Out of Grief (7 page)

I managed to grin against her lips. I had no answer for her.

We were still locked together at the mouth, kisses becoming more intense as the level of desire increased. “Gotta tell you, I imagined this a lot,” she breathed, moving her lips along my jawline, “and this is so much better.”

The phone in my pocket began to vibrate, as my hands found their way up the toned muscles of her back. She leaned back far enough to yank the shirt over her head and reveal that she was bra-less. “Shit, you’re gorgeous!” My hands went to her breasts of their own accord, and Emily’s eyes closed as a small groan escaped her throat.

She dipped her head, kissing along my jawline, her auburn hair falling to the sides of her head making a curtain of curls around our faces. I turned my head and met Emily’s mouth. She tasted like the expensive wine we had been drinking, and it was intoxicating. The kissing was fierce, each of us battling for dominance over the other. The phone was vibrating again.

“Take this off.” She was tugging at the buttons on my shirt. “Now. Please.”

“Okay, okay.” Goddamn buttons. We were both fumbling with them now, trying to get the garment off as fast as possible. I finally loosened the last button, and pulled my shirt off. I reached around to unhook my bra, and let it fall off my shoulders.

Emily’s eyes went dark, as she bent down to capture my nipple. The phone began to vibrate again. I knew the buzzing was Quinn, and I knew she knew I was here.

“Wow, someone doesn’t quit, do they?”

Seriously, I was going to have to kill her. “Not important.” I threaded a hand through her locks, trying to keep her mouth where it was. I reached down, and happily found that my hand fit between her jeans and her body. The feel of lace greeted me. My fingers dipped further down and were coated with the fruits of her arousal. “These need to come off.”

She stood and quickly shimmied out of the jeans. “These too?” she asked, as she hooked her fingers between the lacy panties.

“God, yes,” I said, reaching for her.

She settled herself back on my lap, only this time she straddled one thigh, making sure that her knee made contact with my already drenched center, and I groaned.

My hip began to buzz, as my fingers stroked between her drenched lips.

“Are you sure you don’t need to answer that?”

It was a trick question, right? Was she crazy?
“She’ll stop.”

“She?” Emily rose up, off my fingers.

Shit! That was the wrong thing to say. “Best friend. No worries.” I reached for her, and my hip started to buzz again. I reached in to my pocket to turn the phone off.

“Answer it,” Emily said, standing up. “She’s clearly not going to stop.”

So if I didn’t answer it, would I look like a bad friend? “Okay,” I sighed, as I pushed the button to answer. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Why aren’t you answering?”

“I told you I was going to be out tonight.”

“Oh, yeah, how did that go?”

“Until you called?” I growled. I couldn’t help myself. Maybe she would take the hint and hang up. She didn’t. “Is there a reason you keep dialing me?”

“I’m spotting.”

“And instead of calling the doctor, you’re calling me?”

“Why are you being so testy?”

“Quinn, did you call the doctor?”

“Yes.”

“And she said what?”

“She said it could have been the Pap smear I had, or an infection, or it could be something more serious. I’m supposed to see her tomorrow.”

“Okay, well, until you go tomorrow, we won’t know anything. Did it stop?”

“Yes. But what if it’s something serious?”

“It’s not.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Okay, you’re right, I don’t. But until you see her tomorrow, we won’t know, will we?”

“I’m scared, Nikki.”

“I know you are, honey, but we can’t let our imaginations run away with us. Can we? Call me tomorrow after you see the doctor, okay?”

I saw that Emily was pulling her clothes back on. No. No. No!

“You’re hanging up?”

“You’re killing me here, Quinn.”

“You’re still with her, aren’t you?”

“Quinn.”

“Are you being safe?”

“I’m not having this conversation with you right now. Have some chamomile tea and try to sleep.”

“If something’s wrong, Nikki…”

“We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it. Now try to get some sleep.”

“Okay. Hey, Nikki … I love you.”

I looked at Emily, and then said the only thing I could think of without repeating the words. “Ditto.” I hung up and flung my phone across the room.

Emily just arched her eyebrow and handed me my bra and shirt. “Did that help?”

“No. I mean, not if you’re putting an end to our evening?”

“I think its best. Don’t you?”

“Emily, we don’t have to stop.”

“As much as I don’t want to leave us both frustrated, Nikki, I can’t compete with that.”

“Compete? Whoa. There’s no competition.” I reached for her, but she moved out of my grasp.

“I know there’s no competition. You’re in love with her.”

This was not happening. I had to salvage it. “She’s straight! She’s not in love with me!”

“Well, then it sucks to be you, doesn’t it?”

“Right now?” I thrust my arm in to my shirt. “It so does.”

“Not too great for me, either.”

“Emily, I’m so—”

“Save it, please. I think we both dodged a bullet here.”

I finished buttoning my shirt, and shoved the bra in my pocket. Truth is stranger than fiction. I would not have imagined this scenario in any of my books, and right now I wasn’t even sure what to do.

“I like you, Nikki, I really do. But I’m looking to start something with someone that could lead to something, and you are already in a relationship with her. So we can be friends, but that’s about all you can handle right now.”

I wanted to tell her it wasn’t true. But it would have been pointless. This was my pathetic life. “So when you tell your friends about this…”

“Oh, when I tell my friends about this, we totally did it. And I rocked your world.” She set the pieces of my phone in my hand.

I laughed. I couldn’t help it. “Hey, as long as I don’t come off as a first class jerk.”

