They’d left the wine bar that night well-past the tipsy stage, enough that Nic and jenny had overridden Amy’s protests that she could manage the subway just fine, instead hailing a cab and bundling her inside. She’d been shell-shocked enough still that she’d let them do it.
Two days later, the shock hadn’t quite worn off, but it was bundled with an odd but enjoyable sense of pleasure.
Jenny and Nic had obligations they couldn’t get out of while they were in New York, but they were constantly blowing up her phone with texts, either to share what they were doing or just, in Nic’s case, share terrible puns, while Jenny sent photos of dogs she saw during the day. Random, silly things.
Amy, in return, sent them pictures of the peregrine falcon she saw outside her office window, and griped about the unnamed but marked-for-death VP who was making everyone’s life hell with his absolute inability to not hit reply-all on his emails, to which Jenny responded with an increasingly creative list of ways to get rid of bodies that had Amy cackling into her chicken salad over lunch.
At no point did either of them mention the offer they’d made. It was both reassuring, and weirdly frustrating. And she knew that time was running out.
The week’s reports had just gone out, Amy punching the send button with the usual vicious satisfaction, when there was a knock on the door. She swiveled in her chair to see Becca leaning in the doorway, arms crossed and eyebrows waggling up and down.
“Okay, spill.”
Amy swiveled back to her monitor. “Spill what?”
“Spill the salacious details you have clearly been keeping from me, unless you’re going to claim your dad sent those gorgeous flickin’ flowers sitting on your desk.”
Amy felt her skin flush, and was thankful that Becca was too busy smelling the bouquet in question to notice. She was also thankful that she’d taken the attached card off before setting the flowers next to her in-box that morning.
“They’re from friends,” she told Becca.
“Mmmmm-hmm. Hon, it’s not your birthday, and friends do not send orchids for no reason whatsoever. Especially not a display that had to be that expensive.”
There were three stems set in an angled glass vase, the petals varying shades of hot pink to deep red, the stems tied with three narrow white ribbons. The symbolism was in no way accidental, and the note made that very clear. But to anyone else, it probably looked like ‘just’ a sophisticated and yeah, expensive gift.
“So come on. Do I not need to haul you around to social events after all? No, never mind, don’t answer that, I’m going to anyway. Because no matter how hot this guy is, you need options.”
Amy was torn between a sigh and a snicker.
“They’re from a woman.”
Jenny’s name had been first on the card, anyway.
“Right, right. Okay, so no matter how hot the woman, options are good.”
Amy wasn’t out in the office, exactly, but Becca had sussed her out almost as fast as Jenny had, although to different ends. “And hey, do I know her? Please tell me it’s not anyone from my department. No, we don’t have anyone classy enough to send orchids, more’s the pity. I’m not even classy enough to send orchids.”
“No, they’re not from the office. And yes, just friends.” Because Becca was one of her best friends, and because Jenny felt the burning urge to share with someone, she added, “for now.”
“Yeah, you may think so, but she doesn’t.” Becca tapped the petals of one flower, and watched it quiver a second before stilling.
“Come on. Out of the chair. Lunchtime, and something not eaten at our desks. I promise I won’t ask anything about your mysterious sugar-mamma.”
“Can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Gotta finish this,” and she gestured at the pile of papers in her inbox, then at the screen. “Got a date tonight, and I need to get out of here on time..”
“With orchid-girl?“
And her husband, Amy thought, but only nodded.
“Fine. Fine,” Becca said. “But I will expect details tomorrow. And Amy?” When she looked up, Becca nodded her head toward the flowers. “For that kind of lead-in, you kiss with tongue.”
“Get out of my office,” Amy said, tossing a pencil at her. “Go, shoo.”
When Becca left, closing the door softly behind her, Amy reached into her desk and pulled the card out again.
“Pink is friendship. Red is passion. But you probably knew that already.”
She pressed her palms to her cheeks, willing her skin to cool down, but that thought just made her think of silky-soft petals being dragged feather soft across her body, and that did not help at all.
Intrigued, Nic had said. Yes, she was very definitely intrigued.
