CHAPTER 39
Quinn
God, trying to find Sophie is like hunting for a beautiful needle in a haystack of mediocre men. I can’t spot her anywhere. The bar’s already humming, bodies spilling in, and I want one last catch-up before the chaos hits.
The only place I haven’t checked is the office. I don’t expect her to be there, but I head upstairs anyway. On the second knock Sophie’s blonde head appears, hair mussed, a sheen of sweat at her hairline. “Oh, hey, babe,” she pants.
“Oh God, Sophie.” I tilt my chin, one brow up. “Really?” My voice is equal parts amusement and mock disbelief, and I can all but guarantee my face says I know who you’ve been up here with and what you’ve been doing.
She smirks as her baby-pink satin strap slips. “You said to babysit him,” she fires back, tugging it up.
“I said babysit Chad,” I deadpan, “not sleep with him.”
“Shh. I wasn’t going to, but then, well, one thing led to another.” Her lips curve, unapologetic, eyes still shining with the thrill of being caught.
I let out a reluctant laugh. “Fine. Just… be safe, okay?”
“It’s the last time, I promise.” But the sly glance she throws sideways betrays her words; we both know better.
“Sure, sure. But actually, I came up to ask which flavour marg you wanted.”
Her smile softens, almost sheepish now. “Oh, a spicy one, please, babe. You’re the best.” She tugs her other strap back into place, smoothing her hair with quick fingers before adding, “Just give me ten and I’ll meet you downstairs.”
I hug her and step back into the finished venue, still smiling.
I’m filled with pride as my gaze roams over the booths, the warm golden light, the hum that tells me this was worth it.
I let myself drift for a moment, soaking in the glow of everything we built, lost in my own world. Then I look up and freeze.
A girl is draped across Cole’s lap, expertly manicured nails raking through his hair, her smile wide and tilted up toward his face in a way that claims him like a prize for all to see.
She looks like one of those flawless influencers I scroll past late at night: long, perfect brown hair tumbling over her shoulders, skin that speaks of an overpriced regimen I’m loath to fall prey to.
Is he seeing someone? A hot tear escapes and I swipe it away like it never happened.
Cole’s eyes find mine. His mouth parts, shock flickering across his face. I turn and shove through the crowd, heart battering my ribs, and burst into the bathroom.
The door shuts hard behind me. I grip the counter, knuckles pale, and stare at the stranger in the mirror, pupils blown wide, mouth trembling.
My pulse stutters so fast it makes me sway. I push off the counter and cross to the velvet bench. I keep my knees pressed together, palms flat to the cushion, breath shuddering like it might break. I need Sophie. I hate that I need anyone to steady me.
The door clicks again. Perfume hits first, too sweet, too strong, then a voice that drips concern like honey: “Are you okay? You looked upset out there.”
The same girl who was about three seconds from making out with Cole slides onto the bench beside me. “Yeah, I’m fine, but how do you know Cole?”
“He’s my boyfriend,” she says, the word landing sharp, deliberate. “I came to surprise him.”
My stomach twists. “Oh. I… I didn’t know.”
“How do you know him?” she asks her tone sweet but edged, eyes flicking over me like she’s cataloguing flaws.
“He’s… he’s been helping me renovate my house.” My voice comes out thin.
“He’s always been handy,” she says, letting the pause drag before adding, “and easy on the eyes.”
“Yeah, he has. Anyway, I should find my friend. It was nice meeting you,” I say, desperate for escape.
“You too.” Her hair falls over one shoulder in a well-timed flick, perfume lingering too long after she stands. Something about her feels off, like the kind of girl who says one thing while meaning another, and my skin prickles in warning
As soon as she leaves, I head for the storage room, anywhere away from the crowd. I need somewhere quiet, somewhere to breathe and process what the hell just happened.
When I open the door Cole’s perched on a battered milk crate, elbows braced on his knees. The sharp creak of the door makes him jolt, head snapping up, eyes wide. “It’s not what it looks like,” he blurts.
“So she’s not your girlfriend?” I cross my arms, betrayal slicing through me at the thought. He’s been seeing her this whole time. And he still chose to share his bed with me. Still held me every morning, our bodies finding each other in sleep of their own accord.
My nails dig crescent moons into my arms as I fold them tighter across my chest, waiting for him to confirm my biggest fear: that he’s no different from all the other guys who’ve let me down.
He scrubs a hand over his face. “I should’ve told you she might show. She’s not my girlfriend, we broke up eighteen months ago.”
