‘It didn’t mean anything.’ A wobble had crept into her voice now. ‘We’re still cool, aren’t we?’
His hands came to rest on her shoulders, and his breath feathered her neck as he leant over her. ‘Yeah, we’re cool.’
She could feel him looking straight down her top, but she was too shocked to react. Despite all the years of flirting and teasing, he’d never so overtly breached her personal space before; it had never even seemed remotely possible that he would. And yet, now he was stroking her clavicles, and one of his fingers had hooked her bra strap, as if to pull it aside. And she was letting him do it.
Why was she letting him do it?
Then, abruptly, the warmth of his hands disappeared and he was back behind his desk, grinning in his usual way, and it was as if nothing had ever happened. ‘I’ve sent you some more feedback on that presentation. Update it by lunchtime and I’ll buy you a drink at the Christmas party tomorrow.’
Quinn stood, her legs trembling, and walked out of his office.
By the time everyone left the office for the staff Christmas lunch the next day, Quinn had convinced herself that she’d imagined what had happened. Simon’s office door had been open the whole time; anyone could have walked in … In fact, they would’ve been in the direct line of sight of Sandra, the agency’s office manager. Simon might talk a big game, but he would never harass her in such a public way. And didn’t she often act inappropriately with him? She’d known Simon for years, and if he’d been seriously pushing himself on her, well, she would have shut that shit down quick smart. Wouldn’t she?
Everyone at the agency worked their guts out, so when they had the chance to let their hair down, they didn’t hold back. The partners had put a generous tab on the bar, and they all drank hard and fast. By the time the food came out, Quinn was four pints deep and feeling more relaxed than she had in months. She and Simon sat side by side at the table, and the quips flew back and forth between them as if yesterday had never happened.
‘Wouldn’t have picked you for a steak eater,’ Simon said when Quinn’s steak was placed before her.
‘Well, I do appreciate a decent portion of meat.’ She gave him an arch smile.
He tilted his head towards hers so no one else would hear. ‘We’ll have to see about that, won’t we?’
The heat of his breath in her ear sent a shiver down Quinn’s back. And now, with quite a lot of alcohol to soften her inhibitions, his fingers on her collarbone yesterday seemed nothing more than a distant memory. She maintained his gaze as she forked a piece of steak into her mouth and chewed slowly.
‘In your dreams,’ she murmured.
His arm pressed against hers as he leant towards her again. ‘It certainly is. But I bet it’s been in yours too.’
Quinn knew when she’d danced up to the edge of professional decency. ‘Not really,’ she said breezily, draining her drink and turning to speak to the intern who sat on her other side.
Everything became a little blurry after the empty plates had been cleared from the table and more wine had been ordered. They had booked a small private room in the pub, and when Sandra announced that it was time to give out the Kris Kringle presents, everyone cheered.
‘My turn this year,’ Simon announced, reaching over to snatch the Santa hat from Sandra. He pulled a chair to the edge of the room and sat down on it, patting his knees. ‘Come and sit on Santa’s lap, and tell me your Christmas wish.’
Everyone laughed. Quinn rolled her eyes. She hated this stupid tradition, but it was almost worth it to watch sixty-year-old Alistair climb onto Simon’s lap and give him an exaggerated kiss on the cheek.
Everyone clapped and cheered as each present was given and opened. Then Sandra pulled the last present out of the sack, and it was Quinn’s turn. Simon grinned and crooked a finger at her. ‘C’mon, Quinnie, you’re not getting out of it.’
Quinn wished she’d thought to hide in the toilets, but everyone else had already done it, so she had no choice. ‘Well, we do work as a team in this agency,’ she said as she approached, and everyone laughed again.
‘Hey!’ Alistair protested half-heartedly.
She tried to perch on the edge of Simon’s lap, but he grabbed her around the waist and hauled her against him with a laugh. A warm flush spread in her belly at the pressure of his arm around her waist and his body behind hers, and she could barely focus as Sandra thrust the present into her hands. She hurriedly tore the paper open to reveal … a very large, very pink dildo. Everyone roared and cheered, slapping their legs with glee.
