Heart Trouble

by Jae

  “Um, no,” she answered belatedly. “But you can never have too much ice cream, right?”

  “Right.” His eyes—blue, but not as intense as Hope’s—twinkled. “If you need help eating all that…”

  It took her a moment to realize he had basically just asked her out. She studied him for a moment. He was good-looking in that Californian-surfer-boy way and seemed nice. Having ice cream with him might be a welcome change of pace from the polite, boring lawyers and bankers her parents kept inviting over for tea. But Laleh couldn’t muster any interest in going out with him, and there was no sense in leading him on. “Thanks,” she said, “but I’m a little territorial about my ice cream.”

  He laughed. “Maybe coffee, then?”

  Obviously, he hadn’t gotten the hint, so it was time to be a little more frank. “You seem like a nice guy, but I’m not interested in dating right now.” It was a good thing her parents couldn’t hear her, or she’d get another earful about ending up torshideh.

  “All right. Enjoy the ice cream.” He straightened and steered his cart down the aisle.

  Laleh watched him for a moment before putting the ice cream containers back into the freezer, keeping only the pistachio and the mint chocolate chip for the next time Hope came over.

  When she closed the glass door, a tingle worked its way down her body, at first barely noticeable, more like a background hum, then growing stronger. Weird. She must have stood in front of the open freezer for too long. But as she walked toward the cash register, heat joined the tingling sensation. An aching warmth filled the pit of her stomach. Her heart beat faster until it was pounding urgently in her chest.

  For a moment, fear gripped her. Was she having heart trouble again?

  No. That had never felt so…pleasurable.

  A slow pulsing started between her legs. Just the slight brushing of her thighs against each other as she walked almost made her moan out loud. She wanted to rub against something…someone so bad. Her skin ached to be touched.

  What the…? Where was this coming from? She’d never become aroused like this, out of the blue, in the middle of a grocery store, goddammit! Hope. It had to be Hope. What the hell is she doing?

  All right, that was a stupid question. Laleh could imagine exactly what she was doing.

  For a moment, she thought Hope might be with another woman. Her grip on the shopping cart tightened as if she wanted to strangle it. But, no, that couldn’t be. She’d left Hope only fifteen minutes ago, and she knew Hope didn’t have any women on speed dial who’d drop everything and come running for a booty call. At least she didn’t think so.

  Hope had to be alone. Was she in bed, snuggled between the new silky sheets Laleh had helped her pick out, sliding her hand down the flat, sexy planes of her belly and dipping—

  Stop! Stop it! She wasn’t even sure whom she was mentally shouting at, herself or Hope.

  It helped only for a second, then a jolt of pleasure hit her. Oh yes! Her breathing hitched, and her eyes rolled back in her head as she felt her orgasm wash over Hope. She almost came along with her.

  Blindly, she crashed into a display of cake mixes. Boxes of chocolate sponge cake rained down on her.

  Extra-moist, she read on one of the boxes that had landed in her shopping cart. Great. So am I. She could feel the slickness between her legs, and suddenly, it made her so angry that her vision went red for a second.

  Hope had to have known that she would feel every single touch, every bit of arousal right along with her, but apparently, she had thought nothing of subjecting Laleh to this experience. Just what I needed. As if I weren’t already confused enough. Dammit, how was she supposed to sort out her feelings and get over her fascination with Hope after this?

  * * *

  After a minute or two, Hope turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. Her legs still felt shaky, now not from arousal but from the beginnings of panic. She clutched the sink with both hands but avoided glancing into the mirror, not wanting to see the look of shame that had to be written all over her.

  How could she have let it come to this?

  She had fooled herself into thinking that Laleh wouldn’t figure out what she was doing if only she kept humming a song. But when she had touched herself, the last thing on her mind were the lyrics of some song. The only thing she’d kept thinking of was Laleh.

  Laleh… Oh God. I messed up big time.

  Now that conscious thought had returned, Laleh’s emotions started to flood in through their link. It was an onslaught of feelings, too many to identify them all, but two that stood out were confusion and anger.

