211Thirty minutes of being unintentionally evasive later, Morgan ended up telling Reese everything – almost. The fact that she'd had a one-night stand with a virtual stranger wasn't exactly something she could keep a secret, considering that nearly all of their friends had seen that train as it careened zealously off the tracks.
Although Morgan would have been more than happy to pretend it had never happened, if she didn't tell Reese before somebody else did, Reese would never forgive her. Reese had that whole "friends tell each other everything" myth carved in stone beneath the tenth commandment.
Two hours later, Morgan felt she had more than done her penance for any sins she'd committed – including anything short of murder she might commit within the next ten years. She might have been able to handle shopping with Mika alone. Shopping with Reese at all ranked right up there with "cruel and unusual" punishment.
She sighed, leaned back against the leather chair she was sitting in, and called, "Reese, it's going to look the same in red as it did in black. And as it did in white." Reese tossed a different version of the shirt – this time in green – over the top of the fitting room door. "Or any other color you try on."
Reese flung the door open dramatically, slinking through it to stand sassily in front of the mirror. Frowning, she examined the red silk shell and slate slacks critically. "This is so not me," she announced finally.
Morgan slumped farther in the seat.
"What do you think?" Reese demanded, turning to face her roommate. "And where did Mika go?"
"I haven't changed my mind since you tried it on the first time in black and white. And Mika said something about Chinese water torture and chai. I assume she went to look for the latter and not the former."
"Then you like it?"
"Do you ever actually listen?"
"What?"
Morgan sighed. "Oh, never mind. Yes, I like it." She paused, considering, and then continued, "But it's something I would wear, not something you would wear. Can you see yourself leaving the house in that?"
Reese looked momentarily horrified. "Good God, you're right. I wouldn't." Tugging at the edge of the shirt, she hurried back into the dressing room. "You should buy it, then."
And that was how, many useless protests later, Morgan found herself handing over her credit card. "This is why I don't go shopping with you," she grumbled.
"Yes, and if you really didn't, you'd still be wearing clothes from the eighties," Reese responded cheerfully.
"I wouldn't fit in my clothes from the eighties."
Reese smiled angelically, patting Morgan comfortingly on her arm. "Morgan, I knew you in the eighties, remember? You haven't gotten any taller since you were ten."
It was really hard to get offended because it was true. "Call Mika, will you?" she asked as she accepted her credit card from the sales lady and refused to look at the total. A gorgeous silver and lace tank, a black handkerchief tulle skirt, a pair of winter white slacks, and a naughty but somehow elegant golden sweater had been tossed into to the mix before Reese was done with her. Yeah, she definitely wasn't going to look at the total.
While Reese wandered off to pinpoint a location on Mika, Morgan waited for the lady to hand her the receipt to sign and a pen. And tried not to feel guilty about the money she should be saving for – well, for something more important.
It took the salesperson – whose name was Jen – forever to pack up her stuff. She bit her lip and tried not to fidget, watching Reese carry on in what seemed to be her newest mime routine. Finally, Reese snapped shut her phone and came back to join her. "Mika's in the bookstore," she announced. "She said to meet her by the romances."
"Who's going to put back all the books she's picked up?" Morgan questioned, resigned. She quirked an eyebrow. "And who's going to herd her out of the store?"
Reese sighed. "Yeah, that. Well, the alphabet and I have never really been friends, so why don't I soothe the wild beast while you hide the crack cocaine – I mean, the books."
"Very funny. Where's my offensive tackle?"
"Your what?" Reese looked blank.
"Never mind. Can we get this over with? I already did my penance for today."
Sure enough, when they entered the bookstore, they found Mika seven rows back in the Social Sciences section, a stack of ten books lying haphazardly around her. Without looking up, she said, "I can't decide whether to get the one that talks about how liberals are persecuting Christianity or the one that tries to prove that God doesn't exist."
"Get them both," Reese suggested, right before Morgan smacked her. "Ow! What was that for?!"
"We're supposed to be getting her out of here without the books," she hissed. "You just told her to buy two of them!"
"Oh, shit." She prodded Mika, who was ignoring both of them, with her foot. "Hey, Mickie, do you want to go get a mocha? I need caffeine after all the money I spent."
Mika's head snapped up, and the glare she leveled at Reese could have pulverized diamond. "Do not call me Mickie."
"Oh, right. Wrong gender. Minnie, I need a mocha!"
