by Jae
Laleh shrugged and smiled. “I’m Persian. We celebrate anything and everything. Not as a religious holiday, just as a time for family, friends, and good food. Let’s face it, Christmas isn’t about religion for most people anyway.”
“You’ve got me there. So your family always had a tree when you were growing up?”
“I wish. We exchanged gifts, but my father drew the line at getting a tree, no matter how much we begged. All my classmates had one, so I really wanted one too. I didn’t want to be different.” Realizing that she was allowing that childhood regret to intrude on their pleasant evening, she shook herself out of her mood. Here she was, complaining about not getting a tree when Hope hadn’t even had a family to celebrate Christmas with! Ashamed of her selfishness, she forced a smile and added, “Or maybe I was afraid that Santa wouldn’t come to our house if we didn’t have a tree.”
Hope didn’t return the smile. She sat up and put a hand on Laleh’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. But now that you’re an adult, you can have all the Christmas trees you want.”
“Not in my apartment. It’s too tiny.”
“Oh.” Hope was silent for a while. She looked around her spacious condo with obvious reluctance.
A complex entanglement of emotions bombarded Laleh through their link, but it was strangely muted, as if Hope had all of her defenses up so Laleh wouldn’t be able to pick up on what exactly she was feeling.
“Well,” Hope said, “if you want, we could—”
Laleh put her hand on top of Hope’s and gave it a squeeze that stopped Hope from making that offer. “No. I appreciate it, but if having a tree brings up unpleasant memories for you, it’s not worth it.”
“It’s not that,” Hope said, but the feelings Laleh sensed said otherwise. “We always had a Christmas tree when I was a child.”
“Even after your mother…?” Laleh bit her lip.
“Yeah. Most of my foster families had a tree, and the group home had one too. But it just wasn’t the same. They didn’t have my mom’s elf hat tree topper.”
A stab of grief hit Laleh in the chest, and it was impossible to tell whether it was her own emotion or Hope’s—or both. “They didn’t let you have it?”
Hope shook her head, her lips compressed to a tight line. “There wasn’t enough space in any of the places I lived afterward. All I could take were some of my clothes and toys. The rest was packed up in boxes, and I never saw any of it again.”
To lose not only her mother but her home and so many treasured possessions at the same time… Laleh ached for her. Packed up in boxes… She had a feeling that was what Hope had done with her emotions too, taping them shut and never examining them again. But now she sensed tiny rips forming in the cardboard. “You said you hadn’t visited your mother’s grave in a very long time.”
Hope hummed noncommittally.
“When you were in Boston last month, what made you go?” Laleh peered over at her and held her breath as she waited to see if Hope would answer or shut her out. Despite their link, she felt as if she didn’t know and understand this complex woman nearly enough—and she wanted to.
Hope settled on her back and folded her arms behind her head, interrupting the contact between their hands. She lay still and stared at the high ceiling. Just when Laleh thought she wouldn’t get an answer, Hope murmured, “I think it was you.”
“Me?” Laleh tapped her chest.
“You watched the resuscitation video, even knowing it would be tough. You faced your fears and your past instead of shutting them away.”
Wow. Laleh didn’t know what to say to that.
Hope got to her feet. “You know what? Let’s move the couch a little to the right.”
Laleh gaped at her. Then she couldn’t help beaming.
“Don’t look at me with that I-just-won-the-lottery gaze.” Hope held up a hand. “It doesn’t mean I’ll get a Christmas tree. I just want to be prepared, in case I change my mind.”
“Right.” Laleh got up too, but before she grabbed her end of the couch, there was something else she needed to do. She walked over to Hope, put both hands on her shoulders so she could lean up, and pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek. The warmth and softness of Hope’s skin made her linger for a moment. Oh. Somehow, she hadn’t expected this touch of her lips to Hope’s cheek to feel so good. She fought the urge to nuzzle closer. Well, she’s a woman. Of course she’s got soft skin. No stubble. But it didn’t explain why she wanted to bury her nose against Hope’s neck and inhale her scent. “Thank you,” she said before forcing herself to pull back.
