“No?” The words were spoken through her fingers and were muffled with mortification.

“Drunk baby giraffe.”

Another snort, amplified by tightly pressed fingers, was all it took for them to dissolve into laughter.

An annoyed voice came from the front. “Address, ladies? And no chundering in the car.”

* * *

Suddenly, the taxi pulled up at the house. Surely that hadn’t been a twenty-minute drive? As Cora was the only one with cash, she won the fight over who was going to pay. Frazer made a mental note to get the next one, as their fingers fumbled with seatbelts and door handles and they finally got out, the annoyed glare of the taxi driver easily left behind.

It didn’t help the laughter.

On the front porch, they hovered as Cora hunted for her keys, then finally yanked them out in delighted victory. Eyebrows pressed tightly together, she closed one eye as she lined the right key up with the keyhole.

And missed.

Déjà vu crept up Frazer’s spine. That foggy hug, always playing at her memory, was easier to remember when standing in the same place. The perfume Cora wore, subtle and sweet, was as close as it had been that night. The sensation of their cheeks brushing each other, feather light, the distant touch of the corners of their lips. If she stepped forward and pressed Cora to the door, ran her hands up her sides and buried them in her hair, would Cora push her away? Or invite her in? Crush their lips together in a frantic kiss, the energy sparking off their skin?

Why did Frazer have to think of that? Especially about the straight, married friend.

It was a gross cliché.

“Got it!” The door swung open, and Cora looked as proud as if she’d cured cancer.

Biting her lip, Frazer gave a weak “Yay.”

Frazer needed to stop thinking like that. She’d said no to herself. Friends. Being a friendly-type friend for the friend who needed a best-friend-ever friend.

Instead, that thought was flooded out by wine and the sight of Cora’s eyes tracing an imaginary line down her throat. Cora’s fingers were soft along the inside of her wrist.

Frazer felt warm in places she shouldn’t.

Those fingers wrapped around hers again and tugged Frazer through the doorway.

Obviously comfortable in a space that was hers, Cora led her down a hallway, flicking lights on as she went. Turning right at some point, they ended up in a kitchen. Not just a kitchen, but an open-plan kitchen, dining and lounge room. When Frazer was left standing alone, she looked around and let out a “Wow.”

Already with her head half-buried in the fridge, Cora rummaged, then peered around the door, holding a bottle of wine. As Frazer looked all around, Cora rolled her eyes. “Oh, I know. It’s excessive.”

Excessive? It was gorgeous. The timber walls were something not many houses exhibited anymore. The kitchen was a huge space with an island in the middle, pots and pans hanging over it from a hook. Another bench ran around in an L shape, cutting it off slightly to make it more like one room. From there, you could walk through to the dining section, where a huge eight-seater jarrah wood table, shining and rustic and bare, took centre place. From there was a sunken lounge room. One step led down to the modular couch big enough for more friends than Frazer had.