by Nell Stark
“You have a great body, Skipper,” Corrie interrupted Quinn’s reverie. “But you’re not in charge tonight.” Quinn heard the soft snick of a zipper being lowered, followed by Drew’s tortured groan.
Heat spiraled along Quinn’s spine at Corrie’s command. To be ordered around like that, to be controlled. Her breath rasped softly in her throat. Corrie had taken the lead from her last night, and she was taking it again now, with Drew. Quinn remembered what it had felt like to surrender, however briefly. What if Corrie’s hand had dipped beneath the waistband of her shorts? What if she had tickled Quinn’s abdomen, skirting the soft brown hairs? What if she had urged Quinn’s legs apart, had touched—.
Quinn blinked and shook her head, appalled to realize that her hand had snuck into her pajama bottoms—that her own fingers were dangerously close to rubbing against the soft place that had ached continuously since last night. She removed her hand so quickly that the elastic waistband snapped hard against her stomach. What are you doing? she thought, clutching the sheets so that her fingers wouldn’t wander again. There was nothing wrong with masturbation, of course, except that the idea of touching herself while listening to Corrie and Drew didn’t feel right at all.
This is insane, she thought wildly. Why can she make me feel this way?
“Need you...naked.”
Drew’s voice was fainter now. They must have moved into the bedroom finally. But the idea of Corrie naked did nothing to alleviate the throbbing pressure between Quinn’s legs. Corrie didn’t exactly wear all that much to work, and it wasn’t hard to mentally strip her of the sports bra and swim trunks that were her usual attire. She’d be lean and strong all over, but soft, too. I felt how soft she was, especially her breasts against mine.
“How’s that feel?” Corrie’s voice—triumphant and sexy. When Drew groaned again in response, Quinn couldn’t help but imagine Corrie’s fingers on her softest skin, insistent and teasing, touching her in all the right places. Sure and certain fingers.
“Close, Cor, fuck.” Quinn could hear Drew’s deep, shuddering breaths, and she slowed her own to mere whispers of inhalation. “You gotta let me, please, inside—”
Quinn sucked in a harsh gasp. What would it feel like, to be inside of Corrie? She could only imagine the sensation of Corrie sinking down on her fingers, welcoming Quinn’s touch inside her body.
“Oh, yeah. Fuck, yeah, Drew, so good—”
Quinn had read about a place inside—a place that felt very, very good. She hadn’t ever managed to find it for herself, but was Drew...was he...would she hit that spot, deep inside of Corrie? Would her fingertips brush against it? Would Corrie shiver around her? Would she throw her head back, exposing her neck as she—?
A strangled cry broke the night air. Not Drew.
“C-coming...oh, do you f-feel me?” Corrie’s voice was jagged.
“Yeah, tight, so good, fuck—”
Quinn closed her eyes at the sound of Drew’s strangled shout and allowed herself to imagine what Corrie’s inner muscles would feel like as they contracted repeatedly around her knuckles. Over and over and over, pulsing in time with her racing heart, clenching and releasing until the very last ripple of sensation had been milked from her body. Oh god, I want that, want to feel it, feel her, can’t help it I do—
As her heartbeat finally slowed, Quinn realized that the apartment had finally gone quiet. She listened hard for several long minutes, but heard nothing except the light swish of the curtains in the soft breeze. It’s over, she told herself firmly.
You just imagined what it would be like to sleep with Corrie, her rational brain answered back. Its tone was distinctly accusatory.
So? She’s beautiful and charismatic. She kissed me last night. Why shouldn’t I fantasize? Her face was still hot against the cool fabric of the pillow.
Reason was never funny, but it laughed just the same. You’ve never felt this way before. Not even close. Go ahead and delude yourself if you want to, but this is uncharted territory.
Quinn rolled over fiercely and pulled the pillow over her head. Just...just go to sleep, dammit! Leave me alone!
But even as she finally drifted off, she knew that she’d never be able to forget the raw, primal sounds of Corrie finally letting go.
*
Quinn woke overheated. The sun had clearly been streaming through her east window for several hours. She threw off the covers, rolled onto her side and blinked. What...did I miss my alarm? No—Saturday. And then, all in a rush, the dreamlike events of the previous night came flooding back in a panoply of sounds.
