She’d been a blonde back then; she’d changed her hair. Now it was dark brown, long and straight. Her makeup was immaculately done, and her clothing and accessories were styled flawlessly. She may look different now, but he could see through it. He still knew her. One of her friends passed her a glass that was topped with a mix of fruit juices. If he had made the drink for her, he would have chosen a mix of orange and cranberry. The pink-orange color of the drink told him it was exactly that. She sipped, and a small smile formed on those lips, and she closed her eyes. Savoring the flavor. Watching her drink his rum, enjoying it, made him warm. Almost turned him on. He sipped on his drink, which held the same kind of rum that she had been served. The vibration in his chest was no longer the throbbing house music, but he could feel his heart beating as they tasted the rum together. An innocent, but similarly erotic thing. It affected him.
It then occurred to him that instead of talking to her, he’d been watching her like a creep. What was he doing? Might as well get himself a pair of binoculars and a white windowless van. But the more he looked at her, the more he could tell that she was a woman who didn’t want to be bothered. And what would she do if she saw him? Their last meeting, even though it was eight years ago, hadn’t been a pleasant one, and he doubted she would have forgiven him that easily. But if Celia saw him stepping into her line of sight, then she could make the decision of whether she wanted a conversation with him or not, he reasoned.
She picked up the bottle from the ice bucket in the center of the table and inspected the label. He smiled, too, when her lips turned upward, and she looked around the crowded club until her eyes connected with his. Celia smiled at him, shook her head and said something to her friends. Then she stood and pushed down the skirt of her short dress, the length of which did little to cover her impossibly long legs.
She walked toward him. His heart was playing a steady ratta-tat-tat against his rib cage, drowning out the noise of the club. He raised his chin, nodding in recognition, trying to play it cool, and hoped he was successful.
Judging by the smile on her face when she joined him on the patio, she couldn’t have been too upset to see him, but it remained to be seen. “Quin,” she said, putting down her glass on the nearby railing as she stood in front of him. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him in for a hug. His arms were around her waist, and he closed his eyes, burying his face in her hair. She may have changed her shampoo and perfume—replacing the once-fruity fragrances with richer ones—but her scent was still the same. When they parted, she put her hands on his shoulders and held him at arm’s length, looking him up and down.
“You look great.”
“So do you.”
“Thanks for the rum,” she said. “I should have known it was from you.”
He shook his head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She smiled. “I see.” She picked up her glass again and sipped from it. He was close enough to smell the sweet notes of the juice and the spicy rum on her breath.
They both looked over the railing onto the street below them. Even at three in the morning, South Beach was a hive of activity.
“It’s been a while.” It was lame, but it was all he could manage to say. Tension squeezed his throat. Quin hated the stilted, awkward tone of their conversation. A decade ago, they would already be deep in conversation. They’d shared everything. After the pleasantries of their initial meeting had faded, he was left thinking about their bitter parting eight years ago. He could only assume that she was also thinking about it. The reunion was tinged with melancholy, and he wondered if getting her attention had been a mistake. He should have just gone on home and left her alone.
She nodded in response, still staring over the edge. “It’s nice out here.”
“Yeah, it is. It’s a lot quieter than inside. I came out here for a bit of peace.”
Now she looked at him, her eyes narrowed critically. “I never knew you to be a person who craved the quiet.”
He shrugged. “People change, I guess. Especially in eight years.”
She nodded. “Indeed.” Another too-long pause. “It was getting crazy in there,” she said finally. “The noise was starting to give me a headache. I needed to get away for a minute, too.” She took a deep breath and Quin had to force his eyes away from the rise and fall of her chest. “Get some air. At least before the mystery guy who just bought us a bottle sidled over expecting our attention.”
“Why did you think I’d do that?”
“Men don’t anonymously drop that kind of cash without expecting something in return.”
She was describing a well-used move in his arsenal. See a group of beautiful women, send over a bottle and take a seat a few minutes later. It worked every time. “Maybe men are just trying to be nice,” he offered.
She scoffed. “I know men. When it’s after midnight in a nightclub, there are no nice men. There are just ulterior motives. And ninety-eight percent of the time, it’s sex.”
Quin laughed. “Maybe you’re right. But you know me. You know that I’m a nice guy.”
Celia pursed her lips. “You weren’t always,” she told him.
“Ouch,” he said. “That hurt.”
“It’s not true?”
He remembered the last time they’d spoken, and he nodded. “You’ve got me there. Maybe I wasn’t always such a nice guy.”
She looked over her shoulder. “I guess I should get back to my friends,” she said. “Thanks for the rum.” She walked away.
Quin wasn’t ready to say goodbye to her yet. In desperation, he called out to her. “Celia, wait!”
She turned. “Yeah?”
“Why don’t you let me buy you a drink? We can talk.”
“I think you’ve already bought me a couple.” She gestured to the bottle of rum in the center of the VIP table.