  Laleh, always so friendly and levelheaded, was furious—and that rage was clearly directed at her. Like a fire, it licked at Hope’s skin.

  She realized what that meant: not only had Laleh felt her orgasm; she somehow also knew that it had been a mental image of Laleh touching her that had driven her over the edge. It was the only explanation for Laleh’s anger that she could think of.

  Roughly, she scrubbed the towel over her flushed body and then groaned into the cotton. What the hell had she done?

  CHAPTER 17

  “Hey, stranger,” Jordan called out as she entered the emergency department and crossed over to Hope, who was sitting at a workstation, charting. “I thought I’d have to look for you in the morgue, but it seems you’re alive after all.”

  Hope saved the patient file and ducked her head. Admittedly, she hadn’t socialized with Jordan as much lately. She should have touched base with her a little more often. “I’m sorry.”

  Jordan leaned against the counter surrounding the nurses’ station. “Anything you want to tell your best friend in the whole, wide world?”

  “No.” Any explanation would have required her to admit that she’d spent most of her free time with Laleh, and she didn’t want to talk about her. It was bad enough that she hadn’t been able to think of anything but her since the shower incident yesterday. She peered up at Jordan and realized for the first time how much she looked like that Samurai-sword-carrying female warrior from Laleh’s favorite TV show. Enough! Everything seemed to remind her of Laleh these days. “But I could use your advice.”

  “Is this about the guy with the ruptured appendix?” Jordan asked.

  “Uh, no. It’s not about a case. This is…” Hope looked around to make sure none of the nurses were paying any attention to them. “It’s personal.”

  Jordan took a step closer and waved her hands in a gimme gesture. “Ooh. So this is about a woman?”

  “No. Yes, but not like that.” Oh, really? You masturbated fantasizing about her. How much more “like that” can you possibly get? Hope massaged her neck with one hand.

  Jordan grabbed a nearby stool, pulled it over, and sat on it so that they were eye to eye instead of Hope having to look up at her. “So, what is it?”

  “I have to apologize to L… to a woman, and I have no idea how to go about it.”

  “Depends on the woman, but usually, just walking up to her, looking her in the eye, and saying ‘I’m sorry’ works for me.”

  The thought of facing Laleh and looking her in the eye made Hope’s stomach twist itself into a giant knot. “I’m not sure that will cut it in this case.”

  “How about sending flowers, then?” Jordan said.

  Hope rubbed her chin. That could work. If she had them delivered, she wouldn’t even have to face Laleh. Whenever she tentatively reached out her Laleh-feelers to check on her, she was greeted by emotional turmoil. Laleh might still be so upset that she would refuse to even talk to her, but the flowers could be a good first step. “What kind of flowers?”

  “Well, that depends who you’re apologizing to. Is she someone you’re interested in or just a friend?”

  “The latter,” Hope said firmly. Maybe if she told herself enough times, her overactive libido and her stubborn brain would eventually get the message. “Definitely the latter.”

  “You want yellow flowers, then. Yellow sta
nds for friendship. Tulips would be perfect because they symbolize fresh starts and forgiveness.”

  Tulips. Hope smiled wryly. Figures.

  “What?” Jordan asked. “Your girl doesn’t like tulips?”

  “No, I think she does. And she’s not my girl. So, how many do I send?” Jordan seemed to have this flower-sending thing down to an art form, so she might as well make sure she got all the details right. She couldn’t afford to mess up again.

  Jordan grinned. “How bad did you fuck up?”

  Hope heaved a sigh. “Trust me; there aren’t enough flowers in the entire city.”

  “Ouch. Sounds serious.” Her grin now gone, Jordan studied her. “Want to talk about it?”

  Hope reached out and patted Jordan’s forearm. A second later, she froze and stared at her fingers. Would she have done that a month or two ago? She had never been someone who casually touched others. But even Laleh’s influence couldn’t change that she wasn’t a person who talked about what was bothering her. Besides, she didn’t want to violate Laleh’s trust even more than she already had. “No, thanks. Just the flower advice is good for now.”

