by Tara Sivec
Quinn: I wasn’t lying when I told Jeanie you’re stunning no matter what you wear.
Emily: That’s very sweet, thank you.
Quinn: Look at you, finally taking a compliment like a good girl, without any argument!
Emily: Don’t ruin my good mood.
Quinn: See? If you would have completed that kiss dare the night you met me, you could have been in a good mood all this time. My lips obviously hold a special power.
Emily: Yes, the special power of not being able to stay closed and shut up.
Quinn: Okay, make that TWO special powers.
Emily: I’m going back to work now. Have good night.
Quinn: Sweet dreams when you get home, Emily. I’m sure they will be. #dreamingaboutmylips
Emily: #nightmaresfordays
Quinn: Well, that was just uncalled for.
Quinn: Is my check-in time still 4:00 next weekend, and are pets allowed?
Emily: You can’t still be serious about that.
Quinn: I’m always serious about the tolerance of pets.
Emily: Stop it!
Quinn: Oooh, are we doing a cheer? I don’t usually stop things in a game. I make them go. Go, Quinn, go!
Emily: Be. Serious.
Quinn: Okay, is check-in time SERIOUSLY at 4:00? You can’t tell, but I used a serious font with that serious question.
Emily: No, the time changed.
Quinn: Care to tell me what time it changed to?
Emily: Half past never.
Quinn: Is that eastern standard time, or pacific?
Emily: Look, I think it’s great that you like Summersweet. But after having some time to think about this, it’s really not a good idea for you to stay here, and especially not at the cottages. We are “broken up” now. You being on this island is just going to keep people talking and not clear any of this up.
Quinn: Oh, but we didn’t break up yet.
Emily: Yes, we did.
Quinn: I think I’d know if I went through a break-up. I have a very strict break-up regimen that I follow. I’d be listening to “We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together” by T-Swift on repeat while eating my feelings, and I’d be telling everyone I’m fine while crying in a bubble bath. None of these things have happened; therefore, we didn’t break up.
Emily: Taylor Swift?
Quinn: I will throw hands if you come for my girl.
Emily: Okay, go listen to some T-Swift, because we are definitely “broken up.” It was nice chatting with you, but I have to go yell at three men who somehow turned all of our white linens pink the other day while I was at lunch with you.
Quinn: I will pray for their souls.
Quinn: You never answered me if pets are allowed at the cottages. I mean, I don’t have a pet right now, but I could possibly find a pet while I’m staying there, and I just need to know if I’ll be allowed to bring it home.
Emily: I thought we already decided it wasn’t a good idea for you to stay here.
Quinn: No, you told me it wasn’t a good idea, and I decided not to listen. So, pets. Yay or nay?
Emily: Yes, pets are allowed. We let Tess bring home Bodhi, and he wasn’t even housebroken. But you cannot honestly think this is a good idea! Everyone will assume we’re still “together.”
Quinn: According to US Weekly, we’re vacationing in Costa Rica. That sounds fun! And definitely like we’re still together.
Emily: OMG. My point exactly. The longer you wait to release a statement about our “break-up,” the worse this is going to get.
Quinn: Clearly you’ve never been to Costa Rica. It’s the BEST you can get. It’s not like they said we were vacationing in Cleveland.
Emily: Will you just release the statement already and make all of our lives easier? I’m still fielding questions from everyone here on this damn island who still refuse to believe me when I say we aren’t together.
Quinn: Sounds to me like it would just be easier to go along with it until something more exciting comes along.
Emily: Have you not been paying attention? This is literally the most exciting thing that has ever happened on this island. They’re already planning on naming a street after you, and April 20th is now officially Quinn Bagley day.
Quinn: April 20th??? That’s National Weed Day. Oh, God… Bodhi will never forgive me.
Emily: And I will never forgive you if you don’t get this shit cleared up already!
Quinn: Fine. I’ll take care of it ASAP.
Emily: Thank you.
