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"You hate me, don't you?" Jimmy Quid, the world's most pathetic punk rocker, helpless and not dying after all, lay limp and breathless in his bed, with nothing wrong with him worse than a case of measles.
Amber helped save his life. Bitterness surged up in her throat. Not that it did her any good, in the end. Not that House could recognize someone who'll be right more times than he'd bother to imagine, if only he hadn't demanded that she lose on his terms. Amber might have spent two months jumping at his every whim, but nobody, not House and not anyone else, would ever convince her she should want to lose. "Yeah," she whispered, hating him, knowing it was only because it was easier than hating herself.
"I don't care."
Of course he didn't. Her back to the patient's bed, shoulders set and stiff with brittle resentment, Amber stared out the window. The light was going; soon she'd be forced to confront her own reflection in the pane. Before that happened, she'd be gone. She was already going. The hospital room was over-warm and wearing her fall coat only made it worse.
But what would really make anything worse? She'd lost. She--she had won the diagnosis and lost the game. She could only imagine that House was just tickled with his own cunning; she wished she could erase the memory of his damn sympathy. The regret in his voice when, by his own rules, he'd refused all along to regret anything. "What's it like?" she asked. What the hell was it like not to care? Not to give a shit that he was a loser, that he'd squandered his whole life in drugs and pointless noise.
"Means you have no regrets."
Was he mocking her? Amber twisted around, glaring, but the roughness in Jimmy's voice was a struggle to pull in enough oxygen, not laughter. Not laughing at her. Before tonight, no one would have dared to laugh at her. She turned back to the window, examining her own ghost there, her lips tight and turned down, her gaze determinedly staring down her own recriminations.
At least Thirteen was fired too. At least that. Amber would have clawed her eyes out if she'd seen one more of Thirteen's ingenuous little smiles, her Mona Lisa innocence. Oh, she thought she was safe, Amber would have to have been blind to have missed that--and House, damn him, said he would have kept her if he could. Even at the last, Thirteen had a reason to smile.
Jimmy had fallen asleep. His breath crepitated in his throat and his hands twitched slightly, restlessly. He hitched forward into the oxygen mask every few breaths. He was fighting to breathe; fighting to live. Who was he to say that he doesn't care? He was fighting to live whether he wanted to or not. If Amber fought just as hard for what she wanted, who was he to judge? Who the hell was House?
The door hissed open behind her. Amber pulled her arms, crossed firmly under her breasts, even tighter, hands gripping her elbows. She wasn't supposed to be here, not that an orderly or a nurse would know that. Amber could bully her way past any unwary interruption and go home. Lurking at the back of her mind was the longing thought of a bottle of cheap red wine in the crappy little rack in her kitchen. If she was going to be a loser, she might as well go all out.
"Amber?"
Oh, hell no. Amber turned around, every inch cool and haughty, no matter that her eyes were burning and her throat felt like her esophagus has just collapsed from a methacholine challenge. If any tears had escaped, she wouldn't reach up to brush them away. Thirteen was hovering in the doorway, wearing a lab coat. Probably pretending she still belonged here. Amber tilted her chin up. If Thirteen wanted to pretend, then Amber would match her. "I've already told him the diagnosis," she said.
Thirteen nodded, nearly tentative. "I'm sorry," she offered.
As if that meant anything. "I'm not," Amber said. Not sorry for Thirteen, and not sorry for herself. She was furious, at House and at her own failure, but she will never feel sorry for herself. Keeping her voice light--because she didn't care, she was better than this--she tossed off, "Don't pretend you ever did anything for this job besides act mysterious."
Thirteen ducked her head, but Amber didn't catch a glimpse of that quiet, mocking smile. Amber frowned and took a deliberate step towards her, keeping her spine ramrod straight. Thirteen had gotten small in a way Amber hadn't seen before, and Amber wanted to push. Staying aware of Jimmy sleeping not three feet away, she kept her voice low and vicious. "House only saw an enigma wrapped in a conundrum wrapped in a pretty-eyed little package. Trust me, if you'd stayed, he would have solved you soon enough."
