Men Like This. Roxanne Smith

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СКАЧАТЬ with the paper-napkin coaster. “Maybe at first. I needed a reason. Anything to make sense of what was happening. I readily accepted the easiest explanation for how my husband found the time to fall in love with Kira.”

      “He fell in love? I see now. Makes sense.”

      Her eyes went round, and she didn’t bother to try to hide her hurt. “Some best friend you are.”

      “Aw, c’mon, Quinnie. Not the affair. Never the affair. Those never make sense. Love, however, is an elemental. It’s like snow or a tsunami. Remember the last time you were in love and imagine ignoring it. You can’t. It’s impossible.”

      Quinn crossed her arms and pouted. Actually pouted.

      He didn’t want to grin because she might mistake him for laughing at her. She embodied both the adorable and the regal, as much a conundrum now as she’d been when he introduced himself hours ago.

      Laughing was the last thing going on in his head. Rather, he was on the cusp of holding something precious and had no clue how not to screw it up.

      “Blake is still a rotten bastard. No excuses. I’m only saying he can’t have loved you if he loved her. What makes him such a twat is how he didn’t set you free five years ago when he set himself free.”

      She cocked her head to one side and considered. Then she smiled. “Finally, we agree on something.”

      Shouts of last call rang through the bar.

      Forget never. It was now or the next day, or the day after that. Something of the inevitable shone from Quinn Buzzly. He had a sense of something new beginning right before his eyes.

      He stood, dug into his pocket, and threw a wad of cash on the bar. “Nonsense. We agree on a lot, you and I.” He held out his arm and looked her in the eyes. The offer was clear.

      She accepted them both without hesitation.

      Chapter Three

      “Let me see if I’ve got this right.” Emily Buzzly’s disapproval came clear as packing tape through the telephone receiver. “You slept with a strange Irish man claiming to be a famous actor because Richard took you to a nightclub and offered you champagne?”

      Quinn stared at the ceiling over the standard-issue queen-size bed and counted to three. It didn’t take. She still had a vague urge to strangle her sister. She counted to ten with marginally more success.

      She no longer recalled what insane notion had entered her mind and induced her to call Emily. She sighed.

      That was a lie. She’d awoken with a mind-numbing hangover that had her desperately grasping for the memories of the night before. They were coming back to her like a half-remembered dream. She needed to talk about Jack for him to seem real. Emily was the only person guaranteed to be awake at this hour.

      She was also the one person guaranteed to take a perfectly wonderful evening and make it sound like a plot for the next big made-for-TV movie.

      “We’re both adults here. Shouldn’t I be able to tell you stuff like this and get spared the lecture? Do you realize how long it’s been for me? Do you? I’ll tell you, Em. A year. A flippin’ year. Sex wasn’t happening for me long before Blake got found out. Chew on that for a minute.”

      Emily didn’t empathize. She wasn’t the empathetic type. “From where I’m standing, this appears to be the self-destructive behavior of a lonely and recently divorced woman who misses her son.”

      The comment set Quinn’s teeth on edge. “I can’t believe you went there. This has nothing to do with Seth. Forget it. I’m too old to explain myself to anyone, let alone you. I called the wrong person for the conversation I wanted to have.”

      “Don’t overreact.” Somehow, Emily managed to end up the offended party whenever they got into these spats. Quinn had long since given up trying to figure out how she did it. “I’m only trying to help. I don’t understand you sometimes, though. Richard is great. He’s handsome; he makes good money—”

      “You don’t say.”

      “He obviously likes you. Oh, and there’s the thing where he knows you. What’s so bad about Richard you’d prefer a total stranger?”

      Wrong with Richard? Quinn tapped her chin thoughtfully. Where to start….

      Instead of answering her sister’s question directly, she opted for painting a larger picture. “For the sake of your peace of mind allow me to explain last night through my eyes.”

      Emily huffed, but relented. “Fine. I’m listening.”

      Quinn stood from the bed and smoothed a hand over her bare knee where her cotton nightshirt had ridden up her thigh. She took a deep breath in preparation. “Let’s start from the beginning, shall we? You may have missed the part of this story where I spent the last fifteen years of my life married to a lying bastard who didn’t love me. The last five years of said marriage I spent sharing him with another woman whom he did love—you’ve met Kira?”

      “I was there.” She practically heard her sister’s eyes roll.

      Quinn paced as she got into her story. “Oh, good. We’re on the same page. Last night, four months after my divorce, I meet this guy. This sexy, charming, hilarious, totally engaging guy. We talked and talked and talked. I mean hours. He said things I have desperately needed someone to say. I’ve gone years—five years to be exact—without the things a woman simply needs to hear sometimes. I understand how men fake it to get laid. It’s kind of their thing. I learned that lesson back in high school like every other girl. The part you aren’t grasping, sister of mine, is I don’t care.”

      Quinn waited for a burst of indignation or righteousness to come through the phone line, but silence reigned. She continued. “You probably envision me laying out my sad little story and lavishing in my Irishmen’s accented pity, but it was mature. It was…”

      What was it?

      She wanted to call it magical and important. He’d even called her Quinnie. Only their dad ever called her that. She wanted to say Jack was special, but Emily’s cynicism would ruin everything and make Quinn see the truth.

      The only difference between Jack and Richard came down to success and failure.

      “Let’s say the sex was symbiotic. He wanted to get laid. I needed to get laid. We used each other, and it was lovely. Bottom line? I don’t regret last night, and you can’t make me.”

      Emily had no comment regarding her little rant. “What happened this morning? I can only imagine how awkward it must’ve been.”

      “Not awkward at all. He’d left by the time I woke up.”

      “Ha! How can you not feel used waking up alone after what you claim was some wonderful night?”

      Quinn took a steadying breath. “I asked him to be gone in the morning.”

      She was silent for a beat. “Why?”

      Quinn was too dejected to pace any longer and returned СКАЧАТЬ