Morgan rolled her eyes. "Reese, suicidal machinations were not in the game plan. Mika, come on, I'm starving." Mika continued to deliberate between right-wing fundamentalism and liberalism without even so much as glancing at her. "Mika, now, or I will let Santiago into your book collection."
That got a reaction. "You wouldn't!" she sulked, even as she put both of the books into her pile. "I'd never get them back… And can't you see him smirking with self-righteous condescension after he's read my books?"
"You're not buying those," Reese said firmly. She slid the books out of Mika's hands. "You already have six hundred you haven't read and no where to put them."
"I hate you," Mika said, but let Reese take them away.
She set them on a nearby table before turning back to link her arm with Mika's. "No, you don't. Stop being melodramatic."
"I might as well stop breathing," Mika grumbled.
"Don't worry, darling," Reese returned airily, "we'd never let that happen." And then, without so much as a whispered threat, she led Mika out of the bookstore and toward the direction of the car.
The coffee shop – owned by a somewhat sleazy man named Antonio – was one of the girls' favorites. It was, after all, a charming sort of sleaziness that was more of joking than offensive. They had the best sandwiches and the best variety of any of the coffee shops Morgan had been to and their chai was divine. The coffee tasted European, and even Iago could stomach it, which is why they often found him ensconced in a corner, surrounded by books and papers and all else academic.
Today was no exception.
Mika had perked up during the short ride between the mall and Antonio's, apparently forgetting that she was supposed to be sulking about the books. Morgan knew better – she was probably plotting a covert return mission sometime during the following week. She'd seen the look Mika'd given the guy behind the counter and the not-so-subtle jerk of her head toward the table where they'd left her pile.
Reese, meanwhile, remained oblivious. "Iago!" she squealed, as though she hadn't seen him in the last thirteen hours. "Querido!"
Two years, four semesters, forty-eight painful weeks, and that was the single Spanish word Reese was able to muster in a conversation. Morgan shook her head. She had no gift for languages, but Reese's inadequacy was both legendary and almost amazing.
"Is she still claiming she used up all of her vocabulary on English?" Mika asked.
Morgan just shrugged. "I don't encourage her, so I have no idea."
"Do you remember when she accidentally ordered cat in that Mexican restaurant we used to go to?"
"I try not to."
Moving toward the table, where Reese had planted herself on the only chair not covered by something of woodland origin, Morgan hefted a stack of books of the chair and half-dropped, half-eased them to the floor. Mika, looking somewhat piqued, simply sat on top of what was covering hers.
"Hey, Iago," she said. He didn't look as though he were suffering from last night's escapades. Although, to be fair, she wouldn't remember if he were drunk or not, and he probably had far more right to be eyeing her and Reese for signs of drunken debauchery.
He returned her stare for a full minute, the look on his face contemplative. "No hangover this morning, guapa?"
"Headache and nausea free," she chirped. "And starving, so pass over the menu, would you?"
Rolling his eyes, he tossed it toward her, even as Mika said, "What for? You're just going to order a 'surprise me,' anyway. Hi, Santiago."
"Hey."
"I think her sense of adventure is admirable," Reese frowned. "Don't make fun of her."
Sighing, Mika answered, "I'm not making fun of her. I'm appealing to her practical side and trying to save us all the next ten minutes of agonizing over her indecision." Paper crackled as she shifted. "Iago, what am I sitting on?"
"A copy of a signed commitment to peace and non-violent resolution," he answered absently.
"I assume you've got it backed up your hard drive?" This from Reese. Morgan hadn't even known she knew what a hard drive was.
Mika snatched the menu out of her hands. She perused it for approximately thirty seconds, slammed it shut, and smiled sweetly at Morgan. "So should I just order you a whatever?"
"I have it backed up everywhere," Iago said to Reese. "Can you or Mika grab me another café con leche, please?"
Mika stopped grinning maniacally at Morgan. "Did he just say 'please?' Come on, Reese, let's go. We need to positively reinforce this kind of behavior."
"But – hey!"
Amazing. Morgan watched as Mika marched Reese to the counter despite her protests. Reese was always elected to go to the counter to order – Morgan was watching carefully to pinpoint the exact second the server's eyes glazed over after Reese told him that she wanted mustard, not mayonnaise, but only if it was organic and didn't have any turmeric in it, and were the lettuce and tomatoes grown in pesticides this week or should she just stick with the plain tofu? Morgan was pretty sure the whole thing was an act designed to drive every waiter and waitress in the city batty, but she didn't yet have any conclusive proof.
