by Lynn Galli
“I can’t stay long,” he was saying, not that anyone had asked him to stay. “I just wanted to say hello. It’s been at least two years, hasn’t it? I’ve tried calling a few times to see how you’re 10
Finally
doing, but maybe you never got the messages?” I nodded in that noncommittal way where it started as a “yes” then bobbed into a
“no.” “You’re happy, obviously. You must be seeing someone?”
Forcing myself not to even glance at Quinn, I met his eyes. He didn’t need to know that I’d starting feeling like these dinners with Quinn were more than just two friends hanging out. She didn’t need to know that either. I was still in the middle of convincing myself it was nothing more than giddiness at fi nding a good friend.
Chip smirked his version of a sexy smile. The warm breeze on the patio mixed with the heat from my growing embarrassment.
He squeezed his arm around my shoulders. “Still very private, I see. Whoever he is, he better know he’s damn lucky.” His voice held that annoying wistful quality that accompanied regret. Could the evening get any more uncomfortable?
“Good to see you, Chip.” I tried to pull out of his one-armed restraint.
“Uh, sure.” He seemed surprised by my dismissal. “We should go to dinner sometime soon, Wills. I’d like to catch up.
See how things are going for you.”
“Nice seeing you.” The response satisfi ed me. Hopefully, it would be enough to rid Chip of the table.
He leaned down to kiss my cheek again and intentionally captured my mouth. I could feel myself fl ushing red, embarrassed that he’d show this kind of affection in public when we were no longer together and in front of a friend that he’d just met. “Bye, Wills,” he attempted an intimate voice. Glancing at Quinn, he gave a friendly wave then departed.
“Wills?” Quinn mocked good-naturedly.
Heat touched my cheeks, fl ushed again from the tease. “Oh, I don’t limit myself to just wills. No, I cover the whole spectrum of estate law.”
Her laugh eased my embarrassment. “So, Chip?”
11
Lynn Galli
“Salvatore, actually, but his family called him Chip, for chip off the old block, if you can believe it.” I knew I wasn’t giving a complete answer, but I wanted off the uncomfortable topic.
She nodded, trying to keep her curiosity from showing. The ensuing silence must have gotten the better of her because she asked outright, “Old boyfriend?” Something in her intrigued stare told me that she had a vested interest in the answer. It lasted for just a moment until genuine curiosity took over.
“Old mistake,” I replied, watching Chip step into a building two blocks away. When I realized how insulting my remark might sound, I turned back to clarify. Her look told me I didn’t need to explain.
“Have you ever had long hair?” The subject change caught me by surprise.
“No.” I took a sip from my coffee mug. “I’ve never been able to get it to grow out past my shoulders. People have been commenting on haircuts I’ve never gotten my whole life.”
Quinn’s hand lifted from the table and casually touched my hair. Delicate fi ngers weaved in along the curve of my ear.
“Maybe it’s the curls. They have a mind of their own. Perhaps they don’t like being weighed down? You don’t color your hair, do you?”
“Please, would anyone really choose ‘plain brown’ as a hair color?” I laughed, a nervous reaction to being touched so tenderly.
“You do realize we’re talking about hair, right? Have we really run out of things to chat about that we’re left with a subject that neither of us ever thinks twice about?”
Quinn laughed and pulled back her hand. “You’re right. It just struck me sitting out here in the sun how nicely your hair and eye color go together.”
Now I gave her a doubtful look. “Right, brown hair and brown eyes, really diffi cult to mismatch that combo. You, on the other hand: fl axen russet dye and implausibly blue contacts, I 12
Finally
don’t know who you think you’re fooling.”
At the obvious tease, Quinn’s face cracked into a wide smile.
She’d probably spent a lifetime hoping people would notice her athletic ability rather than her beauty fi rst. I looked away, realizing that I’d allowed my mind to consider again how striking she was. I had to stop this. We were becoming good friends, and I was going to ruin it by letting my mind wander toward intimate thoughts. The poor woman had enough admirers at her games.
She didn’t need her friends drooling all over her, too.
“Well, we’d better get going.” Pushing my chair back, I didn’t give her the chance to disagree. I needed to distance myself otherwise I might do something inappropriate. And shocking, at least to me.
“Okay.” She stood unenthusiastically. Money dropped onto the table before she could object. “Wait, I invited you. I’ll pay.”
“You paid last time, remember?” I gently pressed on her back to propel us from the table. As soon as I had us moving, I dropped my hand. Touching Quinn wasn’t a good idea for someone whose thoughts kept returning to intimacy.
“Thank you for dinner,” she said as we approached my car.
“My pleasure. Thanks for the company.” And for the unfettered access to daydreams about something that could never be.
For a moment, Quinn stood very still. Then slowly she leaned in, her arms slipping around my back.
She’s hugging me, I thought. When was the last time I’d been hugged? Nearly a year, when a friend had come into town for a visit. This hug didn’t feel the same, especially when she pressed closer and a strong thumping drummed against my ear. The sound drew my arms up from my sides to squeeze her in return.
“That was my pleasure,” she whispered and stood back from the hug. Briefl y our eyes met then she was walking off to her car, calling out an airy goodnight.