‘Jesus!’ Quinn’s face was hot with uncharacteristic embarrassment as she held it up and turned it over. ‘This must have been well over the thirty-dollar limit.’
‘How do you know that, Quinn?’ one of the young guys shouted, and she gave him the finger.
Simon’s arm was still around her waist, and he squeezed her tighter. ‘Big enough portion for you?’ he whispered in her ear.
Quinn pushed against his chest to lever herself up and off his lap, her limbs still tingling. She let her hand linger against his pecs for an extra second before shoving the dildo into her handbag. ‘Now that’s over, let’s get on with drinking,’ she declared, and there was a roar from around the table.
The afternoon slid sideways after that. The partners went home and things got a bit crazy. They moved out of the private room and into the main bar area, and Quinn mercilessly mixed drinks, going from beer to wine to cocktails to gin and back to beer. Later, Simon approached her at the bar with a gin and tonic and held it out to her.
‘I promised you a drink.’
His face swam in front of her eyes. She stabbed a finger in his chest. ‘How do I know you’re not trying to roofie me?’
He laughed. ‘I’m a married man. I’m not looking to score.’
‘Like you could if you tried.’
He rested an elbow on the bar. He’d rolled his shirt sleeves up, and Quinn couldn’t help eyeing his forearms. He followed her gaze and smiled. ‘If I wanted to, I reckon I’d have no problems.’
Quinn gulped from her glass, discovered it was empty and snatched the drink he’d bought her from his hand. ‘More likely you’ll save up the memory of those young interns’ butts on your lap for the spank bank later, Santa.’
He winked at her. ‘It’s not their butts I’ll be thinking about.’
Quinn rolled her eyes. ‘I’m going to the loo.’
She drained half of the drink in one gulp and let her breasts brush against his arm as she pushed past him to go to the bathroom.
As she washed her hands, she studied her face in the mirror … well, she tried to study it, but her eyes refused to focus, and she gave up and turned away. She shouldn’t have let things go that far with Simon. One more drink, then she’d go home.
When she came out of the bathroom, she was startled to find Simon waiting in the corridor for her. Without a word he pushed her against the wall and lowered his face to hers. He kissed her aggressively, his mouth hot, body pinning her to the wall, one hand clasping her arse. For a second – just a second – Quinn allowed herself to kiss him back, her fingers tracing his corrugated abs, but then reality filtered through her drunken fog and she pushed him away with a laugh.
‘That is never going to happen, my friend,’ she said, wagging a finger in his face.
She walked away, weaving slightly. Probably time to call it a day. Or night … she didn’t even know what time it was. Her limbs were buzzing from the way Simon’s body had felt pressed up against hers, and her mind turned to the condoms she’d found in his desk drawer. If only he were a stranger she could take home for an hour or two … but he was her boss. And she had to see him again on Monday.
Quinn rejoined the few colleagues who remained at the bar and bought another drink. A small group of men stood just up the bar from them, and one of them caught her eye. She flashed him a smile.
‘Picking off your next victim?’ came Simon’s voice in her ear.
; Quinn rounded on him, raising her eyebrows in mock surprise. ‘My, that was a quick wank, Simon.’
‘Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart.’ His words were beginning to slur, his breath bitter from the gin he’d been drinking.
A flush of shame stirred in Quinn’s stomach. How could she have let herself get in this situation with him, even for a second? She’d deliberately brushed against him to provoke him – what had she expected him to do, really? The room seemed fuzzy at the edges, and as she turned away, ready to cut her losses and go home, she noticed the guy she’d been eyeing off was watching her, his gaze already peeling back her clothes. The heat in his eyes smoothed over the roughness in her guts, made her feel desirable in a way that she craved. Simon had unbalanced her, and she needed to take back control. Maintaining the guy’s gaze, she sauntered over to him.
‘Hi there,’ she said.
He grinned. ‘Hey.’
She pulled the pink dildo out of her bag and rested it on her shoulder. ‘I just got this magnificent specimen for my office Kris Kringle present. What say you and I go and find somewhere private we can try it out?’