Thirteen looked up, eyes sparking anger, but she didn't say a word. She should have been getting mad, she should have been fighting back--it wasn't as if she'd ever hesitated to call Amber an idiot before. She'd lingered over Amber's mistake yesterday, when Jimmy had nearly blown his face off for a cigarette. Amber waited, already shielded against any sarcasm. The games were over. It couldn't get worse. She didn't care--and she knew, with a sudden fierce certainty, that she wouldn't regret whatever happened right now, in this room. "You're just Daddy's little girl," she spat. "That's it, isn't it? As long as he pats you on the head you don't care what happens to anybody else?"
Thirteen flinched at the words Daddy's girl, as if a shiver had overcome her, but her stare didn't waver. There was a look in her eyes, like she could see something Amber couldn't. Like she was playing a game Amber didn't know about.
Fuck that. Amber won every game, all evidence tonight aside, whether she knew them or not. She raised an eyebrow, waiting.
"Yeah," Thirteen said, dry as the Sahara and yet somehow desperately reaching for the irony that she always managed effortlessly before. "That's all I want."
Her voice said that Amber never could have figured it out on her own; and, at the same time, that Amber was wrong beyond the telling of it.
Amber stiffened. Thirteen's thin attempt at defiance was just another way of telling Amber she was right. And House wasn't the only one who'd wanted to figure out Little Miss Mystery. Damn Thirteen, but it wasn't like Amber couldn't see why House was always so interested. There was something about her, that vicious little smirk in her eyes, that simultaneously makes Amber's skin turn cold and her blood burn. How dare Thirteen defy her? How dare she presume?
Amber strode forward, her heels clicking against the linoleum, eating up the five steps between them. Jimmy was unconscious, and besides, he wouldn't care. Amber's heart squeezed in her chest like every beat was being set off by a defibrillator. "Don't bother asking him to be your daddy," she said. She barely knew why she was saying it, except that Thirteen reacted to the word, with a flinch and at the same time, an arch of her whole body as if the word itself was a live wire hooked into her sternum. Amber had always wanted to see that flinch, and the shudder was a new thing, that she needed, suddenly and deeply, in a warm pulse between her thighs.
Thirteen's jaw tightened. Whatever the moment was, whatever was between them, she was fighting it. And the room's walls were glass-bright, behind Thirteen--but what would Cuddy do--fire her? Amber wasn't about to stand here while Thirteen pretended it was merit that got her this far.
On that thought, Amber grabbed Thirteen's chin--that pouty, proud tilt. Don't care. Means you have no regrets. Rough and tight, she held Thirteen where she was supposed to be, and kissed her.
Thirteen gasped as Amber pushed for more. She was taller, strong and willing to press hard, and she was dominating Thirteen at once. Of course. Because Thirteen was nothing but a little girl, who thought she could play in the big leagues. Amber's fingernails, perfectly lacquered, rose pink, dug into Thirteen's skin. She was pale, and those marks would show up afterwards, the half-moon indentations vivid against her cheeks.
It didn't take long for Thirteen to give in. She fought, at first, but it was a petty struggle, trying to wrench away. She didn't mean it. She invited Amber's tongue into her mouth and let out that gasp again--high-pitched, oh, a whine in her throat. The kiss felt far too damn good, like being enfolded and supported on a warm waterbed. Heat rushed through Amber's veins, loosening the tight knots of desperation, pleasure rising in a wave of smugness.
She pushed away first. God, she knew she was making no sense, but if she never saw Thirteen again at least she'd have this revenge, however petty it was, for all those sideways insults and sneering glances. "Don't forget that," she said.
Thirteen's eyes were wide and shocked and infuriatingly gorgeous when she whispered, "Yes."