13
Lynn Galli
Therapy. That was what I’d need to help fi gure out what just happened. For now, the light touch of her body against my own and the breath on my ear as she said the word “pleasure” started an apprehensive pumping of my heart.
14
THREE
Quinn looked up, searching the stands. Section 101, Row 17
on the aisle. It wasn’t always easy to spot from the court, but she made a point of looking up there every game and glancing occasionally whenever she was on the bench.
Willa Lacey had gotten under her skin. She’d had other non-basketball related friends in the few years she’d been on the team, but they’d always wanted to go places to be seen with her.
They’d always wanted some piece of her. She’d known that from the start with most of them. Willa was different. Very different, and she didn’t know what to do about that.
Spotting her, she lifted a hand to wave, trying for casual but feeling like a liar. Nothing about this friendship was casual to her.
It was important. Crucial really, and she couldn’t put her fi nger on why it felt so vital. She just knew that she had to maintain it.
That losing it would crush her.
She’d never felt that way about any friendship. She’d probably lost more friends with all her relocations than most people had made in their lifetimes. She’d never been torn up about it. It was something else to deal with, a result of her out of the ordinary job. She fi gured when she was fi nally done with the basketball, done playing on one team in the summer, coaching in the winter, and playing for a European team in the spring, she’d fi nally be able to make some lasting friendships. Coaches didn’t have the 15
Lynn Galli
groupies that pro ball players did. Assistant coaches especially.
She could make friends that would want to be her friend for her, not for the chance that she might be spotted out in public.
But here she was, at least three to fi ve years before she planned to retire, and she’d made that kind of friend. The kind th
at could make her rethink her plan and any golden opportunities thrown her way. That was a dangerous kind of friend. She had to be open to anything. Careers in basketball after the WNBA were fl eeting.
Having an anchor that could keep her from being able to accept what she needed to advance in her future was not a smart idea.
She knew this and had known it since she realized how fi ckle friendships were when she became semi-famous. Just take them at face value and move on when she had to leave for her career.
She could tell herself this all she wanted, but with that quick smile and shy wave from the small fi gure up in the crowd, it was hard to convince herself that this friendship was the kind she’d always been warning herself against.
***
“Did I just pay twenty bucks for a bland beer and a hotdog that wouldn’t satisfy a kid’s appetite?” My best friend, Nykos, whined as he slumped into his seat. He’d never even liked basketball until I’d taken him to a game, and now, he went to almost all of them. When Nykos got hooked, only a 12-step program could pull him away.
I felt his thigh and arm brush against me as he settled his large frame into a seat that was built for people two-thirds his size. As long as I’d known him, he’d been overweight, lazy, and balding, even as a college student. Twelve years later, I’d stopped noticing his size and receding hairline. His loyalty, caring, and humor always overpowered. Now that we were trying to start a business together, I couldn’t ignore the laziness anymore. Before 16
Finally
the summer was over, I was going to get his ass in gear or shut down the effort.
Ignoring his attempt to get comfy in the too small seat, I focused on the court. The team was heading off to the locker room for the fi nal pregame meeting. Many of the players stopped to sign autographs for the fans leaning over the rail by the locker room. Some were talking to the usual fanatics behind the Storm bench. I watched as Quinn turned and looked up at my section.
Heat bloomed on my cheeks when she waved at me. The memory of that hug drifted around me again as I raised a hand briefl y in reply.
Nykos bumped harder against me, jarring loose the caressing feeling of Quinn’s hug. “Did you just wave at Quinn Lysander?”
His dark green eyes fl ashed in incredulity. The thinning tuft of black hair that clung defi antly to the crown of his head stood askew from the attempt at smoothing after he’d exerted himself walking up from our free parking space. When Nykos began to sweat, not even a 12-step program could make it cease.
No one knew about our friendship yet. I’d wanted to avoid the certain teasing I’d receive about stalking my favorite player.
At least that’s what I told myself. Really, it was much more than that. Something I wasn’t ready to label yet.
“I kinda met her a few months ago. She’s really nice.” And beautiful and so out of my league, the uninvited thought slipped in. Not that I was looking in any league. I hadn’t felt like dating in years, hadn’t even felt like dating when I was dating. What made me think that dating out of my league in a completely different conference would go any better?
Nykos leaned back, his jersey pulled taut over his bulky torso. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you met her. Didn’t you yammer on about driving past one of the players last year? You don’t pick up the phone when you meet your idol?”
Pushing at his shoulder, I tried to shut him down. “Knock it 17
Lynn Galli
off. She’s not my idol. She’s just a great player.” This was exactly why I hadn’t told any of my friends. Well, that and this friendship felt private to me for some reason.
“How’d you meet? It must’ve been a pretty amazing meeting if she’s waving at you all the way up here?” Nykos liked to give me a hard time about the fact that my seats were seventeen rows up, far worse than my priority number would allow but what I could afford on my less than impressive salary.
“We’ve sort of become friends.”
