Ready or Not (11 page)

Hope slid her a look. “Yeah, so stop it.”

Mallory gasped and nudged Hope with her shoulder. “You stop.”

“Whoa. Hold on a sec.” Hope straightened and placed a hand over her heart.

“What?” Mallory asked, glancing around. “What’s wrong?” When Hope didn’t answer, the concern on Mallory’s face only grew. “Hope, talk to me. Are you okay?”

Hope nodded and turned to Mallory. “You just flirted with me. I wasn’t positive at first, but the instant replay in my head just now has confirmed it. Mallory Spencer of the Upper West Side Spencers is now in a mutually flirtatious relationship with Hope Sanders, bastard child from Queens. And who, I might add, is just a lowly bartender.”

Mallory looked at Hope in exaggerated outrage. “I think you mean bar
owner.
Get it right.”

Hope nodded, as if she’d been reminded of a tidbit she’d actually forgotten. “I did mean that. That’s exactly what I meant.” Hope bumped Mallory’s shoulder back for effect, and they ate the last few bites of their meal in comfortable silence as they stared off at the picturesque Brooklyn Bridge. Something about the bridge at night excited Hope. Perhaps it was the combination of the mystery of the darkness and the beauty of the architecture. At any rate, she never got tired of the visual.

Mallory stole a glance at Hope, who seemed lost in thought. It looked good on her, thoughtful. And even though in a million years she wouldn’t have imagined it, Mallory was enjoying herself, and the struggles of her day-to-day seemed miles away. Who would have guessed that dinner from a food truck on the pier with Hope would actually make for a nice evening? She couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

And then she could.

Refreshing. That’s what this was. Sitting here with Hope on this bench was so completely outside of her everyday world that it was
refreshing
and fulfilled a need she didn’t even know she had. She wadded up the wrapper that lined her cardboard tray. “What now?” Mallory asked, feeling a smile tug. Quite honestly, she was up for more.

Hope turned to her, pulled back in from where she’d drifted. She reached out and with one finger brushed the hair from Mallory’s forehead in a move that had Mallory’s heart pounding in swift response. “Now, I take you home. You promised to have dinner with me and you delivered. Thank you.”

Okay, so for whatever reason, that left Mallory disappointed, but she swallowed that emotion and brightened on cue. “Yeah, well, I never welch, so you’re welcome.”

Hope stood. “Filing that one away. Ready?”

“I am.” They walked along the pier as night made its first appearance. The stars now twinkled shyly overhead, and boisterous voices drifted from the beer garden they passed. “Hope?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad you brought me here.”

Hope passed her a look. Her hands were in the pockets of her green cargo jacket, and a smile touched the sides of her mouth. “Me too.” It was the simplest answer but somehow said more.

In the cab ride back to Soho, they didn’t say a whole lot, but Hope hadn’t left much distance between them in the backseat. “Smooth Operator,” one of the cheesiest songs from the 80s, played on the radio, yet seemed somehow less cheesy with the side of Hope’s thigh pressed against hers. It just so happened that the cab driver took corners like his last name was Andretti, and Mallory found her body pushed into Hope’s one minute and Hope’s pulled against hers the next. The give-and-take was kind of…hot. By the time the cab pulled up to her building, every part of her felt responsive and alive. Every. Part.

“Is it okay if I walk you up?” Hope asked, her eyes mirroring the desire Mallory already felt. They were definitely in sync on this. But it was a big question, the walk up. Mallory wasn’t the type of girl who hopped into bed easily, and when it did happen, it was generally on her terms, in her control. Something about Hope Sanders, however, made her feel quite the opposite, that she was careening
out of control
, and the sensation was just as terrifying as it was enthralling. She should dodge this bullet while she still could. Best to play it safe.

“Sure” was the word her lips let pass, traitorous damn lips that they were.

If the elevator ride up to her place was tension-filled for Mallory, it seemed anything but for Hope, who now appeared as laid-back as ever. She surveyed the structure of the elevator as she leaned back against the wall. “I’ve always found these old loft buildings super mysterious. Imagine all the things that must have been created in these walls dating way back. Paintings, sculptures, poetry.”

“That’s exactly it,” Mallory said, pushing off the wall and delving into a topic she felt immensely passionate about. “It’s a place to create. I love it here, and it’s been a great home for Savvy.”