Hope’s lashes fluttered like the wings of a butterfly. Her hand came up and touched the spot Laleh had kissed. “What…” She cleared her throat. “What was that for?”
“Just because.” Laleh turned away to hide the flush rising to her cheeks. She smiled at the mix of embarrassment and shy pleasure filtering through their link. Most of the time, Hope was this competent, always-in-control physician and a woman who could watch romantic movies without shedding a single tear. It made moments like this one, when she was speechless and awkward like a teenager, all the more precious.
She shook herself a little, chasing away the memory of her lips on Hope’s skin. The couch, remember? She walked to the sofa and took hold of one corner.
It took a few moments for Hope to join her.
Neither of them needed to count to three. Laleh pulled on her end at the exact same moment Hope pushed on hers. The couch slid to the right, making enough space for a Christmas tree—just in case.
* * *
Hope barely resisted the urge to touch her tingling cheek again. She could still feel Laleh’s breath and then her soft lips on her skin. It made her blood rush to the surface and her face grow hot. That short moment had been over too fast for her to react—and maybe it was better that way. Who knew what she would have done if she’d had time to wrap her arms around Laleh?
A shiver rippled through her body.
Cut it out, or she’ll notice. She focused on a song—any song—and hummed it in her mind. Every time Laleh sang along to music, it was the only thing Hope received from her, as if the melody blocked the only channel, leaving no room to transmit emotions. It probably worked the same the other way around; otherwise, Laleh would have sensed her attraction already and run screaming into the night.
Okay, maybe she wouldn’t scream or even run, but it would definitely make things between them awkward, and Hope didn’t want that. Their friendship was special, something to be nurtured and protected. No way would she allow her stupid libido to spoil it.
With the couch in its new place, Laleh squeezed out of the narrow space between the arm of the sofa and the wall. Her T-shirt snagged on one handle of the French doors. A ripping sound broke the silence in the living room.
“Shit. This is my favorite T-shirt.” Laleh looked from the rip in her shirt, where the seam had come apart, to Hope. “How’s your suturing, Doc?”
“Guess you’ll find out.” After some rummaging through the closet, she found the sewing kit and carried it back.
Laleh hesitated. Her gaze went back and forth between Hope and the T-shirt. “I guess you can’t fix it while I’m wearing it.” A light blush on her cheeks, she pulled the T-shirt up and over her head.
The movement alone was erotic enough, but add to that the black lace bra and the smooth olive skin beneath…
The air rushed from Hope’s lungs. Sweet Jesus! She wrenched her gaze away and quickly started singing in her mind.
Laleh walked over to her. “Do you think you can do it?”
“Oh yeah.” Hope was thankful for her naturally husky voice; it masked how hoarse she now sounded. It took her hazy mind a second to figure out that Laleh was talking about fixing her favorite T-shirt. She plopped down onto the couch and took a needle from the sewing kit. With disbelief, she stared down at her hands.
In her six years as an emergency physician, she had held her patients’ lives in her hands more than once—literal
ly—and she’d always been able to rely on the steadiness of her fingers. Now they were trembling, and it took her two tries to thread the needle.
The fact that Laleh settled next to her on the couch didn’t help any either. Laleh took a fleece throw blanket from the end of the couch and wrapped it around her shoulders, but Hope’s vivid imagination kept showing her the formfitting pair of jeans and the sexy bra she wore beneath.
What the hell was going on with her? She saw bra-clad women every day. But that was work, and Laleh was…well, not work. Still, it surprised her how much that bit of bare skin affected her. She hadn’t reacted like this to a woman since she’d first figured out her sexual orientation.
Laleh reached over and lightly touched her forearm, her gaze on Hope’s hands. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Perfect. Really.”
Laleh sent her a look that clearly said she didn’t believe her.
“It’s just been a while.” Oh yeah. It’s definitely been a while. Too long, apparently, or you wouldn’t react this way to a friend. A straight friend, dammit. Quickly, she added, “Since I did any sewing, I mean.”