  “All right.” Jordan got to her feet. “Are we still on for squash this Monday?”

  “Sure.” It would be a great release. The word made her grimace. Stress release. Dammit.

  “If you need anything else, let me know,” Jordan said.

  When she walked away, stopping only briefly to flirt with one of the nurses, Hope realized that she hadn’t answered the question of how many tulips to get. She’d have to figure it out on her own—that and the many other unanswered questions bouncing around in her head.

  * * *

  Laleh set the tray down on the worktable that dominated the restaurant kitchen and started rinsing the plates with the spray hose. Normally, Kelly, their dishwasher, took care of that, but she’d called in sick this morning, so Laleh had taken over that task in addition to her waitressing duties.

  She honestly didn’t mind. At least it didn’t leave her much time to think about Hope and what had happened last night. If she kept busy, she could almost block out the guilt that Hope still emanated.

  When she loaded up a dish rack, a knock sounded on the kitchen’s swinging doors.

  She looked at her aunt, who shrugged and gestured at her to get it so she could stay at the stove. Laleh pulled open one side of the door and peeked out.

  The first thing she saw was a huge arrangement of flowers—tulips surrounded by ferns and other greenery. The bouquet was so big that it hid the face and chest of the person holding it. He peered around the flowers. “Are you…” He glanced at the clipboard in his other hand. “…Laleh Samadi?”

  “Um, yes.”

  “I have a flower delivery for you, ma’am.”

  “For me?” Who would send her flowers, especially tulips? Only one person came to mind.

  “Who’s it from?” Aunt Nasrin asked.

  The deliveryman shrugged. “No idea. I only deal with the flower shop. Can I put it down somewhere?” He hefted the flowers, which came in a huge glass vase. “These are getting heavy.”

  “Oh. Yes. Of course.” Laleh quickly stepped aside.

  Aunt Nasrin took the flowers from him and put them on the worktable.

  The deliveryman thrust his clipboard at Laleh. “Sign here, please.”

  She took the pen he held out, signed the form, and then rummaged through her purse for a couple of one-dollar bills to tip him. Her fingers were trembling. If the flowers really were from Hope, what the heck did they mean? Usually, flowers were a romantic gesture, weren’t they? Hope couldn’t possibly…?

  “There’s a card,” Aunt Nasrin said once the deliveryman was gone. She paused in arranging the tulips in the vase and pointed at the small white envelope attached to the bouquet.

  “Yeah, I saw.”

  Her aunt raised an eyebrow at her. “Don’t you want to read the note and see who sent the flowers?”

  Laleh squirmed. “Um, later.”

  A knowing smile crept onto Aunt Nasrin’s face. “Oh, I see! You already know who sent them.” Then the smile faded. “Why didn’t you tell me you have a suitor?”

  Great. Now her aunt looked hurt. “I don’t.”

  “You can tell me, you know?”

  “It’s really not what you think.” What would her aunt say if she knew who had sent the flowers…and why? Would she think Laleh was gay? Are you? She pushed back the thought, at the same time wondering if she was imitating Hope’s coping mechanisms. “They’re… I think they’re from a friend.”

  Her aunt regarded her with observant eyes. “If he’s just a friend, why won’t you open the card?” Before Laleh could answer, she tsked. “Oh, now I get it. He’s not Persian, is he?”

  “There is no—”

  Aunt Nasrin patted her arm. “Don’t you worry, Laleh joon. I’ll put in a good word for him with your parents. Even if he’s not Persian, he seems to be a nice young man. So thoughtful to send you flowers—and look, they’re tulips.”

  “I saw.” For some reason, that made it even worse, as if Hope was abusing their link and all the knowledge about Laleh it gave her. What the heck was Hope thinking? She couldn’t seriously believe that a couple of flowers would erase what she’d done last night.

  Was it really that bad? Hope was only human, after all—a woman with needs, which she had ignored since they had discovered their emotional link last month. Yeah, but there’s a time and a place for everything. Hope could have given her a warning of some kind so she wasn’t out in public when it had happened. And apparently, she knew she’d messed up. Why else would she feel so guilty?