The blush returned to her cheeks as she buried her head into the soft texture of her feather pillow. Don’t think about it. Just let it go. Don’t think... She focused instead on the warm sun as it caressed her back, on the dim sounds of people walking by and talking. Sounds like a beautiful day, she thought, as her body gradually relaxed into the mattress.
When her breathing and pulse had finally returned to normal, she checked the clock. 9:30. She’s probably gone. Coffee.
Quinn resolutely swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She took a deep breath, stretched, and finally stood on her own two feet. Trying not to think at all about the fact that Corrie and Drew had just about had sex right outside her room, she slowly opened the door.
There was no pile of clothes, not even a mark on the wall. No evidence at all, except for her own clamoring memories. She paused, listening, but the apartment was quiet. Sighing in relief, she padded through the living room and into the kitchen only to stumble to a halt at the sight of Corrie, clad solely in Drew’s blue Oxford shirt, its sleeves rolled up to the elbows. The bottom of the shirt barely even covered Corrie’s butt, and the open top two buttons gave Quinn a glimpse of her breasts.
At the sound of footsteps, Corrie looked up with a half-smile that faded quickly as she saw Quinn across the narrow island dividing the kitchen’s cooking space from the table. Holy shit. How did I totally forget she was living with Drew this summer? Corrie felt herself grow warm, partly in embarrassment, but mostly because the sight of Quinn first thing in the morning, her pajamas rumpled and her hair mussed, made Corrie want to pull her down on the couch and wake her up properly. Only to put her back to sleep, of course.
She shook her head and blinked. “Hi,” she said hesitantly. She gestured to the cabinet above the sink. “I was just, um, going to make some coffee.” Quinn nodded and shuffled a bit closer. “D’you want some?” She must have been asleep by the time we came home. Had to be.
“Sure,” said Quinn. Her voice was gritty with sleep, and she looked...Corrie focused on Quinn’s pajamas and nearly burst out laughing. Adorable! Both the light pants and the short-sleeved shirt were covered with colorful illustrations of animals. Ones you’d find in the zoo, mostly—bears, giraffes, tigers, a flamingo—and whoever had decided that the alligator’s open mouth should be poised directly over the tip of Quinn’s nipple was simply brilliant.
“I like your PJs,” was all Corrie managed to say. Quinn looked down at herself and her blush intensified.
“Oh,” she said. “Um...thanks. Younger sister gave them to me.”
Corrie turned back to the sink and reached for the coffee canister, and Quinn nearly choked as Drew’s shirt rode up high enough to give her an unobstructed view of Corrie’s rear end. Her ass was firm and muscular, with lean curves swelling up toward her hips and a dimple above each cheek. Quinn wanted to fill her palms with those curves, to lightly rest her aching fingertips in those dimples—wanted to feel Corrie’s muscles move beneath her skin as she stretched over her, beneath her. She gulped and rubbed her eyes.
Calm down calm down calm down... In the wake of the latest wave of arousal, Quinn felt anger. This was getting ridiculous. I am not going to let my hormones, or whatever this is, take control. I’m perfectly capable of carrying on a conversation. Of being her friend. Get a grip! Suddenly determined, she cleared her throat, looked up, and squared her shoulders.
“So,
how’s Frog doing?”
Corrie hit the brew button on Drew’s coffeemaker and turned around to lean against the counter. Quinn fiercely kept her gaze focused on Corrie’s face.
“A lot better,” she said. “He was getting pretty restless from being all cooped up when I checked on him yesterday afternoon.” And you haven’t been home since then, have you? she realized guiltily. God. Quinn must think I’m neglecting him!
“I bet,” said Quinn. “He’s got lots of energy. Was he still limping, then?”
When no recrimination was forthcoming, Corrie relaxed. “A little bit, yeah.”
Quinn nodded and drummed her fingertips lightly on the table. Should I...should...oh hell, why not? “I’d be happy to stop by and check on him later in the afternoon, if you want,” she said. “Just to make sure nothing’s infected. If you want, I mean.” There. See? That wasn’t so hard. Friends.
