16. Chapter 16

The Bellaire is decorated exquisitely. I'm in awe of her beauty. Located downtown, it's a historic building that used to be a theater. Over the years, it has been renovated with modern decor that still honors the original charm. The entryway features the most elegant crystal chandelier that dazzles, drawing your eyes up. Columns and delicate woodworking line the walls. I've always loved attending events here. I'm a sucker for historic charm.

Wrapping my arm through Quinton's, I let him lead us along with the crowd as we enter the dining hall. Fifty circular tables are set up in the room with white linens and floral arrangements. There's a stage in the front of the room where a band is playing soft music. After dinner, the music will transition to lively tunes, encouraging guests to get up and dance. A long bar is set up in the back next to the tables of baskets, services, vacation getaways, and other items that have been donated by local businesses to be raffled off at the silent auction.

"Breathtaking," I gasp, taking in the room. No matter how many times I attend galas here, I'm always taken aback by the beauty of the Bellaire.

"Yeah, breathtaking," Quinton repeats.

But when I look at him, his eyes aren't focused on the room before us, they're focused on me. I feel a blush spread over my skin.

"Let's get a drink." I gesture toward the bar.

Quinton steps in line behind me, his hand finding my lower back. It's an open bar, because why not? What better way to loosen purse strings than by encouraging the guests to overindulge, even though a table costs two thousand dollars?

There's a small line of guests dressed to perfection when we make it over to the bar. Quinton stands quietly behind me, never removing his hand from my back. His thumb caresses the exposed skin of my open-back dress. Goose bumps spread across my body.

"People cannot take their eyes off you, Wilder. You're the most stunning woman in this room."

That damn blush returns, making my whole body hot, especially the skin where his thumb is kissing my skin.

"Ah, Ms. Wilder, it's been a while. What can I get you this evening, sweetheart," the bartender asks.

Q gives me a puzzled look. George has been doing events for us for a long time. When I was in high school, he'd always slip me a glass—or two—of champagne. In middle school, he'd make me the best Shirley Temples, with extra cherries.

"Hi, George." I lean over the bar, planting a quick kiss on the old man's cheek. "I'll have a glass of champagne, and my handsome date will have—"

"Bourbon, on the rocks, please."

George starts making our drinks.

"Bourbon tonight?" I ask, turning to face Quinton, leaning my back on the bar. The cold material cools my heated skin.

"Thought I'd try to be a little classy tonight, Miss Champagne."

I just smile. Grabbing our drinks, we move through the crowd of people. Eyes follow us everywhere—shocked to see the missing Wilder child. Our table is in the front where we are joined by my parents, Daniel and Grace Nelson, and two empty chairs.

"Darling, there you are," mother greets us.

Quinton slides my chair out before sitting next to me.

"Mother," I greet, downing the rest of my champagne. "Daniel, Grace, it's wonderful to see you both."

"Hi, sweetie," Grace chimes in. "Quinton, how are you enjoying the city?"

Quinton's tongue escapes his mouth, using it to wipe the remaining bourbon from his lips. Stretching his arm, he places it across my chair and begins skating his thumb across my shoulder. My eyes track the movement of his tongue, my panties no longer dry.

Well that's a new development.

Wiping his mouth from his sip of bourbon, he places his arm across my chair, rubbing my shoulders.

"Wilder took us for quite the ride this morning," he says, and a small chuckle escapes my mouth.

Father grunts before chiming in. "I imagine she did, since she stole my car."

Rolling my eyes, I fold my hands, resting them in my lap.

"Oh Daddy, you call it stealing, I call it borrowing. What were we supposed to drive? It's not like I have a car here."

"Any other goddamn car," he grumbles before Mother changes the subject.

"How long are you here for?"

Signaling to a waiter, I point to my empty glass and hold up two fingers while Quinton holds up one finger for himself.

"Our flight is at six thirty tomorrow morning."

She harrumphs. I can only imagine that she's counting down the minutes until the problem child is out of her hair.

"So soon?" a voice from behind me interjects, pulling out the seat next to me.

Glancing up to see who so rudely interrupted this riveting conversation, my breath stalls.

"Tristan?"

I stare at the boy, now a man, who sits down beside me. So many of his features match his cousin's. It's like looking at a ghost.

"Hi Brinley," Tristan says, leaning in for a hug.