  “You know what?” her aunt said. “Why don’t you take off a little earlier today? Go home, dress up in something nice, and drive over to see your gentleman friend and to thank him personally.”

  Oh no. She wasn’t ready to face Hope. “I can’t do that. With both Kelly and Uncle Bahram gone, we’re understaffed as it is.”

  “Nonsense.” Aunt Nasrin pushed her toward the door. “Mina and I will manage. Now shoo!”

  Laleh knew protesting wouldn’t do her any good. She hugged her aunt, grabbed her purse, and trudged to the door.

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?” her aunt called.

  Already outside, Laleh stuck her head through the swinging doors.

  Aunt Nasrin pulled one side of the door open more fully and pressed the flowers into her hands.

  “Uh, thanks.” Laleh carried the vase to her car, poured out the water so it wouldn’t spill on the ride home, and set the flowers on the passenger seat. For a few minutes, she just sat there, glancing over at the bouquet, before she reached out and plucked the card from where it was nestled between the tulips. With trembling fingers, she pulled the note from the envelope.

  Laleh,

  Saying I’m sorry doesn’t seem enough, but I am.

  Hope

  It wasn’t Hope’s handwriting, but they were her words, and Laleh could feel that she meant them. She swallowed against the lump in her throat. Dammit, Hope! How was she supposed to stay angry now? And she wanted to; it was so much easier than examining all the other emotions coursing through her.

  Should she send her a text message accepting the apology and then pretend nothing had happened? But how was she supposed to do that when every time she drove past the grocery store, opened her freezer and caught sight of the ice cream she’d bought, or thought of Hope—which, admittedly, was all the time—these new, confusing images flashed through her mind? She had never thought of women as anything but friends, but now…

  Hope wasn’t exactly helping by sending her flowers.

  Tentatively, she reached out, past that protective shield of anger, like a turtle sticking its head out of its shell, and switched on her Hope-dar.

  Hope was at home. She could tell because the buzz of energy that surrounded her in the ER was gone. Instead, a black cloud of guilt and despair hung over her. She’d felt such dark emotions
from her only once, the day Hope had visited her mother’s grave.

  Instantly, she wanted to comfort her. Oh, no, you don’t. She couldn’t allow herself to go anywhere near Hope, not as long as they hadn’t agreed to clear boundaries.

  Not allowing herself time to reconsider, she reached for her cell phone and pressed number two on her speed dial.

  * * *

  Hope had just completed push-up number twenty-one when her phone rang. She got to her feet and hurried to the coffee table, eager for any distraction from her continuous self-recrimination.

  The name flashing across the small screen made her freeze.

  Laleh.

  For the past twenty-four hours, she had both hoped for and dreaded this call. Not taking it wasn’t an option.

  She swiped her finger, sweaty from more than exercising, across the phone and lifted it to her hear. “Laleh… Hi.”

  The silence filling the line was unbearable.

  “Did you get the flowers?” Hope asked, mainly to get Laleh to talk. “I’m sorry I had to send them to the restaurant, but the shop isn’t delivering late, so I couldn’t send them to your apartment.”

  Again that damn silence.

  Hope had tried not to listen in on Laleh’s emotions, a technique that she improved with every week that went by. If Laleh felt disgusted or planned to end their friendship, she didn’t want to know. But now she opened her mind and stretched out her Laleh-feelers.

  Shit. Laleh was still angry. There was something else too, though. Something that she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

  “Yes, I got the flowers,” Laleh said before Hope could probe more closely.

  “I’m sorry,” Hope blurted out. “I’m really, really sorry. I didn’t think—”

  “Yeah. There didn’t seem to be much thinking going on. That much was obvious.”

  The usual note of teasing in Laleh’s voice was missing. Her bitter tone cut like steel. Hope squeezed her eyes shut.

  “Really, Hope. What were you thinking, doing…that? You had to know that I could sense every little thing.” Laleh sucked in an audible breath. “Every little damn thing,” she repeated more quietly, as if to herself.