“Then why was she on your lap?” My voice is flat. “Do you treat all your exes like that?”
His mouth tightens. “She’s the one I told you about.”
Kass. The gaslighting. The cheating…
My eyes lock on his, searching for cracks, for lies, for even the faintest twitch that might betray him. “Convenient,” I say, doing my best to keep the edge out of my voice. “You expect me to believe that out of all the people in this city, she just happened to end up in your lap?”
“She showed up. I didn’t invite her.”
“Right,” I murmur. “And you couldn’t have stood up, or walked away, or—”
“Quinn.” His tone is soft but firm. “It wasn’t like that. I didn’t even realize how it looked until you walked in.”
I study him and will my racing heart to slow down. There’s something in his eyes, tired, honest, a little wrecked, that makes it hard to keep doubting. There’s no performance, no rehearsed apology. Just truth, raw and quiet.
I exhale slowly, the fight draining out of my shoulders. “Okay,” I whisper. “I believe you.”
He seems relieved, but his eyes are still tight, the shadows beneath them carrying more than just the stress of this grand opening.
“I think I might know why she showed up.”
Cole’s head lifts. “Really?”
“Yeah, I can show you, but my phone’s in the car.”
He doesn’t even pause. He presses his phone into my palm, solid and warm from his hand. “Here.”
I blink down at it, startled by the trust that’s somehow heavier than the device itself. Safari is already open on some half-abandoned search for “how to get paint out of hair,” and a startled laugh escapes me. I glance at Cole. “Really? Paint?”
He shrugs, sheepish, the corner of his mouth twitching. The warmth between us lingers as I swipe and pull up the article Sophie showed me back when he was nothing more than a guy who was kind to me at his bar.
I pass him the phone back and he stares at the screen. His brows knit, a crease cutting deep as his eyes scan the screen.
“That explains the surprise,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck, fingers dragging slow like he’s trying to ease out tension.
“Yeah,” I say slowly, watching his expression. “I have a feeling she saw this article and figured she could use it to worm her way back in.”
He exhales. “It does sound like something she’d do.”
“Well, she’s not getting the chance,” I say, and an idea forms as I hand him his phone back. “I’ve got a plan.”
One of his brows quirks. “A plan?”
“Yeah.” I drop my hands to my sides. “If we pretend to be together, it’ll show her she can’t just walk back in and claim you like nothing happened.”
His eyes hold mine, cautious at first before the edge of a smile appears, amused despite himself. “That might actually work.”
“It will if we play it right, but I’m a little out of practice,” I admit.
“Me too.”
I take a step forward, then another. “Let’s practice then.”
“Good idea,” he says, and I move without a plan, just instinct, and before I can second-guess it, his arms slide around my waist, pulling me into his lap.
“Is it okay if I do this?”
“Yeah.” My voice is low as his palms ghost over the fabric of my dress. The faint pressure and warmth seeping through the thin silk ignite a burn that coils low in my belly.
“Is it okay if I do this?” I say back, looping my arms slowly around his neck, testing the space between us.
He nods, fingers trailing higher along my thigh, bunching the red silk between them, each shift of fabric sending a ripple of heat down my spine. “Just making sure you’re comfortable,” he says, voice low.
“I am,” I whisper as my gaze catches on the green flecks in his eyes.
And God, I wish we weren’t pretending.
His eyes dip to my mouth and I part my lips on instinct, breath catching as the rest of the room dissolves into blur.
His breath brushes my cheek. “Quinn…” It’s barely more than a whisper, but it vibrates straight through me.
“Yeah?”
His jaw works like he’s chewing on the words, a muscle ticking in his cheek. For a second I think he might let something dangerous slip, something that would change everything.
Instead he clears his throat. “One ground rule,” he says, voice rough. “No kissing. We can’t risk complicating the friends thing. Right?”
The words shut the moment down like a slammed door. Still, his gaze flicks to my mouth, lingering there. For a breath, I think he might break his own rule. Then his shoulders square, and his eyes drag away.
“Right. Yeah, of course,” I say, standing abruptly, forcing my feet to move. “Let’s go join your party and show Kass you’ve moved on.”
He exhales, a small huff that sounds more like relief than humour. “Sounds good. Honestly, I don’t know what I’d do without you tonight.”
“Me either,” I murmur.
It’s one night of pretend. Only, this time, the line between acting and wanting blurs so thoroughly I’m not sure I can keep my heart from crossing it.