Amber almost laughed. So that was Thirteen's little secret? House might have been interested in her longer than it took to solve the puzzle after all. And for once, Amber was in control. She could have had Thirteen with a glance. In a supply closet, in the locker room; or, fingers moving fast and hard between her legs as she fucked Thirteen in her car in the parking lot, slick nylons between them and Thirteen's cries driving her even harder.
No. Amber smirked, standing a little taller, wishing she weren't wearing her coat so that Thirteen would get the full advantage of her sheer blouse. Thirteen wanted her. The sultry invitation was there, in the way she looked down and away, bending her head to show Amber the long line of her neck. Here, there wasn't enough time to do everything Amber wanted, because what she wanted was for Thirteen not to play at this, to give it to her because she might have seen the glimmer of tears on Amber's cheeks, because after getting fired, why the hell not?
There was a better way. Amber hated putting off whatever--whoever--she desired, but if she could have perfect instead of rough, frantic, and adequate, then she would. This wouldn't vanish. It was in Thirteen--and, throbbing and wet already, Amber knew it was in her too. But they needed room. Time. And Amber would be the one who decided how they'd get it.
Smiling, Amber stepped past Thirteen, brushing her off. Holding her head high, she ignored the smear of her lipstick, the blotch of her mascara like shadows under her eyes. What was important was the way she walked, completely in control no matter how slick she was inside her panties. She'd still meet everyone's eyes who dared to look at her, and force their gazes away.
She didn't find out that Thirteen was hired after all until a few days later. A careless word in the clinic, when Amber was collecting the last of her things.
Amber's first thought, fuelled by hot rage, was to find Thirteen and prove to her that Amber may have been fired, but she had still won. Thirteen had given in to her, and would again. If she'd forgotten what Amber could do to her, then Amber would remind her.
The first fierce bout of anger froze only a moment later. Amber still had a plan and she wasn't going to ruin it just because Thirteen had wormed her way back into the game. With a chill smile, Amber gave a graceful and nearly-sincere thank you to the clinic nurses; there were at least a few who were competent.
How the fuck had House gotten around Cuddy? Like Amber even needed to ask the question. House had Cuddy's number from day one. That didn't matter. All that Amber cared about was the hot flush of feeling that threatened to drown her when she remembered that stupid, hasty kiss. The way Thirteen had bent for her, lithe in Amber's grip. The adrenaline that had pumped through her when she'd refused to follow through, as if Thirteen's disappointment had fuelled her pleasure as much as her eagerness had.
Amber let it lie, tingling inside when she remembered, placing them perfectly in position and replaying every breath. For a few days. Then a week. Maybe Thirteen had forgotten--but Amber didn't think so. She would bet--and Amber never bet without playing to win--that Thirteen remembered every second of the kiss. That she played over those moments in her mind every time she shut her eyes. How she'd pleaded, with every sound she made, how she'd struggled, not to be on top, but to offer Amber even more.
Not that Amber had erased it from her mind, either. It was there while she did everything she needed to. She collected her severance pay, forcing Cuddy and HR into a pretty sweet deal. She cleared her locker and handed in her hospital ID. She started looking for another job--during the day.
At night, she played with her phone, bringing up Thirteen's number and then closing the screen. It was pure satisfaction deleting House's number, although she thought it might be permanently engraved on her brain. And all the other candidates, whose pagers she'd erased one by one with profound satisfaction as they proved themselves to be idiots or incompetents or just not good enough--they were gone now too. Thirteen's number remained. Amber was teasing herself as much as Thirteen, imagining all the ways she could make this happen.
Finally, a Friday, five o'clock. Amber smiled to herself, knowing, without the benefit of any mirror, that she looked sensual, predatory; she was playing to an audience of one, and thinking of broadening the stage. If House had a case, Thirteen might not answer, but House hated taking cases on Fridays. More likely, Thirteen was just getting out of work. Her phone would buzz as she was stepping into her car. She'd look at the message. Her nipples would tighten, her breath would catch--Amber had to restrain herself from sliding her fingers up under her skirt thinking about it--and Thirteen would make her choice.
