“You’re still here?” I ask, scanning the area for any hint of Mirabelle, but she’s nowhere to be found.Great.
He grunts a short greeting, taking a long drink from his glass while ignoring my question.
What’s his deal?
“You good?” I ask, making sure to keep an eye out for Mirabelle.
He runs a hand over his face, clearly bothered by something. “I don’t know, man. I think I fucked up.”
I sit up straighter, immediately jumping to the worst conclusion. “What the hell did you do to that girl?” I ask, lowering my voice.Have I read Quinn all wrong?
“What? No, it’s not about the girl from earlier. The only thing I didn’t do was leave with her when she asked.” Quinn scratches the back of his neck and avoids making eye contact with me. “I told Mirabelle I have feelings for her at the event yesterday,” he admits.
It feels like a bucket of ice water has been dumped over my head, snapping me back into a reality where Mirabelle and I don’t work. “What?” I ask, hoping I heard him wrong.
“She’s fucking incredible. It’s not like you like her, it’s all fake for you,” he says, taking another drink, shaking his head. “I know she’s young, and you asked me to stay away, but I can’t get her out of my head. She asked me to give her time to think, and it’s driving me crazy not knowing where her head is at.”
My mind is blank. How the hell am I supposed to respond to that? That it might not all be fake between us? I’m finally admitting to myself I have feelings toward Mirabelle, but I’m nowhere near figuring them out.
“See, you think I fucked up too.” Quinn groans, downing the rest of his drink.
I blink, quickly trying to think of anything to say. One thing I do know is that I don’t speak for Mirabelle. “I don’t know if you fucked up or not. Mirabelle’s a wild card and always has been,” I choke out, wishing I had my own drink in front of me.
I don’t know if what happened on the dance floor meant anything to Mirabelle. She makes me feel alive compared to what I can now recognize as sleepwalking through the last few years. I know I don’t trust people, and I struggle to let them close to me, but I don’t have to worry about that with Mirabelle. When I’m around her I feel like myself—not the version everyone expects me to be.
I know it’s complicated because of who we are, and our goddamn age difference that everyone else is fixated on, but I’m almost past the point of giving a shit.
“Are you cool that I made a move?” Quinn asks, now eyeing me.
No. I’m not fucking cool with it, but I also can’t blame him. She’s been in front of me all along, and it’s my own damn fault for trying to suppress any attraction toward her because of how wrong or right it would have been.
“It’s Mirabelle’s decision. I hope you keep in mind that if you hurt her, she has a lot of men in her life that will be coming for your head,” I say, deciding that is the best answer because I don’t have a claim on her. Mirabelle’s her own person. Regardless of how it makes me feel, this is about how she feels.
That doesn’t mean I’m happy about the situation, but if she needs to think about it, then I’m not going to stand in Quinn’s way.
Fake.
Mirabelle and I are fake, even if tonight didn’t feel fake.
I finally catch sight of her chatting with Wilson and his friends, using her hands animatedly to get her point across as Emily laughs next to her. The sense of relief I feel at knowing she’s safe is overwhelming. I smile at the sight of her fitting into my world when she looks over at me, making eye contact. She smiles in return, winking at me from across the area, not missing a beat in the conversation.
That’s my girl.
Quinn regains my attention when he speaks again. “I know, but that doesn’t scare me. She’s worth it.”
He’s right.
Sheisworth it.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Mirabelle
“SO WHAT DO you think?” I ask, sitting on my bed as I work on a proposal to help boost sales of Henry’s jersey that’s due in the morning while Emily looks through my recently acquired clothes from my online shopping to replace everything thrown out after the fire. It’s a good thing my credit card has no limit.
“Dude, if you were pretty much having sex with your clothes on, I’d say there’s a pretty good chance he likes you as well.” She grins over her shoulder, and even though it’s Emily, I’m still flustered. “Don’t even try to deny it, I saw how he watched you afterward and the pictures are everywhere online.”
My entire body ignites at the memory of Henry’s body pressed up against mine. It was incredible, and his mouth? It should be illegal for Henry to say things like “you can touch me—feel what you do to me” because I thought I might combust right there on the spot. And then I followed instructions, feeling what he was hiding in his pants, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t cross my mind that if Henry and I ever got to that point . . . it might not fit. He’s certainly bigger than Reid was, and I’m feeling way out of my depth. Even kissing Henry is better than anything I imagined.
