Her Best Friend

by Sarah Mayberry

  Ulrich didn’t take his eyes off Amy. “Take the contract.”

  He thrust the contract at her like a weapon, his color high. She glared at him, arms still locked over her chest.

  “No.”

  “Take it.”

  Suddenly she was staring at Quinn’s broad shoulders as he stepped between them.

  “You can walk out or I can throw you out. Want to flip a coin over it?” He sounded like a stranger, his voice was so cold and angry.

  Ulrich hesitated a moment, then he said something under his breath and walked away, heels striking the wooden floor sharply with each step.

  “That man—” She broke off. She was so angry she didn’t know where to put herself.

  The way Ulrich had looked at her…

  His smug arrogance…

  Quinn lifted the white bakery bag. “I bought almond croissants. With any luck they’re still warm.”

  “Croissants? Are you kidding?” She wanted to spit nails, not consume baked goods.

  He tucked his coffee into the crook of his arm and unfolded the top of the bag. He pulled out a sugar-dusted pastry and offered it to her. “Have a croissant.”

  She shook her head impatiently. The last thing she felt like was eating.

  “Ames, don’t give him the satisfaction of rattling you.”

  “I’m already rattled.”

  Quinn put some gravel in his voice, creating a reasonable proximity of Ulrich’s impatient bark. “Take the croissant, Amy.”

  His eyes were laughing at her, inviting her to join in.

  “Quinn…”

  “Take it. Take it, I say.”

  He thrust it toward her melodramatically. Despite herself, she felt her mouth twitch at the corners. “Stop it.”

  “You know what you have to do to make that happen.”

  She rolled her eyes and plucked the croissant from his hand. “I’m still angry,” she said as she pulled off a chunk of buttery pastry.

  “Sure. But consider this—he’s a douche bag, you own the Grand and we’ll install a big-ass lock on the door today so he can never get in here again. Still want to waste half an hour fuming over the guy?”

  She chewed and swallowed. “No.”

  “That’s my girl,” Quinn said, slinging an arm around her shoulder.

  His body was hard along her side. Her stupid heart gave an excited kick in her chest.

  “If you’re trying to out-patronize Ulrich you’re off to a good start,” she said, trying to ignore the tumult that had started up within her body.

  He looked at her, tucked under his arm. “Come on, I’m not even close. I haven’t even mentioned pretty shoes yet. The guy’s a pro.”

  He had a small milk mustache from the foam on his latte. Before she could stop herself, she reached up to wipe the foam away with her thumb. His stubble scraped across her skin, the roughness a startling contrast to the silky firmness of his upper lip.

  Her belly tightened. How many times had she imagined those lips kissing her?

  And not just on the mouth.

  “There was a time when you’d have let me walk around all day wearing that,” he said.

  “Those were the days.”

  Feeling overwhelmed, she shrugged out from beneath his arm.

  “Before I forget, Mom asked me to ask you over for dinner tonight,” she said, concentrating on brushing powdered sugar off her T-shirt so she wouldn’t have to look him in the eye. “She’s cooking lasagna to celebrate me buying the Grand.”

  Quinn’s face lit up. “I would crawl over broken glass for one of your mom’s lasagnas.” He rubbed his hands together in boyish anticipation.

  “Fortunately all you have to do is turn up and be mildly entertaining.”

  “I’ll brush up on my witty anecdotes after lunch.”

  “That should do it.”

  He tugged on one of her pigtails before turning away to dump his empty cup in the garbage. She stared at his broad shoulders, then her gaze dropped to the firm roundness of his ass.

  Maybe one day she would learn to love him as a friend, and only as a friend. But that day was not going to be today.

  Not by a long shot.

  QUINN CLIMBED down the last rung on the extension ladder and dropped the bucket and sponge he’d been holding to the floor. He tilted his neck to the left, then the right, then circled his shoulders. He’d been scrubbing walls for four hours now. He and Amy had borrowed the extension ladders from her parents’ store and picked up a load of primer and paint and wall wash, then they’d started on the long process of prepping the walls for painting.

