After she’d hung up the phone it had taken her half an hour to calm down to the point where she’d be able to face Quinn calmly and cheerfully.
Her stomach did a little flip. There he was, sitting at the long wooden bar, one empty seat beside him in the otherwise crowded room. Temperatures had flirted with fifty degrees that day; everyone seemed to be emerging from winter hibernation, restless for spring.
“Hi there.” She climbed onto the chair next to him, keeping her smile bright, hoping he couldn’t tell she’d been crying. They’d settled into a comfortable weekly routine of meeting for drinks and dinner. At first she’d been surprised he’d want to spend that much time with her, especially on Fridays, a prime date night. Before they’d become friends, they’d both been casual regulars at the bar, and Marie had been fascinated by his success with women. His relaxed charm hooked ‘em nearly every time. The fact that he looked like George Clooney didn’t hurt.
“Marie.” His welcoming grin always turned her a little giddy. She knew better than to react that way to Quinn, but her inner whatever-it-was insisted on rebelling. Luckily, she’d stopped short of falling seriously since he’d told her how much she reminded him of his sister.
Pop goes the ego …
“What are you drinking tonight?” Not that she needed to ask. “Oh, gin martini, something new and different.”
“Why mess with perfection?” He lifted his glass to toast her. “What’ll you have? My treat tonight.”
“Your treat?” Marie hung her purse on a hook under the bar. “Why, did something good happen?”
“No, actually, something bad.”
“Oh, no.” She turned with concern. He didn’t look upset—he didn’t look anything but gorgeous, as usual—but in her experience men could hide their feelings better than women. “What is it?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Uh.” Her eyebrows shot up. “You don’t know?”
“No, but I hope you’ll tell me.”
“Quinn, how many of those have you had?” She touched the base of his glass. “Something bad happened to you and I’m supposed to know what it is?”
“Not to me.” He flagged Joe, the dreamy-eyed bartender, on her behalf. As independent and competent as Marie was, moments of being taken care of like this were delicious. “Something bad happened to you.”
Marie gaped at him. “What gave me away?”
“You were late, you’re moving more slowly than usual, your body language is tense and you’re wearing heavier makeup around your eyes.”
“Sherlock, you impress me.”
“Thank you.”
“Marie, good to see you.” Joe put a coaster on the bar in front of her, his arm muscles ripped and rippling. He must spend half his life in a weight room. “What’s it going to be?”
“How about a Manhattan?”
“Manhattan it is.” He gestured between Marie and Quinn. “Will you want to order food now or wait awhile?”
“Are you hungry, Quinn?” Marie put a hand to her stomach, still churning from her recent fury and frustration. “I can hold off.”
“Same here. We’ll wait, Joe.”
“No problem. Your drink will be right up, Marie.” He tapped the bar smartly and turned to reach for a bottle of bourbon.
“So you get to decide.” Quinn’s touch was gentle on her forearm. “Do you want to talk fun stuff to cheer you up or do you want to tell me what happened?”
Marie bit her lip. She hadn’t been planning to spill, but the idea of unburdening appealed to her. Her ex had this way of making her question everything she knew to be right and true. “Grant called.”
“Oh, that sounds uplifting.”
“Like a too-tight WonderBra.” She rubbed her aching forehead. “He wants me to return the ring he gave me for our tenth anniversary, when the marriage was already over but I didn’t know it yet, so he can give it to his second wife for their fifth.”
Quinn’s easy, sympathetic smile turned to granite. “He what?”
“He figured I’d want to get rid of it, I guess.” She laughed at her ex’s typically insensitive and self-centered logic. “I see his point, but—”
“Are you kidding me? What point? He has none.” Quinn looked murderous and James Bond tough. “A gift is a gift. Not a loan, not a ransom and not a weapon. Your ex has the emotional IQ of a clam. Except for all I know, clams are very empathetic, and he doesn’t even rate that high.”
She managed a smile, relieved when Joe put her drink down and she could take that first icy gulp. The intensity of Quinn’s anger was thrilling. Brave knight defending the damsel in distress. Thrilling and dangerous, because against her best instincts, that level of passion had her wondering how much this sexy knight would summon for his real lady. “Thank you, Quinn.”
“I hope you’re furious as well as upset.”
She shrugged. “I don’t wear the ring. I hate everything it represents, but it is beautiful. Maybe it should be enjoyed by someone.”
“Then give it to Goodwill. Sell it on eBay.” He gestured too hard with his glass and splashed gin on the bar, but didn’t appear to notice. “Don’t let that cheap, cheating bastard have it back.”
Oh, Quinn. Marie took a turn with a comforting hand on his forearm, chiding herself for thinking his emotions had everything to do with her. Quinn had plenty to be furious about from the contents of his own baggage cart. His wife had cheated on him, married the other man, cheated on him, too, married the third one…. Who knew how long that twisted cycle would go on? “You’re absolutely right. I shouldn’t even be considering sending it back to him. In some ways it would be a relief to get rid of the thing, but then I’d torture myself thinking of her wearing it.”
“Unless …” Quinn turned slowly toward her. As always, she had to clear her mind when he set that wicked grin on full blast.
“Uh-oh, what’s that look for?”
He put down his drink and startled Marie by cupping her chin to bring her head closer, putting his fine, fine lips next to her ear. “Unless you send the ring directly to his wife with warmest wishes.”
“Why would I do that?” Shivers had gone through Marie’s body that had less to do with the vibrations of his deep voice and more to do with him being so close and touching her face.
Crazy girl.
“So you can make sure she knows where it came from and what kind of truly special and generous guy Grant is to want it back, just for her.”
Marie giggled, her bad mood dissolving in the masculine scent of his aftershave and the titillating thrill of his attention. “I think imagining that situation is all the revenge I need, at least right now.”
“Wise woman.” He turned back to his drink.
“Thanks, Quinn. It helps to be able to share this with someone who understands.”
“Believe me, sweetheart, I do.” He leaned over, pressing his shoulder to hers.
The intimacy became too much; Marie had to move away, reminding herself that he was a compulsive player. Reminding herself how lucky she was to be able to claim his friendship for the past couple of months, a relationship