He waved it off. “That was just to distract your friends so I could eventually come talk to you—just like you suspected.”
“So I was right—there is no nice without ulterior motives.”
“What can I say?”
“You’re still a smooth one, aren’t you?”
Looking at her, he felt anything but smooth. He felt like a desperate teenager, trying not to make a fool of himself in front of a gorgeous, sophisticated woman. She shook her long, brown hair over her shoulder and crossed her arms. “Fine,” she said, relenting. “One drink.”
Relief washed over Quin. “Great. Another one of those?” he asked, pointing to her near-empty glass, grateful that he would have the chance to talk to Celia again. She nodded.
This was his chance to make it right with her. To apologize for that night. Hopefully it would go better than their last conversation, which still stuck with him eight years later. She’d confessed her love...but he’d rejected her. And not well. He’d turned her down in a way that a typical twenty-two-year-old dumbass would have. He’d hoped she would at least hear the apology he’d practiced every day since then.
CHAPTER TWO
CELIA EXHALED A breath as she watched Quin walk back into the nightclub. Despite what had happened to them years ago, it was nice to see him, and reconnect with her old friend. She’d been a couple of minutes away from leaving the club, but she no longer felt like leaving. Even though she couldn’t forget the way he’d rejected her in the past, the hurt of that night had dulled. So many years later, she could barely hold it against Quin now. They’d been kids. Stupid. She should have known he wouldn’t have had romantic feelings for her... Didn’t excuse what he’d done to her, however. That night she’d learned that even the sweetest guy—her best friend, even—would push her away, not care about her feelings. She shook away the negative thoughts with the mantra that had kept her going throughout her adult life. She was smart, she was beautiful and she didn’t have to take shit from any man.
Was he still that call
ous person? Maybe he had changed since then. Hell, she had.
He was only gone a short time before he came back with two drinks. Her fruity concoction, and a short tumbler that most likely contained a rum neat. That had been his drink back in the day. At the time, he’d thought it made him look cool. She smirked. Maybe he hadn’t changed much after all.
“Let’s go sit down.” He gestured to a bank of small tables. “We can talk.”
“Sounds good,” she said. They did need to talk.
Quin put both glasses on the table and sat next to her. The small bench accommodated the both of them, but still his thigh brushed hers. If he felt the same rush at their touch that she did, he didn’t show it. But why should he? The attraction between them had been strictly one-sided. He hadn’t wanted her then, so why should he want her now?
“You changed your hair,” he noted. “You look great, Celia.” She knew she did. She was no longer the mousy girl she’d been in college, when she hadn’t figured out makeup, or fashion, or how to wear clothes that flattered her. She bit back a hint of skepticism. Of course, he thought she looked good. Quin always liked a certain type of woman and now she looked the part. But that was coincidental. When she’d decided to change her look, his preference for brunettes had nothing to do with the type of hair dye she’d selected. Even though he might have had a part in her emotional transformation, Quin had had no hand in her physical one.
Her change had more to do with her reason for being back in Miami. She had a score to settle with a former boss, to make him pay for his past transgressions. But Seeing Quin had been a pleasant surprise.
They’d become friends on their first day of college when he’d shown up late to class and took the only empty chair left in the computer lab. She couldn’t believe her luck that this gorgeous guy was sitting next to her. She was embarrassed by how lame she’d been. But once the class progressed, she and Quin got to know each other, and they became good friends. They’d studied together, and Quin even invited her to his parties, even though she in no way had looked like the other women that were invited. She should have seen then that she’d been squarely put in the friend zone. Instead of humiliating herself four years later on the night of their graduation.
“Thanks,” she said. “You haven’t changed much, though.” He was still the same handsome guy, with wavy hair, dimples and a mischievous smile. There were some fine lines that she noticed at the corners of his eyes, of course, but because men were blessed with the ability to age gracefully, it just added to his appeal. She, meanwhile, barely looked like the girl she’d been in college.
“Celia...” he began carefully. She knew what he was going to say. “I would really like to apologize for what happened the last time we saw each other.”
Embarrassed, she lowered her head. “You know, it’s okay—”
He put up his hand. “It really isn’t. I know it was a long time ago, but I think about how much I must have hurt you that night.”
Celia looked away, the tears of humiliation threatening to fall from her eyes. But she wouldn’t shed them. She was done crying over it. It should have been long-forgotten, ancient history. But it wasn’t. She’d had too many drinks, and she’d come on to him. They’d kissed and fooled around a little in his room before he’d stopped, telling her that they shouldn’t go any further because he was worried about their friendship. Her biggest mistake, however, was telling him how she’d really felt about him—that she’d been in love with him for years.
“I should have handled it all better,” he continued, “but I was young and dumb, and drunk. I was confused, and I’m sorry.” After hearing her admission of love, he’d backed away and left the room. She’d been hurt by that. Sure, it stung, but it was catching him later in the hot tub in the middle of a drunken, semipublic threesome that had crushed her. She’d immediately left the party—and Miami—the next day to start her new job at a tech start-up in New York.