The text message was simple. A time and a place. If Thirteen knew anything, she would come appropriately attired, or she'd fake it once she arrived. Amber had already thought through every inch of what she'd be wearing, and she'd see to it that Thirteen conformed.
The club was non-descript from the outside, with dark windows and a door that opened into the subliminal thudding bass beat. Conversations were nearly as low as the music; the place deadened sound, and left pockets of privacy in the darker corners with the well-worn couches. As Amber stepped inside, warmth hit her, along with the sticky scent of alcohol, the undertone of sweat. The fall night wasn't icy, but the air of the club was kept well-heated, and Amber handed her long coat over to the attendant with barely a glance for her ticket, which she tucked inside her purse.
Most of the night had been spent getting ready. It was a seduction, as much as any flirtation she might have with Thirteen would be. A long, hot bubble bath; the silken slide of a razor over her legs; the slip of stockings over her softened skin. The delicate touch of makeup, applied while she stood naked in front of the mirror, admiring her breasts, the dip of her waist.
Amber stalked deeper into the club, towards the bar. Her corset and bustier clung to her belly and breasts, an offer rather than a concealment; she wore a short, tight sheath of a skirt. Her black leather boots reached nearly to her thighs, wrapped around her legs like she was born wearing them, and added three inches to her height. She was already perspiring. She could feel the slickness between her thighs, and the arousing rub of the harness straps on either side of her vulva.
She was late. The text she'd sent to Thirteen said 10:30. If Thirteen wasn't here, well, Amber could always find somebody to fuck. Someone who'd enjoy being strapped down and punished for Thirteen's insolence. There were plenty of options. Amber could see that much even through the dim light. But as her gaze reached the bar, a smile--or nearly a smile, nothing so obvious, but it showed nonetheless--touched her lips. Thirteen was sitting on a stool, facing out towards the room, her elbows on the bar behind her, a beer in one hand. The look on her face said she'd seen it all before; disinterested, unimpressed, although her eyes followed a woman wearing barely more than a negligee as she sauntered past.
Thirteen caught the woman's eye, and at her smile, the woman changed course to join her. Amber watched for a moment from halfway across the room. Thirteen called the bartender over, and leaned closer to the woman to hear what she wanted to drink. Amber took only long enough to take in what Thirteen was wearing. A man's suit vest; suspenders over a white blouse; and grey slacks. It could look like she was playing butch, but that was not the impression that it conveyed, not in the least.
She looked young. Her confidence belied it, and it was no schoolgirl outfit, but that was the impression she managed to give. Amber trailed her fingertips over her bare thigh, just below the hem of her skirt, imagining Thirteen lifting it, touching her just where the ring of the harness fitted tight against her mons. The fact that she'd shown up was a sign. The fact that she clearly knew her way around the scene was a turn-on, one that Amber wasn't about to resist. Thirteen's usual cynicism was so plainly a facade, a defence. It wouldn't be there for long.
The boots gave Amber all the power in the world as she crossed the room. It was the walk she used every day to scatter underlings from her path. In a moment, Amber was in front of Thirteen's new friend, just in time to take the shot of Jack's from the bartender, practically out of the woman's hand. In a swift swallow, she slugged it back. Turning to the woman, Amber smirked and eyed her up and down. The competition barely earned the name, and she disappeared like smoke.
"What the hell was that?" Amber snapped the second she was gone, turning on Thirteen in a heartbeat. "Did I say you could pick up other women while you were waiting for me?"
Thirteen's breath quickened. She was trying not to show it, but her eyes were already wandering. Down to the snug cleavage that Amber's bustier enhanced, and then down to the boots. Finally, back up to the very slight stretch of smooth thigh between the boots and the hem of Amber's skirt.