Iago smacked her with whatever he had in his hand. "Stop watching the train wreck," he instructed. "What happened to you last night? Did Quinn get you home safely? Why was your car still sitting in Angie's driveway this morning?"
"Yes, Quinn got me home safely, but unfortunately not unmolested. Before you get huffy, it was all consensual. That should give you a vague idea of what happened to me last night, but if you want any details you'll have to channel a voyeuristic spirit or ask Quinn, because I'm not giving them to you. As for my car, it stayed at Angie's because we apparently decided the three-mile walk to my apartment would be good foreplay. I think."
She reluctantly turned away from the counter. Reese was still giving instructions on her sandwich. Mika looked ready to throttle her. Better not to be a witness in cases like this, because if Mika actually did throttle her, then Morgan wouldn't be able to testify that she'd seen anything. "Did that satisfy your spying neighbor tendencies?"
"I'm a guy. We don't have 'spying neighbor tendencies.' We have locker rooms."
"And we all want to know what you boys do in there on your own time," she laughed, winking at him. "What are you working on?"
"Paper for McAdams' class. Social movements and civil protest. I think I've narrowed it down to artistic propaganda during the Spanish Civil War or civic groups and their involvement in the Basque separatist movement."
Morgan picked up one of the nearby newspapers, which was written in the Basque language. It looked extremely unpronounceable, but she'd heard Iago do it, so she knew it must be possible. He only spoke it when he was having a conversation with his little sister, and even when plastered beyond all rational belief spoke Spanish instead of Euskara.
The product of a Basque mother and a Spanish father – which he'd assured her were two entirely different things even though they were both technically from Spain – he'd spent the first nine years of his life in the city of San Sebastián. His mother had been heavily active in one of the peace movements in the province at that time. Ironically, she'd been the victim of a car bomb after a peaceful protest at the city's main plaza.
Iago's father had packed his family up and moved straight to the United States, leaving his job at a prominent government institution to take a position at the local university. They'd been here ever since. Iago's little sister, Aitziber, was in her junior year of high school. He and Aitzy both were obsessed with all things political, cultural, and Basque.
If asked, Iago was Basque, and Spanish as an afterthought later. This wasn't uncommon, she'd learned. In a cultural identity class she'd taken, they'd discussed that a person tends to associate with the identity that is most threatened, and so the Basque identity, which was slowly being eroded from the population through migration and intermarrying, was the one that tended to be most prominent in the area. Iago had learned that early on and was no exception.
"Sounds interesting," she said.
"You would be bored to tears by this and we both know it." He set down the papers. "So you're trying to tell me this was just a one-night stand?"
Morgan rolled her eyes. "I'm not trying to tell you anything. I am telling you. It was an accident, albeit an enjoyable one. We're both adults, at least physically, and that's all there is to it."
"Guapa, you know better than that. You'll probably see him all the time now that school has started up again, unless you suddenly decide not to hang out with Braden and I."
Thankfully, Reese interrupted. "Oh, good, Morgan. Did you finally tell him how we really feel about him?"
She resumed her position perched on the edge of the chair, and Mika plopped back down on top of Iago's papers. "What?" she asked when he looked at her. "It's not like they're going to get any less wrinkly if I move them now."
He scowled at her and held out a hand. She glared back for a minute, then sighed huffily and removed the papers only to slap them in his hand. "Thank you," he said. "And what do you mean, 'how you really feel about me?'"
"We keep you around for entertainment value only. Morgan, we got you a—"
"Don't tell me!" she shrieked. Mika snickered while Reese gaped. "It's not a surprise if you tell me, now is it?"
"Or you could interrupt me and not find out," Reese finished, once she'd managed to close her mouth.
Mika was looking at one of the articles lying on the table. "Don't worry, Iago, she didn't mean it. We also keep you around because you have cute friends. You have an assignment already?"
"Hey, I'm cute," he protested.
"Methinks…."
"Save it for drama class," he scowled. "Yes, we have an assignment already. And unlike some people, I don't wait until the last day to do both my research and my paper. Some of us value our sleep and our grades."
