Christina Lee - Before You Break

And she couldn’t have been more wrong. I didn’t have feelings for Amber.

I had feelings for Ella.

And I didn’t know what the hell to do about it. Ella was mesmerizing. A force so captivating she was difficult to resist. Like a powerful tide washing over me, pulling me under, and compelling me along a path that was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

“No, I wasn’t,” I said, coming up behind her. “I’ve never been in love with anyone. Not yet.”

Her shoulders relaxed and her fists unclenched—as if she’d allowed all of her uncertainties to roll off of her.

“Look at me, Ella.”

She turned around and her eyes widened as she took in my appearance. I had on a pair of dark jeans and had draped my shirt over my shoulder, ready to be pulled on and buttoned up. My hair was combed away from my face and her eyes roamed over the curve of my jaw, down my neck and chest, making my stomach flip completely over.

Damn, she mouthed.

I cleared my throat. “What?”

“Did I say that out loud?” she said, parting her pouty mouth.

I smirked. “Either that or I read your lips.”

“It’s just . . . I’m sure you know that you’re hot, Quinn,” she said, her gaze generously roaming over me. “You have an amazing body.”

Ella’s words turned me on like no one else’s. I’d felt girls up with less provocation. And this girl had only uttered a simple sentence and I was already there. “So do you, Ella.”

She shook her head like she didn’t believe me. I closed the distance between us and gathered her face in my hands. “Don’t you realize how gorgeous you are?”

Her breaths were broken and rough as her gaze aligned with mine. I felt myself tipping, plunging—falling headlong into those ocean-blue eyes.

I ran my thumb along her bottom lip and just as I was about to throw all caution to the wind, her phone chirped—loud and insistent—penetrating our perfect little bubble.

Leave it to my mother to be a romance wrecker. It was almost like she knew I wasn’t being honest about Joel, so she was messing with me. She was the one who’d told me to bring Quinn to our house for dinner and now she must have been tapping her foot wondering where the hell we were.

“We’re on our way, Momma,” I said into my phone.

Quinn came out of his room completely dressed and ready to go in his button-down shirt and black shoes. “I don’t want to piss off your parents—let’s get a move on.”

I lamented the loss of his hands on my face. The whisper of his deep voice. And the sight of his sculpted chest.

No man, besides my own father, had ever called me gorgeous. That moment between Quinn and me felt sincere. Real. Heartfelt.

Despite the building urge to kiss him for weeks, in that instant, it felt like we had something more together. Like I had penetrated the wall he had carefully crafted. Had been let inside a tiny crack in the façade.

And it only confirmed how much I wanted him. Damn, I wanted him.

And now we were back in Quinn’s hot rod and I could hardly believe we were headed to my house for a family dinner.

When Quinn pulled in the driveway, I spotted my father outside, smoking cigars with Uncle Roman and Uncle Martin. It was their tradition whenever our families got together. Mom always banished them away from the house because it stunk up the joint.

Now they stood alongside the flower bed in a heated discussion in their native language. Most likely about politics, the economy, or their jobs. My father was a building contractor and complained that the younger generation didn’t appreciate his work ethic. It was the same argument, different decade.

We exited the car and I introduced Quinn to my father and uncles.

“I understand you’re one of Joel’s frat brothers?” my dad asked.

Quinn never faltered at hearing Joel’s name. “Yes, sir.”

Quinn twisted his car keys round and round his fingers as my father and uncles studied him and I was beginning to understand what he meant about not being used to large family gatherings. Being publicly scrutinized as the son of a politician was probably totally different from being judged by the members of an extended family.

He’d mentioned an aunt and uncle but didn’t seem to want to talk about them. I couldn’t help wondering what kind of parents traveled during a holiday rather than make time for their only child. Was that the reason for the meticulously built structure Quinn had erected around himself? Maybe he’d been disappointed too many times to let anyone in.

When Quinn had confessed at Basia’s Diner that he’d be alone all weekend, my heart lurched. I’d also entertained the thought that maybe he’d made plans with someone else, since he was adamant about not wanting to kiss me the other night.

