One More Time (A Time for Love Book 1)

by Amelia Stone

  a romance by

  Amelia Stone

  ONE MORE TIME

  Copyright 2015 and 2016 Amelia Stone

  All rights reserved

  Cover image: Jamy Mawhorter / JamyLyn Art

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or advertisement.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, brands, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, actual events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Contents

  Copyright

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Amelia Stone

  I was lounging on the couch, watching SportsCenter, drinking a beer, and gorging on Oreos, when Brian came home.

  “Hey! You’re home early,” I observed as he flopped onto the other end of the couch.

  He nodded a greeting, then gazed longingly at my beer. “Is there more?”

  “In the fridge. I went to the store this morning.”

  “And that’s why you’re the best roommate ever,” he said as he moved into the kitchen. A moment later, he returned with a beer in each hand. He set one in front of me, then resettled onto the couch with a groan. “Way better than your brother,” he added.

  “Well, I didn’t abscond to Portugal for a year without telling you,” I replied. “So there’s that.”

  “True story,” he replied, holding up his beer in a salute.

  My twin brother, Sam, had taken off for a study abroad program about a month before, right at the beginning of our junior year at Arizona State. But in typical Sam fashion, he forgot to tell Brian about his year in Lisbon until the day before he left, forcing his best friend and roommate to scramble for someone to help pay the rent on their off-campus apartment. I wanted out of the dorms, so I happily stepped in and took over Sam’s room. Brian and I were already friends through my brother, so the transition wasn’t too awkward.

  Brian and I watched the day’s sports highlights in companionable silence for a few minutes, until the commercial break.

  “So, how come you’re home so early on a Friday? I thought you had a date with what’s-her-name from your engineering lab.” I pulled an Oreo apart, making a face when the creme filling didn’t break off cleanly. “Rachel, right?”

  He blew out a long, frustrated breath and drained his beer. I watched as he tossed the bottle into the recycling bin, grabbed another from the fridge, and sat back down.

  “That bad, huh?” I ventured. He grunted. I turned to face him, tucking one leg under me. “You want to tell me about it?”

  He shook his head, his eyes never leaving the TV screen. Not surprising. Brian was a party boy through and through. He didn’t like to talk about feelings, or anything serious really. He'd splutter and turn red, and end up putting his foot in his mouth.

  Since he wasn’t paying attention to me, I took the opportunity to just look at him – a secret pleasure of mine. Brian was tall, six-foot-four when standing, with a powerful, athletic body built on years of playing football. When he stretched to his full height, he towered over my own five-two. He was handsome in a classic surfer boy kind of way, with shaggy golden brown hair that curled over his ears and fell over his bright blue eyes. He was adorable, really. And I knew I wasn’t the only one who thought so. If things had gone south with this Rachel girl, he’d have no shortage of willing replacements.

  I wondered again how bad his date could have been as I took in his defeated posture. His long, tanned legs were stretched out in front of him, his feet on the coffee table, and he was slouched low in the couch cushions, his shoulders sagging. He was rubbing one of his temples as though to ward off a headache as he sipped his beer.

  “You feel like ordering pizza?” I asked, trying to change the subject. Brian was a pizza fiend, too, so I was hoping a bit of pepperoni and melted cheese would cheer him up.

  He turned his head slightly to look at me. “I thought you went to the store today?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

  I scrunched up my nose. “I don’t feel like cooking. Today sucked.”

  He took a sip of his beer, nodding his head. “Must have been really bad, if you don’t want to cook,” he teased, the corners of his mouth lifting in a slight smile.

  I loved to cook more than just about anything else in the world. I’d much rather be in culinary school than a traditional college. I longed to be a chef, and I spent nearly all my free time teaching myself new techniques and experimenting with new recipes. And Brian was only too happy to be my taste tester every night.

  But most days, it seemed my aspirations of someday opening my own restaurant would never come true. I was a pre-law major, and my parents had made it clear to me from the time I was in diapers that I was expected to join my father’s firm when I grew up. Sam got a pass, since he was the least reliable person you’d ever meet. He could barely tie his own shoes, let alone be a lawyer. So all my father’s hopes of continuing his legacy rested squarely on my shoulders.

  The one time I ever brought up my desire to train as a chef with my parents, early in my freshman year of college, they threatened to cut off my tuition fund. Culinary school is expensive, and I didn’t have the cash to fund it myself. Without my parents’ support, I felt stuck.

  I pushed the Oreos away and looked over at Brian. Unlike him, I wanted to talk about my shitty day. “The people in my group project for Psych are a bunch of deadweights. I’m doing everything myself.” I drained my first beer and picked up the second. “And I saw Andrew at Starbucks this morning. He was sticking his tongue down some sorority twit’s throat.”

  Brian made a noise almost like a growl. “That guy’s an asshole.”

  “Preaching to the choir.” I held my beer up in acknowledgement. My very recently ex-boyfriend was at the top of my “people I’d like to grievously wound and/or maim” list.

