Page 12 of Fragile (Cedar Lakes University #2)

Chapter eleven

Quinn

“Sorry, Alex, but I really need to go. My friend needs me,” I say, trying to mask the anxiety in my voice. Alex's eyebrows pinch with concern, and I wonder if he can tell how worried I am. I managed to get Miles to tell me he’s outside my dorm. Why, I have no idea, but that’s where I need to go.

“Okay, let’s go.” He nods, already reaching for his keys.

The drive back to campus is quiet, the kind that makes my thoughts louder. I can't stop thinking about Miles.

I need you.

His words play on a loop in my head. I’m helpless. Lost in those three words. Like a dagger to my heart, I couldn’t ignore him.

When we pull up to my dorm, I immediately spot him slumped on the steps, looking completely out of it, his head lolled to the side of the wall, his arms slack by his sides. My breath hitches at the sight.

Flinging open the car door, I rush over to him. “Miles, what happened?”

His eyes open and they light up slightly when he realizes it’s me. “Queenie, you came.”

“Of course I came,” I whisper.

“Come on, let's get him inside,” Alex says, taking charge. I’m grateful, because I don’t think I’d manage it myself. Together, we lift Miles to his feet and, let me tell you, lifting a six-foot-five guy who has muscles upon muscles, that’s no easy feat for a lanky cellist and a cheerleader. Yet somehow, we manage to get him to my room. He’s babbling the entire way, sometimes coherent and sometimes not.

Miles slurs, leaning heavily on Alex. “Hold up. Who is you? I mean, why are you? Wait, I’m Miles. Do you have gum? I’d kill for some gum,” he mumbles, squinting at Alex.

Alex grunts, turning away as Miles leans closer to him. “He could probably do with gum, and a shower.”

“Alex is a friend, Miles. He’s helping me get you inside,” I reply without looking at either of them. Grabbing my keycard from my back pocket, I swipe it, awkwardly pushing the door to my dorm room open. We fumble inside, and let Miles flop onto my bed, where he rolls over with a grumble.

Sweat coats my skin. That was harder than getting to the top of the pyramid at a game.

I glance at Alex, feeling another rush of appreciation. “Thanks for helping. I know this isn’t an ideal date activity.”

“No problem,” he replies, giving me a small smile and looking down at a snoring football player in my bed. “You sure you're okay with this?”

I realize it doesn’t look great, the guy I just met, who has been nothing but nice to me, just helped me get a friend back to my dorm without questions. It’s a mess of a situation, but not one I’m willing to think about too much. “Yeah, I'll manage. He's just had a rough night,” I say, looking at Miles and feeling a pang of worry.

Alex chuckles softly. “Yeah, but you're a good friend. Not everyone would do this.”

We stand there for a moment, not saying anything, only listening to the quiet purr of Miles. I can't help but wonder what might've happened between us tonight if Miles hadn't interrupted. I know I wasn’t feeling it, but I don’t know how he felt and that makes things really awkward. I’m not about to kiss him when the love of my life lies unconscious on my bed.

“Listen,” Alex says, breaking the silence and taking my hand in his. I’m not surprised to find that his hands aren’t sweaty at all like he worried about earlier. “Call me sometime, okay?”

I smile and nod, though my mind is still spinning. “Thanks, Alex. Really.”

He leaves, and I feel awful that my first thought is how relieved I am he didn’t try to kiss me. I focus back on the football player in my bed and sigh, running a hand over my hair. I notice his phone on the bed, having fallen from his pocket, so I pick it up and put it on the charger. A notification from Levi Saunders lights up the screen, but I can’t see the message. What does he want with Miles?

Miles groans, making me jump slightly as I turn his phone over so I don’t get caught looking.

I pull my own phone from my jean pocket and text Indie.

Quinn: Miles is in our dorm. Long story, but he’s wasted. I’ll catch you up tomorrow, but can you stay with Seb tonight so I can sleep in your bed?

Her reply comes almost instantly.

Indie: Fuck, we’ve been looking for him. He slipped out of the party, although I didn’t think he was that drunk. I’m sorry if he ruined your date.

He wasn’t that drunk with them? My brow furrows as I walk over to the mini fridge in our room, pulling out two bottles of water. When I turn around, Miles is sitting on the edge of my bed, looking clear-eyed and composed—definitely not drunk.

“What the—?” I start, but the words die in my throat as he stands, moving toward me in one smooth motion. He plucks a water bottle from my hands, and I just stare, my jaw slack. This isn’t the same guy who was slumped outside my dorm less than thirty minutes ago. This isn’t the same guy who was sending me drunk texts, either. No, this guy isn’t drunk at all.

Miles twists off the cap and takes long, deliberate gulps, rippling the edges of the rose inked below his throat. I can’t help but watch as his throat works, each swallow making something in my chest tighten. He drains the entire thing, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Thanks, I needed that,” he says, his voice calm, steady.