So why had he seemed so ready to kiss me just an hour ago?

He was still a mystery and it made me want to get to know him even more.

“Quinn’s a star catcher for the Titans, Tata,” I said, and Quinn dipped his head as if embarrassed by my gushing statement.

Dad gave me an odd sort of look. Did he know I’d been lying about Joel?

Baseball was the only American sport my father understood. If it wasn’t baseball or soccer, he just wasn’t interested.

My brothers darted out of the house, one with a Nerf football in hand, and went into insta-worship mode with Quinn once I told them that he played for the university. The twins participated in football, basketball, and baseball and revered any local sports team. To Quinn’s amusement, they even spouted off TSU’s stats.

Christopher had only played soccer and he was the son you’d most likely see out in the garage with my father working on cars. My father had lost his little buddy and I certainly couldn’t replace him, and neither could the twins.

Quinn tossed the football around with my brothers while he answered their questions about his upcoming schedule on the road.

“Enough with the sports talk,” my dad said. “Show me this little classic beauty.” He patted Quinn on the back and then headed toward his car for a thorough inspection.

“I have to see if my mom needs help in the kitchen,” I said, watching my father’s excitement build the closer he got to Quinn’s car. “Will you be okay?”

“I’m good,” he said, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

Before I turned toward the house I said, “Wait, I think I got it.”

His eyebrows slammed together. “Got what?”

I tipped my head toward my father and uncles. “The names of your cars.”

“Cars?” he said. “As in plural?”

“Of course. There are two of them, right?” I said, as if it was the silliest thing in the world for him to question my logic.

“I guess.” He appeared unconvinced that I hadn’t lost my mind.

“That one is Fury because she’s dark and foreboding.” I pointed to his black beauty in our driveway. “And the one in your garage is Fire. Red and feisty.”

“Hmmm,” he said, rubbing the stubble on his chin as he contemplating the names I’d chosen. “I think I approve.”

I was mesmerized by how his fingers worked his jawline. “Yeah?”

“I like them.” His gaze landing on my lips before sliding up to my eyes. “I like them a lot.”

He turned to join my father and uncles as his double meaning swept over me, like a salve. I stood there in a drunken stupor, watching his tight backside move in those dark-wash jeans.

My father was already rubbing his hand along the side of Quinn’s black shiny paint job and I giggled to myself as I stepped inside to help my mother.

Mom was busy setting the tables. There were always two for these types of dinners. The formal one in the dining room was for adults. And a smaller foldaway table set up in the living room for the kids. My two older cousins were helping align the chairs while their children played in the backyard with bubbles and fake swords.

“What took you so long, Corka?” My parents had spoken half Polish, half English my entire life, so I understood the language better than I communicated it. I would’ve been more fluent had I practiced, but my parents didn’t push it. I was more interested in appearing as Americanized as I could in front of friends.

Avery was the only friend who got on my case about it. Said I should feel lucky and embrace the language. But I wasn’t as confident or strong-willed as she was. I’d actually cared about being popular and fitting in. Which seemed ridiculous in hindsight.

Besides, after Christopher died, I’d never fit in again. Nobody had gone through what we had and none of my friends besides Avery had seemed to understand. So I’d stood out like a sore thumb even more. And that’s when I’d decided to focus on healing rather than being popular.

“We weren’t that long, Matka,” I said. “He wanted to change his greasy shirt.”

“That was polite,” she said and gave me a knowing look. “He’s very handsome, that one. Just make sure the other one knows you’re finished before moving on, you hear me?”

My cousin Andrea wiggled her eyebrows, and I felt my cheeks heat up.

“It’s the right thing to do,” Mom said, placing her hand on my shoulder, forcing me to look at her.

I had trouble meeting my mother’s searing gaze. “So . . . you wouldn’t be upset if that were to happen?”

“Upset?” she asked, her eyebrows bouncing together. “Prosze, I only want you to be happy.”

I nodded and felt my stomach unclench. Relief washed through my limbs.

“And right now, your eyes are dancing for that boy.”