Chapter 22

TWENTY-TWO

I feel ridiculous and ridiculously out of place, so the scales are very much out of balance on every front.

The gala is being held in some sort of extravagant over-the-top expensive hotel that has a ballroom in it. An actual room that people refer to as a ballroom. Unironically.

It blows the mind.

There are chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, excessive amounts of candles and flowers everywhere, and a big band playing on stage.

So far, I’ve had a conversation with Quinn’s mother, which feels a bit surreal since she’s hands down one of the most famous people I’ve ever met, and I’ve seen plenty of her movies over the years. Quinn looks a lot like her, with the same dark hair and blue eyes.

I’ve shaken hands with her husband, the Vice President.

They’re both very nice and very welcoming, and yet I still feel ridiculous in my tux and the shoes I borrowed from Sutton. Like a kid playing dress up.

But Sutton is practically glued to my side. A small part of me figured this was his crowd and that he’d have people fighting for his attention. They are, but he still doesn’t leave my side.

His arm is either wrapped around my waist, or he’s standing so close that my shoulder is pressed against his. And I can’t even really feel like just arm candy, because he also introduces me and tells people all the basic get-to-know-you details about where I work and what I’m studying before he includes me in all the conversations.

It’s a lot of interaction for somebody who’s essentially spent the last decade of his life as a hermit, so an hour and a half in, I’m exhausted.

“I’m gonna go get another drink,” I murmur in Sutton’s ear when an older couple approaches us. There are two types of people at this party: Ones who make Sutton go tense, albeit in a subtle, barely noticeable way. And ones he seems to genuinely like. He’s charming with all of them and finagles donations out of them like a pro, but there’s an air of unease that surrounds him every now and then. The couple headed our way right now seem to be the kind of people he likes.

“I’ll come with you,” Sutton says immediately, but I wave him off.

“I’ll be fine. Do you want anything?”

“More alcohol,” he says immediately. “Doesn’t matter what kind.”

I laugh and head toward the bar. Once there, I wait for my turn. My gaze moves over the dance floor before it returns to Sutton again. He’s now deep in conversation with the man and the woman, laughing at something that’s being said.

“He’s always been good at that.”

I jerk in surprise at the voice from my left and whip my head to the side.

Quinn’s standing right next to me. I’m honestly not even sure how he got there.

“Good at what?” I ask.

“Being a charming motherfucker.”

I nod, my eyes back on Sutton. I imagine he has.

The bartender approaches, and Quinn holds up two fingers. The guy quickly pours two glasses of something and slides them toward us. Quinn hands one of them to me. The bartender immediately takes off, so I resign myself to waiting some more.

“Have you been outside yet?” Quinn asks me.

“I… didn’t know there was an outside to go to.”

He tips his chin to the left. “Come on. I’ll show you.”

I grab my drink and follow him. He takes me through a short hallway and then pushes open a door on the right.

“It’s usually a rooftop bar,” he says as he steps outside in front of me, “but it’s closed today for obvious reasons.”

Outside, there’s a large balcony with wooden tables and outdoor sofas. White balls of light have been strung overhead, and there are plants everywhere. But the most spectacular part is the view of the city. Quinn takes a seat on one of the sofas, and I sit down opposite him on another sofa.

“Where’s Steph?” I ask.

“Dancing with my sister. Her husband is at home with their baby, so Rubi nominated Steph as her partner.”

He raises his glass to me.

“Salud,” he says.

“Cheers,” I reply.

We both drink, and then we’re silent for a little while.

“You and Sutton have been friends for a long time,” I eventually say.

Quinn nods. “Most of our lives at this point.”

“He said he used to be shy and quiet before he met your family.” I can’t help the smile that curves on my lips.

“I’ll give you quiet, but shy? No, I wouldn’t say he’s ever been shy. Sutton has always been”—he considers it for a bit before he lands on—“determined.”

“No way,” I say drily, and Quinn laughs and nods.

“I see you’ve met him.” He takes a measured sip of champagne and eyes me for a second. The words that follow are also measured. “He has a lot of strict principles about what’s wrong and what’s right, and he doesn’t bargain or cheat when those are involved. Especially when it comes to himself.”

