Running With the Wind

by Nell Stark

  Over an hour later, Corrie and Quinn trudged wearily up from the shoreline, their arms burdened with sails and lifejackets. “Well, I’m beat,” Corrie said as they turned toward the shed. She rolled her shoulders. “Do you have lots of studying to do tonight?” She had learned right away that Quinn usually spent her mornings and evenings studying for her exam in late August.

  “Mmm,” said Quinn. She licked her salty lips, wishing for nothing more than a bottomless glass of water and a long, cool shower. “Large animal anatomy review.”

  “Large animals?” Corrie asked, shouldering open the door and holding it as Quinn brushed past her. “Like...cows?”

  Quinn laughed tiredly. “Yep, like cows.”

  “There you are!” Jen hailed them from behind the desk. “Mars, the harbormaster called for you. Something about negotiating mooring fees for the regatta...” she trailed off and arched her eyebrows.

  Corrie tossed her pile of equipment onto the desk and scrubbed her palms over her face. “He wants to charge us an arm and a leg, but I’m not gonna let him.” She sighed heavily. “No rest for the weary.”

  “You guys look wiped,” Jen said as Quinn set down her own equipment with a matching sigh. “Go home. I’ll take care of this stuff.”

  “I owe you,” said Corrie gratefully, turning back toward the door.

  “You better believe you do!” Jen’s sassy reply followed them out into cooling air. High cirrus clouds feathered the western sky, and Corrie tilted her head back to enjoy the caress of the breeze against her sweaty face.

  “Hi ya, sis.” Will’s all too familiar voice immediately forced Corrie back down to earth. He stood a few feet away, a short windsurfer board tucked under one arm. The sun lit up his face and cast a long shadow behind him on the sand.

  “Will.” She nodded coolly.

  “What’cha been up to?”

  “Just out for a sail with Quinn.” Corrie very deliberately brushed Quinn’s shoulder with her own. “Quinn, my brother, Will.” As they shook hands, Corrie watched Quinn’s face. Her expression was measuring, somehow. Evaluative. And she wasn’t acting shy in the slightest. Almost seems like she wants to protect me.

  “Sweet day out there, huh?” Will asked, clearly in the mood to chat.

  “It was, yes,” said Quinn briskly. “A good day to practice racing.”

  Corrie blinked in surprise at Quinn’s subtle trash talking. Way to throw down! Of course, that had probably gone right over Will’s head. Still, Corrie felt pleased at Quinn’s defensiveness. She grinned and jerked her head toward the boathouse. “I’ve got to get back to the office,” she said.

  “I’m walking your way,” Quinn answered.

  “Have a good one, ladies,” said Will as he strutted toward the shed.

  “Cocky bastard, isn’t he?” Corrie rubbed the back of her neck with one hand. She always got tense when he was around. Not even Quinn going to bat for her could change that.

  “I did get that impression,” Quinn agreed. Her eyes narrowed slightly. “But we’ll beat him.”

  “I hope you’re right, I really do.”

  They paused in front of the boathouse door where they would part ways, and not for the first time, Corrie had to forcibly restrain herself from leaning in to claim a kiss from Quinn. Don’t rush her, you ass. You know she wants you. It’s just a matter of time. Why the hell was patience so damn hard?

  “Have a good night.” Quinn’s words were accompanied by a sweet smile.

  “You, too,” was all Corrie said. And then she turned around, pushed open the door, and forced herself not to look back.

  *

  Quinn was early for the next day’s lesson—so early, in fact, that she found Corrie taking an impromptu nap on her desk. Long, blonde hair cascaded over her folded arms to fan out on the unusually clean surface, and Quinn spent several seconds watching the slow rise and fall of Corrie’s hunched shoulders as she inhaled and exhaled deeply. Wish I could see her face, she thought idly. I bet she’d look so innocent asleep. And young.

  She took a few steps forward, until she was close enough to reach out and lightly touch the top of Corrie’s head. “Wake up, Mars.” The golden hair was soft between her fingers as she stroked gently. Just like I imagined it.

  Corrie shifted beneath her hand and inhaled noisily. She raised her face toward Quinn, her eyes blinking repeatedly as though in disbelief that it could possibly be the right time for alertness.

