I Think I Love You

by Layne, Lauren

Maybe. Someday. Probably.

  He wanted to go back to Kansas City. A little more with every day. He was ready for the second stage of his adult life. He’d done the big city thing and loved it. He wanted to try something new. Marriage. Fatherhood. Sunday dinners with the family. Hell, he even missed having a car.

  But he also knew leaving New York would come with sacrifices.

  His gaze went to Brit again. Leaving New York would mean saying goodbye to people who mattered a lot.

  And he wasn’t ready for that.

  “Hey, actually, you mind if I go join them?” Hunter asked suddenly, turning to his dad.

  Dennis waved his hand in the direction of the skate-rental stand. “Sure. I’ll be here.”

  A few minutes later, Hunter had tied his skates and made his way to where Brit was trying to coax Malik into skating without her arm.

  “Thank God,” Malik said in relief as Hunter halted in front of them. “Your girl’s relentless.”

  Hunter didn’t correct Malik’s assertion of Brit as his girl. Instead, he looked over and met Brit’s eyes. “I didn’t know you could skate.”

  She did a curtsy, pulling out an imaginary skirt as she did so. “Three years of figure-skating lessons, thank you very much. I loved it, up until I realized that my body type didn’t exactly have Olympic gold medal written all over it.”

  She cupped her hands around her lips and mouthed boobs.

  Malik rolled his eyes, having missed nothing. “And, I’m out.”

  “Hey, we were just getting started with your skating lesson!” Brit said in protest. “You were doing so well.”

  Malik lifted his hand in a thanks but we’re done here gesture as he toddled awkwardly toward the edge of the rink, clearly over his ice-skating infatuation.

  “What’s your skating story?” Brit asked, turning back to Hunter.

  “Hockey for a couple years. I was as enthusiastic as I was mediocre at the sport, but I always did like the skating part.” He extended a hand. “Shall we?”

  He meant it as a peace offering—an attempt to get things back to normal after last night’s awkwardness.

  She took his hand without hesitation, but even though they both wore gloves, it didn’t feel like things were getting back to normal. Instead, it felt like another step in the direction of . . . wherever the hell they were going.

  They found each other’s rhythm immediately, moving easily in sync closer to the center of the rink, where the more experienced skaters were.

  Hunter picked up the pace slightly, and she matched him. They went faster and faster, hands clinging, faces cold, and he smiled when he heard her laugh in delight.

  Hunter lost count of how many times they circled the rink, forgot about the fact that he should be bored because he was anything but. There was something wonderfully carefree about skating on a cold winter’s day with his . . . best friend.

  Finally, he tugged her hand slightly to slow her, then more firmly to bring her around to face him.

  Brit’s eyes were bright, her cheeks and nose red as she grinned up at him. “Oh, I forgot how fun that can be. Like flying.”

  He smiled and touched a gloved finger to her nose. “You’re all pink. You look cold.”

  “Gosh, such high compliments,” she said with a laugh. “I’m beginning to wonder if you were the right guy to teach me the art of seduction.”

  “I’m the right guy,” he said firmly.

  “Really?” Her voice was skeptical. “Because—”

  Hunter tightened his grip on her hand, pulling her slightly closer, his other hand going around her back and pulling her all the way until she was flush against him.

  Keeping one arm wrapped fully around her, he tugged the glove of his free hand off with his teeth and tucked it under his arm.

  This time, when he touched her face, it wasn’t with a gloved finger, and it wasn’t her nose.

  Instead, Hunter brushed a finger along her lower lip and she froze, seeming to hold her breath.

  “You’re flushed,” he said quietly. “You look beautiful.”

  Confusion flickered in her gaze, followed by something else that he couldn’t identify.

  Even as skaters whizzed by them, even as his parents and Malik probably looked on in surprised fascination, neither of them moved, aside from the gentle back-and-forth movement of his finger along her bottom lip. He tested the give of it, wondering what it would feel like under his mouth, wondering if it would taste as soft as it felt, wondering . . .