His eyes crinkled at the corners. ‘It’s not every day I get propositioned by a woman with a giant dildo.’
She clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Looks like today’s your lucky day. Can I buy you a drink?’
He laughed. ‘Sure, I’ll have a beer, thanks.’
Quinn signalled to the bartender, and when she turned back to the guy, he leant in and started kissing her straight away. Their beers arrived and she pulled away to pay for them. ‘I’m Quinn, by the way,’ she said, handing him his drink.
‘Andrew.’ His face was flushed and smooth. He was clearly a lot younger than he’d looked from across the room.
‘How old are you, Andrew?’
‘Twenty-one.’
Quinn groaned. ‘Jesus, you’re half my age. Sorry, dude, I’m out.’ She stepped away from him and took a gulp of her beer.
‘It doesn’t matter to me how old you are.’
She turned back. His eyes were fervent; it was obvious that he was turned on by the thought of sleeping with someone old enough to be his mother. Holy fucking shitcans, what a horrifying thought. She took another drink to flood this fact right out of her brain.
‘C’mon,’ he said. ‘Give me a chance.’
The image of Simon pushing her up against the wall flashed through her mind again. Fuck it. She grabbed his groin. ‘You’d better make this worth my while, buddy.’
He grinned. ‘If all else fails, we’ve always got your little friend there.’
‘Oh, I never said we were using it on me.’
It was only when Andrew’s friends cheered raucously as Quinn took his hand and towed him away that she remembered, with a flash of dread, her workmates. She glanced back at where they’d been standing, but the only person she could see was Simon, leaning against the bar and staring at her. She tried to make a face at him, but a pinpoint of light shone right in her eyes and her face didn’t seem to work properly. She took a bow, waggled the dildo at him and gave him the finger before dragging her prize out of the pub.
As soon as she hit the night air, it became clear that Quinn was way drunker than she’d realised. The smell of car exhaust made her suddenly retch, and she paused, one hand on the wall of the pub to steady herself. Andrew looked back at her from where he stood near the road. ‘Are you OK?’
‘Yeah, I’m …’ She took a few steps towards him, then stopped again. ‘Nope. I’m too pissed for this.’
He put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Do you want me to get you a glass of water and see how you feel?’
If she’d been ten years younger, she might’ve rallied. She was good at blocking out reality after all, but even she knew that it would be Very Bad if she took this man home with her and then vomited on him.
She patted his chest. ‘Nah, I’m done.’
‘Can I get your number?’ he asked hopefully.
She gave him a regretful smile. ‘Sorry, mate, I don’t do numbers. Trust me, you can do better.’
He looked downcast. ‘At least let me get you a cab.’
‘Already ordered an Uber.’ She held up her phone.
‘OK, well, if you’re sure.’
‘Seeya, Andrew.’
As Quinn stepped into her Uber, her overwhelming emotion was relief.
CHAPTER FOUR
TWENTY-TWO YEARS AGO
HANNAH
Hannah was already tipsy when she opened her door to Quinn. Her housemates had recently departed for their own night out, but not before sharing their six-pack with her and leaving her with a plastic sandwich bag of other goodies for later.
Quinn was wearing jeans and a Madonna T-shirt, her frizzy dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. Hannah knew she’d brought clothes and make-up in her bag so they could get ready together later, but she already looked good enough to eat. Hannah slung an arm around her neck and pulled her inside, kicking the door closed with her foot.
‘You got started early!’ Quinn laughed.
‘Don’t worry, there’s plenty more where that came from. You eaten?’
‘Yeah.’ Quinn’s blue eyes twinkled. ‘Well, sort of. Trish cooked tonight, so I pretended I was full after a few mouthfuls.’
‘Oh god,’ Hannah said. ‘Spaghetti bolognese?’
Quinn nodded grimly. Trish was Quinn’s housemate, and she had exactly one meal in her cooking repertoire, which she made twice a week, every week. Hannah wasn’t sure how it was even possible to stuff up spaghetti bolognese, but she’d once gone around there on one of Trish’s nights, and had vowed to never make that mistake again.
