by Nell Stark
“No,” she cut him off. “You don’t do shit like that. What do you want?”
“Fine, fine.” Will put his feet down and leaned forward. “I want a job.”
“What?” Corrie was incredulous. “I thought you and your fiancée were getting a place this summer.”
Will grimaced and adjusted the brim of his US Sailing cap. “As it turns out, Denise’s parents don’t approve of the bride and groom living together before the wedding.”
Corrie laughed harshly. Oh, that’s rich. “You’re fuckin’ kidding me.”
“Wish I were. But I didn’t renew my lease and there’s no way I’m moving back in with Mom and Dad. So I figured I’d spend my last summer as a bachelor hanging out here.”
“Go wait tables or something,” Corrie said dismissively. “I’m not giving you a job.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because I’ve already hired all the instructors I want,” she said, meeting his indignant frown head-on. No way are you ruining this summer for me, too.
Will snorted. “And how many of them are Olympic sailors, huh?” He tapped the logo on his hat and arched his eyebrows in a way that was somehow patronizing. “I’m a commodity, Cor. Hell, having me on your staff will probably bring in more students.”
Corrie leaned back in her chair, struggling not to grind her teeth. Just tell him no. Tell him to get up and walk the hell away. Except that he was right, damn him. His experience and reputation would be invaluable. And intolerable. But I have to think of the club, first. I have to. Fuck! He had won. Again.
“Fine,” she said after a long pause. “Fine, you can have a goddamn job. But if you think for a second that you’ll be living with me—”
Will raised one hand, forestalling her. “Save it, sis. I’m staying at the frat house.”
“Your frat house,” Corrie sneered. “The one you were president of five years ago, and you’re just going to crash on a couch all summer?” When Will grinned, she shook her head. “Lame.”
“Be nice to me and I’ll let you come to some of the parties.”
“Fuck off. I don’t need to hang out with a bunch of cretin undergraduates to have a good time.”
“Maybe you do,” he said, getting to his feet. “’Cuz right now, you’re in a shitty mood.” He shrugged. “Or maybe you just need to get laid. Anyway, thanks for the job. I’ll be around tomorrow.”
As he turned toward the door, Corrie had the sudden urge to go after him—to sock him right in the kidneys and demand to know what the hell kind of right he had coming in here and asking her for help when he and Denise had betrayed her.
She grabbed the edge of the desk and hung on tightly, as though it were the gunwale of a capsizing boat. Stay calm. Don’t give him the satisfaction. As the echo of his footsteps in the hall began to fade, she sank back into her chair. You’ll be busy, she told herself. Probably won’t even see him very often. It wasn’t as though she’d be jockeying with him for their parents’ attention or constantly trying to get better grades and faster regatta times than he did. All of that was over now. In the past. Done. So what if she saw him around from time to time? He was just passing through.
She had the moral high ground. That much was certain. And she was being the “bigger man.” The fact that Will would now owe her one was nice, too, as was the fact that he would be working for her. Corrie massaged her temples briefly before gathering up the papers on her desk. Nice. Right. Nice and cold comfort—like an unexpected frost on the first day of summer.
Bearing Off
Quinn permitted herself a rare expletive and let her lifejacket do the job of supporting her in the water as she briefly relaxed. She bobbed in the waves next to her capsized boat, one hand still gripping the exposed centerboard in case the tech suddenly began to tip all the way over. With a sigh, she looked toward shore and saw that the blue flag—indicating heavy weather—had just replaced the green.
“Could’ve told you that,” she said, frustrated. The wind had been brisk but light when she launched earlier in the afternoon, but clouds had swept in from the east shortly thereafter. Drew had taught her ways of coping with heavy wind earlier in the week, and theoretically, she knew how to handle herself. But all the theory in the world can’t stop me from being a great big klutz!
Just as she was about to try bearing down on the centerboard yet again, a familiar voice suddenly hailed her from astern. Quinn turned her head in time to see Corrie execute a smooth maneuver on her windsurfer board that brought her alongside the tech. Quinn couldn’t help but feel both impressed by and jealous of the grace and strength with which Corrie performed the deceptively simple movement, and found herself wishing that of all the instructors, Corrie hadn’t been the one to see her like this.
