Second Chances (16 page)

“
Or the longest,”
Allison silently bemoaned.

+++++

“Holy cow,” Reagan admired.  She ran her fingertips along the edge of the massive
in-room whirlpool.  “This is like something out of
Pretty Woman
.”

“So
since I paid for the room, does that make me Richard Gere?” Allison clamped her lips together.  “I don’t know why I just said that; how horribly inappropriate.”

“Only if I was a prostitute,” Reagan sing-songed.  S
he tossed her bag on the floor and jumped on the bed – a single king bed.  Its presence seemed to mock Allison from its location in the center of the room.

Allison dropped her backpack on the ground. “There’s only one bed,” she said flatly.

Reagan hopped up and down on the mattress.  “What were you expecting?” she said, her voice hitching from jumping up and down. “It’s a king suite.  Ergo, a king-sized bed.”

Allison
stared at the bed and gave herself a silent pep talk.  She could to this. Everything would be fine. They’d spent the night together in a far smaller bed before. She released a shaky breath. Surviving one night in a hotel room with Reagan would be no big deal.

“You interested in breaking in that hot tub?” Reagan asked.  She stopped jumping and plopped down in the center of the mattress.  “It seems like a waste of your dad’s money not to.”

“I didn’t pack a bathing suit.  Did you?”

“No.  I didn’t anticipate going swimming in
Providence.”

“Then what are you proposing we wear in the hot tub?”

“Bra and underwear aren’t that different from a bikini,” Reagan pointed out with a shrug.  “Besides, we’re both girls. It’s not like you have anything I haven’t seen before.”

“I wondered how long it would be before you tried to get me out of my clothes.”  Alli
son’s lips snapped shut.  “Sorry.” She made a face. “Again.  Something about this hotel room is making me say all kinds of inappropriate things.”

“You
know, you don’t have to keep your walls up around me.  You don’t have to be Miss Manners all the time.”

“I’m trying, I really am.”  Allison rubbed at her face in frustration.  “But old habits die hard.”

“Maybe you need a cocktail,” Reagan suggested, her face serious.  “Loosen you up a bit.”

Allison bit the tip of her tongue before another sexually suggestive comment stumbled out.  Apparently the combination of a king-sized bed and an in-room hot tub turned her into a high school boy.

Before Allison could suggest another idea, Reagan had rushed to side of the whirlpool tub and turned on the faucets.  She grabbed small bottles of shower gel and dumped their contents into the tub. Large, sudsy mounds of bubbles began to swell up.

"Wait! What are you doing?" Allison exclaimed when she saw Reagan reach for the bottom hem of her sweater.

"Well I'm not going to get in there with clothes on, Allison."

"You're going in there
naked
?" Allison stumbled on the final world.

Reagan pulled off her sweater. The camisole she wore beneath it came off as well. Allison swallowed hard. Reagan's toned upper torso and flat stomach were on full display. She wore a dark purple bra that contrasted attractively with her olive hued skin.
 The tops of her breasts swelled over the demi cut of the flimsy undergarment.

Even without seeing Allison's panicked, but appreciative stare, Reagan knew she looked good. She kept her small frame limber with a balance of cardio and yoga.
 

Reagan's fingers hesitated at the top button of her jeans and Allison bit back a groan. She coughed to mask the unwanted noise. She remained near the edge of the bed, looking like she wanted to run away.

"Are you coming?" Reagan asked.

Not yet.

Allison yanked off her top and just as quickly stripped off her shoes, socks, and jeans. She went to the opposite side of the oversized tub and slid in, burying herself in the pile of fluffy soapsuds. Reagan's grin returned, mistaking Allison's speed for enthusiasm. She popped the button on her tight-fighting jeans and slid them down shapely hips and thighs.

Even though Allison was already in the tub, Reagan stuck her hand in the water to test its temperature. Satisfied, she turned off the faucets and climbed into the tub as well. “Ooooh,” she cooed as she was nearly swallowed by a mountain of soap.  “It’s like a pool!”

"Stay in the shallow end, Shortie," Allison scowled. "I don't do mouth-to-mouth." She slouched down in the water so her entire body was submerged. The tip of her chin skimmed the crest of the water. She didn't like anyone seeing her with so few clothes on. She felt self-conscious about her figure, and Reagan's soft, feminine curves and naturally darker skin tone made her feel boyish, pasty, and altogether unattractive.

Reagan wiggled around in the whirlpool in search of a comfortable position.
 The water displaced with her movement and lapped at the inner edges of the tub. "I love baths. Don't you?"

Allison sat up a bit straighter so she could respond without getting soap in her mouth. "I guess so," she said noncommittally. "But I usually prefer taking baths by myself."

Reagan skated her palms over the water's surface and watched the tiny ripples. "Ever since watching
Pretty Woman
, I've wanted to take a bath with someone. It seemed so terribly romantic."

"Soaking in someone else's dirty water? Yeah," Allison deadpanned. "Real romantic."

"Allison," Reagan scolded. "That movie is one of the greatest romantic comedies ever made.”

Allison rolled her eyes. "It's about hookers and Johns and everyone is shitty to Julia Roberts' character."

"It’s a classic love story,” Reagan countered.

“It’s misogynist.  Not everyone needs to be saved.”

“This was a bad idea," Reagan sighed. "We should get out."

"Are you getting cold?  You could drain the water a little and add more hot water?" Allison suggested.

Reagan shook her head. "I’m just going to hop in the shower and rinse this soap off. You're not having fun." She started to stand up, but stopped when Allison's hand grabbed her knee under the water.

"I'm sorry I'm being so grouchy," Allison apologized. She let go of Reagan's knee. She felt embarrassed that she'd grabbed her like that. "It's just that I'm not comfortable with my body. I'm sorry I was taking it out on you."