  “Wh...what happened?” Corrie’s voice was low and gravelly, and Quinn barely stopped herself from thinking about what it might be like to wake up to that sound. Barely.

  “You must have fallen asleep,” she said. “It’s nearly five o’clock.”

  Corrie yawned and leaned back in her chair as her entire body vibrated in a long stretch. “Oh, man,” she replied. “Sorry ’bout that! Thanks for waking me up.” She rubbed her eyes and looked dazedly up at Quinn. A second later, she frowned. “You look tired.”

  Quinn took a step back and laughed. “And you don’t?”

  Corrie flushed but held her ground. “Did you sleep okay last night?”

  Quinn shrugged. “As a matter of fact, I didn’t.” She grinned sheepishly. “I know this is ridiculous, but I dreamt about jibing the pole for hours.”

  “Really?” Corrie shook her head. “That’s pretty crazy.”

  “At least I’ve been visualizing,” said Quinn. “I’ve heard that can be very valuable for athletes.” She paused for a silent moment, during which Corrie simply continued to blink sleepily up at her. “So,” she finally broke the spell. “More chute practice today, right?”

  Corrie finally got to her feet, palms pressing down hard against the desk. She stretched again, and Quinn’s gaze traveled down her long torso to pause at the narrow sliver of tan abdominal muscles revealed by the sensuous movement. She’s just as sexy now as when she’s wearing only that damn sports bra, Quinn realized, before her rational brain was able to shove the thought way back into the appropriate dark, dank, cobwebby corner of her mind. It was getting positively crowded in there.

  “How about...” Corrie began slowly. “What if we scrap practice today?” When Quinn’s eyebrows tried to climb into her hairline, Corrie smiled. “I’m exhausted. So are you. And you’re clearly stressed about the chute. Otherwise you wouldn’t have been dreaming about it.” She paused briefly, but when Quinn just stood still and waited, Corrie decided to go for the gold.

  “So let’s take a break today, and instead of sailing, we can grab a pizza and then watch Wind at my place. It’s this movie about the America’s Cup, and there’s lots of sailing in it, and it’s a romance too, I guess—” Realizing that she was babbling, Corrie fell silent and stared across the width of her desk at Quinn, who, she suddenly realized, was nodding.

  “That sounds wonderful,” Quinn replied, ignoring the clamor of her psyche’s warning bells. Oh, shut up, we can watch a film together without me jumping into bed with her. She looked down at the scuffed floor, then back up at Corrie. “I guess I could use a day off, to be honest.”

  Her embarrassed admission was enough to galvanize Corrie into action. “No shame in that. We’ve been working hard.” She picked up the phone and started dialing. “I’ll take care of the pizza—pepperoni?” When Quinn nodded, Corrie dialed swiftly and placed the order.

  “I have my car today,” Quinn said as soon as she hung up. “It’s out in the lot.”

  “Great, and I have the movie at the house.” Corrie sidestepped the desk as she began to collect the belongings she wanted to take home. “Pizza will be ready in fifteen, they say.”

  Quinn shouldered her backpack. “Thanks for the break, Skipper.”

  Just over twenty minutes later, Quinn pulled into Corrie’s driveway and cut the engine. Corrie jumped out and opened the back passenger’s side door for Frog, who bounded happily around the border of his property before prancing eagerly alongside Corrie as she unlocked the front door.

  “He has so much ene
rgy,” said Quinn, leaning down to pat the top of his sleek head. “Like mother, like child?”

  Corrie scoffed and pushed the door open. “Like I have so much energy. Don’t forget who you found asleep today.”

  “That was a fluke.” Quinn carried the warm pizza through the door, down the narrow hall, and finally deposited it on one of the kitchen counters.

  “What do you want to drink?” asked Corrie, opening the fridge and peering inside. “I still have a bunch of wine coolers from—”

  Corrie abruptly cut off, but Quinn knew what she had been going to say. From when you were here for dinner. From when you let me kiss you. She opened the pizza box and reached up for two plates, even as heat blossomed beneath her skin at the memory. “A wine cooler sounds great,” Quinn said. Her voice didn’t tremble, but the plates clattered together slightly in her hand.

  When she turned around, Corrie handed her a bottle. She looked curious, and perhaps even a little nervous, as if she was concerned by how Quinn would react to the memory.