  Amy had taken the upper and lower foyers and the balcony section, while he was tackling the main theatre. He rolled his shoulders again. He was going to feel it in his arms tomorrow, without a doubt.

  The tinny sound of The Bangles’ “Walk Like an Egyptian” segued into The Eagles’ “Hotel California.” Finally, some man’s music. He crossed to the beaten-up stereo to crank the volume. He’d spotted the old unit in Amy’s father’s office at the store. Amy had raised an eyebrow when he’d loaded it into her station wagon along with their other supplies.

  “Hope Dad knows you’ve got that,” she’d said. “He lives to listen to the horse races on his breaks.”

  “He handed it over with his blessing.”

  “Sure he did.”

  “He did. He understands the importance of listening to bad eighties rock while doing physical labor. Plus I offered him a case of beer.”

  “Now that I believe.”

  He’d been keeping an eye on her since this morning, but she seemed to have recovered from Ulrich’s impromptu visit. He’d played it cool for her sake, but he’d been hard-pressed not to grab Ulrich by the throat when the developer had tried to force his unwanted offer on her. Quinn didn’t think he’d ever forget the flash of relief he’d seen in her eyes when he’d walked through the door, coffees in hand. Even though he knew she’d rather eat a whole jar of olives than admit it, Ulrich scared her. As well he might. The guy was a bully, used to barking out orders and having them followed. He didn’t like being crossed, and he definitely didn’t like losing out to a woman wearing sparkly pink sneakers.

  Quinn gripped the sides of the big extension ladder and hefted it several feet to the right. First thing tomorrow, he was going to set things in motion to move up the settlement date. A contract of sale was one thing, but he wasn’t going to rest easy until Amy was actually holding the deed to the Grand in her hands. The sooner he could make that happen, the better.

  He grabbed the bucket and was about to climb the ladder when he heard Amy swear loudly over the top of the music.

  He glanced toward the balcony, but she was hidden from his view.

  “You okay?” he called.

  He heard nothing but the sound of jangling guitar and the chorus of the song. He hesitated. Amy would probably be making a hell of a lot more noise if she’d hurt herself, but he decided to check on her anyway, since it was nearly time for lunch. She’d work straight through if she had her way, but he’d seen a gourmet burger place farther up the street when he’d walked to the Grand this morning and was keen to give it a try. Even if he had to drag her kicking and screaming all the way.

  He exited to the foyer and started up the wide marble stairs.

  “You’ve seriously got to learn some new swear words, Ames,” he said as he mounted the last few steps to the upper foyer. The rest of his speech died in his throat when he saw her.

  Her back was turned and she was peeling her sopping wet T-shirt over her head. She clearly hadn’t heard him because she didn’t so much as glance over her shoulder as she let the T-shirt slap to the ground. She was wearing a red-and-white polka-dot bra underneath and he stared at her slim back and told himself to walk away.

  Then she turned in profile and he saw that her bra cups were trimmed with lace where they curved over her small, high breasts. He could just make out the shadow of her nipples behind the sheer fabric. Time seeme
d to slow and stretch. Then she bent and picked up her sweater, pulling it over her head, and the peep show was over.

  Because that was exactly what it was: a peep show.

  She had no idea he was watching. And he should have either retreated or announced himself the moment that he’d realized what was happening.

  But he hadn’t.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ANY MOMENT NOW Amy was going to turn and see him.

  Ten seconds too late, he took a step backward, then another, then a third and fourth until he was halfway down the stairs and below Amy’s sight line.

  He paused, one hand on the balustrade. He should go straight up and apologize to her. Right now. Explain what had happened. Make a joke out of it.

  He could feel heat rising into his face. He imagined himself telling her that he’d been about to say something, to clear his throat and let her know he was there but then she’d turned and he’d seen her breasts, seen the shadow of her nipples through all that lace, and he’d been too busy wondering what color they were and if they were as small and perfect as the rest of her to do the decent thing….

