Read Online Unforced Error by Michael Bowen - Free Book Online

that departed from the original score:
    Half-slips and full slips and pink satin panties,
    Black leather teddies and silken blue scanties,
    Thongs more exquisite than strippers’ g-strings—
    These are a few of my girl’s underthings
.
    Finally Quinlan, in all of his sandy-haired, muscle-rippling, Crest-commercial smiling, health-glowing magnificence approached the building. And Melissa discovered that all she’d need to draw his attention was to be a moderately attractive woman under fifty.
    â€œHi,” he said, as he spotted her by the door. “Here for the social, right?”
    â€œGuilty.”
    â€œSneak out for a cigarette?”
    â€œJust some fresh air,” Melissa said. “I don’t smoke. I’m not prissy about it, though. You go ahead if you like.”
    Quinlan flashed a rueful, ten-thousand megawatt grin at her.
    â€œLike?” he said. “I would
love
a cigarette. I would
kill
for a cigarette. But I can’t have one.”
    â€œI don’t see how it could be a health problem,” Melissa said, unsubtly admiring Quinlan’s physique, “And offhand I’d guess against religious scruples as well.”
    â€œDropped the church thing a
long
time ago,” Quinlan nodded, all lovable scamp. “Got tired of giving up adultery for Lent.”
    â€œI see,” Melissa said. The seduction had now officially begun.
    â€œIt’s the Boston Marathon,” he said. “Greatest running experience in the world. Been dreaming of it for two years. But I need to finish a qualifying marathon in under four hours to get there. There’s one coming up in St. Louis next month. I’m training for it.
Seriously
training.”
    Well, aren’t you a splendid chap?
Melissa thought, noting that this was exactly what she was supposed to think.
    â€œDaunting dedication,” she said, shaking her head in ostensible wonder.
    â€œWhat can I say? Listen, would you like to go for a drive? Ever been in a DeLorean?”
    â€œMaybe not a drive,” Melissa said. “But I would like to see the car, and it’s very nice of you to offer.”
    She had apparently hit on the only topic Quinlan cared about as much as himself, for he instantly led her over to the vehicle and raised the cover from the hood and driver’s side. He lifted the gull-wing door open, helped her into the driver’s seat, and pointed out the leather-wrapped steering wheel and knurled walnut dashboard with its impressive array of dials and gauges. Melissa did her best to look interested.
    â€œCheck this out,” Quinlan said then.
    Reaching across her and brushing her breasts, he popped open a near-invisible compartment under the dash and pulled out a thick plastic bag full of what Melissa readily identified as pot. “Plastic bag” understated things considerably. Sides many mills thick gave it a feeling of substance, and no-nonsense, heavy-duty seals secured the top. If Tiffany’s made Zip-Lok bags, she thought, they might look something like this.
    â€œPure Jamaican gold,” Quinlan said reverently, pressing a bit closer.
    â€œI hope you enjoy it.”
    â€œWould you like to enjoy some right now?”
    â€œNo, thanks.”
    â€œAre you telling me you’ve never smoked marijuana?”
    â€œNo,” Melissa said.
    â€œBut you’ve gotten all grown up and stuffy and now you’re ashamed of your naughty past?”
    â€œNo. It was something I did at a certain time in my life. Looking back on it, I think it was a mistake. But maybe a bigger mistake would have been living my life without making any mistakes. Why don’t I get out now so that you can re-stash your Jamaican gold without my brassiere getting in the way?”
    â€œNow, now, coy mistress,” Quinlan chided, as he pointedly didn’t move. “World enough and time and all that.” He closed in even more, reaching across her so that his arms framed