  “Thanks.” Quinn grinned up at her. “I’ll never understand why you like that stuff,” she said wryly, gesturing at Corrie’s beer. “At least this is nice and sweet.”

  To Quinn’s relief, Corrie rose to the bait and the awkwardness disappeared. “Are you kidding me? That tastes like cough syrup.” She raised her bottle and sipped, then rolled her neck back in satisfaction. “This is fantastic—light and smooth and—”

  “Yuck,” Quinn said decisively. “And absolute yuck.” She held out a plate to Corrie. “Since we’re never going to agree, let’s just watch this movie, already.”

  “Now who’s the drill sergeant?” Corrie muttered as she followed Quinn into the den. Quinn settled down on the couch, while Corrie fiddled with the DVD player before sprawling on the floor at her feet.

  The film began with a sailing action sequence, and Quinn found herself peppering Corrie with so many questions that it soon became necessary to pause the DVD at regular intervals so that she could adequately explain what they were seeing. Despite the fact that her body was tired and sore from yesterday’s exertion, she found herself exhilarated by the racing scenes. I really do love this sport, she realized.

  “See how they’re using trapezes there?” Corrie asked several minutes later, as the film segued into a shot of the two protagonists on a smaller boat. Their bodies were completely extended, so that only the balls of their feet rested on the gunwales. Corrie paused the disc and pointed out their harnesses and the trapeze lines. She looked over at Quinn and quirked a grin. “The 470 is rigged for trap, you know,” she said. “We’ll start working on that next week.”

  Quinn nodded enthusiastically until a horrifying thought suddenly froze her in her seat. “But...well, you don’t trapeze like that and trim the spinnaker at the same time. Do you?”

  Corrie’s eyes widened. “’Course! It’s the toughest thing you’ll ever do in your whole life, but it’s so much fun, and the boat really flies on days when that’s—”

  “Nuh-uh, no,” said Quinn, shaking her head. “No way. I cannot do that.”

  Corrie reached out to touch Quinn’s knee, rubbing circles against her skin as she spoke. “Sure you can. Plenty of people have learned. And besides, I have complete faith in you.”

  Quinn blinked. She knew she should tell Corrie to take her hand away, but the warmth of her touch was irresistible. “Why?”

  Corrie frowned as she realized that she really did mean it. “Because you’ve never given me a reason not to,” she said finally, looking up to meet Quinn’s curious gaze. “Because I see you out there every day, trying for all you’re worth to get years of sailing experience in a matter of weeks.” Suddenly uncomfortable with how downright mushy she was sounding, Corrie tried to shrug nonchalantly. “I mean, sure, you’ll end up in the drink a whole bunch as soon as we start practicing that combination. But I know you’re capable.”

  Quinn couldn’t think of anything to say to that, so finally she nodded and indicated the remote. “C’mon, I want to see if they win.” Corrie took her hand off Quinn’s knee in order to press Play, and Quinn tried not to think about just how much she missed the warm pressure of her palm.

  As it turned out, the main characters merrily capsized into the ocean only a few seconds later, but at least they were joking around about it. Humor is the missing link, Quinn decided. No matter what happens when we’re out there racing, I should be able to laugh. But how am I supposed to do that, when making a wrong move might mean that they beat us?

  Fortunately, that particular line of thought was interrupted a few minutes later as the male and female leads made their way below decks on one of the larger boats. The flirting and foreplay were unmistakable, and Quinn couldn’t resist shoving Corrie’s right shoulder with one bare foot.

  “So,” she asked mischievously, hoping to regain their previous lighter mood. “Have you ever done that?”

  Corrie turned toward her with a skeptical expression. “Have I ever had sex in an America’s Cup boat?” She shook her head adamantly. “No.”

  “Do you think it would be comfortable?” A distant part of Quinn wondered where in the hell these questions were coming from. She tilted her wine cooler up to her lips, only to discover that the bottle was empty. Ah, she thought. I must be just the tiniest bit buzzed.

  Corrie, who was now grinning at her widely, jerked her head toward the bottle. “Bit of a lightweight, are we?”

  “I am not,” said Quinn. She didn’t feel buzzed, just nice and relaxed. Quite the pleasant sensation, really. “And you didn’t answer my question.”

