Her Best Friend (22 page)

It was nearly eight-thirty. He’d called the moment he’d closed the door on Lisa, but Amy hadn’t picked up.

He stepped into the house.

“Amy? It’s me.”

There was a carton in the hallway, filled with picture frames and clothes and other household items. He recognized the Picasso print he’d given Amy on her eighteenth birthday and the stuffed turtle he’d won for her at the Royal Melbourne Show one year.

Amy rounded the corner at the other end of the hallway, another box in her arms. Her step faltered when she saw him, then her chin came up and she strode up the hallway and dumped her burden next to the first box.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said. He raised the bag of food and wine. “I bought some stuff.”

“I’m taking it back,” she said coolly, her gaze steady. “I want you to forget I ever said it.”

He frowned. “Taking what back?”

“The
I love you.
I’m taking it back. Retracting it, as you lawyers would say. So there’s no need for us to have this little chat.”

She crossed her arms over her breasts. He didn’t think he’d ever seen her so angry.

“Ames. I’m sorry I took so long to get here. Lisa came over and—”

“I know. I got sick of waiting so I came to you. Anyway. I have stuff to do, so if you don’t mind, I’ll get back to it.”

She turned and walked down the hallway. Quinn followed, glancing into the second box as he passed. The pencil case he’d made in woodwork in Year 9 was sitting on top of a pile of Raymond Chandler books. All of which he’d bought for her when they’d both fallen in love with Chandler’s writing when they were in their early twenties.

He followed her into the living room and watched as she started sorting through her CD collection, tossing unwanted albums into yet another box. He didn’t need to look to know that they were all albums that he’d either bought for her or that they both enjoyed.

“Lisa and I aren’t getting back together, Ames,” he said quietly.

“I didn’t think you were.”

He frowned. “Then what’s going on?”

“Nothing’s going on.” She paused, then shook her head. “No, that’s not true. Something is going on, it’s just nothing to do with you.”

She went back to sorting through her CDs.

An icy finger of fear slid down his spine. He didn’t understand what was going on. He’d never seen her like this. So shut off, so cold.

He dumped the wine and food on her coffee table and crossed the room, tugging the pile of CDs from her hands.

“Talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to say.”

She reached for the CDs but he threw them onto her couch where they landed with a plastic clatter. They were both silent for a long moment, then she lifted her face and looked him in the eye.

“You said you’d come over tonight to talk. You kissed me and you said you’d be here. Then you left me hanging.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I literally walked into Lisa on my doorstep as I was leaving to come here. She wanted to talk, wouldn’t take no for an answer. She was upset—”

“I don’t care,” Amy said. “It doesn’t matter. In fact, it’s probably good tonight happened. It made a few things very clear to me.”

She tried to brush past him but he grabbed her shoulders. She went very still.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Ames—”

“No. I don’t want to hear it, okay? I get it. I finally get it. And I don’t want your pity or your curiosity or whatever it is. I don’t want to be second best or your consolation prize or an afterthought.
I deserve better.
”

There were so many things wrong with what she was saying that he didn’t know where to begin.

“If you would listen to me for five seconds—”

“It doesn’t matter, Quinn. Nothing you say is going to change anything. This was never going to work. I’ve spent half my life loving you, and you’ve been married to someone else for six years. One of these things is not like the other. You’re never going to feel the same way as me. How could you?”

He wanted to shake her till the angry, empty look left her face. He wanted to yell his denial till the rafters shook and the windows rattled. Instead, he tightened his grip on her shoulders and jerked her body against his.

“You have no freakin’ idea how I feel, Amy Parker.”

Then he kissed her. Not gently or tenderly or patiently, the way he’d planned. There was no wine and cheese and fine words and promises. Just her mouth beneath his, her body against his, as he kissed her with all the frustration and passion and need and fear in him. Her hands came up to grasp his shoulders and for a moment he thought she was going to try to push him away. Then she wrapped her arms around him and slid her tongue along his and pressed her hips forward, straining to get as close to him as possible.

He slid a hand down her shoulder to find her breast, palming it, rubbing her nipple with his thumb. She retaliated by grabbing his backside and pressing herself against his hard-on. He groaned and she slid a hand around his waist and into the waistband of his jeans. He broke their kiss to jerk her T-shirt up and push her bra down, tugging her nipple into his mouth. Her body jerked as he bit her nipple then soothed it with his tongue. She yanked his fly down and slid her hand inside his boxer briefs, wrapping her fingers around his erection. She stroked his length, once, twice, three times. He backed her toward the couch and pushed her down. They hit the cushions together and the couch jerked as one of the front legs gave with a sharp crack, sending them tumbling onto the floor. His elbow hit the coffee table and Amy’s head thunked against his.