I blink as my mind tries to piece together what’s happening, but it’s no use. “What’s going on right now?” I’m not sure that question will get me anywhere close to the answers I need, though.

He doesn’t reply. Instead, he gives me this sheepish look, like he thinks that flashing me those puppy-dog eyes will make everything okay, like I’ll just melt and forgive him on the spot.

Not tonight. Not this time.

“Did you…” I hesitate, clenching my fist at my side, wondering if I’m about to make things worse by asking the most obvious question, but I can’t think of any other solution. “Did you fake being drunk?”

He rubs the back of his neck, eyes dropping to the floor between us. “I mean…”

That’s it? My jaw tightens as I fight the urge to roll my eyes. I shift my weight, crossing my arms tighter. Just say it, Miles.

I glance at him, hoping—no, begging —for him to finally look at me, but he’s still staring at the floor like it’ll magically give him the words. My foot starts tapping, my patience thinning by the second. I can feel my temper rising, burning hotter with every beat of silence.

“Miles,” I snap, my voice harder than I mean it to be. “Just tell me.”

“Okay…” He swallows roughly as his brown eyes meet mine. “Maybe I did fake it a little bit.”

“Miles!” I shout, spinning around on my heels, frustration and confusion bubbling over. I can’t contain it anymore. Why would he do that? Why did he feel the need to fake being drunk? So I’d come running? The realization hits me like a punch to the gut, and I feel like such an idiot.

“Wait, I may have embellished the extent of my drunkenness, but I did drink tonight,” he admits, his voice soft.

“What does that even mean?” I screech, throwing my hands in the air. “Are you doing this to be all protective over me again? Did Seb send you here? Are you two trying to sabotage my date?”

“Woah, no.” He holds his hands up. “I swear, Seb doesn’t even know I’m here.”

“Then why? Why are you here, pretending you’re drunk, pretending that you need me?”

“Shit, I...” He falters, running his fingers through his hair, clearly scrambling for an answer that will make sense.

“Alex was nice, the date was nice.” My voice rises in anger. “Despite the fact that we didn’t agree on pineapple being a pizza topping, it was nice, and now it’s...” Shaking my head, my breath comes in heavy, ragged bursts as my arms drop ramrod straight by my sides. “It’s nothing!”

He steps closer, and I’m engulfed in his familiar scent, the warm mix of cedar and spice that’s always felt like home. And I hate it. I hate that even now, when I’m furious, I want to lean into him, to let him calm the storm inside me. “Quinn, I’m sorry.”

Stepping back once, then twice, needing the space between us, I bump into the door with a soft thud, crossing my arms in front of me again like a barrier. “Well, this time, I’m not accepting it.”

His face tightens, his mouth opening as if he wants to say something, but instead, his lips press into a thin line. As he exhales sharply, his shoulders slump with clear frustration. Finally, he mutters, “Pineapple does belong on pizza, by the way.”

I blink at him, caught off guard. I want to stay mad, but his eyes meet mine, and there’s a flicker of something familiar—something that makes my heart stutter, no matter how hard I try to resist. I swallow hard and bite back a smile that I refuse to let free. “I know,” I mutter. “That’s what I told him.”

He stares at my mouth for a second, running his tongue over his lower lip. “Did he kiss you?” With each movement toward me, I can feel the heat of his body approaching like the sun rising in the morning. That moment just before the dawn breaks when you know something is in the air. And just like the sun, I feel helpless to stop him.

“N-no,” I splutter, practically choking on the word.

He hums, never taking his eyes off my lips, and I don’t know what to do with that. The dormant traitorous butterflies suddenly flare to life inside my chest, causing the ruckus I’d been waiting for all night.

“He wanted to kiss you.”

The air vacates from the room at a rapid pace and my lungs claw at my ribs. “H-how would you know? You weren’t watching.”

He steps closer, his voice low enough to send a tremor quaking through me. “Trust me, he wanted to taste you.”

Those big brown eyes fall to my lips again and linger there until I absently lick them. I can’t speak, can barely breathe with the weight of his eyes on me, with him so close.

“I fucked it up,” he whispers.

My immediate instinct is to comfort him, to say he didn’t, to tell him that I didn’t really want Alex to kiss me anyway. But I stop myself. Because the truth is, he did stop tonight from becoming something more, and that was supposed to be my decision, even if I wasn’t into it. It doesn’t matter—he still took that moment from me.

“I didn’t mean to ruin your date,” he murmurs, his voice thick with regret.

“But you did,” I snap, my voice still tinged with frustration. I see him wince, but I can’t take it back.

“I’m sorry,” he says, stepping closer so our bodies brush. A wave of sensation sweeps over me, my breath faltering as his touch sends goosebumps racing across my skin. And before I can process the apology or the emotion flickering in his eyes, his hands are on my face, cradling it between his warm palms, angling me so I have no choice but to look up at him. My pulse flutters just below the tips of his fingers, and for a moment, the only thing I’m aware of is him, the intensity in his gaze. A gaze that’s full of something so powerful and potent that I can’t look away.