  Corrie rolled her eyes. “No, I don’t think it would be comfortable.” She waited for a beat before adding, “But then again, sometimes comfort isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

  Quinn chewed on that enigmatic statement for a moment. Corrie could practically hear the wheels spinning in her head. I’ll fuck you on any boat you like, Quinn. Just name it.

  “Interesting,” Quinn said finally.

  Corrie could tell she was trying to play it cool. It was cute. She gestured toward the television. “Too bad they don’t show more of the scene. Maybe we could get some ideas.” She waggled her eyebrows.

  Quinn blushed but held her ground. “They’re straight. I’ll pass.”

  Corrie laughed. “Good point. Now shut up and watch the movie.”

  They bantered back and forth throughout the rest of the film, and Quinn even found herself cheering for the American boat at the end. When the credits finally rolled, she got up stiffly from the couch, grabbed Corrie’s plate, and made her way into the kitchen to put both plates in the sink. When she returned, Corrie was watching her critically.

  “You sore?”

  “A little bit,” Quinn replied. “Quads and shoulders, mostly.”

  Corrie got to her feet and gestured toward the space in front of the couch. “I’ll give you a massage, if you want.” At Quinn’s surprised look, she rolled her eyes. “Just a shoulder massage, I promise.” She waited for a beat before winking. “Unless you’d rather—”

  “That sounds great,” Quinn interrupted, blushing slightly. She sat down with her back to the couch, feeling Corrie settle above and behind her on the cushions. When gentle fingers began rubbing in circles at the junction of her neck and shoulders, she exhaled slowly.

  “Let me know if I’m doing this too hard.” As Corrie spoke, her lips brushed Quinn’s right ear, and she barely managed to suppress a shudder.

  “Okay,” Quinn said, allowing her head to sink down until her chin pressed lightly against her sternum. Corrie’s fingers were soft but also firm, and Quinn gradually relaxed. It was so easy to close her eyes and drift under Corrie’s touch—to be comforted by the gentle strokes of her fingertips as she worked across the nape of Quinn’s neck, slowly progressing down toward her triceps and biceps.

  Corrie felt Quinn melt into her hands, against her legs, as the tension began to drain from her body. She felt good—so soft, so warm
. Corrie was about to place a light kiss on a small sunburned patch of skin on Quinn’s left shoulder before she caught herself. Dammit! If she hadn’t been trying to make this relationship thing happen, no power on earth could have stopped her from laying on the seduction, right then and there.

  Suddenly, she could see exactly what she was doing, as though she were a voyeur at the window. Leading you on. Using you. Disgusted with herself, she bit her lower lip and backed off. Why are you trusting me, Quinn? You really shouldn’t. And what kind of monster am I to be treating you like this?

  When Corrie finally stopped touching her, Quinn had no idea whether she’d been sitting still for minutes or hours, her body was so suffused with lassitude. “Mmm,” she said, raising her head with difficulty. “Thank you. You’re very good at that.” Instead of shifting away, she let her cheek rest lightly against the outside of Corrie’s leg.

  But she loves it, Corrie realized. Look how much she loves it. She’s craving this, the attention I’m giving. Hell, I’m making her dreams come true.

  “Not a problem,” she replied softly. “You were pretty tense.” She reached out with one hand to lightly massage Quinn’s scalp. Quinn’s answering moan made Corrie’s pulse jump, and she shifted slightly on the couch. Fucking hell. If I push her now she’ll freak, and if I don’t get off soon, I’m gonna explode!

  But asking Quinn to please leave so she could have some one-on-one time with her right hand was hardly an option. She didn’t want to push Quinn away, either, especially since she felt so damn good. But if we keep up this cuddling business, I’m going to lose it.

  Quinn hummed, her breath blowing lightly over Corrie’s kneecap. “It’s getting late and I know you’re tired. I should go.”

  “No, don’t.” The words were out before she could stop them. Quinn pulled away and looked up at Corrie apprehensively. “I mean,” said Corrie, “uh, that I have a guest room that you can stay in. You’re tired too, after all.”

  Quinn blinked, considering her options. Stay, stay, stay, her body clamored, wishing for nothing more than a soft bed and a dreamless sleep. Go, go, go urged her brain, discomfited by Corrie’s closeness and her own visceral reaction to it.