Just Three Words (Soho Loft Romances) (17 page)

April’s gaze fell to the table before it bounced back up. “Thank you, but you don’t have to say that.”

“I don’t. And wouldn’t, in fact, except that you are.”

April placed her elbows on the table and leaned her chin on her hands. “This is our third encounter, you know.”

Hunter hadn’t been counting. She sipped her drink casually. “Is it?”

“Mmm-hmm. Class, the park, and now drinks.”

“Three’s a good number.”

April glanced at the bartender and offered him a head nod. Hunter saw where this was going. “I live just around the corner. Do you want to walk me to my door?”

“I was just about to offer.” They were definitely on the same page.

Twenty minutes later and Hunter was taking in the small but cozy one-bedroom apartment April had off Twenty-first. It seemed they’d been practically neighbors until Hunter moved to the loft. The compact living room was simple, a no-frills kind of place. Comfy beige sofa, red chenille blanket, some rather awesome art above the small dining table. “Is that one of Jon Allen’s?” she asked, admiring the wall-mounted metal sculpture.

“It is. An original I was lucky enough to snag before he blew up. Right place, right time kind of thing.”

“I don’t know anyone who knows Allen’s work. Your cool points just increased exponentially.”

“I live for cool points,” April said in her ear from behind. “And now you do know someone familiar with Allen.”

“That makes you awesome. You realize this.”

“I’ll have to find a way to live up to awesome. Oh, hey, I have an idea.” Her arms slid around Hunter’s waist and she pressed her body to Hunter’s tightly. Hunter turned and traced the outline of April’s cheek with one finger. She’d always been one for a little buildup before going in for more. April not so much, apparently. She caught Hunter’s mouth and kissed her hungrily, no preamble needed. Well, to each her own. April’s hands were on Hunter’s waist and moving up her rib cage, clearly on a mission. Hunter smiled into the kiss at April’s tenacity. It had been a while since Hunter had had sex. Well, a while for her anyway. She was ready to put an end to that streak.

She took control, moving them down the hall to where she imagined she’d find the bedroom, all the while checking in with herself, taking stock. Okay, so she wasn’t exactly on fire, but maybe she just needed time. April halted their progress and without breaking the kiss, backed Hunter up against the wall just outside of the bedroom with a thud. It should have been hot, except it wasn’t. It had been a little painful.

“God, you’re beautiful,” April murmured against her skin, as she transitioned her attention from Hunter’s lips to her neck, placing hot kisses there as her hands wandered lower. Hunter exhaled slowly and gave her head a little shake in an effort to focus on the action, lose herself in the sensations that should be overtaking her body soon.

Yep.

Any second now.

But nope.

Not a go.

Maybe if she closed her eyes, stopped trying so hard. April slipped her hands underneath the back of Hunter’s shirt and cascaded fingers across her skin at the small of her back. But the contact had little effect on her. In fact, she felt altogether removed from the encounter. She just couldn’t seem to get there. Never one to give up, she reached down and brought April’s lips back up to hers and reversed their positions in a move that should make the difference. She liked being in charge, so why not capitalize on that? As she kissed April, she used every technique in her arsenal, and it seemed to be working…on April, who let out a quiet murmur of appreciation. Hunter smiled at the encouragement, but with her eyes still closed, another image slipped into the mix. It was Sam sitting at her desk. Serious money glasses on, ponytail in place, smiling at her, those green eyes dancing.

And that was it.

Fuck
. She blinked to clear her head, released April, and took a step back.

April touched her lips at the loss and studied her curiously. “You okay? You look a little pale.” Hunter didn’t answer right off, unsure of what had just happened. Why she was so totally thrown. Her mind and body were refusing to engage when there was a gorgeous woman, who she liked very much, ready to rip her clothes off.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why, but my head is in a weird space tonight.”

April looked sympathetic. “Yeah? Well, I think I can help. Maybe you just need to relax.” She stepped into Hunter’s space and kissed her jaw. “Take a break from the rest of the world.”

Yes. God, that was exactly what she needed. April was right. And she wanted this to happen. She did. Her refocused lips were on April’s and they were back in business. But no sooner had she congratulated herself than she flashed on Sam laughing as she had earlier that night at dinner.

