all the effort she put into me when I was little to make sure I could be who I am today.
I struggle with what to say next. We need to talk about her spending—for her to understand where I stand financially—but I don’t want to disappoint her.
I decide to start with a softball. “How’s the renovation coming along?”
Her tinkling laugh comes down the line. “Colton Ford Miller, actually interested in my decorating schemes?”
“I show interest in your life,” I say with a scowl she can’t see.
“Sure, sure,” she says. “Don’t get your panties in a twist. I know you care about me. But you’ve never been good at faking interest for things you don’t enjoy.”
I clear my throat. “Well, I’m asking now.”
“It’s already so beautiful, Colton. I just know it’s going to be perfect. The way it opens up to the living room? So much natural light and such a great flow for the space. Della and Lettie are gonna be so jealous.”
Momma and her never-ending competition with the neighbors.
“That’s great to hear,” I say. “Look—”
“I haven’t thanked you yet, have I?” she asks. “Pretty sure I’ve been too busy busting your chops, but you know how proud I am of you, right?”
“Of course I do,” I say thickly.
“I’ll admit now I was a bit nervous when you called to say you were switching from your business major to Roman history.
Seemed so impractical at the time. But look at you now.
Stable and happy and making a name for yourself, with enough left over to help your crazy old mom.
I don’t know why I ever doubted you when you’re clearly the smartest of us all. ”
“You’ve always been smarter than me,” I say, and I mean it. She’s brilliant, but with her circumstances, leaving Grand Creek was never an option.
“You’re a sweet little liar. Hey, I was thinking about cutting back my hours at the factory,” she says, and I’m glad that we aren’t on a video call so she doesn’t see my wince. “Since you’re done with your PhD and at a stable job now.”
It’s what we always talked about. My whole childhood, I told her she worked too hard, was too exhausted and overwhelmed.
I begged her to cut back, telling her that I didn’t need the latest SAT study guide or a private tutor if it meant she was going to drive herself into the ground to get it for me.
And every time, she’d say it was her turn to work hard, and that I’d have my turn after I finished school.
Here’s where I should speak up. It’s my chance to set the record straight about my finances.
To tell her the reason I didn’t come home for so many years is because I couldn’t afford to, not because I was busy working.
To mention how I’ve been living on beans and rice for the majority of the year so I can cover my rent and her mortgage.
To explain that the reason I say yes to each new project is because I’m desperate to give her what she deserves, not because I can afford it.
But instead, I say, “That’s so great to hear, Momma.” I tug at the collar of my shirt that suddenly feels too tight.
“Really?” she says, her excitement palpable.
“It’ll be so nice to have some free time!
I was thinking about starting up a book club.
Not one where we read books, obviously, but one of those book clubs where I buy a ton of cheap wine and everyone gets drunk and gossips about what’s going on in town. ”
She’s so happy. This is the future I promised her, back when I was going to be a bigshot finance guy with enough money to charter a plane between New York and Grand Creek.
It’s the future she expected when she worked herself to the bone to support me, an unspoken agreement.
One I threw away when I decided to change my career path for my own enjoyment.
She loves me, but her dreams for me—and, by extension, for herself—have always spoken the loudest.
You’re going to be the one who makes it out, sweet boy.
Our lives will be better. You’ll see. With that giant brain of yours, everything’s gonna work out.
You just watch. Get that fancy degree of yours and things will turn around right quick.
The image—and paycheck—she conjures when she hears the word “professor” doesn’t line up with reality. I can’t tell her that the job I chose doesn’t come with the money she always expected for me to make. I was her hope for a better future, and I can’t bring myself to break that mirage.
“I should prep for class,” I say.
“Of course. You get outta here, fancy professor man,” she says. “I love you.”
“Yeah, I love you, too,” I say, hanging up before she can take note of the tremor in my voice.
I’ll find ways to make it work, skimp where I need to, and I’ll keep working toward my own success in the name of providing for the both of us. No matter what.
And as much as I hate myself for it, Richard’s voice echoes in my head.
No making waves until you’re established on campus.