“Thank you,” she said. “I appreciate it. But you don’t have to apologize for not reciprocating. It wasn’t your fault you weren’t interested.”
“I didn’t have to do what I did, though. Going off with those girls, I think I was just trying to—” he paused, as if trying to find the words “—push you away. Or to make you not want me?” He sighed. “I don’t know, maybe I was just a horny asshole who had no idea how to handle legitimate feelings.”
“Yeah, maybe it was that one,” she agreed, rolling her eyes.
“You were my best friend,” he told her. “And I’d had no idea how you’d felt about me.”
“I don’t know how you missed it. I basically threw myself at you at every opportunity, Quin. I wanted you so bad.” Celia hadn’t meant to divulge so much, but now that she was in front of Quin, she felt the need to get it all out, and let go of the feelings that she’d carried for so long. When she was still in love with the guy. Not now, of course. But when she looked him up and down, she couldn’t admit that she wasn’t attracted to him. She felt a small quiver of awareness crawl up her spine at the way his clothes clung to his trim, athletic build.
“You can add unobservant to my list of qualities, too, I guess. How blind was I? But either way, I knew I didn’t want to hurt you, and if we’d given in to temptation on that night, then that would have led to me hurting you.”
Celia crossed her arms and tilted her head at Quin. “You are so full of it. Are you just trying to save face or make yourself feel better? Because you aren’t making any sense. You say you didn’t want to hurt me—” she paused “—but you did.”
“And I’ll be sorry about that until the day I die.”
Quin looked genuinely remorseful, and she didn’t think he was that good of an actor. “I know you are.”
“The next day, you were gone. You didn’t return any of my calls or messages. I tried to track you down on social media, and nothing.”
“I don’t use any social-media platforms. I work with computers—you’d be surprised how easy those things are to hack.”
“I figured.” He frowned and sipped from his drink. She did the same and they sat in silence. It was awkward, and she wished they could go back in time eight years—to when they were twenty-two, best friends, when they talked about everything and were full of hope for the future. “How long are you in Miami for?” he asked, finally breaking the silence.
“I live here now.”
“Oh, really?”
She nodded. “I was living in New York. But I got a new job down here, and I moved back a month ago.”
“And you never called?” he asked with a small smile.
“I wanted to look you up, I thought about it...” She trailed off before she could tell him the number of times that she’d dialed the distillery’s phone number, hoping to reach him, before hanging up after one ring.
“Don’t worry about it. I might not have called me, either.”
They were caught in another beat of awkward silence.
“So where is your new job? Do you like it there?” he asked.
Celia really didn’t want to talk about work. It had only been a month since she’d started at Seacoast Prestige, but Jared Foster had been working her day and night. She gave a shudder when she thought of her boss, and the work he’d rather she be doing for him all day and night. He was a slimy, disgusting misogynist, and she’d known it would be difficult working for him. Again. But it would all be worth it when she made him pay for what he’d done to her in New York. It wasn’t going to be easy, putting herself in his presence, but... “Oh, you know, it’s work,” she told him lightly, belying how she actually felt about working for the monster. “I’m a computer programmer for a local company.” The less she said about it, the better, so she shook her head. “But that’s enough about me. How about you?” she asked him.
“I’ve been well,” he told her. “We’re so busy with the distillery. It’s our best year
yet.”
“Yeah, I can’t go anywhere without seeing Rexford rum.”
There were several more beats of awkward silence. It was weird, having such a stilted conversation with him. It was to be expected, of course. They couldn’t possibly just restart their friendship, but she’d hoped they would have been able to put it all behind them. No such luck. She knew he felt it, too. Frustrated, she turned in her seat to face him. “What’s going on here? Do we have to make out to break the tension or something?” Wouldn’t be the first time. It hadn’t exactly ended well then, had it?
She’d meant it as a joke and figured he would take it that way. Instead his eyes locked with hers, his mouth set in a serious line. “You want to?”
The breath shot out of her chest. She might have thought he was a jerk, but did she ever want to make out with him. She wouldn’t let it happen again, though. After everything that had gone down in her life in the past few years, what had happened in New York, what had happened with Quin the last time she’d seen him, she just couldn’t take any more pain. Celia had to protect herself. Protect her heart. “That’s ground we’ve already covered, I think.”
He shrugged casually, but his face was still serious. “Then why’d you bring it up?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I wanted us to communicate like before, using more than a few words at a time. But it feels like there’s a wall between us that was created the last time we saw each other. Can we just have a normal conversation?”
“I’d like that.” His lips turned up in the mischievous grin that she remembered. “I’ve got an idea,” he told her, standing, and he held out his hand. “Come on.”
As You Crave It Page 2