  Brit let out a little laugh and eased backward. “All right. You win. You are good at this seduction thing.” She lifted a finger and pointed at his face. “That was excellent. I’ll definitely be adding that to my repertoire.”

  Brit skated away, doing a little half jump, but Hunter remained still for a moment longer, a bit jarred by the fact that he hadn’t touched her because of her plan; he hadn’t been trying to teach her anything.

  He’d touched her because he wanted to.

  And he wanted to do it again.

  Hours later, Brit and Hunter were lying on her bed watching some Bruce Willis movie. She’d already forgotten the name of it. She liked Bruce Willis well enough, but all his movies tended to blend together for her. Most of them involved guns and quips and bad guys.

  Hunter, on the other hand, loved Bruce Willis. When it was his turn to pick a movie, it was a Bruce Willis film at least half of the time.

  Brit’s attention was only half on the movie; the other half was on her phone.

  Well, no, that wasn’t true. Some of her attention was on the movie; some of it was on her phone. . . .

  The rest of it was on Hunter. And on the memory of that moment in Central Park when he’d been unexpectedly . . . tender.

  Sure, it hadn’t been real. He’d only been showing her how things could be between a man and a woman. When the man was interested in the woman.

  But it had felt real, just for a moment.

  Even more alarming, it had been . . . nice. She’d liked Hunter touching her. She’d liked the way he looked at her.

  However, if she’d been hoping it would continue later in the day—and she wasn’t sure that she was hoping that—she’d have been disappointed.

  The rest of the day had been like old, normal Hunter and Brit. Platonic, playful, casual. There’d been no looks, no touches.

  Even now, as they sat just inches apart on her bed, things were more comfortable than not.

  And that was nice in its way, but . . .

  She sighed, and he glanced over at her. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. You think your parents will get to the airport okay tomorrow?”

  “Uber’s coming for them at five A.M. Assuming they can get Malik up that early, he can get them in the car.”

  “That’s awesome about them adopting him,” she said. He’d filled her in on the adoption plan after dinner.

  “Yeah, it really is,” he said.

  “You bummed you won’t be around much to see him?”

  “Yeah.”

  She studied him. “You ever think about going back? To Kansas City, I mean? For good?”

  “Yeah.”

  Normally she’d give him crap about the clichéd guy-ness of his one-word answers, but she was too jarred by his admission to do anything but think about the prospect of him leaving New York. For good.

  She knew she shouldn’t be surprised. For all his big-city sophistication, there was also a casual Midwest vibe to Hunter when you got to know him. Brit had always sort of known on some level that maybe New York City wasn’t the endgame for him. He was close with his family; he went back every holiday, talked to all of his siblings at least a couple of times a week.

  But hearing him say out loud that he was thinking about leaving the city, leaving her . . .

  She wasn’t quite ready for that.

  “Don’t worry, I’m not packing my boxes anytime soon,” he said with a small smile, his attention back on the TV. “So don’t throw the celebratory h
e’s gone party just yet.”

  “Shoot,” she said, tossing her phone onto the bed. “I’ve already gotten the he’s finally gone posters printed and everything.”

  He surprised her by turning off the TV before the movie was over and rolling to face her, his head propped on his bent arm as he grinned at her.

  “You’d miss me if I left.”

  “Mmmm.” She wrinkled her nose, as though questioning his assumption.

  “And without me, who would agree to your weird seduction lesson plan?”

  “I’m not sure you should be bragging about that yet. My love life’s not exactly thriving.”

  “You haven’t put yourself out there.”

  “I went on a date just last night,” she pointed out.

  His smile slipped slightly. “That was premature. You weren’t ready.”

  Brit laughed. “Well, which is it? Either I’m not putting myself out there or I’m not ready.”

  He considered the question for a moment. “I guess that’s up to you. You said you didn’t ever feel sexy. Did you feel sexy last night? With Russ?”

  “Ross. And . . . I wore the right outfit. The right bra.”

  His eyebrows lifted. “Do tell. We skipped that part of your wardrobe assessment.”