Emily: Remember when I told you to take care of our “break-up”? Funny thing happened, and well… I’m gonna need a little more time.
Quinn: Who is this?
Emily: Very funny.
Emily: Wait. Are you fake dating more than one woman???
Quinn: Fake dating you is exhausting enough. What happened to you wanting to get rid of me?
Emily: Look, I was a different person when I said that.
Quinn: I believe it was an hour ago.
Emily: Right. That was before my mother called and guilt-tripped me into bringing you for dinner Saturday night, because everyone on the island got to meet you except for them, and she found out we had lunch with your boss. She wouldn’t take no for an answer, because she still thinks I’m playing up the “we’re not dating” thing for privacy reasons and that I’m just being selfish for keeping you away from them. It’s really a special kind of hell on earth for me right now. It’s easier to just agree with everything she says. This is why I still run their business, even though I’d rather eat glass.
Quinn: That’s not what your mom is serving for dinner, is it?
Emily: Look, can you make it to dinner Saturday night and suffer through my parents telling you embarrassing stories about me so at every family function for the rest of my life I don’t have to hear, “Remember that time Emily disappointed us and let the entire island meet her famous Professional Football League boyfriend before us?” Because she still brings up the time when I was six and wrote her a Mother’s Day card that said the thing I liked best about my mom is when she’s not talking, every single year on Mother’s Day. I can’t live with this kind of negativity for the rest of my life too.
Quinn: So what you’re saying is, you need me.
Emily: Sure. I did you a favor and went to lunch with you, and now I need you to do me a favor. Attend this one dinner with me, and then we can break up and never annoy each other again.
Quinn: Flattery will get you everywhere.
Emily: Is that a yes?
Quinn: I’m really busy staring at my reflection in this store window while I wait for Patrick to get finished at the dentist so we can go get lunch. I’ll have to get back to you when I don’t have so much on my plate.
Emily: Ha ha. Will you do this for me or not?
Quinn: I can’t talk right now; I’m doing hot guy shit.
Quinn: For fuck’s sake, your mom is scary!
Emily: How do you know how scary my mom is?
Quinn: Oh, she somehow tracked down my number and called to ask if I had any food allergies.
Emily: OMG I’m so sorry! And yeah, she raised five children. My parents were outnumbered. If she wasn’t scary, we would have taken over.
Quinn: I’m not certain, but I think she grounded me.
Emily: Okay, that’s it. I’m calling her and cancelling.
Quinn: The hell you are! I spent thirty minutes on the phone with her when she couldn’t find your grandmother’s homemade gravy recipe, and she thankfully found it when I suggested she look in the last cookbook she used. Sure enough, it was shoved between the pages. I’m invested in this gravy now, Emily. Don’t deny me the gravy.
Emily: For all you know, my grandma’s gravy could taste like absolute horse shit. This is all just too ridiculous, and I’m cancelling. I’m sorry I even asked; just forget about the whole thing.
Quinn: What’s ridiculous is your need to keep me and gravy apart. This might actually be what breaks us up. Also, did
you know your mom has a shirt that says Quemily on it? She sent me a picture. It’s adorable, and I want one. Who do I need to speak to about this?
Quinn: Your silence tells me you do not know the name of the vendor. No worries. I’ll figure it out.
Emily: After this, we are never, ever getting back together.
Quinn: See? It’s a catchy tune. I knew you’d start singing it before long. You’re a little off-key though, and that song is for POST-break-up. You’re too early for that, since you still need me.
Emily: *photo attachment*
Quinn: A picture of your middle finger was unnecessary! I can’t believe you would treat your boyfriend this way. Your mother is going to be so disappointed if you aren’t nicer to me on Saturday.
CHAPTER 13
Emily
“I am completely losing this game.”
