Chapter 5 Cleavage and Cardigans #2
“No,” Glyma blurted, making Quin jump, “if anyone needs to apologize, it’s me.
I practically molested you. In my mind, I did.
We did a lot of deplorable things on that balcony.
All of them consensual, I promise.” Quin made a choked sound, and Glyma winced.
“Crap, that’s not helping, is it? I told myself I wouldn’t make this weird; it’s why I’m holding my breath. ”
Like she was having trouble following, Quin leaned forward, brows furrowing deeper. “Pardon?”
“You smell really good,” Glyma admitted on a bit of a whine, “and I wanted to avoid making things worse, so I decided to hold my breath as long as possible so I wouldn’t smell you and get any ideas. But now I’ve talked too much, and I’m out of air.”
She gasped in a breath, splaying her hands when her senses flooded with smoke and char and burning cherry wood. “Yup, you still smell amazing. I love that for me.”
“Oh,” Quin said, blinking through her surprise.
“Sorry, I’ve made you uncomfortable again, haven’t I?”
“No, I…” Scratching the back of her neck, she pointed at the thermostat with a sheepish expression.
“I turned the air conditioning colder by ten degrees in hopes you would get chilly, and I could offer you a cardigan.” She waved at the black cardigan folded over the seat across from Glyma.
“I was afraid you’d wear another one of those lovely sundresses, and I’d get distracted by your bare shoulders.
” She covered her face with her hands. “Oh gods, I’m a man! ”
Glyma snorted. “Oh, sweetie, no, you’re not. If you were a man, you’d say you want me to wear the cardigan to cover my cleavage.”
Quin’s head shot up. “I do want you to cover your cleavage. It’s even more distracting than your shoulders; I just didn’t want to be crude.”
“Oh, okay.” Arm outstretched, Glyma made grabby hands at the cardigan. “I can definitely wear that cardigan if it makes things easier for you.”
With an embarrassed huff, Quin grabbed the cardigan and shoved it into her waiting hand. “If I could have casually offered a parka, I would have.”
The cardigan was soft and smelled even more like Quin, and Glyma hesitated. “Is this yours?”
“Yes, but it’s clean,” Quin assured her.
“It still smells like you,” Glyma whispered, and Quin’s shoulders fell.
“I didn’t think of that.”
“That’s fine. I bet I can borrow a sweater from Marci.”
A rather unhinged sound burst from Quin along with a rush of smoke from her nostrils. She even stamped a hoof under the table, and Glyma froze halfway out of her chair. For a moment, she swore flames flickered in Quin’s red pupils, and she lowered herself back into her seat.
“You know what, this cardigan is fine. Perfect, actually.” She shoved her arms into the almost-too-tight sleeves and buttoned it up as high as it could go.
The buttons stretched rather obscenely over her well-endowed chest, but she did her best to flatten the fabric as she inspected herself.
“I kinda feel like a librarian. I just need some glasses.”
Quin gave her a onceover before her expression glitched and her eyes widened. Her energy crackled against Glyma’s aura, and they both squeaked.
“Okay, so you’re into that,” Glyma said.
“Oh my gods,” Quin lamented.
“Hey, that’s fine. I never kink shame. Librarian roleplay is more common than you think. I’ve done it loads of times.”
“Oh my gods!” Quin cried, and Glyma started to panic.
She fiddled with the top button. “Cardigan off?”
“But the cleavage,” Quin whimpered.
She dropped her hand to her lap. “So, cardigan on?”
Slumping in her seat, Quin threw up her hands in surrender. “I don’t know.”
She wanted to reach across the table and place a comforting hand on Quin’s arm, but physical contact probably wasn’t helpful right now. “I just want to do whatever makes you feel less sexually frustrated.”
With the most cynical tone imaginable, Quin leveled her with a dry expression and said, “I’m a lesbian about to marry an asexual man because I’m a coward caving to my parents’ expectations. I think it’s safe to say I’m always sexually frustrated.”
“That makes me very sad,” Glyma confessed. “And it also kind of makes me want to give you an orgasm.”
Quin facepalmed with a groan.
“You know, to help ease your frustra—” Quin held up a palm and Glyma hesitated, then finished the word anyway, “—tion.”
A knock at the door startled them both, and Quin spun in her chair as the door to the conference room opened and Marci popped her head in. “Is everything okay? I thought I heard shouting.”