  “Black and lacy.”

  His eyes seemed to darken for a moment, but he gave a nod. “Solid choice.”

  “Right? I thought so too. And I liked my dress, he was a decent-enough guy . . . but no. No sexy vibes. There never are.” She blew out a long breath. “Maybe I’m broken.”

  Hunter shook his head. “You’re not broken. You’re just in your head too much. Sexy’s about feeling, and you’re making it into a thinking thing.”

  “That’s really good advice,” she said sarcastically. “I’ll simply turn off my brain, then? That how it works? Just be mindless and get engaged?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Okay, get your notebook out. It’s lesson time. When do you not feel sexy?”

  She put a finger to her chin, pretended to think it over. “All of the time.”

  “Okay, when do you want to feel sexy but don’t?”

  Brit bit her lip, feeling suddenly awkward. “This is . . . personal.”

  “Good thing we’re best friends, then.”

  “Right,” she said, taking a deep breath. “Okay, it’s mostly when guys . . . touch me. Or I think they might touch me. I start . . . well, to your point, I guess I get all up in my head.”

  “Okay, try this,” Hunter said. “Close your eyes.”

  “Do I have to?”

  “Unless you want to fail my class. Then I’d have to tell your parents that you’re flunking out of seduction school. It’ll be uncomfortable for all of us.”

  She laughed at the appalling thought of her best friend telling her conservative parents that she’d failed a seduction class. Then she obeyed and closed her eyes. “Okay. Ready.”

  He chuckled. “Really? Because you look braced for something painful. Relax.”

  “Well, I can’t!” she said with another laugh. “You try closing your eyes not knowing what’s going to happen; tell me if you relax.”

  “Brit.”

  She took a breath, exhaled, trying to calm herself. “Fine. Go.”

  “Go, she says. So romantic,” he muttered.

  Brit wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but it sure as heck wasn’t for Hunter’s hand to rest on her waist.

  She immediately stiffened, and he made a scolding noise. “Stop. Take a deep breath. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  I can’t think.

  Brit’s heart had started racing, but she did as he suggested and took a deep breath. Tried to pretend this was some other guy, not Hunter.

  “I’m thinking that you’re touching my love handles and that maybe I should have gotten broccoli as my side at dinner and not the mashed potatoes.”

  “All right,” he said calmly, nonjudgmentally. “Now let me tell you what I’m thinking. I’m thinking that no man who’s worthy to put his hand here is thinking about love handles or potatoes.”

  “What would he be thinking?” she asked softly.

  “Well, chances are, he wouldn’t be thinking much at all. But if he were . . .” Hunter’s hand moved slightly, his palm pressed more firmly against the side of her waist, heating her skin through her shirt. “He’d be thinking that you’re soft. Warm.”

  Brit swallowed, and Hunter’s voice grew huskier. “He’d be thinking that if he’s lucky, he’ll learn what you feel like under the shirt. If your skin’s as soft as he’s hoping.”

  For a moment, neither of them moved, and Brit felt the hesitation in him, even as she felt the longing that matched her own.

  This. This was yearning. This was wanting. . . .

  This was sexy.

  Hunter’s hand moved slowly, very slowly, drifting slightly downward until it settled on her hip. His hand paused again. Waiting. Drawing out the moment.

  His hand slid up again, slipping under her shirt.

  Hunter’s palm touched her bare skin and she gasped, an unintentional exhale of want.

  “Now what are you thinking?” His voice was a growl.

  “I’m not,” she said, keeping her eyes squeezed shut, too afraid that looking at him would end this unexpectedly perfect moment. “I’m not thinking.”

  “No? Why not?”

  Brit shook her head. “I’m feeling.”

  “Good,” Hunter whispered. “That’s good.”

  She opened her eyes.

  He was closer. Closer than he’d been before, his face mere inches from hers as his hand slowly stroked along her side, the pads of his fingers dragging over her skin softly, seductively.

  “Hunter,” she whispered. Terrified. Needing.