  He turned and descended the stairs to the foyer. The front doors were standing open and he stepped out onto the street and sucked in some fresh air.

  Half a dozen memories nudged at the back of his mind, wanting in. This wasn’t the first time he’d looked at his best friend and felt desire, after all.

  He stared up Vincent Street, but he wasn’t seeing the Sunday strollers and pottering tourists. Instead, he was lost in an old memory: Amy standing in her bedroom window, her silhouette cast into sharp relief against her drawn blind thanks to her bedside lamp. Her hands reaching behind her back to undo the clasp on her bra. The straps sliding down her arms. The pointed tips of her bare breasts. The guilt and confusion and desire he’d felt, watching her from his bedroom next door.

  He’d been fourteen, completely unprepared for the demands and urges of his newly rampant teenage body. He could still remember the baffled outrage he’d felt at the time, as though the world had pulled a fast one on him. One minute Amy had been his best buddy, the next she’d had breasts and he’d started noticing weird things about her. The way she always smelled good, like sunshine and green apples. The way her eyelashes cast shadows on her cheeks when she was lying in the sun. The round firmness of her ass whenever she was walking in front of him.

  He’d started having dreams about her around that time, too. About the two of them lying in the grass together at the bottom of her parents’ yard. Sometimes they’d be lying there talking and laughing like always. Other times he’d look across at her and she’d be looking back at him and he’d roll toward her and kiss her. A few times she kissed him back and he couldn’t believe how good it felt. Her mouth so warm and wet. But most of the time she pushed him away and the look in her eyes when she stared at him sent him groping for consciousness, his heart pounding.

  How many nights had he lain panting in the dark in his bedroom, his body thrumming with illicit desire for his best friend as he told himself over and over that the disgust on her face was not real, that he hadn’t really kissed her, that it was all just a dream?

  A really dumb, stupid, wrong dream.

  He’d had dreams about Lisa around that time, too. But the truth was, for a long time it had been Amy he’d lusted after, not Lisa. Amy, the girl next door. His best friend.

  Quinn glanced toward the Grand.

  For the first time in his adult life he wondered if she’d ever looked at him and seen him as a man instead of a friend. Whether she’d ever let herself go there…

  What are you doing, man?

  He’d done a lot of dumb things since his marriage had broken up. No way was he adding ruining his friendship with Amy to the list simply because he was feeling nostalgic and horny and confused.

  She was his friend. End of story. She’d be appalled if she knew he was out here talking himself out of the world’s most inappropriate hard-on because he’d seen her in her bra. Or she’d laugh herself sick at the idea of the two of them together.

  Either way, it wasn’t worth the risk of destroying their friendship. Making things weird. So what if he found her sexually attractive? It meant dick when he put it into the balance against all that she meant to him, all the memories they shared, all the trust that connected them.

  Only an idiot would indulge his desires when the price was so high.

  Moment of madness over, he headed back inside.

  “FANTASTIC LASAGNA, Mrs. P.,” Quinn said.

  Amy gave him a look. “Stop being such a suck-up. And pass the parmesan.”

  “Quinn can compliment me on my cooking any time he likes, Amy,” her mother said.

  They were seated around the family table in Amy’s parents’ kitchen, the smell of tomatoes and onions rich in the air.

  “You know he’s just angling for a bigger serving of apple crumble,” Amy said.

  Quinn widened his eyes innocently. “Is there apple crumble for dessert?”

  “You know there is. You saw Mom put it into the oven,” she said.

  Quinn handed her the cheese, a smile playing around his mouth. “I didn’t notice.”

  Her mother patted him on the arm. “Don’t worry, Quinn, I know how much you like my apple crumble. I made plenty, just to be safe.”

  Her father wiped his mouth with his napkin. “So, Quinn. How are things going with work? Your father told me you made partner last year. That’s a pretty big deal, isn’t it?”

  “It was nice to have it settled,” Quinn said.

