CHAPTER 29
Cole
Quinn yanks the door open too fast, trips on her heel, and lurches inside with a groan. She collapses into the seat, scrubbing a hand over her face. “Thanks for saving me,” she mumbles, voice wobbling.
“Here, drink some water,” I say, nudging a bottle toward her before shifting into gear. “You all right?”
She grabs the water and immediately takes a sip. “I’ll be okay as long as we pretend this night never happened. Like, ever.”
“What happened?” I ask, pulling out of the car park. The neon orange Hooters sign shrinks in the rearview—thank fuck.
“Ugh. Don’t even get me started.”
“That bad, huh?”
“He looked at himself more than he looked at me. And if it weren’t for the drinks, I would’ve left way earlier.”
“Yeah, he looked like the type from what I saw when I dropped you off.”
“Oh my God, you saw him and didn’t come and rescue me?”
“Well, I wasn’t sure if he was your type…”
“Cole, we’ve been basically living together for two months,” she says, giving me a pointed look, “yet you think I’d be into a guy who would probably sleep with himself if he could?” She laughs, tucking one foot under her thigh and fixing the seat belt that’s sliding off her shoulder.
“Fair. But I figured maybe you were going through a confusing gym-bro phase, and I didn’t want to interrupt.”
She rolls her eyes. “Oh, ha-ha, very funny,” she quips.
I chuckle, easing the car around a bend. Even as she jokes, something twists in my chest. As much as I love teasing her, I wish I’d stuck around longer, waited to make sure she looked at ease.
“Oh, and he only talked about himself! I’m pretty sure he’s hooking up with the waitress,” Quinn says, taking another sip of water. “There was definitely something going on. Looked like a situationship to me.”
“What’s a situationship?”
“When a guy’s too emotionally unavailable to put a label on anything. Sophie gets caught up in them all the time. Honestly, I don’t know how she does it. Dating is exhausting.”
“So now that you’ve gone on the obligatory date, have your thoughts on dating changed?”
“Not really.” She exhales deeply, eyes fluttering closed for a beat.
She says it so simply, like she hasn’t just knocked the air out of me. Of course she doesn’t want to date. Not after everything her ex put her through. She’s still putting herself back together again.
If she’s going to try again one day, it should be with someone who notices, who listens.
Someone who gives a shit. Next time, I’ll be the one to take her out.
I’ll open doors, make her laugh until she snorts, take her for real food and let her pick the music.
Show her the kind of night she deserves.
Quinn pulls her legs up, sitting cross-legged now. “And to think I went to the trouble all because Soph convinced me to see what’s out there.”
“And did you?”
She gives me a look like What do you think? “I didn’t even get the cheeseburger I wanted. He ordered for me!”
That guy didn’t deserve her. He didn’t know her. Didn’t even try. God, I wish it had been me there tonight, listening to her ramble through bites of food she enjoys. Not some gym junkie her best friend swiped on her behalf.
“I bet he’d be terrible in bed,” she muses, then chokes on a laugh, palms flying to her cheeks.
Her hair falls forward, and she pushes it back, still blushing.
“I can’t believe I said that.” She peeks at me through her fingers.
“Not that I was going home with him anyway. He’s the kind of guy who probably thinks foreplay is a protein shake and a wink. ”
“Why not?”
“I’m not like that,” she says. “Even if it has been a while.”
“It’s okay,” I say. “We’re in the same boat.”
“I don’t really mind though,” she murmurs, tapping the window. “It was never really good anyway.”
So not only did Josh treat her like an afterthought, he didn’t even care enough to make it good. A guy like that probably thought the finish line was his own pleasure.
Me? I get off on giving. If I ever got the chance with Quinn, I wouldn’t just want to touch her. I’d want to learn her—the way her breath hitched, the way her fingers clutched the sheets when I found that one spot. That’s the part I’d crave most.
“It’s been a while for me too,” I offer.
“How long?”
“A year and a half.”
Truthfully, there hadn’t been anyone since Kass.
I buried myself in work just to stay busy, and when Markus passed and the renovation fell into my hands, my time stretched even thinner.