Tristan Nelson is Asher's older cousin. Growing up, if Asher wasn't with us, he was hanging out with his cousin. All of us spent a lot of time together when we were younger.

"You look stunning," he adds, perusing my body.

"Thank you." I blush. "Tristan, this is my friend Quinton Boyd."

Both men give each other an appraising look, but it's Quinton who reaches his hand out first.

"How's it going?"

Tristan shakes his hand, still looking at Q.

"Quinton Boyd. As in star running back for Central Texas University?"

A proud smile stretches across Quinton's face, and I can see the cockiness slip into place. There's my Q. This whole super polite, posh Quinton isn't the Quinton I love.

Love?

Yeah, like love as my bestie. Yeah, that's what I mean.

"One and the same. How do you know my girl?"

My girl. My girl.

Tristan takes a sip of his bourbon before answering. "Asher was my cousin."

Quinton's face drains. "Shit, man, I'm sorry."

Our waiter approaches with our fresh drinks, and a second server is right behind him with our appetizer—a simple greens salad with walnuts, apple, and raspberry vinaigrette.

Unrolling my napkin, I place the ivory-colored fabric in my lap. Scooping up a bite, an obnoxious voice to my left catches my attention.

"Sorry, baby, the line was so long," the voice says as long fingers come into my line of sight, placing a martini glass down next to Tristan.

"It's fine. Madeline, look who's at our table." Tristan glances from his date to me.

Glancing up, I met the eyes of the She-Devil herself. Madeline Sanchez, high school mean girl, head cheerleader, and all-around pain in my ass.

"Brinley, you remember Madeline?"

Reaching for my champagne, I take a sip before answering. My sip turns into a gulp, and that's when I feel a hand brushing up my right thigh. His touch is electrifying, and I can't help the way my body reacts to his touch.

Someone should really look into turning the air conditioning up.

My eyes find Q's, as he leans down to press a kiss to my temple.

Shit, why does that simple act calm me instantly? And why does his every touch, every glance, every action feel like a current running between us?

Turning back to my left, I look at the She-Devil, hoping I don't turn to ash. "Madeline, gosh, I almost didn't recognize you."

"You look just the same as high school, Brinley," she replies, eyeing me with that bitchy smirk on her face. "Always looking for attention," she adds under her breath.

"You didn"t let me finish," I added. "I didn't recognize you, what with your lips the size of your face. Guess you needed the extra suction for all the ass kissing you do."

To my right, I hear Quinton and Grace chuckle quietly. Madeline's face drops and she's about ready to clap back, only Tristan stops her by whispering "don't" under his breath.

What the hell is he doing bringing this bitch as his date? Does he not remember all the problems she caused? All the bullying she did? She didn't just bully me, but his cousin too. I'm lost in my head when I feel Q's hand on my thigh again. I suck in a breath and finish my salad.

"Madeline, dear, this is Quinton," my mother chimes in. "I guess I'll do the introductions since Brinley clearly has no manners."

My eyes roll before I can stop them, and my mom catches it. She glares daggers at me.

"Hi," Madeline chirps. "Brinley and I go way back. How long have you two been together?"

"They're just friends," Mother answers for us. Even though it's the truth, this is one of those instances where I totally would've played into a fake relationship, like in one of the books Chloe is always talking about.

At girls' night, she couldn't stop talking about a book she just finished where the super hot football player pretends to date a girl on the team's PR staff. I guess he reads all the sexy scenes she has highlighted in her books so he can learn what she likes in bed. Talk about freaking hot. And go him for taking the initiative to learn how to please her.

Madeline starts eyeing Quinton like he's her dinner tonight. It's super awkward, especially since her date is sitting next to her.

Tristan clears his throat, bringing Madeline's attention back to him instead of eye-fucking Q, but not before she mutters, "That's quite a shame. A guy like you shouldn't be single."

Thankfully, we are interrupted by a server coming to pick up the salad plates.

The rest of dinner goes off without a hitch. Quinton and I are lost in our delicious main course of filet mignon, garlic mashed potatoes, and asparagus. Once dishes are cleared, Quinton leans in close to me, brushing my hair off my shoulder. His breath is warm on my neck.

"Want to go dance?" he whispers against my ear.

Chills erupt, and I try to hold in a shiver. You would've thought he asked to get me off with the way my body is reacting. I look up at him through my eyelashes and give him a sultry smirk and nod.