“Whoa there, captain.” Corrie dropped her large sail and settled into a crouch on the board, her balance unaffected by the waves. She nodded at the capsized boat. “How’s it going?”
“I’ll be all right,” said Quinn, not quite looking at her. Just go away and let me try again. I can do this by myself! She had to struggle to keep her voice even and light. “Drew taught us what to do.”
“Okay. Just holler if you need a hand.”
Quinn forced herself to meet Corrie’s gaze. She even managed a weak smile. “Thanks.”
She continued to watch as Corrie planted her feet and yanked her sail out of the water in one powerful movement. As she grabbed the boom and rotated her hips, the board began to move, its bow rising as the wind caught the sail. So that’s how it’s supposed to be done, she realized, having only ever seen beginner windsurfers struggling in the harbor to get themselves going in much lighter wind than this.
As Corrie moved out of her sightline, Quinn turned back to her boat, narrowed her eyes at the centerboard, and shook the wet hair off her forehead. Grabbing onto the board’s end, she pulled down as hard as she could and crossed her arms over the wet surface as she struggled to right the boat with her body weight. For a long moment, it seemed that this attempt would also be in vain, and her biceps began to shake with effort.
This is ridiculous, she thought, even as she struggled to ignore the burning in her arms. For once, it’s a good thing I’m not petite, and even so, I still can’t right this boat! But just as she was about to let go, she felt the board begin to move down toward the water, and within a few seconds she was able to shift her grasp to the gunwales. Taking another deep breath, she reached for one of the hiking straps and managed to haul herself over the side.
“Thank god,” she said as she sat in the cockpit, breathing heavily from the exertion. The mainsail flapped loudly, showering her with a fine spray of salt water that stung her eyes as she gauged her distance from land. Corrie briefly came into view a few boat lengths ahead, before she headed back downwind in a large circle. Keeping an eye on me, Quinn realized, and felt an unexpected surge of relief. Grabbing the mainsheet, she hauled in on it and simultaneously threw the rudder over to the other side of the boat. “But I’m not going to mess up,” she told the wind. “Not this time.”
It took several tries, but Quinn finally managed a successful landing just as the clock tower chimed five. Drew met her at the pier and saved her the trouble of tying up her own boat. “You okay?” he asked, frowning. “I saw you go over—”
“I’m fine,” Quinn said firmly. “Just tired.” This time, her arms shook from only the simple effort of boosting herself onto the dock. She sighed and began wringing out her waterlogged baseball cap. I really need to get stronger, pronto. “Well, that was an adventure.” When Drew continued to look concerned, however, she laughed softly.
“Don’t worry,” she said, leaning back against his shins. “I’m still having fun. One little dunk isn’t going to change that.”
“Come on.” He squeezed her shoulder. “I’ll help you get your boat in so you can dry off.”
As he returned the tech to its berth, she folded the sail and carried it, along with her soggy lifejacket, back to the e
quipment shed. If Jen noticed the clear evidence of her capsize, she didn’t say anything, and Quinn smiled gratefully as she turned to go. But when she pushed open the double doors, Corrie was just approaching. Her biceps bulged gently with the weight of the windsurfer board, and a few strands of blond hair that had eluded her ponytail clung to her right cheek.
Oh, no. Acutely aware of the fact that she looked like a drowned rat, Quinn cleared her throat self-consciously. “Thanks again for, uh, stopping by out there.”
Corrie shrugged. “You had it under control.” She paused and cocked her head to one side, favoring Quinn with a long glance from head to foot. “The wet T-shirt look is good on you.” When Quinn flushed and didn’t reply, Corrie just winked and walked past.
She’s making fun of me, Quinn thought, the sharp rush of embarrassment nearly eclipsing her chill from the strong breeze. But as she hurried back to her apartment for a change of clothes, the feeling slowly subsided. I guess I deserved it. And she wasn’t being mean. Not really. In fact, Corrie’s expression for those last few seconds had almost seemed appreciative. Which didn’t make any sense.