Even without their link, Hope could have sensed Laleh’s disbelief and her confusion. Laleh could feel that something was going on, but thankfully, she didn’t seem to have any idea what it was.
Sing, you idiot! In her mind, she hummed the next best song.
Laleh chuckled. “‘Sexual Healing’?”
Hope nearly pierced her finger with the needle. “What?”
“There’s this song running through your mind. I think it’s ‘Sexual Healing.’”
“Um, yeah, must be because…” Hope’s thoughts raced, trying to come up with an explanation. “Well, healing the shirt and everything.” She gestured to the needle and the shirt in her lap.
“Dr. Hope Finlay, healer of shirts. It should be on your hospital badge.”
Hope had to laugh, and that eased her tension and guided her thoughts into safer territory. “I’ll suggest it to the hospital administration.”
Finally, she finished her sewing and snipped the thread. “There. As good as new.”
Laleh inspected the neat seam and nodded her approval. “Thank you. I knew having a doctor for a friend would be good for something one day.”
“So you just want me for my talented hands?” It was out before Hope could stop herself. Cut out the flirting! You’re not Jordan.
But either Laleh didn’t notice or she didn’t care. She looked down at Hope’s fingers for so long that Hope was starting to wonder if she had dirt under her nails and self-consciously curled her hands into loose fists. But when she probed Laleh’s emotions through their link, all she sensed was confusion. Laleh was probably busy trying to figure out what it was she felt from her.
“Well, I probably don’t appreciate them as much as a lesbian would,” Laleh said with a little wink, “but they do come in handy.”
Was Laleh’s voice a little husky too?
Nonsense. That was just wishful thinking.
“Thank you for fixing my favorite shirt.”
For a moment, Hope half-feared, half-wished Laleh would lean over and give her a thank-you kiss on the cheek again, but instead, she threw off the blanket, slipped the T-shirt over her head, and smoothed it down over the sexy bra.
A hint of regret skittered through Hope, but she pushed it away. It was better this way. If Laleh had kissed her again or sat there in her bra for longer than a few seconds, she would have run out of songs to sing in her mind.
* * *
The door closed behind Laleh.
Hope sank against it from the other side and exhaled sharply. So far, she had always enjoyed Laleh’s company, but now she was relieved to be alone again. Or maybe she had enjoyed Laleh’s company a little too much. It was as if a switch had been turned on somewhere inside of her. Or maybe her attraction had been developing for some time and she was only now realizing it. Either way, she was suddenly aware of Laleh’s closeness as they sat on the couch, and when Laleh had whipped off her T-shirt…
She fanned herself with both hands. Her shirt was plastered to her back. God, she felt as if she were having hot flashes. If she weren’t thirty-one, she would have thought she was going through menopause.
No woman had ever affected her like this. Was it the link between them that caused her to feel like an out-of-control teenager?
Still singing—this time out loud—she trudged to the bathroom. She needed a shower. A cold one.
Tension vibrated through her body. She stripped out of her clothes, not caring where they landed, and stepped into the shower. The water pulsed out of the massage head above her, cascaded down her oversensitized body, and caressed her breasts.
She squeezed a dollop of bodywash onto her palm and smoothed it over one arm. The scent of vanilla and mango drifted up, instantly reminding her of Laleh, although she couldn’t say why. Maybe because she smelled good too.
Stop thinking of her!
She adjusted the water temperature to tepid and started lathering the rest of her body, all the while making sure that her mental soundtrack was still playing.
Her abdominal muscles contracted as she slid her hand down her belly. The luxuriant lather made the touch feel like silk. Every nerve in her body seemed to come alive. She parted her thighs and smoothed her hand between her legs, intending to get washed up. Heat hit her low in the belly, catching her unawares.
It had definitely been too long. She needed to get laid or maybe just have a damn orgasm. That had to be why she felt so drawn to Laleh.
Her fingers started to move against her slick flesh almost without conscious direction.