Reagan stared in disbelief. "Allison, you're like the prettiest girl I know."

Allison slouched down further in the tub. "You must not know many people, Murphy."

Reagan pressed her lips together. "Let me see you."

Allison nearly slipped. "Huh?"

"Stand up," Reagan ordered. "I want to see this grotesque body."

"Well, when you put it that way," Allison scowled.

"I mean it, Allison. Stand up and let me see for myself."

Allison opened her mouth to once again offer her protest, but Reagan had her arms folded across her chest and resolve clearly etched across her face.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," she grumbled. She grabbed onto the edge of the massive tub for stability and stood up.  She winced as the water level immediately lowered. It did nothing to help her already shaky body-esteem. Soap clung to her skin in bunches and her wet bra and underwear clung uncomfortably to her skin. She shivered uncomfortably and rubbed her hands along her bare arms, trying to keep warm.

"I don't see it," Reagan said.

"Don't see what?" Allison asked, teeth practically chattering.

"The ugly parts." The water moved around Allison's knees as Reagan shifted closer. "All I see is a beautiful woman."

Allison reflexively scoffed. "You're not looking close enough."

"I can see just fine." Reagan bobbed even closer. "I see flawless, smooth skin. I see long, slender dancer's legs. I see a perfectly proportionate backside, thin muscled thighs that connect to delicious hipbones. I see a flat stomach with just the slightest hint of abdominal muscles, the perfect combination of femininity and strength." She paused and looked up at Allison, unsure of her reaction.

Allison licked her lips. "What else do you see?"

Reagan swallowed and worked the muscles in her neck.
 "I see your arms, long and graceful like a ballerina.  I see a defined clavicle, sharp enough to slice through flesh. I see...I see your breasts." She audibly sucked in a sharp breath. "Perfect in size and shape.  I see a beautiful woman who I know doesn't see the same thing as I do when she looks at herself in the mirror. I see a strong, accomplished woman who's her own worst critic because she can't see how amazing she is."

"You really see all that?" Allison's voice sounded meek and small.

Reagan looked up at her from beneath thick eyelashes.  Her fingertips just barely brushed against the back of Allison's knee. "It doesn't take a microscope to see your beauty, Allison.

Allison cleared her throat. She wasn't quite sure what to say. So she did what felt natural. She was polite. "Thank you, Reagan."

Reagan pushed backwards in the tub and floated back to her original seat.  The abrupt movement broke Allison out of her quiet trance. "You can have the shower first if you want," Reagan offered.

Allison plunged back down into the tub. "No, you can go ahead. I think I'll float around a little longer."

"Ok." Reagan stood up and rearranged her bra top and underwear so they better covered her body.  Allison tried not to ogle her ass too explicitly as she climbed out of the tub.

"I saw that, Hoge."

"Saw what?" Allison asked, eyes wide.

Reagan stopped just outside the bathroom door. "You appreciating my beauty, too," she said with a sly smirk.

The door to the bathroom closed with Reagan inside. Allison fell back into the tub and dunked herself under the water.

+++++

CHAPTER
TEN

Allison turned on the shower as high as the pressure would go and stepped inside the tub.
 She pulled the curtain back in place and released a long, satisfied sigh as the rush of water pelted against her skin. She loved showers. It was where she did her best thinking - if she had Writer's Block or needed to mentally work through a particularly challenging text, she took a shower, even if she'd already showered just a few hours prior.

She grabbed the tiny bottle of the hotel-provided shampoo-conditioner combination and worked the soap through her hair. She hated the all-in-one product, but in her haste to pack an overnight bag, she'd forgotten her own shampoo and conditioner. Reagan had hurried her along, urging her to be as brief as possible, certain that Brice would return home while they were still there. In addition to Reagan's desperate pleas to hurry, her brain had also been preoccupied with the knowledge that she'd be spending the night with Reagan at a hotel.

If they'd stayed at her house like she'd originally intended they would have spent just as much time together, but something about a hotel room made the weekend feel more like an illicit affair than a friendly sleep-over.  As soon as they'd arrived she'd felt on edge. She was sure Reagan noticed how awkward she was behaving, but she was just ignoring it or silently over-analyzing Allison's behavior.

Allison had thought time apart from each other over the summer months would change things - at least temper her growing feelings - but as soon as Reagan had hugged her after flying out of the train, dormant emotions seemed to come out of hibernation. She couldn't count how many sleepless summer nights she'd mentally replayed their last New York weekend together, just trying to make sense of it all. They'd kissed. Twice. Reagan had initiated the first and she the second, but both times she had been the one to expand their activities to Reagan's neck.
 She flushed with a combination of embarrassment and arousal at the memory.

She couldn’t help herself though; Reagan always smelled so good. She couldn't pinpoint what it was though. She grabbed Reagan's shampoo bottle and popped open the top to discover its scent - lavender. It was pleasant, but it wasn't the same scent that made Allison's knees buckle. Maybe it was her perfume. She'd have to rummage through Reagan's toiletries later. It had to be her perfume. It was far less complicated than the alternative explanation – that Reagan's pheromones turned her on.

Allison grabbed a tiny bar of soap and worked up a lather.  When her soapy hands passed over her naked breasts, she wobbled unsteadily. All of this thinking about Reagan was doing nothing to help the perpetual ache between her thighs. It didn't help that she could hardly remember the last time she'd had sex. Something had to give. She was going to pop. Her hands went back to her breasts and she cupped their modest weight in her palms. She didn't often masturbate. It was a lasting remnant of her strict Christian upbringing that had scared her into believing it made you blind or you'd grow hair on the back of your hands. Even the word itself felt cold and clinical.