Page 3 of As You Crave It

He shook his head. “Not tonight. I’m just going to finish my drink and head home. I still have to pack.”

“Speedos, sunscreen and condoms, man. It’s all you’ll need,” Luis told him.

Quin laughed. “Thanks for the tip. I guess I’ll have to pick up my Speedos from the cleaners,” he said as they slapped hands.

“All right. Have a good trip.”

When he was alone, he left the couch where they’d been seated and carried his glass out onto the nearby patio. Thankfully, it was empty, not packed like the rest of the club, and the noise of the music was mostly contained to the inside. It was a typically warm night, but at least there was a cool breeze off the ocean. He took a deep breath, pulling the salty air into his lungs and letting it cool him from the inside. Quin loved Miami. There was no other place he’d rather live. He gazed back into the club, watched people dancing, flirting, pressing their bodies together in movements that might be considered lewd if not for the thin pieces of clothing between them. The club was getting wild, as it normally did the closer the night came to the morning. Normally Quin would be in there with them. But lately, it just didn’t appeal to him. Maybe he was just tired from work. Maybe the thought of being the family screwup, having ruined a big deal for the company, was weighing heavily on him. He’d felt terrible, of course, but it was the way Reid had spoken to him, told him he’d ruined everything they’d worked for. The cold disappointment in Gemma’s eyes.

He put his glass down for a moment, just long enough to pull a cigar from his breast pocket and put it between his lips. Like most clubs, Club Culture was nonsmoking, but alone on the patio, he thought there was nothing wrong with breaking a little rule and taking a quick puff. Lighting up earned him a stern look from the floor manager, who was watching him from inside, but when Quin waved, the man recognized him, then smiled and moved on.

No club manager was going to hassle Quin Rexford in South Beach, not so long as he was supplying them with Rexford Rum, hosting brand-awareness parties and inviting the celebrities and athletes he counted as friends. His business and his connections let him slide with the rules a little. Quin puffed on his cigar.

Quin yawned, taking out his cell phone. Time to call his own car, he supposed. But before he could navigate to the car-service app, something stopped him.

He watched through the open door of the patio as, inside the club, a group of women were being escorted to the VIP table closest to him. While three of the women laughed, the fourth wore a frown on her gorgeous face. She was the one who held his attention, though. The woman mustered a brief smile for the hostess and thanked her for the table before she sat, crossing her long legs. He could tell her friends were trying to engage her, make her happy, and while she appeared gracious, Quin could tell that she—like him—just wasn’t feeling the club tonight. But that wasn’t the only thing they had in common. He looked more closely, narrowing his eyes. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he murmured to himself. He and the woman—they used to have everything in common. Watching her, Quin’s mood quickly turned around. He decided he didn’t want to go home and he waved to one of the cocktail waitresses inside.

“Could you bring a bottle of Rexford Premium to that table over there,” he asked the server when she joined him on the patio. “And don’t tell them where it came from.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Rexford,” she said with a smile before walking away.

Quin watched as the VIP servers brought over the bottle and mixes and all the sparklers and regalia that came with the purchase of a 500-dollar bottle of rum. The girls were all surprised and her friends cheered as the servers poured out the first glasses.

Feeling like a voyeur from his spot alone on the patio, he kept his eyes trained on the woman. Celia Evans—the one he’d let get away. No, wait! She was the one he’d driven away. They’d been best friends all through college. She’d been his sounding board for when he needed advice, she’d helped him pass the first-year computer-science course he’d nearly failed. He’d talked her through breakups and makeups, and been her steady Saturday brunch and matinee date. The good times outnumbered the bad. But that one bad time,he thought, wincing to himself. It had been enough to drive a half-nation-wide wedge between them.

She’d been a blonde back then; she’d changed her hair. Now it was dark brown, long and straight. Her makeup was immaculately done, and her clothing and accessories were styled flawlessly. She may look different now, but he could see through it. He still knew her. One of her friends passed her a glass that was topped with a mix of fruit juices. If he had made the drink for her, he would have chosen a mix of orange and cranberry. The pink-orange color of the drink told him it was exactly that. She sipped, and a small smile formed on those lips, and she closed her eyes. Savoring the flavor. Watching her drink his rum, enjoying it, made him warm. Almost turned him on. He sipped on his drink, which held the same kind of rum that she had been served. The vibration in his chest was no longer the throbbing house music, but he could feel his heart beating as they tasted the rum together. An innocent, but similarly erotic thing. It affected him.

It then occurred to him that instead of talking to her, he’d been watching her like a creep. What was he doing? Might as well get himself a pair of binoculars and a white windowless van. But the more he looked at her, the more he could tell that she was a woman who didn’t want to be bothered. And what would she do if she saw him? Their last meeting, even though it was eight years ago, hadn’t been a pleasant one, and he doubted she would have forgiven him that easily. But if Celia saw him stepping into her line of sight, then she could make the decision of whether she wanted a conversation with him or not, he reasoned.

She picked up the bottle from the ice bucket in the center of the table and inspected the label. He smiled, too, when her lips turned upward, and she looked around the crowded club until her eyes connected with his. Celia smiled at him, shook her head and said something to her friends. Then she stood and pushed down the skirt of her short dress, the length of which did little to cover her impossibly long legs.

She walked toward him. His heart was playing a steady ratta-tat-tat against his rib cage, drowning out the noise of the club. He raised his chin, nodding in recognition, trying to play it cool, and hoped he was successful.

Judging by the smile on her face when she joined him on the patio, she couldn’t have been too upset to see him, but it remained to be seen. “Quin,” she said, putting down her glass on the nearby railing as she stood in front of him. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him in for a hug. His arms were around her waist, and he closed his eyes, burying his face in her hair. She may have changed her shampoo and perfume—replacing the once-fruity fragrances with richer ones—but her scent was still the same. When they parted, she put her hands on his shoulders and held him at arm’s length, looking him up and down.

“You look great.”

“So do you.”

“Thanks for the rum,” she said. “I should have known it was from you.”

He shook his head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

She smiled. “I see.” She picked up her glass again and sipped from it. He was close enough to smell the sweet notes of the juice and the spicy rum on her breath.

They both looked over the railing onto the street below them. Even at three in the morning, South Beach was a hive of activity.

“It’s been a while.” It was lame, but it was all he could manage to say. Tension squeezed his throat. Quin hated the stilted, awkward tone of their conversation. A decade ago, they would already be deep in conversation. They’d shared everything. After the pleasantries of their initial meeting had faded, he was left thinking about their bitter parting eight years ago. He could only assume that she was also thinking about it. The reunion was tinged with melancholy, and he wondered if getting her attention had been a mistake. He should have just gone on home and left her alone.

She nodded in response, still staring over the edge. “It’s nice out here.”

“Yeah, it is. It’s a lot quieter than inside. I came out here for a bit of peace.”

Now she looked at him, her eyes narrowed critically. “I never knew you to be a person who craved the quiet.”

He shrugged. “People change, I guess. Especially in eight years.”

She nodded. “Indeed.” Another too-long pause. “It was getting crazy in there,” she said finally. “The noise was starting to give me a headache. I needed to get away for a minute, too.” She took a deep breath and Quin had to force his eyes away from the rise and fall of her chest. “Get some air. At least before the mystery guy who just bought us a bottle sidled over expecting our attention.”

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