by Norah Wilson
~*~
Dating Suzannah Phelps was pure hell.
As he waited for the printer to spit out the job he’d sent to it, Quigg leaned back in his chair and reflected on the past week. He’d attended three dinner parties. Three, for crying out loud. That was exactly three too many.
Okay, the retirement bash for that crusty old broad from the land registry office had been kind of fun, but for the most part, it had been crashingly dull. Plus he’d spent half his spare time running back and forth to the dry cleaners with his limited wardrobe. The other half he spent listening to fat-cat stockbrokers prognosticating about the post 9-11 economy and artist types bemoaning the dismal level of government support for cultural endeavors.
Did Suzannah enjoy that stuff as much as she pretended, or was she torturing him? He suspected it was the latter. Well, one thing was certain—the nature of their outings was about to change. She’d had it her way for a week. Now it was his turn.
The printer spat out the report he was waiting for. He scooped it and leaned back in his chair. A casual observer might have gathered he was reading it, but his thoughts were elsewhere. What could he subject her to?
Bowling? Good. Definite plebeian connotations, but not very imaginative.
The local country music bar for some line dancing? Quigg grinned. That’d be perfect, but it would require him to suffer with her. He discarded the idea.
“Omigod, it’s true, isn’t it?”
The words gave Quigg a jolt. With that eerie soundlessness of his, Ray Morgan had materialized beside Quigg’s desk as though he’d stepped out of thin air.
Quigg fixed him with an unfriendly look. “I swear to God, Razor, I’m gonna shoot you one of these days, you keep sneaking up on me like that.”
“Well, I’ll be damned. It is true. I can tell by the look on your face.”
Quigg scowled. “That’s indigestion.”
Ray grinned. “Ah, come on, man. You’re not gonna sit there and deny it, are you?”
“Deny what?”
“You’re doing Suzannah Phelps! How the devil could you keep that under wraps for a whole week?”
Quigg clamped down on a sudden, uncharacteristic urge to deliver a right uppercut to his friend’s chin. “Piss off, Morgan.”
Predictably, Ray did not piss off. Instead, he circled the desk to lean on it. “A whole week you’ve been holding out. I gotta tell you, I’m sorely disappointed.”
Hell with the uppercut. He could drop him with a sharp blow to the side of the knee. He’d go down like a sack of concrete. And he’d probably shut up.
Of course, he’d be off work for three months with a ligament repair, which would leave Quigg with an even heavier workload. Plus the guys would know how bad he had it for the Ice Princess.
“What’s the big deal?” Quigg leaned back in his chair, the epitome of casual. “When have you known me to run off at the mouth about a woman?”
Ray’s jaw dropped. “We’re not talking about just any woman here. This is Suzannah Phelps. She-Rex herself. Quigg, buddy, this is the World Series of conquests, my friend. The Stanley Cup, the Masters, the bloody Triple Crown, all rolled up in one.”
Well, when he put it like that... Quigg grinned. “Pretty weird, eh?”
“I’ll say.” Ray shook his head wonderingly. “Dammit, I knew you had a jones for her. Why’d you go all dark horsy on me when I asked you about it?”
Quigg shrugged. “Guess I didn’t think it was gonna be a go.”
Ray laughed. “From what I hear, looks like it’s green lights all the way now.”
“And where’d you hear that?”
“Staff room was all abuzz about it. You been elevated to God-like status in some guys’ eyes, you’ll be pleased to know.”
Quigg shifted in his chair. “Don’t suppose everybody’s thrilled about it.”
“The general consensus is you’ll slam dunk her when the novelty wears off. The hold-outs kinda warmed up to the idea after that.”
Quigg wanted to endorse the locker room speculation, share a laugh with Razor about it. But he kept seeing Suzannah’s pinched, anxious face. He’d promised her he wouldn’t let her image be weakened by virtue of this association he’d pretty much forced on her.
But who would know? What could it hurt, really?
Damnation.
It would hurt Suzannah.
Quigg sat forward in his chair. “Sorry to disappoint the troops, but that’s not likely to happen. Anybody does any dumping, it’s liable to be Suzannah.”
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he was struck by how true they felt. Yikes.
Not that that wasn’t always the case. He’d never dumped a woman yet. At least, not actively. He’d never actively pursued one, either. They just seemed to find him. And when his interest started to flag, they found someone else.
But with Suzannah, if this were a real relationship, he couldn’t see his interest flagging. If this were a real relationship and she dumped him, it wouldn’t be as a result of a subtle disengagement on his part. If this were a real relationship, he’d be vulnerable.
He glanced at his friend, who was looking at him thoughtfully.
“Wow.”
Quigg dragged a hand over his face. “Hey, I didn’t say it was serious. All I’m saying is that at this particular moment, I can’t see getting tired of her in a hurry.”
Ray tugged at the cuffs of his perfectly tailored shirt as he digested that. “You realize Grace’ll want to meet her.”
An image of Ray’s wife sprang to mind, an earnest young newspaper journalist, poised and polished beyond her years and determined to make a name for herself. Yeah, Grace would like Suzannah, and vice-versa. “If you’re thinking about a double date, forget it. I didn’t even do that in junior high and I’m not about to start now.”
“I was thinking more about a backyard barbecue on Saturday afternoon. You know, a couple of neighbors, a couple of the guys, some of Grace’s friends from the paper.”
A barbecue? Quigg turned the idea over in his mind. Perfect! This was better than bowling, better than line dancing. A real taste of suburbia. Hamburgers cooking on the grill on a too-small deck in a too-small back yard, guests talking and laughing within earshot of neighbors on three sides. Men drinking beer straight from the bottle, women sipping wine dispensed from a box with a spigot.
“Sounds good,” Quigg said. “But what about the guest list?”
Ray grinned. “Don’t worry. I won’t invite anyone she’s personally boned and filleted. At least, not recently.”
“Much appreciated.”
“No problem.” Razor pushed himself off the desk and left as soundlessly as he’d arrived.
Quigg linked his fingers behind his head and leaned back in his chair. Now all he had to do was figure out how to get Suzannah to agree to the invitation.