Quinn pushed hard against the sticky front door and kicked off her squelching aqua shoes just inside. “You’re imagining things,” she told the doormat, wrinkling her pruny toes against the soft surface. She shook her head and stripped off her shirt, letting it fall at her feet with a wet plop. Even that simple movement made her aware of the soreness in her arms, and she grimaced slightly. The promise of a warm shower, followed by leftovers for supper and a few quiet hours of studying, was exactly what she needed.
*
Corrie shut the blow dryer off and ran her fingers through the long mane of hair that brushed her shoulder blades. Satisfied, she stowed the appliance in her nearby locker, next to a spare set of sailing gloves. The thumping baseline of the DJ’s music upstairs had replaced the dryer’s buzzing hum, and Corrie felt her pulse quicken. Turning toward one of the full-length mirrors, she surveyed her reflection critically. Her black polo shirt accentuated the deep tan on her neck and arms and fit snugly across her breasts. Frayed khaki shorts sat low on her waist and came down to just past mid-thigh, giving way to long, newly shaven legs. She reached for her scuffed sandals under a nearby bench and pulled them on, stopping to adjust the brightly colored band around her left ankle in the process. An Ironman waterproof watch on her right wrist and a short, braided leather necklace were her only other accessories. She grinned at herself rakishly in the mirror. It had been a good opening week, with no major injuries or damage to the boats. And Will had gone home to Newport this weekend to visit Denise, so she didn’t have to worry about him raining on her parade. That in itself was a good reason to celebrate. Corrie shut her locker and headed for the stairs that led up to the entrance of the common room. The low beat of the music grew louder with every step, and she felt it coil deep in her stomach, felt it become the familiar wanting. These moments of anticipation—when the night stretched out before her, long and full of promise—were almost better than anything else. Almost.
At the top of the staircase, the double doors were propped open, giving her an unobstructed view of the crowded room. Just in case, she looked around for Will, but when he was nowhere to be seen, she inhaled deeply and forced herself to relax, to feel the pulse of the crowd. Her heartbeat sped up again at the unmistakable swell of human energy. In situations like these, Corrie almost felt like a social vampire, as though she somehow fed off the mere presence of other people. She squared her shoulders and strolled inside.
“Hey, Corrie!”
“What’s up, Mars?”
“How’s it going, Cor?”
Instructors and returning students greeted her as she slowly made her way to the bar, stopping now and then to exchange a few words, shake someone’s hand, or lightly touch a shoulder. She could feel the new students in the crowd watching her. They all knew who she was, of course, but most of them weren’t comfortable enough to do more than nod in her general direction. Buoyed by her reception, she signaled the bartender and turned to lean against the edge of the bar when her beer arrived.
She took a long, slow swallow and let her gaze wander around the room again. The dance floor was packed, as were the leather sofas and chairs arranged in front of the fireplace. At the opposite end of the dance floor, a sliding door led out onto a wide, two-story deck. Corrie looked at her watch, grabbed the neck of her beer, and threaded her way through the crowd. If I’m lucky, I’ll still catch some of the sunset.
As she stepped into the night air, however, she glimpsed a familiar figure standing off to one side, elbows propped on the railing. Quinn looked significantly less bedraggled in loose navy capris, a light blue button-down shirt, and sandals, but Corrie thought she might prefer her earlier appearance. The worn tee, soaked from her capsize, had outlined Quinn’s full breasts, and her cotton shorts had clung to her thighs. She’s curvy, Corrie thought as she slowly approached. Feminine. I like that. And yet she’d also been so very cute—wet and rumpled and clearly self-conscious.
“Hey,” she said, coming to stand beside Quinn as the other woman turned to look at her. “Meant to tell you—nice job righting that tech this afternoon. They can be tricky.”
Quinn smiled shyly. “Thanks.” Corrie watched her eyes—watched them briefly flick over her body and return to her face. She noticed the slight flush, too.
“So.” She took another sip from her beer. “You’re in vet school, right?”
“Yes,” said Quinn. “I’m just about to start my third year—if I pass my qual, that is.” She met Corrie’s gaze inquisitively. “What do you do? Besides all this.” She indicated the boathouse and the ocean with a slight movement of one hand.