Insulted, Morgan glanced up at him. "Hey, now. I wasn't the one making fun of you. And hasn't anyone ever told you that if it isn't broke, you shouldn't fix it?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means," Mika interrupted, "that her grade point average is still higher than yours despite her atrocious habit of procrastinating, and that doing things at the last minute is Morgan's M.O."
"M.O.?" Reese questioned.
"Mode of operation," Morgan answered. "And there is nothing wrong with my study habits!"
"Or lack thereof."
Reese kicked her under the table just as she opened her mouth to address a scathing retort. The waitress was standing next to the table with a tray of drinks, looking uncertain. "Um, who got the chai?"
Mika and Reese both pointed at Morgan. Mika's was the mocha cappuccino and Reese's the house latte. They'd even remembered to order Iago's drink. He took a sip of it, then pulled out a pack of cigarettes. "I'm going outside. I'll be back."
Reese, the future med student, frowned at him. "You know smoking is bad for you, right? You never should have started."
"I'm European. I was born smoking."
Mika snorted. "He also came out of the womb in a lounge jacket and with a drink in each fist. What's the word for that, Iago? Buitre, isn't it?"
"Oh, whatever. You're more American than European at this point, anyway," Reese said. "And I don't care what country you're from, it's still bad for you!"
Morgan calmly sat sipping her chai. She knew better than to get involved in the cigarette debate with Reese, and they were predictable anyway. She'd bet money that Iago was about to say something about how you can get cancer from anything these days.
"Everything causes cancer now, Reese," he said, the response coming like clockwork. "You can't breathe without inhaling all sorts of carcinogens."
Reese's face was turning a very upset shade of maroon. "That may be true—"
"And besides, I think I read something recently that said whether or not you'll develop cancer is predetermined by your genetic makeup, so if you're going to get it, you're going to get it."
"That doesn't mean you should help it along!"
During the ensuing pause, they sat and glared rabidly at each other.
Mika reached over the table and picked up the paper Iago had been working with. "While that may be true, if you keep fighting like this, it's more likely high blood pressure that will kill you than cancer. Iago, go have your cigarette and calm down, and Reese, try to be civil about it, okay?"
Pouting, Reese sat back and folded her arms, but didn't say anything. Iago wisely chose to keep the smirk off his face. He stood with the pack of cigarettes in his hand.
"I'll go with you," Morgan said quickly.
"Don't you start smoking, too!" Reese snapped, but subsided at the scowl Mika threw at her.
They managed to make it outside of the store without laughing, but outside was a different story. "Ay, dios," Iago gasped. "Su cara!"
"Um, what?"
"Her face," he said, accompanied by what could only be described as a giggle, although she would never say that to him. Spanish boys and their machísmo were not something to be messed with.
His lighter rasped as he lit his cigarette, the flimsy smoke the same light color as his eyes. He was attractive, she knew, when she looked at him as not-Iago – or rather, as a guy. She'd noticed it when she'd met him as a freshman, her new second-floor friend already surrounded by a group of people. Mika had come later that year, in the same biology class as Reese and the same English class as Morgan. They'd all been appropriately hateful and had bonded through the traumatic assignments the profs had bestowed them with.
"So, guapa, why did you decide to expose yourself to the 'toxic cloud of death,' as Reese so charmingly refers to it?"
"Not to encourage you, that's for sure. Mostly to reassure you that I plan to be an adult about this, and that it was a one-time thing anyway, so what's the difference?"
Iago took a long drag of his cigarette. "The difference is that I am planning on having people over tonight and I want you to be there. Carter will also be there. I just wanted to know if I needed to set the two of you up with a mediator in a sound-proof room to work out your differences. And so that the rendition of kumbaya doesn't end up being too strained. It's one of those songs you really can't fake."
"You can't sing anyway, so your rendition's already been handed its death sentence." She glared at him. "I can only promise a drama-free evening on my part. I can't promise anything for Quinn."
He grinned. "Nor would I expect you to."
She shook her head. "You're already planning on drinking again after last night? Are you insane?"
"This from the girl who claims to suffer no vile hangover effects."
She made a face at him. "And she doesn't. That doesn't mean she wants tonight to be a repeat performance."
"Careful, your other personalities are shining through. I think you just referred to yourself in third person." He almost dropped his cigarette when she punched him. "Ow! Joder, that hurt!"
"And it was no less than you deserved," she answered.