“Are you okay?” he asked, reaching out to touch her face.

Her eyes were glazed, her cheeks flushed. “Yes.” She grasped his shoulders and pushed him onto his back and climbed on top of him.

He dragged her T-shirt the rest of the way off and reached for the clasp on her bra. She started peeling his jeans off and he lifted his hips obligingly. She made a small, needy sound as his erection sprang free and he lost it for a moment, grabbing her and kissing her so hard that their teeth clashed and they bumped noses. Her hands kept working at his jeans all the while, tugging them down his thighs then pushing them over his knees. He kicked himself free and reached for the stud on her jeans. Amy made an impatient noise and rolled to one side, unzipping her fly and sticking her thumbs into the waistband of her jeans, shucking them in one frantic, urgent motion. The moment she was naked he rolled on top of her, grunting when his shoulder connected with the coffee table. She opened her thighs wide and he groaned again as his hips settled against hers and his erection nudged into her moist heat. She wrapped her legs around his hips and arched her back.

They were both gasping like landed fish, mindless, mad. He pressed his hips forward, greedy for more, wanting everything.

And somewhere in the back of his mind a thought flickered to life. He stilled and looked down into Amy’s hectic face.

“Condom,” he said shortly.

She frowned as though she didn’t understand what language he was speaking, then she shook her head. “I’m on the pill.”

Her hands found his ass and urged him closer but the small moment of clarity had already led to a greater moment.

This was Amy. And he was about to shag her on the floor of her house with no finesse and very little thought beyond the quickest way to get her naked.

“Bed. We should be in a bed,” he said.

“I don’t care.”

“I do. I want this to be special. This is our first time.”

“Our first time,” she repeated.

“Yes.”

She smiled, a tremulous, hopeful, heartbreaking smile.

“I guess we should make an effort, then. My bedroom’s the first doorway on the right.”

They disengaged as though someone had fired a starting pistol, scrambling to their feet and hotfooting it up the hallway.

She stopped in her tracks when they entered her bedroom, a dismayed expression on her face. “No sheets. I was so busy shaving my legs and finding my good underwear I forgot to finish making the bed.”

“Are you kidding? Who cares about sheets?” he said, and he took her to the mattress in a flying tackle.

They butted noses again as they kissed, her breasts warm against his chest, her legs tangling with his. Then she was spreading her thighs wide and he was nudging at her entrance and—finally—sliding inside her.

They both froze, the room suddenly very quiet. He looked into her face and saw the need and wonder and truth in her eyes and wondered if she saw the same in his.

“Amy,” he said, lowering his forehead to press it against hers. “Amy.”

Her arms came around him and locked tight.

“Quinn. Whatever you do, don’t you dare stop now or I will be forced to kill you.”

He laughed, couldn’t help it. Need took over and he flexed his hips and withdrew. Then he slid into her all over again and she dropped her head back and made a low, needy humming sound in the back of her throat.

Sixteen years.

Unbelievable, but it might just have been worth the wait.

Quinn inside her, surrounding her. A part of her.

Then he found his rhythm and lust rose to swamp everything except sensation as he stroked into her, over and over. She rode with him, circling her hips to find the most satisfying friction. Clutching at his hard, beautiful body. Savoring every hitch in his breath, every brush of his hands against her breasts, her belly, her hips. Breathing and sighing and whispering his name.

Tension bowed her body. He kissed her breasts, licked her nipples, murmured things against her skin. She strained toward him, wanting everything he had to give.

And then she was there, her climax crashing down on her. She lost all sense of time. She’d barely come down to earth again when he tensed, pressing his face into her neck. He breathed her name over and over as he came, his body shuddering against hers.

Afterward, he lay heavy and lax on her for a long moment, his ragged breath warm against her neck. After a while he withdrew and rolled to the side, taking her with him. They lay facing each other and she ran her fingers through the dark silk of his chest hair, reveling in the freedom to touch him.

“I’m sorry I was late, Ames. Believe me, if it had been up to me, I would have been here at six-thirty.”

She met his eyes. “She wanted to get back with you, didn’t she?”

“How did you know?”

“It’s not rocket science.”

He brushed his hand over her shoulder, skimmed his knuckles along the curve of her jaw.

“She was upset. And for the first time I clued in that if something happened between us she was going to be even more upset. So I told her.”

Amy tensed. “You told her? About us? But we hadn’t even…I mean, we’d barely even…”

“Ames, we’ve practically torn each other’s clothes off twice in as many days. I figured it was a pretty safe bet.”