Corrie felt her eyebrows shoot up. She had expected Quinn to feel ill at ease, given the situation. And given the fact that the night before last, I was trying to jump her bones. But although she had clearly been startled at first, she was acting as though the awkward events of the past two days had never happened. I should feel relieved, Corrie thought. But she didn’t. Part of her wanted me Thursday night. I know it. I could feel it. But...if she’s attracted to me at all, shouldn’t she be off-kilter right now? Corrie felt like growling in frustration. What was it about this woman that made her feel like a total novice at reading people?
“That would be great, if you don’t mind,” she said, her voice betraying none of her inner conflict. At least I’m still good at pretending. She smiled even. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” Quinn looked over Corrie’s shoulder toward the coffee pot. “Is that ready, yet?”
“Looks like.” Corrie grabbed a mug and filled it, then held it out to Quinn. “Black?”
“Absolutely.” When her fingers lightly brushed Corrie’s, Quinn immediately tamped down the soft flutter in her stomach. “Thanks for this. I’m going to hit the books.”
As she turned away, Corrie couldn’t help but admire the way the pajama shirt and pants draped over the curves of Quinn’s stomach and hips. She shook her head and frowned. Quit it! “Uh, good luck!”
Quinn turned back at the entrance to the hall, waved, and was gone. Corrie took a deep breath and rested her hands against the counter, waiting for the faint tremor to disappear before pouring her own cup of coffee.
*
By the time she rounded the final curve in the road before her driveway, Corrie actually felt like smiling. The promise of a hot shower and a good breakfast awaited—maybe a sail later to clear her head, or maybe she’d just avoid the boathouse entirely and stay home to read a book. And if Quinn really does show up later, maybe I can do something nice for her. Something a friend would do...maybe baking? Do I have any eggs?
But as her front porch came into view, her happiness dissipated. Will’s truck took up most of the driveway and he was reclining on her stoop, nursing a tall mug of what was probably coffee. Corrie’s jaw clenched. At the sound of her footsteps, he raised his head and blinked at her.
“Well, well. And where did you sleep last night?” He shifted to make room for her on the steps, but she remained standing.
“Really not your business. What are you doing here?”
He grinned, slow and easy. “Thought I’d come over this morning and get you to make me breakfast.”
Corrie frowned deeply. How typical of him to expect to be her best buddy, even after he’d stabbed her in the back. To expect that she’d just forgive and forget. Maybe that had worked when they were kids, but she had a spine now. “What the fuck am I, your short-order cook?”
Will shrugged. “If you wanna be.”
“No, I don’t want to be. And I’ve already eaten.” The lie felt good. It was what he deserved. “If you’re so hungry, go to the diner with your little friends.”
Will didn’t move. “Nah, whatever. It’s almost lunchtime anyway.” He squinted up at Corrie. “So c’mon, Cor, spill the beans. Is this mystery person someone special?” When her frown deepened and she shook her head, Will rubbed the back of his neck with one hand.
“What’s with you these days? You used to date, y’know? Go through a girlfriend every few months, not just hook up with someone new every couple of days.” He winked at her. “Can’t ya hang on to them, anymore?”
Corrie felt her face grow hot. “I cannot fucking believe you just said that,” she hissed, taking a menacing step closer to him. “Who do you think you are, trying to tell me how to live?”
“Whoa,” Will backpedaled, holding up one hand. “Whoa, easy. I just want you to be happy, Cor, because it’s easy to see that you’re not right now.”
“And why is that, do you think?” Corrie grabbed onto the banister. The muscles of her right arm trembled violently.
“Clearly, I shouldn’t have said anything.” Will got up slowly, shaking his head. “Sometimes I don’t get you, sis.”
“Believe me,” said Corrie, “the feeling’s mutual.” She leaned forward. “You know what I think? I think you’re trying to make me into another version of you, just like you’ve tried all our lives. I think that since you’re about to tie the fucking knot, you want me to settle down, too.” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “Well, guess what? I’m not your carbon copy. I’ll do whatever the fuck I want.”