"Answer me," Amber said. Thirteen's eyes on her made her even more powerful, filled her with arrogant confidence. "Or aren't you paying attention? Did you want me to leave you here alone?"
Thirteen's hand trembled. It wasn't easy to see, in the dim light, but Amber knew; she had to put her beer down. She raised her chin and met Amber's eyes, surly and defiant. "No."
Such a snotty little brat. Challenging Amber like that. "Get that smart look off your face," Amber said. Her voice was usually soft, something she used to her advantage by cutting down her opponents when they were least expecting it. But now, her voice deepened to a command. "And don't slouch when you're talking to me."
Thirteen, sullen, stood. "No..." she said again, eyes lowered, but it didn't so much as take the edge off her snippy attitude. The word she didn't say was lost in a mumble, under the music.
Without preamble, Amber twined her fingers in Thirteen's hair and tugged her head back, hard, to make her gasp. Her mouth opened, ready, and Amber kissed her. Again--fuck, it was even better this way, with strands of Thirteen's hair clenched between her fingers. She could feel Thirteen moan, taste the desperate way she fought to deepen the kiss. Thirteen scrabbled for a grip on Amber's biceps, then slipped down to her hips, until Amber could all but feel the imprint of Thirteen's fingers on her ass. God, yes. Amber used teeth, tongue stabbing, their hot, damp breaths mingling. Finally, with a sharp nip, she pulled back, keeping her hold on Thirteen's hair. "No what?" she asked.
"No--I'll be good..." But there was still that sloe-eyed defiance on Thirteen's face.
Amber pushed her back against the bar and ran her free hand down Thirteen's body, cupping her through her pants and squeezing. "That's right, you'll be good for me," she said. "Otherwise..."
The punishment was left implied. Thirteen arched, pressing her breasts into Amber's body, her breath sharp in her throat. Amber held her firmly with two hands, one tight in her hair, the other rubbing, hard, against her mons. Thirteen's eyes shut as she pushed against it, seeking sensation. "Yes--" Her words cut off again.
That silence. That pause. Amber had been the one to say it, back in Jimmy's hospital room, and she sensed now that it was what Thirteen was holding back. What she wanted. God, Amber wanted to hear it. Wanted to force it out of Thirteen's pretty little mouth. The nervy, surging pleasure in holding Thirteen still and needy, the enormous hot satisfaction of having her exactly where Amber wanted, was unbelievably arousing. Body singing with anticipation, Amber lowered her mouth to Thirteen's breast, sucked her through the white cotton blouse until a damp patch formed over her nipple. It hardened, standing out through the material, and Amber closed her teeth on it gently, momentarily. Shifting back, she looked up, along Thirteen's throat, the tendons standing out as she panted. "Yes what?"
"Yes--" Thirteen's voice was high, desperate; none of that pout now, none of her cheek. "Yes, daddy--"
Yes. Amber stood straight and kissed her again, but--gently now--yes. Yes. "That's right," she whispered into Thirteen's mouth. Her tongue met Thirteen's, lightly, lavishing attention on her. Her hand worked between Thirteen's legs, pushing massaging circles just above her clit. "That's my girl."
They weren't attracting more attention than they should. The bartender wasn't paying attention; she'd probably seen more elaborate displays on her bar every night. But Amber wasn't interested in an audience, and since Thirteen was behaving, they could take this somewhere less open. The music poured from the speakers at the back of the club. There were alcoves and small rooms there, and Amber was hardly the first person to discover their purpose. Amber tugged Thirteen by her hand, sharply and impatiently. She walked over quickly, her purse still clutched over one shoulder, the other hand squeezing Thirteen's, ignoring the other scenes in progress. A couch off to one side was empty, and Amber pushed Thirteen to sit down, dropping her purse at her feet.
"Now," Amber said, lightly, curling one palm around Thirteen's cheek. "Show me you're a good girl." She moved to stand between Thirteen's splayed knees. Letting her hands drop to the front of her thighs, she curled her fingertips under the hem of her skirt and slowly drew it up, watching with a smile as Thirteen licked her lips and swallowed. The harness showed, now, the shiny ring with Amber's blond curls peeking through, and the straps framing her moist, swollen lips.