“Hmph.” She concentrated on tracing the smooth arc of his pec muscle for a moment. “Was she okay? I mean, how did she react?”

“She was pretty emotional. I explained that there was no going back for us. She said she understood that part but she couldn’t get her head around the two of us together. She wanted to know how long I’d felt this way, if anything had ever happened between the two of us before.”

“What did you tell her?”

“The truth, Ames. That when we were married I only ever allowed myself to think of you as my friend.”

She nodded. “Good. Because I would never have done that to her.”

“I think she knows that. But she’s working her way through a lot of stuff right now. It took a while to talk about things.”

He reached out and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting.”

“It’s okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You’re here now. That’s the important bit.”

He smiled at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He looked so familiar and so sexy lying beside her.

“Pinch me,” she said. “I still can’t quite believe this is real.”

“I can do better than that.”

He rolled toward her and slid a long, muscly leg over both of hers. His hand cupped her breast and she closed her eyes as he teased her nipple with his thumb and forefinger.

“You’re so beautiful, Ames.”

He lowered his head to her breasts, kissing the soft curve before opening his mouth over her nipple and rasping the rough of his tongue against her sensitive flesh. She opened her eyes and looked down at his dark head against her pale skin, watched him sucking and kissing her. She drove her fingers into his hair and held him close, running the sole of her foot along one of his strong calves. He had a wonderful body, strong and muscular, hairy in all the right places, unashamedly masculine.

He lifted his head and skimmed his hand down her ribs to her hip, his eyes following the movement.

“So soft…” He trailed his hand down her thigh and nudged her knee to one side. She caught her breath as he began to trail his fingers up the inside of her thigh. He shifted in the bed so that he could press a kiss against her belly.

“You know, when we were fourteen I used to watch you get changed from my bedroom window. When you had your blind down and the bedside lamp on I could see everything in silhouette. Well, almost everything. It used to drive me crazy.” He said it lazily, casually, his focus on her body.

She frowned. “It’s okay. You don’t have to whisper sweet nothings in my ear.”

“Sweet nothings. Was that what I was doing?”

“You don’t have to tell me what you think I want to hear.”

He lifted his head and shifted onto one elbow. “You think I’m making it up? You don’t believe I used to lie in the dark watching you take off your bra and pull down your panties and feel like the dirtiest, filthiest little pervert under the sun because of all the things I wanted to do to you?”

She shifted uncomfortably. “I know I said a bunch of stuff before about being second best and a consolation prize. It’s okay. You don’t have to try to prove anything to me or make me feel better. Let’s just…be here. This is enough,” she said.

And it was. It was more than she’d ever thought she’d have from him.

He looked arrested. “You really don’t believe me, do you?”

“I was there that summer, too, Quinn. I remember Lisa and her tiny red bikini.”

He sat up suddenly. “Get dressed,” he said, swinging his feet over the side of the bed.

“Sorry?”

“Get dressed. There’s something I want to show you.”

“But—”

He was already gone, padding down the hallway toward the living room. She grabbed the nearest T-shirt and tugged it on. Quinn was pulling his jeans on when she entered the living room.

“Where are we going? I don’t get it,” she said.

“Exactly.” He bent and picked up her jeans, tossing them to her. “Get dressed, Ames.”

There was a determined, stubborn note to his voice that she recognized. Frowning, she located her panties in the leg of her jeans. Quinn reached across and plucked them from her hands before she could pull them on.

“You won’t be needing those. Do you still have that flashlight in your handbag?”

Five minutes later, they were in Quinn’s car. Amy was acutely aware that she was commando and that she still had no idea where he was taking her.

“This thing you’re showing me, it isn’t in a public place, is it?” she asked nervously.

He signaled as they approached her parents’ street and turned, stopping in front of their house.

“What are we doing here?” she asked stupidly.

“I’ll show you.”

He rounded the car and took her hand. He flicked the flashlight on, then led her up the driveway. Bluish light flickered behind the blinds in the living room, indicating her parents were still up watching television. Quinn led her past the window and into the backyard. The decorative gate between her mother’s vegetable garden and the more unruly bottom half of the yard squeaked in protest as he opened it.

“Okay, this is getting weird,” she said. “Why are we in my parents’ backyard?”

Quinn didn’t say anything, simply led her to the very bottom of the garden, into the long, damp grass where they used to play in years gone by. The flashlight beam slid over the grass and settled on the gnarled trunk of the apple tree.

“Hold the light steady for me, okay?” he said.

Bemused, she took the flashlight and aimed the beam at the tree trunk as he hauled himself up onto a low branch and began to climb.

