Page 13 of On My Side (Quiblings #3)

Ren

Playlist: Princess Leia's Theme | John Williams

How the fuck am I supposed to get through tonight?

I was already anxious at the idea of spending the night in such close proximity to Audrey when I’m obsessed with her, and now she comes into the living room in a dress that looks custom made for her body.

I’ve seen morning Audrey in her pajamas, glasses, and messy top knot, the poised and professional work Audrey, mom Audrey who always has something from Piper on her person… but this?

This feels like Audrey, no adjectives needed.

And Audrey shines . The dress cascades over her curves, making them even more evident, and god, I want to lose myself in them; to find every dimple and roll and become so lost I forget my own name.

“Hi,” I wheeze. Good god , why do I sound like an unnerved caveman? It’s my job to bring people to their knees by talking to them, and I’m ridiculously close to falling to mine and begging her for whatever she deems me worthy of. I clear my throat and try again. “Hi, Audrey. Good to see you.”

She smiles. “Good to see you too. Thanks again for doing this for Piper.”

Piper. Right. This is for Piper. Her child. Who is currently right beside me. Right.

“Yeah, um. Of course. Thanks for agreeing to come,” I say awkwardly, rubbing my thumb along the links of my gold chain hidden beneath the collar of my shirt. If I didn’t know better, I’d say Audrey’s eyes follow the movement.

Unfortunately, I do know better.

“Can we get ice cream after the concert?” Piper asks as I open the front door.

“As long as it’s okay with your mom,” I respond.

“Fine by me,” Audrey says, skirt swishing around her gorgeous legs as she walks past me and through the door. I’m immediately hit with the scent of coconut I’ve come to expect on her, but also something new. Jasmine, I think.

I shake myself out of my horny, scent-induced haze and close the door behind me. Audrey locks it while Piper is already clamoring into the backseat of my Corolla. I try to keep my eyes off Audrey, but my nose betrays me.

She turns around and her brow furrows. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Why?”

She shakes her head. “Sorry, your face… I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

I exhale heavily. I could lie. I should lie. “No, uh, sorry. It’s… you smell different. I was trying to figure it out.”

What a creepy thing to come out of my mouth.

Audrey doesn’t freak out the way I think she should, and instead begins to panic for a different reason. “Is it too much? I never wear perfume but Piper saved her money and bought it for me for Christmas and insisted I wear it tonight and…”

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” I should be embarrassed I cursed in front of a parent, but it doesn’t feel wrong in front of Audrey the way it feels in front of everyone else.

So many things should and don’t feel wrong with her.

“It’s not too strong… I was trying to figure it out. You know, six sisters. They… uh… smell different.”

I am such a dweeb.

This calms her though, and she exhales.

“I like it,” I say, inexplicably. “A lot,” I add because I’m a glutton for humiliation.

But then her eyes brighten, almost like she knows a secret no one else does, and she blushes.

It may be the greatest accomplishment of my life.

“Thank you,” she says softly, averting her gaze to the ground.

“It’s jasmine, I think. God, I was nervous about wearing it.

About wearing all of this.” She waves her hand around her body, as if indicating she’s nervous about everything on her body.

“You look great,” I say earnestly, and she glances up again. “Do you feel great?”

Her blush deepens as she bites her lower lip. “I do. I feel… pretty.” She whispers this like she’s confessing a sin.

“Good.” I motion to the car with my head. “Shall we?”

She nods and maybe, just maybe, she can’t take her eyes off me, either. “We shall.”

Audrey is silent the entire drive to New Haven.

Contrastingly, her child says more in the thirty minutes it takes for us to get to the theater than she has over the entire summer.

How excited she is to get back to her daily routine, what classes she’s looking forward to, her favorite people in school, her least favorite people in school—Annika Gardner can kick rocks—and which lunches are the most edible.

“We’re going to continue our piano lessons, right, Mr. Q?” she asks after catching her breath.

“Uh,” I say, honestly not sure what the answer is.

Usually private lessons end when the kids and I go back to school, but I love working with Piper. She’s hardworking, and watching her progress has been amazing. She reminds me of myself when I was a kid.

“I don’t think Mr. Q does summer lessons in the fall, birdie,” Audrey says, breaking her apparent vow of silence.

“Oh.” I hear the disappointment in Piper’s voice. I see her reflection slump against the seatback. She crosses her arms over her chest.