“You two are way too good at this game.” And it was working. Or something was, because she absolutely was thinking about…that. But they were leaving tomorrow. Dinner with them tonight and then…. And that was all the thinking she had left.
“It’s not like Minneapolis is on the moon,” she told herself, forcing thoughts of flowers, flower petals, and skin back into the not-at-work box in her brain and turning back to her computer screen. “If you want to see them again, you can.”
She ended up working past 5pm despite eating lunch at her desk, sprinting for the elevator at 5:20 and fast-walking to the subway, ducking around slower-moving pedestrians and promising any gods who would listen whatever they wanted that there were no holdups on the line tonight. Someone must have been listening, because she made it home without incident. But that still only left her half an hour to scrape off her office mode and get into date-mode.
“Why are you panicking,” she asked her reflection in the mirror, after pulling out and rejecting three different outfits. “You’ve been in work clothes both times they’ve seen you. They’re not going to expect you to break out the glam girl.”
Not that she couldn’t. If she wanted to. You didn’t work with Pretty People and not learn a few things.
And she kinda wanted to. To send them home with that as their last memory.
“You’re not leading them on,” she told her reflection, picking up the eyeliner and studying her face intently. “You were totally up front about everything. And they know you’re not going home with either one of them tonight.”
But it wasn’t just ‘either one of them,’ was it? It was both of them. And she got the distinct feeling that it wasn’t “one and the other watched,” either.
They both wanted her. Together.
Amy finished with her eyeliner and blinked once, experimentally.
She’d never even thought of a threesome before. Well, not seriously. But once the idea had been raised, it was hard to get out of her mind. How did it even work?
They’ll show you, a quiet, snarky voice in her head said, and she felt her cheeks heat again.
Jenny was smart, and funny, and had a smile that made Amy want to get a little dirty, no lie. And Nic…she felt good around him. Safe-good. She hadn’t hesitated to flirt with him, hadn’t worried what he’d think, or how she’d fuck it up. And after, Jenny had asked if she could hug her goodbye, and she’d said yes. Both of them had hugged her. And it had felt nice.
Mascara, blusher, and lip pencil and gloss went on in thoughtful silence.
She’d tried one night stands before. They’d all been disasters. But with three…. If the sex didn’t work for her, they’d still have each other. And the thought of watching them…
She didn’t know if watching would do it for her, but she didn’t know it wouldn’t either. There was only one way to find out, probably, and—
A beeping from the kitchen broke her from her thoughts, and she swore. She was going to be late!
The place she’d suggested wasn’t too far from her apartment, so she decided to walk rather than risk the subway or a late-rush-hour cab. When she turned the corner, they were waiting for her outside the restaurant, huddled together against the wind coming off the East River.
“Crazy people, why are you waiting outside?”
“We’re from the Midwest,” Nic said. “This is nothing.” She doubted that, based on the way they were both shivering, but said nothing as he reached for the door, holding it open for the both of them.
When the hostess took their coats, the warmer air inside slowly defrosting them, Nic gave a low whistle. “Your new nickname is Legs McGee, because OhEmGee look at those legs.”
Amy scoffed, and looked at Jenny in despair. “You let him go outside with pickup lines like that?”
Jenny made a helpless gesture. “I’ve tried, trust me, I’ve tried. He insists they’re effective.”
“They really aren’t.”
They totally were.
“But he’s right,” Jenny went on, giving her a once-over. “OMG indeed. Please tell me you don’t wear that skirt to the office because I might just have to give up the freelance life for a 9-5.”
The skirt in question was a grey pinstripe flannel, not particularly glam, nothing out of the ordinary except for where it ended almost four inches above her knees. She’d had to practice sitting down when she first bought it, to make sure she stayed street-legal. A little black sweater, v-neck and cropped at the waist, with sleeves pushed up to show off her forearms, finished with low-heeled pumps, and while Amy wasn’t vain, she kept herself in good enough shape to show off a little.
“Not so shabby yourselves,” she said, turning the once-over back on them. Unlike the jeans and sweater he’d been wearing the other night, Nic had on a dark blue suit, pale blue shirt open at the neck, while Jenny wore an A-line dress in dark green that made her skin glow like cream.