“This is a really bad idea. I’m going to take you back to the ferry dock,” I mutter. “I’ll just tell them you had an emergency. Or you got a concussion at practice. Or you were hit by a bus. Oooh, that’s a good one! My mom might send flowers, but she’ll give you time to heal and won’t bug you with phone calls and uncomfortable questions.”
Quinn takes a quick step to the side, blocking my way when I try to walk around him in my parents’ driveway and back to my golf cart, where I’ve been pacing for the last couple of minutes since we pulled up. I was perfectly fine as he slid into the golf cart next to me when I picked him up at the ferry dock a little bit ago. I was like an eager puppy, just happy to be in his presence again, and we talked easily nonstop about random stuff the whole way here, my nerves and anxiety not coming into play until I shut off the cart and remembered where we were and what the hell we were about to do.
Crossing his arms, Quinn raises an amused eyebrow at me.
“I’m in my happy place now after a week away from it, and you want to throw me in front of a bus? I even bought a new shirt and everything.”
When Quinn asked me what he should wear to dinner, I told him anything that happens on this island is a hundred percent casual. I never expected to pull up to the dock and find him lounging on a park bench, people-watching, and looking like he completely belonged here.
In his white American Eagle T-shirt with a blue surf logo over his chest, khaki shorts, and flip-flops, with his black hair tousled from the golf cart ride, he looks like any other resident. As opposed to his asshole of an agent who stuck out like a sore thumb in his designer suit and did nothing but put this island down, Quinn only raves about the island, and there’s a different kind of peace that comes over him when he’s here that I’ve noticed. His shoulders aren’t as tense, his smile isn’t forced, and he just looks happy and at ease, like all the pressure he has doesn’t even exist.
And doesn’t that just make me feel some kind of way I have no business feeling? As much as I can’t stand it here sometimes and need to get away, this is still my home. I’m proud of where I come from, and knowing this man enjoys his time here and feels like he can relax and be himself makes me happy that I’m able to give that to him.
Yep. This was a really, really bad idea, because now my stupid heart is getting involved!
I never should have kissed him. That just made everything worse. Jeanie wasn’t even looking, for fuck’s sake! I kissed him because I wanted to kiss him, especially after all those amazing things he said about me to her, even if he didn’t mean half of them. And now I have to sit through a dinner with my parents, knowing how soft and perfect his lips are, pretending like we’ve been dating for months and I’ve kissed those lips a million times before, but in a much more intimate way than the stupid little peck I gave him.
“We can’t do this. It’s never going to work,” I mutter again nervously.
Having him so close to me isn’t doing anything for my sanity, so I take a few steps back, tightening my ponytail so I have something to do with my hands, when all I want to do is reach out and touch him. To remember what it was like to press my hand to his hard chest and feel the steady beat of his heart under my palm, and have the warm and spicy smell of him surrounding me like a blanket, while he gripped my hips, and I held my lips against his.
Is it hot outside tonight, or is it just me?
“It’s going to work.” Quinn chuckles as I fidget with my shirt and readjust a few bangle bracelets on my wrist.
Even though a part of me wanted to pick out something super pretty to wear to try to impress Quinn and make him look at me the way he did at lunch when I stepped out of the car, a much bigger, smarter part of me said, Fuck that shit. I don’t need to impress anyone. He’s already seen me at my worst. Technically, the white Anthropologie tee with a bright yellow sun in the middle of it that I tucked into my favorite pair of cut-offs is one of my “dressy” shirts here on the island. And okay, so maybe I did video chat with Carson earlier so he could help me with a subtle smoky eye, and I exchanged my usual pair of Converse for a pair of flat, strappy sandals to show off my freshly painted toenails.
Whatever. Maybe I just wanted to look pretty for me, okay?
“Why are you suddenly so nervous? It’s just dinner with your parents. You were calm as hell with Jeanie,” Quinn reminds me quietly, the soft glow of one of the streetlights letting me see the concern on his face. “I promise I won’t tell them how we met and just how much vomit can come out their daughter.”