With my hand in his, I let him lead me to the dance floor where a few other couples are dancing. The band begins a cover of a slow Chris Stapleton song, and I melt. Quinton pulls me against his body. Flush. No space between us. I can feel every inch of his hard, defined body. He places his hand on my lower back and starts moving us to the music.

"You doing okay?" he asks.

I nod my head. No other words are spoken between us. We just let our bodies move to the beat as I soak up his touch.

There's something new brewing between us.

And I don't think I mind it.

"Oh my god," a girl shrieks.

I slowly turn to look for the voice.

"Taylor?" I ask, my mouth dropping open.

Taylor Shields was my best friend from fifth grade through high school. The two of us have grown apart since I left for Texas, but we'll always hold special places in each other's hearts. I take in the hottie in front of me. Taylor was never overweight, but she wasn't skinny either. The dress she's wearing hugs her curves. She looks healthy, happy, and hot. Her dirty-blonde brown hair is now shoulder length, a shiny brown with caramel highlights.

"Damn, girl, you look smokin"!"

She rushes me with a huge hug before pulling me back at arm"s length, checking me out.

"I should say the same about you. But you've always been one sexy lady. Let's grab a drink and catch up!" She wraps her arm through mine, pulling me toward the bar before I have a chance to respond. "Can you believe the turnout?"

"No, I can't. It's weird, Tay," I say, looking around the crowd.

Pictures of Bryce and Asher line the wall behind the silent action. Taylor watches me take in the room.

"Is it hard being back?"

With a big sigh, I answer. "You have no idea. I miss them both every day, but being back here just brings all the pain to the surface."

"At least you've got some sexy arm candy to keep you company," she says, wiggling her eyebrows and gesturing toward Quinton who's standing in the corner talking to a guy who looks like the high school football coach. "Damn, B, you have the best luck."

"Oh stop it," I say, rolling my eyes. The She-Devil is in front of us in line at the bar. She turns to look at me and Taylor.

"Well look who it is, Porky Brewster and the slut."

"Aren't we a little old for high school shit Madeline?" I ask, stepping in her face.

"Please, it's not like you've changed," Madeline scoffs. "Still hopping on any willing dick? How long is he going to stick around? We all know your luck with—"

"You bitch," I cut her off, knowing damn well where she was about to go, stepping even closer, just as Tristan slides in between us.

"Ladies, ladies, ladies. Let's take this to another room." He gestures toward the back room before turning to the bartender. "Kind sir, can we get two bottles of champagne and a bottle of tequila, please?"

I feel him before he speaks, his warmth spreading down my back, just as his hands run down my arms.

"Everything good?"

"Yeah, Q, everything is good." I look at him before glaring at Madeline. "The fun is about to begin."

We make our way to the back room, which is a smaller room down a hallway from the main room. This is the room all of us usually hang out in during these events, especially when we were underage. We'd sneak lots of booze from the bar, and someone would always pass out joints before we played games to kill time. Looks like we are reliving the past.

Tristan has gathered up some others so there is a small crowd around a table. Quinton pulls me in his lap to make more space. Someone turns on their phone, and a throwback hit starts playing.

"Alright, the game is Truth or Dare," Tristan announces. "Rules are whoever is picked asks next. You pass, and you take a shot of tequila. Let the shit hit the fan, and let's get fucked up." He holds his drink in the air, and we all follow suit before taking a drink. "I'm going first," he says, looking around the table before a slow smile spreads across his face. "Brinley, truth or dare?"

I set my hands on the table, palm side down as I lean over the table. My new position causes Q to hiss through his lips.

"Dare."

He grins, leaning back in his chair.

"I dare you to go out and pinch the school board president's ass."

"Done," I say, standing up and taking a sip of my champagne.

Swinging my hips, I head toward the door with Tristan on my heels to witness. Standing in the main room's doorway, I quickly spot the school board president talking to a small group of people. He's facing me, so as I make my way over to him, I make sure to sway my hips and nibble on my lower lip. Sliding up behind him, I pinch his ass as I keep walking, keeping my hips swaying. He jumps, looking over his shoulder. I can feel his eyes on me. I glance over my shoulder, making eye contact with him, before giving him a wink. His eyes darken as I saunter back to where Tristan stands.

"Damn, Brynn." He chuckles. "You haven't changed a bit."

"Life's too damn short," I answer, making my way back to the group.