“That’s right. You guys work in this building too.”

“We do. Sixth floor.”

“What’s it like working with your best friends?”

Mallory didn’t have to think long about her answer. “I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I know for a fact that I wouldn’t be half the person I am if it weren’t for those three.”

Hope nodded and the elevator dinged, stopping at last on the fifteenth floor. Mallory led the way to her door, her heart about ready to beat out of her chest. How had she gotten herself into this again? Because falling into bed with Hope was a bad idea. A bad, bad idea. Like something George W. would have thought up, and that wasn’t Mallory’s style. As warning bells sounded in her head, she stood for a moment facing her door, buying time in order to formulate a game plan. She could tell Hope that they should call it a night and thank her. Blame her work schedule, her imaginary cat, surgery in the morning. A space mission. Anything.

She turned around to eloquently express her regrets only to have warm lips meet hers as Hope backed her up against the wall of the hallway outside her apartment. And holy hell, it was something. Hope kissed her deep, slow, and as a result she lost herself in its play-out. In search of an anchor, she pressed her hand against Hope’s back as blond hair tickled her neck. Things were feeling hazy, but not so hazy she wasn’t able to enjoy the sensation of being kissed that way, wanted that way. The more they kissed, the more her body responded, craving more, and she couldn’t exactly remember why she shouldn’t take Hope into her apartment, systematically remove her clothes, and have her sweet way with her. Because that seemed like an awesome plan about now, and it seemed to be what Hope wanted too, evidenced in how she moaned quietly when Mallory’s tongue stroked hers.

They’d been kissing awhile, though it was hard to know exactly how long. She pulled her mouth away to find air, because something about kissing Hope made her forget to breathe. That was a new one. As she reintroduced herself to oxygen and its function, Mallory met Hope’s eyes. The blue was darker and carried an intensity she’d not seen in them before. Hope was anything but laid-back now. Quite the opposite in fact, and some part of Mallory took personal satisfaction in the effect she had on Hope.

“Thanks again for going with me tonight,” Hope said, taking a step backward. Mallory felt the loss of warmth against her immediately. Wait, Hope was leaving? After that exchange, she was
leaving
?

“No problem. I have a space mission or something,” Mallory said, doing her best to mask the overpowering effect that kiss had had on her. Wait. Had she just said space mission? She needed to recover from that. “But I was free tonight so…”

A smile touched Hope’s lips. Those were really good lips. “A space mission, huh? Who knew?” And then Hope did something that Mallory would lie awake half the night replaying. She came back in for one final, toe-curling kiss that had Mallory struggling to make her muscles work. Hope then kissed a path from her jaw to her ear. “Good night, Park Avenue,” she whispered, sending a chill up Mallory’s spine.

Oh, hell. This girl was trouble.

*

When Mallory slid open the door to the Savvy office at seven a.m. the next morning, she was surprised to see three expectant faces blinking back at her from their respective desks.
Interesting and creepy
.

She checked her watch. Nope, time hadn’t stopped.

“You’re all three here early again? We don’t have a half day planned.”

“What?” Sam said, shrugging. “We can’t all decide to get a jump on the day just because we’re driven, hardworking women who want to succeed in life and not live in the gutter?”

Mallory inclined her head from side to side, weighing the options. “It’s highly improbable.” Her gaze drifted from Hunter to Sam and landed finally on Brooklyn, the most likely friend to give up their scheme. “What gives, Brooks?”

“Leave Brooklyn alone,” Sam said. “She’s busy.”

“Is not,” Mallory pointed out. “She’s got Candy Crush on her screen. What’s going on, Brooklyn? You can tell me.”

Brooklyn did her best Bambi-in-headlights impression, which told Mallory everything she needed to know. She let out a sigh. “So I’m guessing you want to hear the details of my dinner with Hope last night.”

That did it. All three of them sprang into action like soldiers on a super-important mission.

“I’ll get the truffles!” Sam practically shouted. “Oh! Hunter, heat up that banana bread Foster Foods sent over when we wrapped the banana commercial.”

Brooklyn dashed for the door. “Starbucks run. Don’t let her say a word without me!”

“I’ll throw my body into the flames to prevent it,” Sam shouted back.

“Okay, that seems extreme,” Mallory said to no one because they were busy in mad preparation for story hour. She relaxed into her chair and let them prep, as she didn’t really see a way out of this.