“Not ashamed to be seen with the hicks from the Midwest?”
There was more than one question there.
“I think you both could teach New York City a thing or two,” Amy said, and then blushed when Nic chuckled, low and dirty. “And there’s no way to back out of that one, so yes, I’m sure you could teach that too and can I get a drink now, please?”
Marianne’s was just on the too-old side of trendy and startling to slide into ‘neighborhood watering hole.’ Amy had been coming here semi-regularly since it opened, and the bartender nodded a greeting when she slid up to the bar and leaned on the wooden counter.
“Hey Gabby.”
Gabby finished putting a bottle back in the refrigerator and turned back to face her new customers.
“Well, well, well, look what the dyspeptic cat dragged in.”
Amy made a face at her. “Give me a break, life’s been crazy. Make me something to make me forget reimbursement forms even exist.”
Gabby was five feet ten inches of Dutch muscle, with the face of a Miss America pageant finalist, and the best damn bartender Amy had ever met.
She put together a cocktail and slid it onto a coaster in front of Amy. “Introduce me to your friends?”
She hesitated, then waved a hand between them. “Gabby, this is Jenny, and Nic.”
“Jenny and Nic, what’s your pleasure?”
The elbow she saw Jenny put into Nic’s ribs made him wince, and clearly change his answer halfway out of his mouth. “An old-fashioned, please.”
“And a Malbec, if you have it,” Jenny answered.
“Wine? You’re going to insult the bartender,” Amy said, accepting her drink from Gabby. “She’s an absolute wizard back there.”
“There are nights to go all out, and there are nights to pace yourself,” Jenny said, and then gave Amy another once-over. This time Amy couldn’t pretend the other woman wasn’t imagining her out of her clothes. “What’s that you’re drinking?”
“A Bijou. Try it?”
Jenny reached for the glass, but Amy extended it toward her, raising her eyebrows expectantly. Taking the bait, Jenny bent her head forward and touched her lips to the rim of the martini glass, taking a delicate sip, her eyes never leaving Jenny’s.
“Oh.” She sounded a little surprised, then bent her head and took another taste, her tongue passing over her lips after she swallowed, as though tasting the flavor. “That’s nice. What’s in it?”
“Dry gin, sweet vermouth, and green Chartreuse. I like them ’cause they’re not too sweet.”
Jenny smiled, just the hint of a curve at the edge of her mouth. “And you don’t want a lot of sweet?”
Amy, who actually hadn’t intended the innuendo, accepted the fact that tonight was just going to be like that, and ran with it. “Just enough to soften the bite,” and she took a sip of her drink, turning it so that her lips touched the faint stain of lipstick Jenny had left behind before turning back to the bar.
“The two of you are going to kill me,” Nic said, putting his credit card down before Amy could reach for her wallet. “Nah-uh,” he said, when she looked at him in protest. “Cater to my delicate masculine ego and let me?”
“It’s easier just to say ‘thank you, Nic,’” Jenny said, reaching for her glass of wine with a nod of thanks to Gabby, who wasn’t even making a pretense at not watching them. “He’s a praise slut.”
“I’d object, but it’s not a lie.” His eyes crinkled at the edges with laughter, even though his face was solemn. “The trick to getting me to do anything you want is telling me I’m a good boy.”
Amy managed not to choke on her drink, but only just. It should have sounded ridiculous. Nic was thirty-nine, a year older than her, and definitely not a boy. But his mouth quirked up as she studied him over the rim of her glass, and he gave a half-shrug, not the least bit abashed. “I didn’t order my kinks, they came with the base model.”
Doubt thumbed its way into her brain again. “You’re going to find me incredibly boring.”
“First of all, impossible,” Jenny said, moving into her personal space just enough to be obvious. She was wearing a floral perfume, something light and spicy, like carnations, and Amy fought the urge to lean in closer and sniff her skin, to find the points where she’d applied it. “Second of all, unlikely, since we don’t like boring people, and we like you. And third of all, in that context don’t say boring. Say enticingly ready to learn.”