  His gaze dropped to her mouth, his head tilted down—

  A cellphone buzzed between them, and they both jumped.

  Hunter gave a quick shake of his head and slipped his hand from beneath her shirt.

  Every part of her being protested.

  He groped in the covers between them until he came up with the still-buzzing phone. Her phone.

  Hunter handed it to her, but not before he saw the name of the incoming caller.

  Ross.

  As in last night’s meh date.

  No. No!

  She didn’t want Ross; she wanted Hunter.

  And because the thought scared her more than anything, she did the only thing she could think of to make things right again, to keep Hunter and her where they belonged: friends.

  Brit sat up and answered the call.

  “Hello?”

  “Brit, hey.” Ross’s voice was sort of high and whiny. Was it like that last night? She couldn’t remember. But compared with Hunter’s low timbre . . .

  “Hey, Ross!” Okay, now her voice was high.

  Hunter moved, rolling to his back for a moment, then shifting so he could sit up, legs swung over the side of the bed.

  Brit gave him a quick glance out of the corner of her eye, but his back was to her, his head bowed as though he was staring at the floor.

  She barely registered anything Ross was saying. Something about having a great time last night, did she want to do it again . . .

  Hunter stood and went into the bathroom, closing the door with a quiet click. She heard the water run, wondered if he was splashing cold water on his face, because Lord knew that’s what she wanted to do.

  “Brit?” Ross asked into the phone.

  “Hmm? Sorry, what?”

  He gave a slightly puzzled laugh. “I asked if you were free Tuesday. My boss gave me tickets to some symphony event. I don’t know if that’s your thing, but we could grab dinner after?”

  Brit swallowed. Remembered what Hunter said about not putting herself out there. Remembered why she and Hunter were in this place to begin with—because she wanted to find someone.

  She wanted a boyfriend. A lover. A someday husband. The future father of her children.


  She wasn’t going to find him by spending every night watching Bruce Willis movies with a guy who would never see her as more than a friend. Who might have one foot out of New York City to go back to his hometown.

  “Sure,” she said, forcing excitement she didn’t feel.

  They made arrangements to meet for a drink near the symphony house at six, then hung up.

  Brit stared down at the phone in her hand, lost in thought until Hunter opened the bathroom door.

  She looked up, braced for awkwardness, but he smiled. It was strained but real. “So? Did our secure the second date moves from last night work?”

  She smiled back. “Apparently. He asked me out to the symphony on Tuesday.”

  “Not bad, student of mine. Not bad. You may just pass my class after all.”

  His tone was normal, as was the casual way he flopped onto the couch as he said it, but he wasn’t looking at her. Not normal.

  “Hunter.”

  He glanced over and met her eyes.

  Brit swallowed, wanting to ask what had just happened. If it was all pretend or if he’d felt what she felt.

  “What’s up?” he asked when she didn’t continue.

  Brit lost her courage. “Nothing. Never mind. See you in the morning.”

  She reached over and flicked out the light.

  Neither of them said another word.

  But she was pretty sure she wasn’t the only one who lay awake long into the night.

  Chapter Fifteen

  At seven the following Friday, Brit tucked a bottle of champagne under her arm, tugged off her glove, and knocked on Alex Cassidy’s door.

  The door opened to a wave of sound and a gorgeous brunette. Not Cassidy, and not Cassidy’s wife, Emma, either.

  This was Riley Compton, the stunning sex columnist from Stiletto magazine. “Brit!” Riley exclaimed happily, pulling her in for a warm hug. “I haven’t seen you in forever. You look fabulous.”

  Riley pulled back, her bright blue eyes giving Brit an assessing once-over. “New hair,” she proclaimed.

  Brit winced just slightly. “Really new. Like, an-hour-ago new. Be honest, I can take it. What do we think?”

  “I’m super good at honest,” Riley declared, “and I love it. Love. It. The light blond suits you.”

  Light blond was perhaps an understatement. Brit’s new hair color was pretty darn close to platinum.