He rubbed his arm and glared at her. "Corporal punishment went out sometime in the eighteenth century, you know. So are you coming tonight?"
"Who else is invited?"
"The usual."
"Meaning…"
Rolling his eyes, he sighed. "Meaning you, Mika, Reese, Braden, Carlos, Angie, and Devon. Maybe Gina. Oh, and of course, Carter. I need that promise in writing, by the way."
"Oh, you're just too funny." Hopefully she hadn't overdone the dripping sarcasm. "I'll behave, honestly."
He flashed a quick grin at her. "Even if provoked?"
Throwing up her hands, she answered, "Fine. I won't be responsible for my actions if you don't remove all sharp or potentially dangerous weapons from the near vicinity. Can we please go inside now?"
Tossing the cigarette in the nearby vase intended for said purpose, he wrapped her in a quick hug. "That's my girl."
She spent the afternoon fretting about what would happen when she saw him. Instead of typing out her sociology essay – which she'd promised herself she'd start now instead of three weeks from now when it was due, she found herself addictively playing a mindless online game that allowed her mind to wander. It was only after she realized that the game was only a trial version and that it had been repeatedly kicking her back to the first level that she stopped.
That was three hours later.
Luckily, it was late enough that she could realistically get dressed and head over to Iago and Carlos' apartment. It took longer because she let herself agonize over an outfit. It was just a group of friends getting together at Iago's and she didn't want to overdress. They'd think she was dressing up for Quinn, wouldn't they?
God forbid. And so instead of throwing together an outfit the way she normally would, she stood in front of her closet and chewed on her lower lip. This, after she'd spent the morning shopping and had plenty of new clothes she could wear.
She finally decided on the new gold sweater and a pair of hip huggers in dark denim. Not overly dressy, but still nice. Pretty much what all of her friends would expect her to be wearing if they weren't going out to a club. She applied her makeup lightly and pinned her hair into a loose bun at the back of her head.
Morgan had never been one to run away from her problems, but rather forced herself to face them head on. The hope was that Quinn would be there when she got there. That would get all the awkwardness out of the way immediately and she could get on with her night either ignoring him or treating him like a mature human being. Right. She was still waiting to see how this one played out.
When she was done getting ready, she wandered downstairs to find her roommates watching reruns of some god awful drama that had been a huge hit two or three years ago. She'd never managed to get into it.
"I'm heading over to Iago and Carlos,'" she said, when neither of them looked up at her.
Reese put the show on pause. "Can't you wait?" she asked. "The episode's almost over."
"I'm going to walk over," she said. "You guys can just follow when it's done."
"But—"
"It's not a big deal, Reese. Just hit play. It will take you forever to get ready anyway, and then Morgan will be waiting for another two hours."
"I wish you guys would stop with that," Reese sulked. "It does not take me that long to get ready."
Morgan stifled a laugh. "Right. I'll see you guys later."
The walk to Iago's apartment was short. He and Carlos lived a mere three blocks away, but they were long blocks, and it gave her a chance to clear her head. It was still warm out and still mostly light, although the western sky had started to wear bright splashes of mango and fuchsia on the horizon.
She let herself into the apartment without knocking. Iago had lived in the same house throughout undergraduate school, although then he had been rooming with Mike. It was second nature to treat it as her own. The door creaked, so it was no surprise when the easy chatter coming from the living room stopped.
"Mo, is that you?"
"Guilty as charged," she answered brightly, suddenly wracked with nerves. Nevertheless, she moved forward into the living room, stripping off her jacket as she went. They all looked at her when she walked into the room.
"Nice sweater," Carlos said. He always noticed things like that.
"Thanks."
Quinn was indeed already there. He nodded coolly to her when she walked in, then turned his attention back to the exhibition football game on television. She got nodded greetings and grunts from Carlos and Braden.
Iago scooted over to make room on the couch. "Come sit down, Mo. You want something to drink?"
"Just a soda," she said as she plopped down next to him.
He grinned at her. "You know where they are."
She was in the process of scowling at him when Carlos asked, "Does anyone want pizza?"
A mad rush to the kitchen ensued as all four males started talking at once, debating over topics, sizes, and possible add-ons. Morgan took advantage of their absence to claim more of the couch. Arranging herself so that she was comfortable, she waited for them to return. In the meantime, she rearranged herself twice more before she was satisfied.
"Don't forget my soda," she called.