Maybe that was for the best. After what Kass put me through during those eighteen months, I needed the quiet, the distance, the space to breathe again.
“Oh. Well, same then,” she says, tracing the rim of the water bottle, gaze fixed on the dashboard. “Why so long?”
“I know it sounds cliché, but I don’t really do one-night stands.”
“I could’ve guessed.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re just… genuine. I’ve never met anyone like you.”
That one hits somewhere deep. I glance at her, my fingers tightening around the wheel just enough to stop myself from reaching for her.
If I ever wanted to, I wouldn’t do it like this.
Not with her tipsy, walls lowered by alcohol.
It was already pushing it that night at Avellana, and we’d both been drinking then.
“Almost home,” I murmur, partly to fill the silence, mostly to steady myself.
Gravel crunches under the tires as I ease into the driveway. The porch light flickers on, throwing a soft glow across the steps. I shove the door open and walk around to hers without a second thought.
She swings her legs out, wobbling barefoot before stumbling into my chest with a breathy laugh. Her hands press lightly to my sides for balance, but she doesn’t move away.
She exhales, fingertips dragging across the hem of my shirt before straightening. I tuck her under my arm, guiding us up the porch. The wood groans beneath us. I unlock the front door and lead her inside. She doesn’t let go.
“No, not my room. Couch,” she pleads.
“If you say so…” I change course, taking small steps to the living room.
She lets out a sigh as her limbs sprawl out, the night rolling off her. “Never again. The only person I want to see tonight is you.”
My heart stutters. It’s the alcohol talking. I can’t afford to read into it, no matter how much I want to.
“Okay. Water, then bed.”
“No, I want to stay here.” She pouts and sinks deeper into the couch, tugging the blanket higher.
I chuckle and sit beside her, doing as she instructs. She throws her legs across my lap and within minutes, her eyes flutter closed.
I get up only once I know she’s out cold, scoop her into my arms. She stirs, threading her fingers through my hair.
“So soft…” she murmurs. “I’ve been wanting to do this since I met you.”
My breath hitches. It’s nothing, just a sleepy compliment from a girl too drunk to work her filter, but something in me stirs anyway. I force it down.
I carry her, her cheek resting against my shoulder, her breath feather-light against my collarbone.
“No, not my room,” she groans, nestling closer. I pivot, nudge the door to my room open with my foot, and lower her gently onto the bed. Her fingers stay curled in my shirt until the mattress settles beneath her. She murmurs something too soft to catch, and I brush a strand of hair from her face.
I start to step back, but her fingers wrap around my wrist, tugging lightly.
“Stay.”
I strip down to my boxers and grab the first shirt I can find, but before I can pull it on, she reaches out again, patting the spot beside her. “Hurry up.”
I abandon the shirt and climb in. She curls into me instantly, body moulding against mine. Her head finds my chest, her fingers tracing lazy shapes into my skin.
“Mmm, you’re warm.”
“So are you.” I rest my hand on her back, letting it rise and fall with her breath. “I’ve been wanting to do this too,” I whisper. Every word is true.
I press a slow kiss to her forehead, linger longer than I should, then nestle my cheek into her hair.
No space between us. No jokes. No distractions.
Just her body melting into mine. I should pull back, but she wriggles in closer, and the chaos in my head finally quiets.
The late nights of renovations, the dull ache of losing Markus—all muffled now.
Quinn doesn’t say anything else. Just exhales, breath warm against my skin. Her fingers drift in absent patterns, slowing until they dissolve mid-gesture, hand heavy with sleep.
And in that quiet, I let myself imagine it: Sunday mornings in this bed, her stealing the covers, yelling at me for hogging the coffee. Her dancing barefoot in the kitchen. Her choosing me, not out of default, but because she wants to.
I know I have a long way to go, starting with telling her how I feel. But I’ve realised I want something messy. Real. Something I’ll hold on to long after the night fades.
She might forget the way she reached for me. Brush it off with a sleepy smile. But I won’t. Because tonight, for a moment, she landed here with me.
And God, I hope it wasn’t just the alcohol talking.