For all that they’d been texting constantly, for all that the flowers had definitely sent her thoughts wandering in a NSFW direction again, Amy was taken by surprise by the flush of warmth in what Becca referred to as her fun lady-bits. And not in the “the body has needs, get out the batteries and deal with it” way, either. This was decidedly directed.
Something about her expression must have given her away, because Jenny chuckled, and leaned forward until her face was inches away from hers, gaze dropping to her lips. Amy held still, then let her mouth curl upward in invitation.
Kissing was nice. Touch, tease, the gentle suck-and-bite action; Amy hadn’t been a fan before, but Jenny was good at it, keeping the touch gentle but firm, soft without being messy. Perfect acceptable for a mid-date kiss in public.
But the warm, masculine hand at the small of her back, sliding up to curl around her right shoulder, reminded her that this wasn’t just a pas des deux.
And that, probably, should not happen in the middle of a public bar, not even in New York. Especially not one she planned to come back to.
She broke away, one hand reaching up to touch the hand on her shoulder to let him know it wasn’t him that interrupted anything. Jenny was staring at her, lips parted, and a flush on her pale cheeks that gave Amy her own flush of satisfaction. She’d put that there.
“You’re going to have to work a little harder for it than that,” Amy said, and took another sip of her drink, only thankful that she hadn’t dropped it, and that her hand wasn’t shaking noticeably.
Hooboy. Who was this person, what had she done with the old Amy, and could she keep this model, instead?
Nic was having a very good night. He and Jenny had been together for a long time. They knew how to invite a new partner in, how to gauge interest and offer guidelines without anyone feeling awkward. He was more than comfortable letting Jenny take the lead, making the first move and, usually, getting the first action. Watching was fun, too, especially when they were as pretty together as the two of them, Amy’s dark curls and Jenny’s honey blonde, cocoa and cream skin sliding against each other when their hands touched, and their hands were touching a lot tonight, fingers to fingers, or stroking a cheek, trading glasses to try each other’s drinks, and Jesus, Amy having Jen sip from her glass had been unexpectedly hot. He might have a new kink he hadn’t known about.
He hadn’t expected Amy to play as strongly as she was, honestly. Unlike the previous night, they weren’t tucked into a dark corner where nobody could see them. The bar area was crowded, lingering after-work groups and arriving pre-gaming partiers flowing around them, their own little bubble of space off to the side of the bar. But he certainly wasn’t going to point that out, or do anything that might make her self-conscious!
And he wasn’t being left out; Jenny had an arm around his waist, keeping him firmly grounded, and Amy touched his arm when she was making a point, her fingers pressing and lingering more than casually. But he wanted to touch, too. Wanted to lick the dot of sweat forming under Amy’s ear, slide his hand against her thigh, up under that short skirt, and discover if she wore cotton or silk. Wanted to drop to his knees and inhale her while listening to the noises Jenny could drag from her throat.
He smiled into his drink, enjoying the surge of desire that came with anticipation, letting himself imagine only to a point and then pulling himself back, over and over again. Amy wasn’t certain yet. Probably nothing would happen tonight. Amy would go home alone, they would go back to their hotel, and pack up to leave in the morning. They’d keep in touch, texting and video chatting, keep wooing her until she decided yes or no.
Or….
A swarm of visuals attacked his brain all at once, and he almost groaned, shifting his body so that his dress slacks weren’t too obviously tented. Immediate gratification had a lot to recommend it. The slow, uncertain tease of anticipation was still hotter than hell, for him. He liked the chase, when everyone was on the same page of the book on how it should end. But this? This was maybe going to kill him.
“You hungry?” Amy asked.
He couldn’t help it, he leaned in and leered. “Starved.”
Jenny thwapped him on the arm, cracking up. “Dinner, big bad wolf. Got a preference?”
He started to make another wiseass comment, but realized that he was, actually, starving. And he definitely needed to get food in him, to deal with the two cocktails he’d just downed way too fast.
“This is going to sound horrible, considering how dressed up we are,” he started, “but we’re in New York…”
“And?”
“Can we get pizza?”