And then he leans in and the world stops spinning.

The soft and brief press of his lips against mine sends a shock wave through me—my entire body goes rigid, frozen in place, as though I’ve stepped into another reality. My mind stutters, trying to catch up with what just happened. Did he— Was that a kiss?

Miles pulls back, eyes wide, as if he’s just as stunned as I am. He doesn’t move, doesn’t let go. He’s staring at me—no, at my mouth, his own slightly parted, his breaths shallow, like he’s not sure what he’s done or how to fix it.

My heart pounds like it’s trying to break free. The whisper of his lips on mine echoes on my skin, the sensation burning into me, searing itself into my memory. But it was so quick, so unexpected, that I can’t quite wrap my mind around it. Did I imagine it? Have I completely lost my mind, that I’m now imagining him kissing me when he hasn’t?

“Huh…” He frowns, his voice is hoarse, unsteady. He keeps his confused gaze on my lips, like he’s drawn to them, unable to tear himself away but he doesn’t know why. It’s the kind of stare that leaves me breathless. It’s like he’s waiting for permission, or maybe for me to stop him.

But I can’t.

Neither of us moves. The air between us is thick with confusion and something else—something heavier, something dangerous.

I can’t breathe. I can’t think. All I know is that his hands are still holding me in place, grounding me, and I don’t know if I want him to let me go or pull me closer. If he lets go, I’ll never forget the feeling of kissing him, not now that I know what he tastes like, how he feels. I’ll forever be haunted by it. But if he pulls me closer, that means he chooses me. And I’ve spent my whole life being overlooked that the thought of him actually choosing me feels like something I can’t afford to believe in. Not yet.

In his eyes, I see the same hesitation. The same shock. The same lingering question.

What now?

I open my mouth to speak, but Miles adjusts his grip so his thumb ghosts over my lower lip, deepening his frown as he murmurs a gentle shh sound. Any words I’d planned on saying dissolve on my tongue in an instant from the feel of his touch. My breath catches in my throat, and my pulse thunders in my ears, so loud they’re practically ringing. His dark eyes glisten in the soft light from my lamp as he looks at me intently, studying me like I’m something precious or something he shouldn’t have. I wish I could melt into him. Take this opportunity to bare my soul and my feelings and let him know everything I’ve wanted for years now. His moves are slow and deliberate, like he’s memorizing the feel of me, making my hazy head swim with notions of forever. I need to calm down.

But it feels like an impossible feat, when he’s here, holding me, looking at me like this.

A soft breath escapes me, and it ignites something within him. His fingers weave into my hair, pulling me closer as his lips crash into mine, rough and unrelenting. Fierce and possessive. And my body freezes all over again. Reality slamming into me as hard as his mouth is. This is real. Miles is kissing me.

His hands tighten in my hair, pulling me closer with a growl, and I finally respond instinctively, my body molding against his. My fingers curl into his shirt, as if holding on is the only thing keeping me grounded. I kiss him back, pouring years of unspoken longing into the heat of the moment.

His tongue sweeps into my mouth with a sudden unrelenting desire that pools in my core. The taste of him, faintly sweet, floods my senses, and I’m lost in it. The world fades away—there’s only him. His breath, his touch, the heat radiating from him like we’re both on the verge of unraveling.

A moan escapes between us, and I don’t know if it’s me or him but just as suddenly as it began, it all shifts.

He pulls back abruptly, breaking the kiss with a sharp gasp, as if he’s come up for air after being underwater for too long. His hands drop from my hair, trembling slightly, wild eyes darting away from mine. I watch as his chest heaves and he stares at the floor.

“Miles?” I whisper, my voice barely audible. Inside I’m shaking, vibrating from what was desire that’s now been doused with ice water and it’s left an ache in its place.

But he doesn’t answer. He takes a step back, then another, his eyes wide, panicked, like he’s just realized what he’s done. “Shit,” he mutters, his hand pressed over his mouth.

I try to think of something to say, anything, but nothing comes out. I can’t begin to process my own thoughts, let alone consider the ones he’s having.

“I—” His voice falters, and for a second, he looks like he might try to explain, but nothing prepares me for what comes out. Clearing his throat, he frowns. “That was…uh, nice.”

I wince, my face contorting. “ Nice ?” I ask, dumbfounded.

“I should go,” he whispers, more to himself than to me. He makes jerky, uncontrolled movements, running his hand through his hair as I stare in disbelief.

Robotically, I move away from the door, not sure what else to do as I helplessly watch everything I’d feared would happen manifest in front of me. He’s leaving because he didn’t mean to kiss you. He doesn’t want you , a voice whispers in my head.

Then, as soon as the door opens, he’s gone, rushing out and leaving me standing there, stunned, my heart pounding painfully in the empty silence.