Are you crazy? Laleh will realize! Quickly, she snatched her hand away and sang a little louder in an attempt to drown out her amorous thoughts. When she realized what she was singing, she groaned. Let’s Get It On. Great.
If she didn’t think of some other, less erotic music, Laleh would know what was up, no matter whether she touched herself or not.
And why shouldn’t I? Defiance bubbled up inside of her. She didn’t know how long this connection to Laleh would last. If it didn’t go away, did she really want to spend her entire life without ever having sex or masturbating again? Hell, no!
Maybe if she got some relief, she would be able to control her attraction to Laleh a lot better.
Trying to focus on the song in her mind, she slid her hand back between her legs and dipped two fingers between her folds. Her clit hardened at the very first touch. God! She hissed out a breath between tightly clenched teeth. Resting her back against the tiles, she tilted her head back, raised her face into the soft spray, and circled her clit with two fingertips. Her other hand slid up and massaged her breasts.
A shudder went through her. Her eyes fell closed, and, unbidden, an image of Laleh kneeling in front of her, caressing her with her hands and mouth, flickered through her mind.
No, not her. She tried to turn the fantasy woman into some attractive stranger or a hot celebrity, but the only face she saw was Laleh’s.
A new wave of arousal flashed through her body. Already, she felt the first twinges of orgasm. She grabbed for hold with her free hand and steadied herself against the shower wall as her legs started to tremble.
Using a little more direct pressure, she rubbed the pad of her middle finger across her clit. Back and forth, back and forth. God, so good. Her imagination showed her Laleh touching her there instead of her own hand.
The image made her breath catch. Her orgasm hit hard. Her knees slackened, and she almost slipped on the wet tile.
Gasping, she leaned against the cold shower wall until the waves of pleasure ebbed away.
* * *
On her way home, Laleh made a stop at the grocery store. She pushed the cart down the aisles without really seeing any of the food on the shelves to the left and right. Her thoughts were still in Hope’s condo.
Something was going on with Hope; she was sure of that, but she couldn�
��t get a good grasp on what it might be. She tried to stretch out her feelers in Hope’s direction. All she was getting was another Marvin Gaye song.
For a moment, she had to smile at how off-key Hope sounded, even when she was singing in her mind, then she tried to dive deeper and see what was beyond the melody.
Emotions bubbled there, but she couldn’t make it past the song to identify them, just the way it had been earlier, in Hope’s condo.
Yeah, maybe because you couldn’t focus since you were too busy watching her hands as she fixed your shirt or marveling at how soft her skin felt.
Maybe it was she, not Hope, who was having strange feelings. She’d never experienced such a weird fascination with someone else’s fingers before. Heck, she couldn’t even remember what the hands of her two boyfriends had looked—or felt—like, but when she had joked about lesbians appreciating Hope’s talented hands, a stray thought had shot through her mind.
She’d pushed it away immediately, but now, alone except for a few other late-night shoppers, she could admit that she’d wondered what it might feel like to feel those hands on her skin.
Heat flared through her. She stopped in front of the freezer case and opened the glass doors, grateful for the cold air cooling her flushed cheeks.
It didn’t mean anything. Being a little curious was only human, right? Most girls probably had the occasional thought like this when they were teenagers, and they weren’t all lesbians either. Back then, Laleh, the dutiful Persian daughter, hadn’t wasted much thought on sex—not with boys and certainly not with other girls. So maybe she was now catching up with other people.
A chuckle sounded next to her. “Planning a party?”
Laleh turned.
A blond man about her age was leaning on his shopping cart, sending her an amused look.
She had no idea what he was talking about. “Excuse me?”
His grin broadening, he gestured to her cart.
Laleh looked down. She stared at the six containers of ice cream in her cart. Banana split, mint chocolate chip, cherry vanilla, cookies and cream, peanut butter, and pistachio. Jeez, that was enough ice cream to build a snowman! How had that gotten into her cart? She didn’t even like mint chocolate chip that much. Hope did, though.