I make a mental note to talk to Audrey about it at some point, because I would genuinely like to find a way to continue teaching Piper. I wouldn’t be able to continue two times a week the way we are now, but I could make at least a weekly class work.

We all climb out of the car and start our short trek to the theater. It isn’t until our tickets have been scanned and we’ve taken our seats that anyone speaks again.

“Kind of chilly in here,” Audrey says, wrapping her arms around herself.

I immediately jump from my seat. “I have a sweater in the car.”

Audrey stares at me. Piper, I notice out of the corner of my eye, is smirking at her mother.

Am I… being Parent-Trapped right now? Am I childless Dennis Quaid? I’ll never measure up to Nick Parker!

No. Piper’s probably a normal teenager who enjoys seeing her mother in minor discomfort. My sisters were always like that at her age.

“You don’t have to…” Audrey starts to say.

I turn around and squeeze by the neighboring patrons before she can continue her refusal.

By the time I get back, gray and navy striped sweater draped over my arm, the lights have dimmed and the symphony is taking their places. I make it back to my seat just as the opening note to “Theme from Jurassic Park ” plays.

“Here.” Audrey sits between Piper and I, which seemed fine when we took our seats. But as her fingers graze mine when she takes my sweater from me, it’s decidedly not fine.

“Thank you,” she whispers, pulling the sweater over her head.

I’m of course devastated to see that beautiful dress and the way her body looks in it covered by a sweater I’ve had since college, but she already seems more comfortable.

Somehow, Audrey when she’s comfortable is even more beautiful than Audrey when she’s dressed fancy.

“Mom?” Piper says, barely loud enough for me to hear. “I forgot my earplugs.”

My stomach sinks. Piper wore earplugs for some of our lessons, and I know how helpful they are for her. I lean forward to peer around Audrey just as she reaches to grab her bag from the floor, and our knees press together.

Fuck. Me.

“Sorry,” Audrey murmurs, rummaging through her bag. I grip the edge of my seat, holding myself together after such a simple touch. She pulls out a small round case and hands it to Piper, who immediately takes the earplugs out and hands the empty case back to her mom.

“Thank you,” Piper whispers as the song reaches its crescendo.

As Audrey goes to put the earplug case back in her bag, her hand brushes against mine.

Her breath catches and she yanks her hand away like I’ve burnt her.

My heart is in my throat, and I can’t help but think, for just a moment, that the simple touches are affecting her as much as they’re affecting me.

Her eyes meet mine, and god, it’s dim in the theatre, but she’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

“Sorry,” she whispers.

“You’re saying sorry an awful lot for someone who has nothing to be sorry for,” I tease gently, attempting to ease her obvious discomfort.

Her responding smile is forced, and then she lowers her eyes to the case in her hand, but makes no movement to put it in her bag.

I’m not sure what’s going on right now, and frankly, I’d bet good money she doesn’t either. Is she so afraid of touching me again she’s going to spend the rest of the night staring at an empty earplugs case?

Applause erupts around us as the song ends. Neither she or I clap, but I feel the applause reverberating in my chest, my heart pounding in time with it.

As the symphony transitions into the next song, the legendary Star Wars theme, I hesitantly hold my hand out to her.

She looks at it for a moment, before gently placing the case in my hand. Instead of pulling away, her fingertips graze the sensitive skin of my palm, and this time, my own breath catches.

She pulls away and clears her throat, her eyes trained on the stage.

I lean forward to slip the case into my pants pocket, close enough to her that her scent—that intoxicating jasmine perfume—is unnerving.

My breath on her neck must be as intoxicating for her, because she makes a tiny gasping sound as her breath catches, and she captures her bottom lip.

I follow her lead and fix my eyes on the symphony, casually leaving my hand palm up on the arm rest between us.

I don’t think she’ll do anything. If she were to do anything, what would she even do? Hold my hand? We’re not in middle school…

I nearly spring from my seat when her hand touches mine. I don’t know who starts it, all I know is our fingers intertwine and oh my god are we holding hands ?

We must be in middle school, because holding hands with Audrey Hinton is the most thrilling thing to ever happen to me.

I rebelliously allow my thumb to gently stroke her hand, earning that delicious breath catch again. When I turn my head towards her, she’s still looking straight ahead, but there’s something different about her.

She’s smiling, eyes shining like she knows a secret no one else does.