Will threw up his hands. “Okay, okay. This is obviously a bad time, so...I’m leaving.” He turned toward his truck, then glanced over his shoulder. “Just be careful, all right?”
Corrie didn’t reply. She stood still for a long time, long after he had started the car and backed it carefully out of her driveway, long after he’d disappeared down the street. But she couldn’t escape his words. “Can’t ya hang on to them, anymore?”
Finally, she turned back toward the house. Her empty house. Not empty, she reminded herself sternly. Frog will be ecstatic to see me after a night away. But deep down, she knew that wasn’t enough. Deep down, she knew Will was right.
Lift
A few days later, Quinn walked briskly down the spur corridor on the north side of the boathouse, her damp aqua shoes squelching against the polished tiles. Ahead of her, a tall man exited one of the rooms and walked toward the stairs at the far end. Quinn squinted. It looked like Will, and the office he’d just left was Corrie’s. She briefly wondered what they’d been talking about, and whether Jen was right about Will’s effect on his sister. Guess I’ll find out for myself.
As she neared the door, she unconsciously slowed her pace, adjusting the brim of her cap and making sure that any stray hairs were tucked behind her ears. Maybe it was silly to care how she looked, especially after having just been out on the water, but Quinn couldn’t help it. You don’t want to help it, reason clarified. Firmly ignoring her inner monologue, she took a deep breath and tentatively rested her hand on one side of the doorframe as she poked her head into the room.
Almost immediately, she jerked backward as a wad of paper, followed by a pen, flew out the door dangerously close to where her head had been. The pen clattered against the wall.
There was a long silence as both women regarded each other, blinking in surprise. Quinn took in Corrie’s flushed face and clenched fists; her desk was in disarray, papers and writing implements strewn haphazardly across the surface as though in the wake of a miniature tornado.
“Shit!” Corrie jumped up from her chair. Her eyes were dark and wild. “Sorry! You okay?”
Quinn smiled slightly, shrugged and bent down to retrieve the pen and crumpled paper. “No worries. You missed me by a few inches,” she said, trying to make light of whatever it was that had just happened. When Corrie nodded and slumped back into her seat, Quinn felt her eyebrows draw together in a frown. I’ve never seen her like this. She’s either upset, furious, or both. And I bet I know exactly whose fault it is.
As she moved into the office, Quinn smoothed out the w
rinkled paper and glanced down. It was a registration form for the regatta. She’d seen them all over the boathouse since the beginning of the summer. The black, slanted letters at the top of the form on the line next to “Skipper” spelled out the name “William Marsten, Jr.” Quinn’s frown deepened. Her brother—no surprise there. And in the “Crew” space: “Denise Lewis.”
“Denise Lewis, two years ago, in our boat...”
“You’re right, you know. It is better with someone you love. But oh, all the angst when they don’t return the favor.”
“Oh,” she said. She looked up at Corrie, who was massaging her temples. Suddenly, the puzzle pieces were starting to fall into place.
Quinn took a step closer, and then another. She set the paper down in front of Corrie but did not touch her. “This Denise is the woman you were talking about the other night, isn’t it?” she asked softly. Corrie winced and nodded. She didn’t look at Quinn. “And she’s coming here for the regatta? To sail with your brother?”
“Yes.” The word was short and clipped. Corrie tapped her fingers against the desk.
Quinn pulled up a folding chair and sat. She wanted to touch Corrie’s hand but wasn’t at all certain that that was a good idea. Corrie was reminding her very much of an animal in pain, and creatures in pain tended to lash out. “I’m not sure I understand how they know each other,” she said quietly.
Corrie looked out the window for several seconds, the muscles in her jaw clenching and unclenching spasmodically. “Denise and Will are engaged.”
Quinn sat back hard. “Oh.” She blinked as Corrie continued to gaze out toward the water. Her antipathy to Will made perfect sense, now, as did the competition between them. Will made it to the Olympics and got the girl, Quinn realized. Ouch.
“Well,” she considered, keeping her voice pitched low, “do you have to let them race?”
Corrie finally met her eyes. “Of course I do. Their form is on time, and their goddamn check is for the right amount, and there’s no way in hell that I can stop her from coming here.”