"You're going to have to move," Carlos warned as he came back in. "There is no way they'll let you have that much of the couch."
With an annoyed sigh, she shifted herself backwards just as the others entered the room.
Blood rushed to her face. She'd leaned back over the arm of the couch so that she was eye-level with the toes of Iago's boots, tugging her sweater over her stomach. After a moment of wondering how she was going to manage to drink her soda while opposing gravity, she decided it wasn't all that relevant.
"You okay down there, Morgan?"
"Why is it that if I perch upside down on the couch, everyone assumes there's something wrong with me?"
Okay, maybe she did understand. When she put it that way, it didn't make much sense to her either. Best not to let onto that, though. Maybe if she pretended ignorance, they'll chalk it up as one of her idiosyncrasies and let it be.
Or maybe not, she thought, as the world titled crazily and the earth moved. She found herself in a pile on the floor, compliments of whoever had been standing behind the couch.
She backed away, only to fall into the couch. So much for being graceful. With a sigh, she pushed herself up on the cushions and blew a strand of her hair out of her face. Quinn was smirking down at her.
"Falling at my feet now, Morgan?" The grin widened. "It must have been better than I thought."
She briefly contemplated physical harm, but the coffee table was in the way. It was one of the few real pieces of furniture Iago and Carlos owned, so she'd feel bad if it was damaged. She tried for nonchalance instead. "Don't flatter yourself, Carter. The fact that I never learned to walk has very little to do with you."
"But you weren't walking," he pointed out, "you were laid out like a virgin sacrifice across the couch."
Iago interrupted then, bursting into laughter. "Maybe a sacrifice; definitely not a virgin. Our Morgan goes through men like candy."
Thank you, Iago. She bared her teeth at Quinn. Take that, you pompous ass. Never mind that it was a gross exaggeration, or that he had it backwards.
Braden laughed, too, dropping down next to her. "Use 'em and lose 'em, right, Morgan?"
Oozing noncommittal vibes, she shrugged. "Unfortunately," she said, peeking through her lashes at Quinn, "some of them can't be bothered to stay lost."
Clearing his throat uncomfortably, Braden asked, "So what are we doing tonight?"
Quinn was still staring down at Morgan where she'd landed. "I have some ideas," he replied silkily. No one could have missed the meaning behind that statement.
Iago pretended anyway. "It better involve tequila, because that's all we have left after Angie's yesterday."
Morgan balked. "Oh, no, Iago. Tequila is a bad, bad idea."
"I guess that means you won't be dancing on the bar tonight."
"You don't have a bar," she retorted.
He rolled his eyes, but disappeared into the kitchen. She could hear him rummaging around in the kitchen, banging through cabinets and generally causing a lot of noise. The sounds halted when the doorbell rang, but it opened before he could answer it.
"I come bearing gifts!" Reese called out from the hallway. The sound of bodies colliding came only seconds later.
"Watch out, you stupid monkey!"
"I didn't mean to run into you! You're not blind either!" Iago shouted back.
Mika came into the room rolling her eyes and carrying a case of beer. She perked up when she saw the tequila. "Oh, great. We can do body shots. Reese and I brought limes."
Iago stopped yelling at Reese. He poked his head around the corner, a devilish light crinkling the corners of his eyes. "That sounds like a fantastic idea. Who wants to start?"
Everyone turned to look first at Morgan, then at Quinn.
Shaking her head, Morgan reached for the case of beer. She broke it open, taking one and twisting off the cap. "I'm sticking to beer tonight, thanks."
"No fun," Mika mouthed. Morgan ignored her.
It was three beers later before the idea was brought up again.
"Come on, Morgan," Reese whined, "everyone else has done one."
Morgan looked unperturbed. "Sorry, Reese. I'm not a lemming."
"A what?"
She shook her head. "I don't want to do a body shot."
"Come on, Morgan." Quinn's green eyes glinted at her. "Or are you too afraid?"
Her alcohol-addled mind knew this was a bad idea, but the challenge in his voice pissed her off. "Afraid of you?" She allowed the scorn to seep through her voice. "Fine. Pour me a shot."
Her brain was screaming that this was a bad idea. She ignored it, watching him pour two tequila shots nearly to the brim. The salt and limes were already on the table. He picked one up silently and handed it to her. She wanted to slap the smirk off of his face.
"You first," she said. If this was going to be a challenge, she had to know what she was up against. She picked up the lime and slipped it between her lips.