Thirteen bent forward, her hands slipping under the skirt, cupping Amber's ass. The warmth of her palms sent tingles shooting along Amber's thighs, and her clit throbbed. She caught her breath and bit her lip in expectation.
Thirteen paused. She looked up at Amber with the beginnings of that playful, pouty stare. "I don't want to have to punish you," Amber said, the words coming so, so gently, and then, whip-fast, she had her hand wrapped in Thirteen's hair again. "You aren't going to make me, are you?"
Amber pulled her head back until she could see the quick pulse in the hollow of Thirteen's throat, and the start of tears in the corners of her eyes. God, Amber was wet, and Thirteen's tongue had better be as good against her pussy as it was in her mouth. Thirteen pulled her head forward in a nod. Amber let go, warning her with a glance. Finally, Thirteen did what she was supposed to. Her breath brushed warmly against Amber's thighs, and then--oh God--her mouth closed over Amber's labia. Sucking lightly, Thirteen trailed her fingers down the crease of Amber's ass, teasing. Her tongue slipped out, tasting deeper and lower. Amber's knees trembled, and she gasped. She was so slippery and so hot, and Thirteen's fingers found their way inside almost before she could breathe. She bit Amber's labia, sharp as kitten's claws, and then, yes, she closed her mouth over Amber's clit and sucked, tongue swirling. "Yes--there. That's right. That's--yes, that's good--" Oh, yes, yes--the filling push of two fingers, then three; the dizzying, melting pleasure of Thirteen's probing tongue. "That's it, yes--make me come, Remy."
Thirteen froze for an instant. Amber's hips moved almost against her will, aching for that final touch--and then, Thirteen thrust, hard, and Amber moaned throatily as she came, impaled on Thirteen's fingers, the heat and wetness of her mouth driving Amber into an explosion of pleasure.
The long, shuddering clench faded into an eager desire to see Thirteen come undone the same way. Breathing heavily, Amber smiled down at her, humming an appreciative sound. "That was very good," she said--she had never been stingy about giving praise where it was due. "I think you've earned a reward." She nodded to her purse on the floor.
The harness she wore made it obvious what the prize would be, but Thirteen's expression was still one of a girl's on Christmas morning, as she opened Amber's purse and drew out the dildo. It wasn't as long or thick as some Amber had used, but it curved in a series of bumps that had always worked wonderfully against her g-spot. The purple silicone was firm and warm, and the sight of Thirteen's hand wrapped around it only made Amber feel the residual muscle spasms of her orgasm with more pleasure. "Nice," Thirteen drawled, and her warm appreciation made Amber shiver, but she still tugged at Thirteen's ponytail in warning. Amber wasn't about to let Thirteen get above herself.
"It's all yours," she said. "Go ahead." Affection grew with her satiation, and she watched indulgently as Thirteen fit the dildo into the harness, gasping softly when Thirteen snugged it against her mons. She was already sensitive, but this pressure felt perfect; echoing her orgasm without overwhelming her. "Good girl," she whispered, and smiled to see Thirteen pause, preening almost unconsciously at the praise. "Now. On the couch."
Thirteen stood to unzip her pants quickly. She wasn't wearing panties underneath, and the glisten of her arousal drew Amber forward, to flick her clit with one finger. "That's right."
"Amber--"
Amber arched an eyebrow at the near-plea. "Yes?"
"Fuck me hard," Thirteen said, for the first time breaking and giving the demand all her usual straightforwardness.
Amber laughed softly. "We'll see." She turned Thirteen with a hand on her shoulder and pushed her down on the couch, so that she was kneeling on it and holding on to the back. Her legs were bound at the knees by her pants, and Amber moaned softly at the sight. Holding her cock, she leaned over Thirteen, kissing her back through her shirt, wishing she was naked so that Amber could give attention to every spot that made her twist or shiver. "Ready?"