Yeah, this wasn’t going to happen.

She pulled her lips from April’s and placed a soft kiss on her forehead. “I’m sorry. Please don’t hate me, but I think I’m going to have to take a rain check on tonight.” The look of rejection on April’s face caused her stomach to drop. “It has nothing to do with you. You’re the coolest, sexiest girl I’ve met in a long time. I mean that. I’m just not feeling great.”

April nodded and offered a halfhearted smile. “It’s okay. I understand.” And then changed modes, eager to help. “Can I get you an aspirin or some water? Do you want to sit down?”

Hunter straightened the items of clothing that had been unstraightened in their make out session. “No. You’ve been more than great. I think I should just head home. I’ll be fine.” Hunter made a move for the door, eager for fresh air, anything to help her rebound emotionally, but turned back at the last minute. “April?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re great. I just want you to know that.”

April blew out a breath and smiled genuinely. “Thank you.”

As Hunter waited for the train, the series of events played again in her mind, and the more she went over them, the angrier she became. It wasn’t cool how she’d walked out on April, and it wasn’t okay the way she’d let herself be so overtly affected by Samantha. And what the hell
was
that anyway? Since when had one woman been able to influence her time with another? By the time she arrived back at the loft, her coping skills were at an all-time low, and she felt like she was in a fucking tailspin.

“Hey, you’re home,” Sam said from the living room chair. She was watching some sort of show from the 1960s, which was such typical Sam behavior. With a flick of the remote, Sam turned off the TV and centered her attention on Hunter. “How was your night?”

Her smile was bright and friendly, which Hunter, given her evening, found selfishly annoying. She wasn’t in the mood for chitchat. Not with anyone and especially not Sam. “Fine.”

“Oh. Well, good, I guess. Mine was fun. My gang at the senior center was so sweet tonight, Hunter. Mr. Earnhardt started working on a scrapbook page for his honeymoon. You should have seen how he lit up when he talked about his wife.”

“Sounds awesome.” It was all Hunter could give because the obstacle to her evening was sitting on the couch looking rather beautiful and unaffected. And whether any of that was Samantha’s fault or not, Hunter was beyond frustrated. And done with it.

Sam sat forward. “Want some ice cream? I bought coffee flavored at the deli on the way home. I remembered it’s one we both liked.”

Oh, how wonderful. She’d been extra thoughtful, too. Hunter’s anger only escalated. This girl was too much. “Nope. I’m not hungry.”

“Another night, then.” Hunter made a beeline for her bedroom, but Samantha was still talking. “You know what else was funny tonight? You have to hear this. Apparently some of the guys at the center came up with a nickname for—”

“Can you stop?” Hunter whirled around, making no attempt to mask her anger. “I’m not in the mood. I don’t want to hear about your good-hearted volunteer job right now. I just can’t.”

Sam shifted. “Whoa. What’s with the attitude?”

“I don’t have an attitude,” she said louder than was probably warranted. “I just can’t listen to you do the adorable thing tonight, okay? The adorable thing causes problems, and while we’re at it, no more of the sexy thing either. That means sexy glasses are off the table.” Hunter slammed her door before opening it one last time. “And I’ll unload the dishwasher from now on, got it? Because it’s not fair!”

Samantha stared at her wide eyed and held up her palms. “Be my guest, crazytown. Just remember when you’re unloading that the big knives go—”

“I know where the damn big knives go. God. I’m tired of the big knives.” And with that, she slammed the door again, leaving Samantha wondering what the hell had just happened. Moments later, the door flew open again and Hunter stalked to the bathroom. “And if it’s okay with you, I’m going to take a shower. At
night
. Which is totally off schedule. Outrageous, right? I hope you’ll find a way to live.”

Bang went the bathroom door. Sam jumped as it echoed through the loft.

Okay, so Hunter angry was a new experience for Samantha. In fact, she’d never known a more laid-back, easygoing person in her life. But something had Hunter’s ire up in a big way, and she hadn’t a clue what it was. What she was aware of, however, was how unexpectedly hot it was. Angry Hunter was a whole new kind of intriguing that she felt the effects of, well…all over. She heard the water flash on and, once again, pushed herself not to imagine Hunter in the shower, standing under its stream, the water rolling down her skin. Hot, wet, and soapy. God, there was a time not so long ago when showers were merely a method to get clean. Could she go back to that, please? Trade in the lust-induced visions, which were now even more blatant following the amazing kitchen kissing. It was as if the night before had unleashed a whole new kind of longing. Damn rebound mode. She couldn’t wait for it to pass.