“You’re crazy, you know that, right?” she said.

“Maybe. It’s been a long time. It’s probably—Hah! Look at that. Guess I must be a better craftsman than I thought. Throw me the flashlight and come up here.”

Muttering under her breath, Amy tossed him the flashlight, the beam arcing through the night as it flew through the air. Quinn trained the light down the trunk and she swung herself up into the tree. He hadn’t climbed very far, about halfway into the canopy. He was straddling a thick branch and she settled in beside him, one hand grasping an overhead branch for balance.

Quinn aimed the flashlight at the tree trunk. “Take a look.”

She glanced at him, then turned to study the rough, gray bark. It was well hidden, camouflaged by years of weather, but she could make out the faint outline of a love heart carved into the wood. Two sets of initials had been carved inside it. She reached out to trace them with her fingertip.

“‘Q.W. 4 A.P.,’” she read. She stared at Quinn, stunned. “How long has this been here?”

“We turned fourteen in ninety-four, right? So I guess it’s been here sixteen years.”

She stared at him. All these years she’d looked for proof that her feelings for Quinn were reciprocated. And all the time it had been right here in her parents’ backyard.

She reached out and pressed her hand against the rough bark. For a moment she was overwhelmed. Then she swung around and scrambled down the tree.

Quinn dropped to the ground beside her a few seconds later.

“I don’t understand,” she said after a short silence. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“Why didn’t you?” he countered.

“Because I was afraid. Because if I did say something and you didn’t feel the same, things would have been weird between us.”

“Ditto. You were my best friend, Ames. I didn’t want to lose you.”

“But you were happy to lose Lisa. She was your friend, too.”

As soon as she said it she wished it back. She sounded so small and jealous.

“Not happy, but less uncomfortable, definitely. You and I grew up together. Lisa was one of the musketeers, but she wasn’t like you. You and I had serious history. The kind of history that made me want to wash my brain out with soap every time I watched you get undressed. The truth is, if she hadn’t made the first move, I probably would have stuck to hitting on the girls at school.”

“Lisa made the first move?”

“That’s right.”

Amy thought back to that afternoon by the lake when Lisa had revealed what had happened the previous night with Quinn.

“Lisa told me you kissed her while you were doing your French homework,” she said slowly. “She said you made the first move.”

A frown creased Quinn’s forehead. “The French homework part is right, but she was the one who jumped me. As far as I was concerned, the two of you were off-limits.”

Amy stared at him. She didn’t know why what he’d just said made such a difference to her, but it did. She felt as though something painful that had long been out of place had shifted back into alignment inside her.

Then she knew what it was. All these years, she’d thought Quinn had chosen Lisa over her. But Lisa was the one who’d done the choosing.

It was a small but important distinction for Amy.

“Have you ever seen that movie
Sliding Doors?
” she asked.

“Does it have explosions and chicks in bikinis toting guns?”

She gave him a dry look. “It’s about the life you could have had if you made different choices.”

“Ah.” He was silent for a moment, then he brushed a hand down her arm. “Great idea for a movie.”

“But?”

He shrugged. “Real life is more complicated.”

She understood what he was saying with those few, spare words: he’d loved Lisa. He’d married her, been prepared to build forever with her. He wasn’t going to say he regretted any of that as a sop to Amy. He was too honest for that.

She caught his hand in hers. If he’d felt any other way, she’d like him a lot less than she did. And she liked him a whole hell of a lot.

He pulled her into his arms. She closed her eyes and savored the closeness and the promise.

After a few minutes, Quinn cleared his throat.

“You know how I mentioned those dirty, horny, perverted fantasies I used to have?” he said. “One of them involved this particular bit of your parents’ yard and all this long grass.”

“Really?”

“To my shame.”

He didn’t look very ashamed.

“Is that why you wouldn’t let me put my underwear on?”

“I like to plan ahead.”

“Pretty confident, aren’t you?”

He kissed her deeply, pushing her back against the old apple tree, holding her there with his hips and his flat belly. She shivered as his hands slid under her T-shirt to cup her braless breasts. He kissed her neck, then nuzzled the sensitive place beneath her ear. She slid her hands under his T-shirt and smoothed her hands across his back and chest and belly before finally finding the stud on his jeans and working it free.

One day, she would take the time to explore his body slowly and surely. But not tonight. Tonight she was too impatient, too needy, too desperate.

They sank to their knees in the grass and Quinn pulled his T-shirt off and spread it on the ground to protect her from the damp grass.

“So gallant,” she said as he eased her onto her back.

“Smart mouth.”

Suddenly the light came on at the back of her parents’ house, flooding the yard.