“Best. Idea. Ever. This place is amazing.”
Amy had lit up after he’d suggested pizza, claiming that she knew the very best place just a few blocks away. Nic’d had a moment of doubt when she dragged them into a tiny storefront pizzeria, barely large enough for the four battered plastic tables opposite the counter, but the smell had been amazing, and she had been right, their pies were out of this world.
“No wait, fold it over like this.” Amy was showing Jenny how to hold her slice so that none of the cheese dripped off the incredibly thin crust. She imitated Amy’s actions, then took another bite, her eyes closing in warm cheese bliss.
They were the only ones in the place, way overdressed, but the two workers behind the counter acted like they were no more unusual than the three jeans-clad teenagers they’d passed on the way in. He supposed they weren’t; New York didn’t blink an eye at anything, and a trio of thirty-somethings sharing a pie with a little more hands-on gusto than most probably didn’t ping anyone’s radar.
God, he loved this city. Not enough to live here, but every visit was a delight. And this one far more than expected. Even if nothing happened tonight, physically, they weren’t going to let Amy slip away. She had a spark to her, a sweet bite to her humor and a subtle but fierce turn to her mind, that worked so well with Jenny’s mischief and his own admittedly needy flirtations, it was almost as if —
He closed his eyes, annoyance and humor shoving at each other like petulant five-year-olds.
Not just right for them. Perfect.
“Be careful what you ask for.” The first rule of scrying. And he’d thought he was being careful, avoiding words like ‘need’ or ‘want’ that could be so easily misconstrued or twisted.
“What?” Jenny was staring at him; he hadn’t realized he’d said that out loud.
“Pizza. Be careful what you ask for, because I am stuffed.”
“That’s what she said,” Amy murmured, and widened her eyes in mock shock, as though someone else had used her mouth to say that.
“Nic’s been known to say that too,” Jenny said artlessly.
“Izzat so.” Amy’s eyes narrowed, and she studied Nic, her lips slightly pursed.
“A gentleman never tells. Especially on himself.”
Amy blinked, then her gaze softened, and she tilted her head, looking at Jenny, then back to him. There was something going on in her head, but be damned if he knew what.
“Was time’s your flight tomorrow?”
“Two-forty,” Jenny said. “Out of LaGuardia.”
“Weekday afternoon, not too bad. You’ll need to be out the door by noon, to be safe. LGA is unpredictable as hell, but it’s not the rotating disaster of Kennedy.” She seemed to be calculating something more than timetables, and Nic felt Jenny’s hand reach under the table, searching for his own. He clasped her fingers and squeezed once lightly, warning.
It had to be Amy’s decision.
She looked up at them from under dark lashes, impossibly innocent. Impossibly perfect. “Does your hotel room have a nice view?”
They hailed a cab on the street outside, and Nic handed his ladies in before sliding onto the bench next to them and giving the driver their destination. Amy was between them, and when he glanced sideways he saw that Jenny already had her hand on Amy’s left knee, fingers sliding slowly up her thigh, under that gorgeous, thrice-damned skirt. Amy’s eyes closed and her head tilted back, resting against the seat, hands lax at her side, but he was close enough to see the pulse thumping wildly in her neck. He left Jenny to her games, and bent forward, finally licking that spot under Amy’s ear he’d been eying all night, scraping up salt and perfume and the warm taste of female flesh, so different from the scratchier skin of male partners. She tasted so sweet, he had to have more, his mouth moving from under her ear to her chin, then the vee of her sweater where the shadow of her breasts teased him, rising and falling with each breath.
“Mmmmm.”
Her voice was whisky and honey, and he just wanted to pour it down his throat. But not here, not with a driver no doubt watching them in the rearview mirror - he could put on a show, but that wasn’t his preferred thing, and certainly not for a stranger. So he only gave a promissory kiss to her neck and pulled back, resting his own hand on her knee and clearing his throat in a gentle cough to remind Jenny that they needed to wait until they got to their hotel.
“You’re no fun,” Amy murmured, and he grinned at her half-dazed expression, sliding his arm around her shoulders. “Darling, you are so very wrong.”