  Amy nudged him under the table. “Listen to Mr. Modesty. He’s the youngest partner ever at his law firm. And they’ve been in business for over a hundred and fifty years.”

  Quinn frowned at her. “How do you know that?”

  “Your mother. Who else?”

  Quinn shook his head ruefully. “I should have known.”

  Her mother clucked her tongue and waved her fork at him. “Don’t deny your mother the right to brag, Quinn. It’s one of the few perks of childbirth.”

  Amy took a sip of her wine, watching Quinn over the rim of her glass. It was strange seeing him in her parents’ kitchen again after all these years. The setting hadn’t changed—her mother’s prized blue-and-white decor had remained the same for decades—but he had. There was a new reserve to him. He was more cautious, a little slower to laugh than he used to be.

  “Louise tells me you also bought a new house?” her mother asked. “She said they stayed with you last year and that it looks like something out of House and Garden magazine.”

  Amy listened as Quinn described his new house to her parents. He and Lisa had moved not long after her last visit so she hadn’t seen the new place. It sounded big and expensive. Very Lisa.

  When they’d exhausted the topic of the house they moved on to her parents’ business, then Amy’s plans for the Grand.

  Her mother ushered them into the living room after that while she served up dessert and coffee. Her father went off to dig up a bottle of scotch and Amy set a match to the wood stacked in the fireplace.

  She could feel Quinn watching her as she fed more kindling to the flames.

  “Thanks,” he said after a short silence.

  “For giving you a hard time over the apple crumble?”

  “For warning your folks about the divorce.”

  “Oh. That.” She glanced at him out of the corners of her eyes. “Mad at me for blabbing?”

  “No. I think it’s cute you were trying to protect me.”

  She screwed up her face in disgust. “I wasn’t trying to protect you. I was saving you from killing the conversation with your sad sack story.”

  Quinn smiled enigmatically. “So transparent, Parker.”

  She pointed the fire poker at him. “And don’t call me cute, okay? You know I hate that.”

  Her father returned with a bottle of scotch as her mom ferried in bowls of crumble. Amy rolled her eyes when she saw how big Qui
nn’s portion was.

  “If there’s any justice in the world, you’ll be as sick as a dog after that.”

  Quinn leaned across and kissed her mother’s cheek.

  “You’re a goddess, Mrs. P.”

  “Brown nose,” Amy muttered under her breath.

  Quinn smiled beatifically as he dug into his dessert.

  Afterward, Amy cleared the plates and helped her mother stack the dishwasher.

  “Such a shame,” her mother said out of nowhere as Amy was shaking detergent into the washer.

  Amy shot her mother a quizzical look.

  “The divorce,” her mother said in a stage whisper, her eyes sliding to the living room door.

  “He knows you know, Mom. It’s not a state secret. You can talk about it if you like.”

  “It’s none of my business,” her mother said quickly. “I just think it’s a shame. He’s a lovely, lovely man. I’m sure he was a wonderful husband.”

  Amy stared out the kitchen window into the dark garden, thinking about what she’d seen of Lisa and Quinn’s life together.

  “He was.”

  “Well, I’m sure he’ll do better second time around.”

  The dishwasher door slipped out of Amy’s hands and slammed shut with a rattle of glassware.

  “Second time? He’s barely divorced and you’ve already married him off again.”

  “Only being realistic, sweetheart. Some smart woman will snap him up. And it won’t take long, either.”

  Amy stared at her mother, wanting to object but knowing her mom was right. Quinn was a great guy. The best. Gorgeous, smart, funny.

  Single.

  There’d be a queue forming the moment he started dating again.

  Bloody hell.

  As if watching Quinn get married once had not been hard enough. She was going to have to do it all over again. Watch him fall in love. Listen to him talk about his future wife. The bachelor party, the wedding…All of it, all over again.

  She closed her eyes for a long beat.

  “Amy. You’ve gone so pale. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” Amy opened her eyes. “I think I’m a bit tired. It was a big day.”