He set the tequila on the table, picked up the saltshaker, and pulled her almost flush against him. The protest died on her lips when his mouth closed on the sensitive skin on her neck, the words sliding into a soft sigh. He sucked gently, nipping at her throat and then soothing it with his tongue. When she'd wilted against him, he dusted salt across the damp area.
He smelled like something expensive, just a faint hint of cologne clinging to his collarbone. As much as she hated to admit it, she wanted him. Her eyes drifted shut just as his mouth closed softly over her throat for the second time. He didn't simply lick the salt off her skin, he struck every nerve in her body. For just a moment, he was gone, then his mouth was on hers, fighting her for the lime, teeth and lips and tongue clashing.
And then it was over.
She opened her eyes, trying to shake the vague feeling that she'd just been thoroughly seduced, to find the others in the room staring at them in something like surprise.
Braden cleared his throat and that seemed to snap the others out of it. "Your turn, Morgan. I hope you give as good as you get."
Forcing a smile, Reese added, "Just warn us if it's going to be X-rated, okay? We'll go outside for a smoke."
"Speak for yourself. I'm not missing this."
Ignoring them, Quinn smiled confidently down at her. He knew what he'd done to her, the bastard. She was still trying to get her bearings, or she would have been prepared for his next comment. "Are you sure you don't want to take this somewhere more private?"
She sucked in a breath sharply and the world snapped back into sharp focus. "I can control myself," she said coolly. "The question is: Can you?"
His eyes darkened to hunter green. "We'll see, won't we?"
Iago made a choked noise from behind her, but she paid him little attention. She licked her suddenly dry lips, stepping so that she was as close as they'd been moments before. He pressed the saltshaker into her hand, his fingertips lingering on the inside of her wrist, a simple caress that nonetheless made her shiver.
Taking a deep breath, she pressed herself even closer against him, backing him against the couch. His knees hit the seat and he fell backwards, his legs sprawled wide while she straddled him. Aside from his initial surprise, no reaction showed on his chiseled features. She settled herself in his lap, one hand coming up trace the shell of his ear and the other sliding beneath his shirt. She trailed the defined ridges of his abs before sliding to caress the sharp crests of his spine.
It was easier to reach him this way. Raising herself up slightly, she caught the lobe of his ear between her teeth, running her tongue across it before nibbling her way to the sensitive skin where his ear met his neck. She laved a hot, open-mouthed kiss across his skin, then traced her tongue to the base of his throat, pausing to suck softly as she went.
His hands had come up to grip her back, his breathing heavy in her ear. She concentrated on the strong line of his collarbone, alternating between careful nips and soft kisses. His hips jerked against hers. She finally remembered the saltshaker in her hand. Pulling herself away from him, she poured salt over his moist skin.
Those bright green eyes were glazed. Her mouth curved and before he could react, she slid a slice of lime between his lips, then ducked down to suck the salt from his neck. The shot went down smoothly. The shot glass fell from her fingers and she closed her lips around the lime, not even bothering to pull away from him, her mouth brushing against his and her tongue tracing his lower lip.
Then he did something that surprised her. Instead of pulling away, he shifted his body to the side, throwing her onto the couch and sliding on top of her, one thigh going between her own. The lime was suddenly gone, his tongue thrusting between her lips and his body pressing down on hers.
The kiss seemed to go on forever, but then Morgan finally came to her senses, aware of the choked sounds Iago was making across the room. With some effort, she pulled away.
"I win," she said.
A/N: Thanks so much to everyone who's reviewed - and please accept my abject apologies for not updating sooner! It was a rough semester and the upcoming one doesn't promise to be any better. So... No promises on when the next update will come, but I do have snippets written, so it might not take that long. We'll see.
Anyway, you guys are great, and I appreciate all the comments. Also, special thanks to Myrika and Lord Iron-Balls, who kicked my ass into writing. I should do it more often.
No individual responses this time in the interest of getting this posted. I have to get up at an ungodly hour tomorrow to go to work so that I can take the middle of the day to find a new apartment and try to get out of my old lease. I am not looking forward to this.
Enjoy (at least I hope)!
Much love,
-K
Some translations:
querido: dear
café con leche: coffee with milk
buitre: vulture, also slang for old men who hang around the bars and hit on younger women
machísmo: male chauvinism
joder: fuck