Raising her hands in the air and dropping them helplessly, she decided to escape the situation to her room and busy herself with getting ready for bed. But her skin was extra sensitive as she slipped into a T-shirt, the weight of it noticeable as she slid beneath the cool covers. It wasn’t long before she heard the shower switch off. She knew from experience that in a few moments, Hunter would travel from the bathroom to her bedroom wrapped in a towel. She also knew that if she timed her totally necessary trip to the kitchen for a glass of water just right, she’d steal a glimpse. She threw the covers off and walked confidently to the kitchen. Because water had restorative powers and she should be drinking more of it.

Everyone knew that.
Everyone
.

The office clock read 5:53 when Samantha checked it Wednesday evening. Somehow, between her call with Serenity to finalize a payment schedule and her creation of a new Excel spreadsheet for their account, Brooklyn had left for the day. This meant she was probably headed home to change into comfortable clothes for Throwback Movie Wednesday and Samantha needed to step it up if she wanted to be ready in time.

They’d selected
Boeing Boeing
with Tony Curtis, which had Sam excited because she’d never seen it. After tying up some final loose ends at Savvy, she headed upstairs and went about prepping for the film. Comfy clothes, check. Diet soda, poured. Popcorn, popped. Wine, open and breathing, for post-popcorn consumption. She cued up the DVD and checked the clock on the microwave. Only a couple of minutes after seven, so technically Brooklyn wasn’t late yet when you took into consideration that Brooklyn operated on an entirely different time system.

Hunter’s bedroom door was closed. She’d beat Samantha out of the office, but Sam could hear the faint sound of a guitar, which meant Hunter was definitely in there and probably lost in her own world. Earlier that morning, she’d stopped by Sam’s desk and quietly apologized for her outburst the evening prior, citing a bad night. Sam accepted, and they’d moved into awkward overly polite territory, which fell away by lunchtime when Hunter stole three French fries off her plate as she passed, prompting Samantha to throw a wadded-up piece of paper at her retreating form, earning them each an admonishing look from Mallory, who was on the phone with a potential client.

At 7:36, Samantha’s allowance for Brooklyn-time was slipping. She checked her phone and stole a bite of popcorn in the process. No messages. She fired off a text.

On your way?

Time ticked by, but no response came in.

“Hey,” Hunter said an hour later as she passed by the couch. Sam lay on her back staring up at the industrial rafters across the ceiling. “What happened to the movie?”

“You ask an excellent question.”

Hunter paused, peering down at her. “Oh no. Brooklyn canceled?”

“No. That would have required some sort of communication. That would have been the thoughtful thing to do,” Sam answered resolutely. “We made plans for Throwback Movie Wednesday over the weekend. She was the one who brought it up and now she’s flaked out on me. I can only
assume
that’s what happened, however. Either that or she’s been put in jail for reckless driving.”

“That second part is a definite possibility.” Hunter perched on the arm of the couch. “I’m sorry, Sam. Want me to watch it with you?”

“Negative.”

Hunter didn’t exactly know what to do here. She was pretty sure Brooklyn hadn’t meant to stand Sam up, but at the same time she was angry at Brooklyn for allowing this to happen, especially after she’d just vowed to fix her friendship with Sam, who now looked like a dejected little puppy. She had an idea. “You know we’re gonna need our own traditions, don’t you?”

Sam shifted her gaze to Hunter, a modicum of interest taking shape on her face. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you and Brooklyn had your whatever-day-of-the-week movie nights, that I can never keep straight, and your Lucy-the-troublemaker marathons. We probably need to step up our roommate relationship if we have any chance of competing.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of Samantha’s mouth. Jackpot. “Yeah? What about Dishwasher Fridays?”

“You think you’re funny.” The green eyes danced and Hunter shook her head. “How do you feel about jigsaw puzzles?”