Her Best Friend (10 page)

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.

“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 Quinn’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.”

“You have to pace yourself. I know you’ve been panting to get into that old theatre and fix it up, but you need to look after yourself.”

“I just need a good night’s sleep.”

And a reset button on her heart.

When they returned to the living room her father was asking Quinn for advice on a contract with one of his major suppliers. Amy listened to them talk for another fifteen minutes before making her excuses. It was too hard sitting across from Quinn, thinking about what her mother had said.

She drove three streets over to her own cottage and shivered as she entered the front hall. As usual, her place was freezing, thanks to the fact that there was no central heating. The price she paid for keeping her rent down.

She turned on the small fan heater in her bedroom and stripped for the shower. She was going to wash off the sweat and grime of the day, put on her warmest flannel pajamas and go to bed thinking about the Grand and how great it was going to look when she’d completed the restoration. She was not going to brood or sulk over Quinn. She’d wasted too many years already. Quinn not loving her was not a tragedy. It wasn’t. It was disappointing. Sad. But it was not the defining fact of her life. She refused to let it be.

She was naked and ready to walk into her ensuite bathroom when her phone rang. She glanced toward the shower longingly before scooping up her phone.

“Amy speaking.”

There was a long silence. Then she heard someone swallow.

“Ames. It’s me.”

Amy sank onto the edge of her bed. “Lisa.”

“Surprise!” Lisa said with ironic brightness. “I bet you weren’t expecting to hear from me. Especially after what Quinn’s probably told you.”

Amy scrambled to assemble her thoughts. How did Lisa know Quinn was in town? Had he told her? Were they still in contact?

“He hasn’t told me that much, to be honest. Just that you two are getting a divorce,” Amy said.

She could hear the coolness in her own voice. She couldn’t help it, but she felt guilty for it, all the same. Lisa was her friend, too, no matter what had happened between her and Quinn.

“I’m sure he told you more than that.” Lisa’s voice was so faint Amy had to press the handset to her ear to hear.

“He told me that you were with someone else.”

“That I had an affair, you mean.”

“Yes.”

“Do you hate me?”

Amy was shivering. She leaned across the bed to drag her quilt over her shoulders. “No. Of course I don’t.”

But it was impossible to pretend that she didn’t feel differently toward her old friend.

“But you disapprove, right? You think I’m a dirty bitch for messing up Quinn’s life?” Her speech was slurred.

“Are you okay?” Amy asked, concerned. Lisa sounded deeply unhappy.

“Sure. I’m great. New man, new house, new life. What’s not to love?” There was a short pause, then Lisa sighed heavily. When she spoke again her tone was more sincere, less brittle. “Sorry, Ames. I’m just…How are you? We haven’t spoken for ages.”

Because she wasn’t sure what else to do, Amy gave her old friend a quick rundown on what had been happening in her life: the Grand, Quinn’s part in helping her win the fight with the council, the renovations she had planned. It was awkward and uncomfortable, stilted in a way things had never been with Lisa before.

There was a short pause when she’d finished.

“And how is Quinn? Last time I saw him he’d lost a bit of weight,” Lisa said.

“Well, he’s doesn’t complain when I boss him around, which is a good thing, right?” Amy joked.

“Ames, has he mentioned anyone? Another woman?”

Here we go.
Was this why Lisa had called? To fish for information on Quinn?

“Lis, I really don’t want to play piggy in the middle, you know?”

“Please. I just need to know this one thing.” She sounded desperate. “Is he seeing anyone?”

Amy tugged the quilt tighter. “I’m sorry, Lis.”

“All right. I understand. You and Quinn were always close. I get why you’d pick him over me. I’m the dirty wrongdoer, right?”

“It’s got nothing to do with choosing sides. If you want to know how Quinn is, who he’s dating, whatever, you need to talk to him, not me. I’m not a marriage counselor or a go-between.”

“It’s okay, Amy. I’d probably be the same myself. Good for you for standing by him. If it’s not pushing our friendship too much, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention this call to Quinn.”

“Lisa—”

But it was too late, she was listening to the dial tone.

Shit.

Amy threw the phone to one side and made a frustrated sound in her throat. What had Lisa expected from her? A full report on Quinn’s comings and goings? An intimate recounting of all his conversations?

It wasn’t fair of Lisa to try to trade off their friendship to pump Amy for information. In fact, it was uncool in the extreme and Amy was tempted to call Lisa back and tell her as much.

Two things stopped her: the fact that she’d been lying through her teeth when she’d said she wasn’t on anyone’s side, and the memory of that small, ugly moment not long after Quinn had told her he was getting a divorce when she’d consciously registered the fact that he was free to love again and a part of her had rejoiced.

She wasn’t exactly a shining example of virtue in this situation, after all.

She was covered in gooseflesh by now and she took the quilt with her as she crossed to the ensuite. She waited until the water was steaming hot before tossing the quilt into her bedroom and stepping beneath the shower.

The water was hot and hard. She turned her face into the spray and held her breath. Only then did she allow herself to ask the question that had been echoing inside her since Lisa’s call.

If Lisa wanted to try again, would Quinn take her back?

Her gut said no, that Quinn was too hurt, too angry to forgive two years of lies and betrayal. But what did she know, really, at the end of the day? Quinn and Lisa had been together for a long time. Who knew how far and how deep their connection went? Marriages had recovered from worse blows, she was sure.

It doesn’t matter. It’s none of your business. If they get back together or not is irrelevant. It doesn’t change anything for you. Not a thing.

God, how she needed to hang on to that reality.

She also needed to decide whether it would be a bigger betrayal of Quinn to tell him Lisa had called or to do as Lisa asked and keep it a secret.

So much for not brooding.