“Mechanical engineering.” Corrie set her beer on the ledge and gripped it, leaning back for a better look at the clouds. “In theory, anyway.” She shifted her gaze back to Quinn, who was still looking up at her. “I want to design boats when I get out of here, so practically, I do a lot of aerospace stuff and fluid mechanics.”
Quinn nodded, returning her gaze to the expanse of water below. It shimmered in the light of the half-moon and earliest stars. The bells on the keelboats moored in the harbor rang intermittently in the soft breeze. “What kinds of boats?” she asked. “I mean, what’s your favorite?”
Corrie smiled at the question and shifted her weight so that her right arm was brushing Quinn’s left. She felt Quinn’s muscles tense, but she didn’t pull away. “Little boats. I’m not as big a fan of the keelboats and yachts.” She tilted her head back and closed her eyes. “You’re closer to the water in a small boat. And you have to do more. I think they’re more challenging—” Suddenly catching herself in the middle of a ramble, Corrie laughed. “Don’t get me started. I’ll talk about boats all day if you let me.”
“You really love them, don’t you?”
Corrie was intrigued by Quinn’s expression—intense and gentle, all at the same time. “You’ll fall for them too, before long,” she said. “But of course you’re going to be a vet, so your first love must be animals.”
Quinn rolled her eyes. “Oh, yes. I’m hopeless. And I completely love your dog. I’d get one just like him if I could. But then again, last week I just fell head over heels for a kitten at the shelter where I work, and next week I’m sure it’ll happen again, and—” She blushed. “But don’t you get me started!”
Corrie watched with amusement as Quinn’s sudden animation faded back into shyness. Sweet girl, she thought. She’s interesting, in an innocent sort of way. Impulsively, she stepped back and held out her hand, flashing what she knew was a charming smile. “Come inside and dance with me.”
Quinn turned, startled, and pressed her back against the railing. “What?”
“Come on,” she coaxed.
“I—I don’t dance. Not to this music, anyway,” Quinn said quickly, wide-eyed.
Corrie took a step closer and tilted her head. She reached out to tuck a stray strand of Quinn�
��s wavy hair behind her right ear, and felt the other woman tense again. It was a struggle this time to keep the knowing smirk off her face. “What kind of music do you dance to, then? I’ll tell the DJ to play it.”
“I...” Quinn turned away, toward the water. “I can’t. I’m sorry, I’m just not in the mood right now.”
Corrie frowned at her still back, wondering what had suddenly gone wrong. I can tell you’re attracted to me. So what’s up? Determined not to lose her cool, however, she shrugged and kept her voice light. “Okay. Some other time.” She let the fingertips of her left hand rest lightly in the space between Quinn’s shoulder blades. No reaction. “See you.”
Corrie turned and strode into the room, forcing herself not to look back. If Quinn Davies wanted to play hard to get, that was fine with her. There were plenty of other people—women and men—who wouldn’t send mixed signals. She stopped just inside the door and was surveying the crowd again, trying to make up her mind, when she saw Drew approaching from the direction of the bar.
“What’s up, Harris? Good party, huh?”
“’Course,” he said casually, but his gaze was speculative. He paused for a few seconds before speaking again. “I was actually just coming outside to rescue Quinn.”
“Rescue her?” Corrie frowned. “From what?”
“You know what,” Drew told her. “She’s not your type, Cor.”
Corrie shifted her weight and crossed her arms under her breasts. “How do you know?” The question caught Drew off guard, and she watched with satisfaction as he spluttered. I’d love to get past that shy exterior thing she’s got going on and see what’s really underneath.
“For Christ’s sake, Corrie, Quinn’s just about as introverted as it’s possible to be! It took me fifteen solid minutes to get her to agree to come here tonight.”
“And your point is?”
Drew sighed in exasperation. “She’s not about the hook-up, Mars. Not at all. Hence, not your type.” When Corrie delicately arched her left eyebrow at him, he threw up his hands and nearly knocked over his neighbor’s beer bottle.