Fifteen minutes later, with coffee, banana bread, and MollyDolly truffles to die for, they snacked around the large oak conference table used for meals and meetings. Brooklyn adjusted her hair for whatever reason and placed her folded hands on the table. “Okay. I’m ready for a sexy tale now. Let’s start with where you ate.”

“South Street Seaport.”

Sam nodded. “Oh, you mean at one of those trendy little restaurants along the pier. Super cute.”

Mallory shook her head. “No. On a bench facing the water.”

“Okay.” Samantha seemed to marinate on this. “On a bench, you say?”

Mallory nodded and swallowed back a smile at the memory. “I do say. We grabbed lobster rolls from a food truck.”

“Interesting choice,” Brooklyn said, exchanging a concerned glance with the others. “And how did you do with that?”

“I did fine,” Mallory said. “You people underestimate my ability to roll with the punches. I’m a skilled punch roller.” Another dubious exchange of glances.

Hunter shrugged. “I think it sounds cool. Unique.”

“That’s exactly what it was,” Mallory said, in wholehearted agreement. She shook off the unspoken judgment and wondered why she felt suddenly protective of Hope and their short evening together. It wasn’t even like she’d gone by choice. She hadn’t ended the night by choice either, but that tidbit of information was filed away just for her.

Brooklyn’s eyes sparkled with a newfound discovery. “Aha. So you were
into
the bench. I see. And did the stars twinkle overhead and the water ripple subtly nearby? Is that what happened?”

“I love it when water ripples,” Samantha said dreamily, her chin in her hand.

“Me too,” Brooklyn answered. “Water ripples are big time. Up there with solitary lampposts.”

Samantha pointed at Brooklyn, adding fuel to the romance fire. “Lampposts do rock. As do snow flurries.”

“Oh, I love
snow
flurries
! Because then you can come inside and get all cozy, and then hot in other ways. And then there are layers to take off.”

“Layers,” Sam said, pointing at Brooklyn in wholehearted agreement. “Layers provide so many options.”

Hunter met Mallory’s gaze sympathetically as their two friends continued to analyze the romance value of different types of weather and their contribution to the perfect date night. Samantha and Brooklyn together could riff off each other for hours, so it was probably best she head this thing off.

“There was water,” Mallory pointed out, interrupting them in the name of productivity. “But I don’t remember it rippling the way you describe.”

“You should pay attention to that stuff more, the ripples,” Brooklyn said, which made perfect sense as Brooklyn treasured the little things in life. Mallory, however, was more of a big-picture kind of girl.

“I’ll try and work on that,” she said. “Put it on the old to-do list. ‘Listen for ripples.’”

Samantha leaned in, ready for more. “Okay, so dinner on a bench with a modicum of possible rippling. Maybe a star or two if I remember last night correctly. And then?”

“Then she took me home.”

The room fell into a frozen kind of silence. Brooklyn leaned forward, deflated now. “Wait. That’s it? Did you invite her in at least? For a quick drink maybe?” Mallory shook her head. “At least say she came inside.”

“She did not,” Mallory said. “I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

“No, no. That’s okay.” Brooklyn sat back in her chair. “At least you had the bench. That’s something.”

Mallory stood and headed back to her desk. “There was a rather hot kissing session in the hallway,” she tossed oh-so-casually over her shoulder, which prompted three excited women to climb over the table and practically tackle her in the middle of the room.

“Kiss #2 is major!” Sam pointed out.

“It does say something,” Hunter said, sliding atop her desk.

Brooklyn nodded wholeheartedly, clearly feeling like this was Christmas morning as far as romance went. “It says they’re totally going to fall for each other!”

Mallory held up a finger. “It doesn’t say that, actually. It says we have physical chemistry and it turns out that Hope is a decent human being. Anything beyond that is simply not going to happen. Let’s be realistic.”

Deflated, Brooklyn walked to her desk. “So you’re saying you’re hot for her, but that’s it.”

It sounded so shallow when the words were said out loud, but Mallory had to call things as she saw them. She had certain requirements for her happily-ever-after, and Hope Sanders, sin-on-a-stick, simply didn’t fit what Mallory had lined up in her head. She tried her best to explain. “I need someone a bit more ordered and structured. Like me. Someone who keeps regular hours.” She shrugged. “We’d make dinners together and watch artsy films and maybe adopt a cat.”