I sit silently, willing him to keep talking while I gobble up even the tiniest offering.

Quinn’s eyes lock on the horizon.

“He’s so goddamn hard on himself. For so many things that were never his fault to begin with,” he says quietly before he meets my gaze. “I’m glad he’s found you.”

My insides are twisting and turning into a tornado. I have no idea what to say to that, but my mouth is way quicker than my brain.

“I don’t know how he feels,” I blurt. “Or if he feels anything at all for me.”

Quinn sends me a steady look. “I’ve known the guy for over twenty years. I’ve never once seen him look at anybody the way he looks at you.”

I drag my hand through my hair and let out a weak laugh while hope rages inside me. Hope I’m trying to put down as best as I can, but it’s like trying to fight a flood armed with a bucket.

“Okay. Yeah. That’s all great. Only he specifically told me I’m not supposed to fall in love with him. Which… you know. Oops. But it also means I can’t exactly tell him, because what the hell do you think he’d do? So, no. I’m just not going to tell him, and everything will remain as it is and that’s that.” I sound downright unhinged by the time I’m finished talking.

Quinn remains both annoyingly and reassuringly calm through my outburst.

“I didn’t make him work for me for breaking into the pool,” he says.

It should surprise me.

Somehow it doesn’t.

Not really.

I’m maybe a bit startled, but that’s all.

“You didn’t?” I ask.

Quinn shakes his head. “He’s been breaking in for years. I don’t think he knows I know, but…” He shrugs one shoulder. “He gets a free pass. He helped fund opening the place. He’s helped clean it on numerous occasions when I’ve been between employees. Last summer, he helped with the renovations. He’s given lessons, helped deal with all sorts of paperwork, and helps fundraise so we can keep the lessons free of charge for the parents.”

I have no idea what to say. Quinn’s version of Sutton seems to be a whole different person from Sutton’s version of Sutton, but somehow, it doesn’t catch me off guard. It might be because my version of Sutton is also the polar opposite of Sutton’s version of Sutton, and much closer to Quinn’s version of Sutton.

I guess one of the three of us is lying.

“He’s very good at it,” Quinn says. “Fundraising,” he adds in response to my confused expression. “It’s like a game to him. How much money can I get out of these people? The answer is a lot.”

I nod because I have too many thoughts in my head to use resources to make words.

“I stopped by his office the other day,” Quinn continues. “He has a very chatty assistant. Just for future reference, if you ever happen to go there, prepare to spend twice as much time at her desk as you originally thought you would, because that woman has a lot of grandchildren, and a lot of photos of them.”

I stare at him. An office? An assistant?

“Anyway,” Quinn continues, “Gayle is a font of information. Apparently, there was a pretty sizable donation made to William Randolph Hearst Burn Center recently. And by sizable, I mean a fuckton of shitloads of money. Excuse my French.”

I’m not sure what part of all of this I should address first.

Quinn shrugs.

“I figured it might interest you,” he says. “Or have something to do with you.”

It feels like I haven’t breathed in a while and have by now forgotten how.

“I didn’t know,” I eventually say.

“No, I suppose you wouldn’t.”

I stare at the city lights for a little while, my mind whirring with questions, before I turn my gaze back to Quinn, who’s been quietly eyeing me the whole time. Waiting.

“And in that office of his… what, exactly, does he do there?” I ask.

If Quinn thinks the question is weird, he doesn’t show it.

“He runs the Holland Foundation.”

I nod. “What’s that?”

For the first time, he looks conflicted. “You should probably ask Sutton himself.”

“Will he tell me?”

“I’d like to think so.” He sends me a contemplative look. “It won’t be easy,” he echoes the statement from the last time I saw him.

I wait for him to elaborate.

“He’ll be scared shitless, and he’ll fight you.”

I wait some more, but Quinn remains silent.

“I’m guessing you’re not going to explain?” I finally say.

“I’ve already said too much.”

As if on cue, the door opens, and Sutton walks out.

“There you are,” he says. He comes to the sofa and sits down next to me, throwing his arm over the backrest. “Why are you two sitting out here?”

“There are so many people in there that it gets overwhelming,” Quinn says.

“Well, your boyfriend is looking for you,” Sutton says.