‘There’s a shitload of pizza in the kitchen. Come on.’
She led her into the poky little kitchen, piled up a plate with the lukewarm, congealing pizza that she and her housemates hadn’t finished, and watched Quinn as she sat down and began to eat. They’d only been friends for six months and Quinn was still a little reserved in her company, but there was something about her that drew Hannah in; something magnetic, almost animalistic … something that even Quinn herself didn’t seem aware of. Hannah had made it her personal mission to bring out that side of her.
‘This is so good,’ Quinn said around her mouthful. ‘You have no idea.’
‘After Trish’s bolognese, I believe you,’ Hannah said. ‘Now, what are we drinking? Beer, wine or spirits?’
‘Why not all three?’
‘Now you’re speaking my language, girlfriend.’
Hannah swung open the heavy door of the ancient fridge, which her housemate Janet liked to call vintage and Hannah liked to call a piece of shit, and surveyed its contents. Janet and Rami had polished off the last of the beer, but there, at the back, was a bottle of bubbly. Hannah knew from the label that it cost less than five bucks, and she knew from experience that it would probably give them both shocking hangovers, but she pulled it out anyway. It’d serve its purpose, which was to loosen up Quinn before they hit the town later.
‘Jesus, that’s bloody awful.’ Quinn grimaced after her first sip.
Hannah shrugged. ‘I know. But it’s better than paying for drinks later.’
‘Cheers.’ Quinn raised her glass, then took another sip.
They moved from the kitchen into the tiny lounge room with the sagging couch and the salt damp climbing the walls. By the time the bottle was half empty, the wine tasted less like cat piss and both of them were giggling uncontrollably at Hannah’s impressions of the guys in their creative writing class.
‘Remember when Demelza read out the prologue of her manuscript, which was amazing, and that dipshit Kevin went on and on about how she’d broken all the golden rules of fantasy writing?’
‘Even though she’s written a whole trilogy already and he’s done fucking nothing.’ Quinn looked animated now. ‘I’m sick of people like him taking up all the attention in that class, like their perspectives are so much more important. I’m almost looking forward to it b
eing over, even though I’ve enjoyed the writing part.’
Hannah loved it when Quinn got fired up. Anger looked good on her. Well, everything looked good on her. Sometimes Hannah wondered what exactly it was that she felt for Quinn. It wasn’t that she was attracted to her (although she sort of was), or that she wanted to be her (although she sort of did), it was a feeling she couldn’t quite define. She wanted to be around her, to inhale her, to be entwined with her. This feeling filled her up, expanded inside her until she felt as if she could explode with it.
‘Have you ever had the misfortune of sitting next to him in a tute?’ Hannah asked.
‘Oh my god, his stinky feet!’ Quinn clutched her belly. ‘Who takes their shoes off in a tutorial?’
They both fell about laughing again.
‘We should probably start getting ready soon,’ Hannah said when they’d recovered. She stood up.
Quinn gazed up at her, a wistful smile on her face. ‘I’d actually kind of rather stay here, but I told Travis I’d meet him at the Austral later.’
Hannah’s mood soured. Travis was Quinn’s boyfriend. He seemed nice enough, and Quinn adored him, but there was something about him that felt off to Hannah. He wasn’t right for Quinn, she just knew it, but they’d been together since high school and Hannah hadn’t known Quinn long enough to interfere in her relationship. Not yet, anyway.
‘I thought we were having a girls’ night?’ she said.
‘We are,’ Quinn said brightly. ‘But it’s nice to have someone to go home with at the end of the night, right?’
‘Right.’ Hannah turned away to hide her eye roll under the pretence of studying her CD collection. She knew Quinn thought she’d be with Travis forever, but she couldn’t stand the thought of that beautiful, skittish creature being tied to someone so ordinary. She grabbed a CD out of the rack and turned to face Quinn with a smile. ‘We need some getting-ready music.’
The Favour Page 4