“You’re not a first class jerk.” I was being ushered to the door.

“Thanks.”

Emily opened the door, and gestured for me to leave. “You’re more like a clueless one.”

“I deserved that.”

“Good night, Nikki.” She closed the door, leaving me in the hallway, clutching my broken phone in one hand, while my other hand was still coated in the scent of her arousal.
Fuck!

Chapter Eighteen

I knew that I should call and find out what the doctor had said, but I was pissed about the previous evening. Plus, my phone hadn’t survived my tantrum, so I had just enough time to secure a new one before I had to meet my mother for brunch. My father was the keynote speaker at a medical conference in Chicago, and my mother was loathe to fly as it was, so the destination had to be exotic enough for her to make the trip.

My mother’s favorite spot for brunch was Sarabeth’s on the Upper West Side. She was a sucker for their almond-crusted French toast, which was fine by me, because they made an amazing salmon eggs benedict. Good food always made her picking on me more palatable.

I actually spent some time grooming that morning to limit the things she could find fault with. Showered, shaved, coiffed, and dressed in my blackest jeans, black pirate shirt, and black leather Chelsea boots; I was ready for a duel, or at least a morning of verbal fencing with my mother.

My mother was already seated when I arrived, sipping her flower mimosa. “Nikita,” she sighed, rising to kiss me on both cheeks. “Must you always wear the black?”

Two seconds, a record. “I like ‘the black,’ Mother,” I said, sliding into my seat.

“But you are so beautiful, and yet always, you look like you are in mourning.”

“Can I get you something to drink?” the waitress asked.

“A Bloody Mary should do the trick. Thanks.”

“I think we know what we would like,” my mother said.

“Oh, okay.”

After she took our orders, my mother started in on the family gossip. She started with my brother and his wife. Apparently, my brother had finally gotten the research grant he was after. Which, of course, meant that their plans of starting a family would be put on hold. And God knows, I wasn’t going to provide her any grandchildren.

I wasn’t in the mood to dispute the point, given the fact that last night was the closest I’d come to having sex with a live person in several years, and I knew that wasn’t going to result in offspring.

The Bloody Mary came in time for the discussion of my uncle’s kidney stones, and the food came before she could try to cajole me into going shopping with her. Thank God.

My mother cut her French toast into tiny bite size pieces. The onlooker would have thought it was to be ladylike; however, I knew the truth—she wanted to make sure each morsel was dragged through the strawberry sauce in equal proportion. Despite her lithe, dancer-like frame, which gave her the appearance of a disciplined eater, my mother was a sugar whore.

“So, this class you are teaching, Nikita, is this something you could do for a living?”

“I make a living, Mom. I write. Remember?”

“Yes, yes, you write. When will you write something I can show your
babushka
?”

I caught the waitress’s eye, and held my glass up. “You could show it to
babushka
. You choose not to.”

“Nikita, there are so many things to write about. Look at that woman who was destitute, and now she is a millionaire for those children’s books.”

“J.K. Rowling, Mom. She wrote the ‘Harry Potter’ series. I wish I had her imagination, but I don’t. I write love stories. I make a decent living. You know that.”

“Your refill, and forgive me for asking.” The waitress lowered her voice. “Are you Nikki Kay?”

Even though my mother was paying, I was leaving an extra twenty on the table for her.

“She overheard us talking, Nikita.”

“Actually,” the waitress said, pulling my latest paperback out of her apron, “I was thinking she looked a lot like the picture on the back of my book.”

I flipped the book around so my mother could see my picture on the back cover. I was wearing the same outfit I was wearing now. “Look at that, Mom, this outfit was good enough for my editor.” I turned back to the waitress.“Leave it here.” I set my hand over the book. “I’ll sign it for you.”

“It’s my girlfriend’s copy, so if you could sign it for Maryanne, that would score me a lot of points.”

“Considering that you just made my mother eat her words, I’d say we’ll be about even.”

My mother rolled her eyes as the waitress walked away. “So she recognized you. That proves nothing.”

“Let it go, Mom.”

“You cannot deny teaching is a noble profession, Nikita.”

“You do understand that what I’m teaching is writing. Don’t you?”

My hip started to buzz before my mother could say anything else. I put my hand up as I reached for my phone. I already knew it was Quinn, and I was actually grateful for the diversion.

“What did the doctor say?”

“It’s nothing.”

“But does he know what caused it?”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“And I’m going to be okay.”

“You conveyed that thought when you said nothing. Why are you being so vague?”

“I’m not being vague. I told you everything is okay.”

“What caused it? Is it normal? Will it happen again? Give me something to work with here, Quinn.”

“Why are you getting so excited?”

“Because you called me last night and wrecked my date. You could at least tell me what’s going on.”

“You had a date?” My mother perked up.

“Not now, Mom.”

“Well, I’m sorry if I ruined your date. But I was scared.”

“And I get that. But at least tell me what caused the spotting.”

“You chose to go back to New York and leave me here to deal with this on my own, so I’m dealing with it.”

“Okay, I don’t know what’s up with you, but I’m having brunch with my mom. So I’ll talk to you later.” I shut my phone off.

“Who was your date with?” my mother asked.

“Really, that’s what you took from my side of the conversation?”

My mother sat back and looked at me. “I know that Quinn ruined your date. How, I am not sure.”

“She had some spotting, and she was scared, but it’s nothing.”

“She depends too much on you.”

“She’s my best friend.”

“So you keep saying.” She stood up. “I will be right back. I must use the ladies’ room.”