Quinn lifts his chin in acknowledgment before he gets up and heads back inside.

The door stays slightly ajar, and music filters through it. Sutton taps his foot against the floor of the balcony and hums along to the song softly.

I lean my head back and look at the dark sky above us. When I turn my head to the side, I find Sutton looking at me.

“How’s your evening so far?” he asks.

“Different from the usual,” I say, and he chuckles.

“Good different or bad different?”

I consider my answer for a bit.

“Different different.” I push myself back upright. “We should get back inside, right?”

“We don’t have to do anything. I’d rather be out here with you anyway.”

My heart picks up speed, even now when my head is all messy from everything Quinn told me.

“Yeah?” I say, hope ringing out in my voice loud and clear.

He sends me a funny look and gets up. I’m resigning myself to going back to the party as he holds out his hand. I clasp it, and he pulls me to my feet, but instead of letting me go, he pulls me against him. One of his hands slides down my back, and he takes my hand with the other. We’re plastered against each other, Sutton’s hard chest against mine.

I lick my lips.

“What are you doing?” I ask in a low voice.

“Dance with me.”

“I don’t know how to dance.”

“You’re in luck then. I happen to be an excellent dancer. Just follow my lead.”

He starts to move. It takes me a moment to figure out how to let him lead, but then he pulls me more firmly against him, and my feet catch on.

He dances us all around the balcony, easily maneuvering between the tables and chairs and other furniture. I laugh and do my best to keep up.

The song changes.

I know this one.

“‘Come Fly With Me.’”

Sutton pulls me even closer. I can feel his breath against the shell of my ear. There’s not much moving involved anymore. We just sway. And Sutton starts to sing. His cheek is pressed against mine, his voice in my ear.

When the song ends and another one starts, we’re no longer moving.

My hand is still in his, palm pressed against palm. His fingers are splayed on the small of my back.

He drags his nose from my neck to my cheek.

Kisses the corner of my mouth.

His palm leaves mine, and he moves both hands to my hips.

I turn my head and find his mouth. The kiss is slow at first, but then I wrap my arms around his neck, and Sutton answers by licking over my lips.

We keep kissing, and it grows deeper and deeper.

I’m moving because Sutton is moving. Until my back hits the wall. His mouth is sealed to mine and his fingers grip my hips.

I bite down gently on his lower lip, and he lets out something that resembles a growl. His hands move to grab my ass, and then he’s lifting me. I wrap my legs around his waist and keep kissing him.

I never want to stop.

My fingers smooth over his messy hair, lips fused with his. He kneads my ass as frantic breaths mix with equally frantic breaths, and noses bump together.

He holds me so tightly that it feels like he never wants to let go.

And we kiss.

Sutton’s lips are everywhere now, sucking my earlobe, on my cheeks and jaw, resting over the pulse point on my neck, counting the frantic beats. The back of my head slams against the hard concrete as I try to give him more room. More access to every part of me, every tiny inch he can reach.

Fingers slide over my ass and up my back. His arms wrap around me and hold me closer. Hips snap up in search of friction until I have to tear my mouth away and laugh.

“Keep it up and you’re going to make me come,” I pant.

“I very much plan to keep it up and make you come,” he mumbles into my neck as he licks over the hollow of my throat.

“So everything’s going according to plan, then.”

“Almost. There’s a bed and getting you naked somewhere on the agenda, too.”

“We should really get on it, then.”

“The bed?” He lifts his head and smirks.

“And the agenda. Seems like an urgent matter that needs to be taken care of.”

“I love it when you talk dirty to me,” he says, and I laugh.

He puts me back on my feet and looks down at the way his dick is tenting his pants.

“This should be fun to explain,” he says.

“Maybe we’ll wait for a minute before we go back inside?” I suggest.

“We could sneak downstairs and get a room,” he says. “A suite with a view. Order room service before I suck you until you don’t remember your name.”

It’s enticing, I’m not going to lie.

But also not very.

I want him. I want him to fuck me. I want him to make love to me. And I want it in his bed and not an impersonal hotel room.

So I shake my head.

“Take me home?” I ask.

He looks at me for a long time. A look I can’t decipher.

He takes my hand.

And he takes me home.