For the first time since I met him, I am physically unable to return his laugh. Nothing is funny or amusing about this situation, and I feel more nervous right now than I did cheering at the Super Bowl, with over a hundred million people watching. I should be ecstatic and patting myself on the back that Quinn in no way sensed just how much I was losing my mind during that lunch. That he didn’t know every time he pulled out my chair or held open a door, I wanted to melt into a puddle at his feet and beg him never to leave me, and it frustrated the hell out of me. He had no clue that every time he playfully twirled a lock of hair around his fingers, my entire body hummed with need and my brain immediately brought forth an image of him gripping my hair in his fist while he fucked me, making me drink so many glasses of ice water during lunch I’m surprised I was even able to make it to the bathroom when it was over.
Focus, Emily! Stop thinking about Quinn naked!
“Exactly! It’s dinner with my parents,” I stress, starting to pace back and forth in the driveway again, when my feet want nothing more than to launch me into his arms. “It was one thing to pretend in front of Jeanie. She’s a stranger I never had to see again. These are my parents. They may not know me very well, but they know me well enough to recognize when I’m faking something.”
Quinn lets me pace a few more times before he finally steps in my way again, resting his hands on my shoulders.
“Truth or dare?” he suddenly asks, a twinkle in his eye as he stares down at me.
“Truth,” I immediately reply.
Quinn jerks his head back in surprise.
“Wow. You really are nervous.” He chuckles softly.
He runs his hands off my shoulders and down my arms, making my flesh break out in goose bumps, the whisper-light touch of his fingers drifting off when they get to my wrists, then shoves his hands in the front pockets of his shorts.
“What’s so bad about your parents?” Quinn asks softly as I cross my arms in front of me.
“They’re good people,” I quickly reply, not wanting him to think he’s about to walk into a house of horrors or anything. “I can’t really blame them for not understanding me that well. They had a business to run and four other kids to raise. And I have older siblings who could keep an eye on me when they weren’t around or were too busy. My siblings were the ones who put their lives on hold to cart me all over the place for competitions and dance classes. They were the ones who sat in the emergency room with me every time I sprained a wrist or twisted another ankle. And my friends were the ones who came to every single game I cheered at in high school, and the home games in college, and came out
to see me cheer for the Vipers whenever they could.”
“Your parents never came to any of your games?” Quinn asks.
I just shrug, the hurt from their absence for all those years not as sharp as it used to be, thanks to the support of the best friends in the world.
“They caught a few games on TV on random Sundays when they didn’t have anything to do,” I tell him, pausing when I see the sparkle has disappeared from his eyes and there’s a muscle ticking in his clenched jaw. “It’s fine, I swear. I got over that a long time ago. I’m not telling you these things so you’ll hate them. It’s just… I don’t want you to think I’m…”
Weak.
It’s one thing to tell him how miserable I am at Sandbar Cottages and how my family doesn’t really pay attention to what I want. It’s a whole other kind of vulnerability I’m in no way equipped to handle for him to actually see it with his own two eyes. He knows the Emily who likes to make people smile, is always ready with a sarcastic comeback, headstrong, determined to get her way, and win at any cost. He doesn’t know the Emily who is afraid of disappointing her parents and will willingly lose every battle with them just to keep the peace.
“I don’t want you to think I’m an idiot,” I finally finish.
“I would never think that in a million years,” Quinn says seriously with a shake of his head.
“My parents don’t care much about my dreams, but they’re still my parents, and I don’t want to piss them off,” I remind him, starting to pace again, feeling all kinds of out-of-sorts, and really wishing I would have picked dare instead.
“So, you’re just nervous because you don’t think you’ll be able to fake it that well, and they’ll get mad at you?”
I stop pacing to narrow my eyes at him and put my hands on my hips.
“Don’t say just like this isn’t a huge thing to be nervous about. My mom has caught me in every lie I’ve ever told, which really has not been that many because I’m an honest person, but still! She’s scary, and she knows everything.”