“We’re fine,” they both said simultaneously.
Marci’s gaze ping-ponged between them. “O-kay.”
Quin ran a soothing palm over one of her curling horns. “Thank you, Marci.”
“Sure,” Marci said, smiling shyly at Glyma. “Are you sure you didn’t want a sandwich or something, Glyma?”
“Thank you, Marci!” Quin said more forcefully, and Marci ducked out the room with a weak, “Sorry, Quin.”
Silence settled awkwardly between them as they avoided eye contact.
Quin straightened an already straight pile of paperwork.
Glyma fidgeted with the buttons of the cardigan she was still wearing.
Since Quin had actually dropped the temperature, she was happy to keep it on. It was quite chilly in this room.
“Shall I—” Quin said at the same time Glyma said, “Maybe we should—”
They both fell silent, waiting for the other to speak. Glyma was the first to try again, “I think we’re making this harder than it needs to be. We’re both adults who just happen to be attracted to each other. That happens all the time.”
“It does,” Quin agreed.
“But we don’t see people having orgies in the streets,” Glyma tittered.
“Thank gods for that,” Quin said.
“Well, we clearly disagree on what makes a good Friday night, but we’ll put a pin in that. What I mean is,” Glyma said, ignoring Quin’s worried wince, “we have self-control. We can keep things professional.”
Quin nodded. “So professional.”
“Exactly. We can do this. I believe in us. We’ll just be two non-strangers who are attracted to each other.”
“Sharing a cigarette,” Quin finished, and Glyma laughed.
“Yeah.” Rubbing her hands together, she scrutinized the different papers. “So, Miss Duboi, where do we start?”
Relief loosened Quin’s features as she slid two files across the table. “Shall we start with the business plans, Miss Aryti?”
“Sounds good to me.”
As promised, Quin had drafted two different business plans—one for if she pursued a location within the Pentagram, another for Purgatory.
She’d researched the best banks for Glyma to apply for a business loan, and she’d even printed out the applications.
She had notes to help prep Glyma for her interview with a loan officer and the paperwork needed for her to officially incorporate.
“I was going to before,” Glyma said when Quin asked if she had submitted the paperwork already. “But it felt weird to when I don’t have anything ready.”
“Incorporating your business is the first step, and I suggest you do that immediately. The bank will want to see your business on file.”
“Right. Okay.”
As Glyma filled out the paperwork to incorporate her business, Quin opened her laptop and started typing. They worked like that until Glyma had finished signing her name on the dotted line. Then Quin added another document, then another.
Together, they filled out several loan applications so they would be ready for submission the moment Glyma received her business tax I.D.
Then they went through the locations Quin believed had the most potential for success.
Purgatory was among them, and Glyma’s stomach bubbled with excitement anew.
“I hope you don’t mind, but Waryn made some calls on my—your—behalf.
He’s a realtor, so he was able to get some behind-the-scenes information on some of these locations,” Quin said as she scrolled through the different rental spaces.
“These two are getting lots of attention. They’re both prime spots and have a high chance of success when it comes to foot traffic, but you’ll have a lot of competition.
You may even have to bid to pay a higher rent in order to make yourself more appealing to the rental company who owns it. ”
“Bid to pay higher rent?” Glyma squawked, and Quin nodded empathetically.
“That has become more common as the population rises and housing is harder to come by. It started in the residential sector, but it’s already permeating commercial spaces.”
“But I already can barely afford the rent they’re asking for, and that’s only if I get a business loan approved.”
“I know,” Quin commiserated.
Glyma’s excitement gave way to crushing disappointment, and she was both shocked and elated when Quin placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.
Even through the cardigan, she could feel the heat of her, and that wanton, never-satisfied need in her gut perked up its ears.
Throughout her life, she had learned control, she had learned moderation, yet a simple touch from this woman threatened to dismantle her completely.
She’d heard rumors of these types of connections, of meeting someone whose soul sang to another’s, a melody only they could hear. They went by different names. Sirens. Fated mates. Mirrors. For Incubi, they were called soul singers, and to find your very own was rare and precious.
They were just stories, of course. Folklore. The reality of such connections had faded into legend, along with the gods of old. Soul singers were myth the way Helhunds and Drogyns were, lost to the passage of time and only spoken of in awed whispers under the cover of blankets or around campfires.
So Quin couldn’t be her soul singer. She just couldn’t.
Right?