"Yes." Short, sharp. Getting needier, now that she knew Amber would give her what she'd all but begged for.
Amber smoothed her palm down Thirteen's spine, and then, slowly, eased the rounded tip of the dildo inside her pussy. Thirteen shuddered, relaxed, and the dildo slid deeper almost of its own accord. "God, you're soaked," Amber gloated, and laughed again as Thirteen bit back a whimper.
"Could we get on with it?" Thirteen's indifferent impatience was undermined by her panting breath, and the way she wriggled back against Amber, driving the dildo deeper. Her shoulder moved jerkily, and Amber reached around to grasp her hand and stop her from getting herself off.
"I thought you wanted me to fuck you?"
"If you'd do it--"
Amber snapped her hips forward, and Thirteen's words melted into a groan. Amber drew back slowly and slid into her again. She could feel the firm base of the dildo against her mons, and knew from the ease of movement that Thirteen was slick and ready, but oh, she wished she could feel Thirteen tightening around the shaft, the way she'd shudder when the bumps rubbed just so inside. She twined her fingers with Thirteen's, until, together, they could find Thirteen's clit and rub it, short tight circles that made Thirteen writhe and moan again.
"Do you want to come?" Amber asked sternly.
"Yes..." Thirteen's breath stopped short in her throat. Amber started moving her hips in steady, deep thrusts, panting lightly as the dildo's base rubbed her mons. "...yes. Oh yes..."
"Who's my girl?" Amber said, mouth as close to Thirteen's ear as she could reach, fingers quickening, the dildo moving faster. "Hm?"
"I--" Thirteen stopped, and cried out, "Daddy," her body arching back, her hand clutching Amber's hand to her clit. "Ohh..."
"Yes," Amber murmured, and held her, smiling against her back. Thirteen went limp in her arms, and then, feebly, pulled away; Amber let her go. The dildo slipped out of her slowly. Amber let Thirteen bend her head, still kneeling on the couch, while Amber opened the harness far enough to remove the dildo. She quickly bent to retrieve her purse, putting the dildo away and taking out tissues, using some herself and offering the others to Thirteen. Amber waited until they'd both set themselves to rights, and then asked, "Is that what you've been hiding?"
Even in the dimness, Thirteen's blush showed clearly against her skin. Her haughtiness wasn't even dented, though, and she met Amber's eyes coolly. "Are you going to spread it around?"
"What, tell House your kinks in some deranged attempt to steal your job?" Amber snorted, brushing her hands down her skirt one last time to smooth out the wrinkles. "After he'd finished ogling us both for the foreseeable future, I doubt he'd respect me enough to ever consider my opinion as a doctor."
Thirteen's mouth twisted, and she slipped past Amber, heading for the club's entrance. "So that's a no."
Amber followed her easily. "That's a qualified no. You know he'll find out eventually."
Thirteen turned around to face her squarely, probably in some deluded attempt to cut Amber off at the pass. "You mean he'd notice if I changed. Like if I started dating somebody surprisingly familiar."
Amber pouted. "Did it sound like I was asking to be your girlfriend? I'm pointing out the obvious."
"I've handled it until now."
"Hm," Amber said thoughtfully. "Too bad it's so much better when I handle it for you."
Thirteen's mouth dropped open, before she snapped it shut. "Are you offering to be...fuckbuddies?" She shook her head. "Aren't you worried somebody will find out? You are job-searching."
Amber clenched her jaw but ignored the jab, heading for the coat check and handing over her ticket. "As a matter of fact, I don't care," she said, pulling her coat on. "Really, it's not up to me."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Thirteen asked, following her out of the club and into the crisp night air.
Amber tilted her head back and smiled. "It means no regrets," she said, and left Thirteen hanging on her words, wanting her, as she headed for her car.