“What?” The rest of his sure rant got interrupted by one of the regulars who sat in front of us. “You’re friends with Quinn Lysander?” Debra, the one who came early to every game, asked in awe. Her girlfriend, Jenny, and their seatmates, Ruth and Jo, all twisted their bodies to stare up at me, waiting for a response.
Normally, I liked exchanging pregame banter with them, but tonight I wished they’d shown up late. Especially since Ruth was on her second beer already, and when Ruth got tipsy, everyone learned a little too much about her.
“We hang out occasionally,” I admitted.
“Oh man, I’m so in love with her!” Ruth announced easily, like she did at least once a game for several of the players, or women she recognized from a lesbian bar, or nearly any woman in the crowd for that matter. Apparently, Ruth had a lot of love.
“Hook me up with her, will ya?”
Despite being used to Ruth’s constant declarations of love, I scoffed at her brashness, causing Jo to smack her friend’s leather-clad shoulder. While Ruth was occasionally obnoxious, I had grown to like her fervor about basketball and all manner of things. Usually, I found her funny. Tonight, I was rethinking that.
“I’m not her pimp.” I’d meant it as a joke, but a swirl of what could only be jealousy swam through me, causing an involuntary shiver.
“Tell me where you hang out then, and I’ll bag her myself.”
18
Finally
Ruth brushed a hand through her short black hair and blew on her fi ngertips.
“You are so arrogant,” Debra remarked. “C’mon, you’re buying this round. Let’s leave Will alone.” She pulled Ruth up with her and into the aisle. The J’s went with them, winking at me on their way out.
“Why didn’t you mention it to me?” Nykos asked, startling me. I’d almost forgotten he was there. When the foursome turned their attention on me, I became easily intimidated. Nykos looked honestly hurt, and he didn’t get hurt easily.
“I don’t know, Kos. I guess I thought you might think it was a little odd.” Not to mention how likely it was that the friendship would be over if Quinn every fi gured out how I was starting to feel.
He looked like he was deciding whether or not to press me further. We’d known each other since college and more than half of our communication happened without words now. “I can’t believe you actually know her. If she’s waving at you before a game, she must like you.”
I sighed, thankful that he let me off the hook. Usually he took every opportunity to give me a hard time. “She’s as nice as she is talented. You’d really like her. We’re a lot alike.”
“But you’re assuming I actually like you.” Classic Nykos.
Some of his best material came from discounting our friendship.
It stemmed from a fear that he’d become too reliant on me as a friend, which made me smile all the more.
19
FOUR
Kiss her!
The order screamed so loudly in my head I had to look around to make sure no one had spoken it aloud. All I could see was a bustle of deplaning passengers jostling each other while they moved in a slow herd toward baggage claim. I’d been slaloming through these passengers, wasting time before my fl ight boarded.
All movement stopped when I spotted Quinn emerging from the jet way. My step left to avoid a businessperson halted suddenly as the plea to kiss her activated paralysis. Not even the painful knock of his briefcase against my shin could make me move.
This crush of mine was getting ridiculous. And yes, I’d started to admit that it was a crush not just friendship. It was so unfair to Quinn. I’d hoped by now that these feelings would have subsided. The euphoria of a new friendship usually wore off within a month, but after four, I felt all the telltale signs of romantic feelings for someone.
Not knowing anything about Quinn’s personal preferences seemed to egg these emotions on. As many women as men came on to her whenever we went out. She declined all the offers, but she never let on as to which gender she’d prefer. Th
e foursome at the Storm games all thought Quinn was a lesbian, but they thought that about every woman.
I pressed back against a railing to fi ght the impulse to push 20
Finally
through the passengers. I clenched my teeth, attempting to bite down on the need to be next to her. I’d never felt like this before.
Sure, I’d felt affection for the men I’d dated, but feelings of desire were rare. And for Quinn, the desire was fi erce.
Locking my hands behind me through the rail, I managed to keep from knocking people down. We hadn’t made defi nite plans to meet up, just that I’d stop by the gate if I got to the airport early enough. Right now, those indefi nite plans were the only thing saving me. Quinn could walk by with her teammates and never have to know that I was losing my mind, ready to cross boundaries that we’d set long ago.
The team walked briskly, but their shoulders hunched in fatigue. Another long road trip with fi ve games, only two wins.
The small gathering of fans helped to lighten their steps. Each player made time to sign autographs and pose for pictures.
As a clump, they progressed past my spot. I stared at Quinn, seeing her again for the fi rst time. Long, chestnut brown hair harnessed into a single braid. Crisp, alert, blue eyes shining at her fans. Strong bone structure shaped her oval face. At least she had those fi t arms and legs covered this morning in jeans and a sweatshirt. I’d nearly fainted when she showed up last time in a skirt and sleeveless shirt that screamed for me to run my fi ngers over her muscular arms. If she hadn’t been wearing smoky grey eye shadow that electrifi ed her ocean blue eyes, I would have stared at those incredible arms and sexy legs all night. I had to stop this. Quinn is a friend. Quinn is a friend. Quinn is just a friend. A mantra, that would solve it for sure.
Just then, Quinn twisted her head back as if someone had called out her name. Almost immediately, she locked eyes with me and hurried to fi nish signing a few more autographs before extricating herself from the group.