  Actually, he was the entire list.

  Brian leaned toward me, his blue eyes serious for once. “You deserve so much better, Hannah. You know that, right?”

  Hot tears pricked the corners of my eyes, and I blinked them away. Damn beer, making me feel maudlin. “I know.”

  He cleared his throat and turned back to the screen, clearly uncomfortable with the emotional exchange. “Good.” He slapped his hands on his thighs. “So let’s order that pizza.”

  Two hours later, we were stuffed to the gills and feeling more than a little tipsy. We’d demolished the first six-pack before the delivery guy even showed up, and we were now halfway through the second.

  “Rachel dumped me,” Brian blurted out suddenly.

  I set my bottle down on the table, careful not to tip it over. “I thought this was your first date?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, it was. But she ended it before we even left the bar.”

  My eyebrows shot up in surprise. Usually the girls he dated ended up begging for more, but Brian w
as infamous as a one-and-done kind of guy. A little food, a bit of alcohol, a roll in the hay, and a goodbye kiss. Rare was the girl who got more than that. And he was always the one to end it.

  “So what happened?”

  He frowned. “We got into an argument.”

  That surprised me, too. Brian was a pretty easy-going guy. “About what?” I asked.

  He paused, fiddling with the label on his beer bottle. “She wanted to come home with me tonight.”

  I smirked. “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t put out,” I teased. Brian didn’t exactly play hard-to-get. I was probably one of the only girls on campus he hadn’t slept with.

  He shook his head, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “No, I would have been, you know, ready to go,” he said, sounding embarrassed. To my surprise, he was blushing. “But I wanted to go to her place.”

  I frowned. I thought I knew that was about. “I told you when I moved in that you could have girls over here. I wouldn’t mind.” Though now that I thought about it, I hadn’t seen him bring a girl to the apartment in the month or so I’d been there. “I used to bring Andrew here,” I pointed out. I picked up my beer again, taking a swig.

  “I never liked that cheating motherfucker,” he growled, his face contorting in anger.

  “Yeah, well, hindsight is 20/20,” I muttered darkly.

  We were both silent for a moment, before curiosity got the better of me. “So why didn’t you want to bring her here?” I asked. “Be honest.”

  He started peeling the label off his bottle. “Well, I told her I wasn’t sure if my roommate would be cool with that. I know you said I could,” he added, when I opened my mouth to protest, “but still, seems wrong to flaunt it around you. You’re not Sam,” he finished with a frown.

  “I know I’m not Sam,” I said, suddenly wondering if Brian was regretting the last-minute roommate switch. Was I cramping his style? “But I really did mean it when I said you could bring girls home. I wouldn’t mind at all.”

  He nodded. “That’s what Rachel said, too. She was sure ‘he’ would be okay with it.” I raised my eyebrows. “I told her my roommate’s a girl.” He downed the last of his beer, swallowing audibly. “And she freaked out.”

  I set my beer on the coffee table again and turned to face him. “What?”

  He nodded, looking embarrassed again. “It was batshit crazy. She said it wasn’t right that we lived together.” He paused. “She actually accused us of fucking each other.” He looked at me sideways, as though afraid to see my reaction.

  I scoffed. “That’s ridiculous!” I rose up on my knees. I always got fidgety when I was fired up, and this Rachel had now pissed me off. I was practically buzzing with indignation. How dare this chick make assumptions about my relationship with Brian? She didn’t even know me!

  He nodded vigorously, breaking out into a relieved smile. “Right? I kept trying to tell her we’re just friends.”

  “And she didn’t believe you?” I asked incredulously.

  He shook his head. “She said it was impossible for guys and girls to be friends. If we weren’t already fucking, then one or both of us wanted to.”

  I waved my hand dismissively, though I couldn’t quite meet his eye. “Ridiculous,” I repeated.

  “Totally.”

  I picked my beer up again, taking a long pull. An idea began to form in my slightly buzzed brain, and I was just drunk enough to think it was brilliant. This could finally be my chance, I thought.

  “I bet we could even kiss right now and not feel a thing,” I threw out.

  “I know, right?” he said, flashing me a goofy grin before returning his attention to the TV.

  I watched him, assessing. “We should do it. We should kiss right now. Then you can go back to her and tell her how wrong she was.”

  He turned to face me, still smiling, but it quickly faded as he took in my determined expression. He raised an eyebrow. “You serious?”

  I nodded. “Completely.”

  He looked at me for a bit, and I could practically see the wheels turning in his head. “All right. Fuck it. Let’s do it.” He sat up a little straighter, and I mirrored him, my head spinning, my nerves jangling with anticipation.

  “Oh, wait! Fuck. I have pizza breath.” I put a hand over my mouth, as though to block the fumes from escaping.

  He laughed, a deep, rumbling belly laugh. “So do I. We both ate the same thing, Hannah.”

  I exhaled noisily. “True. Okay, you ready?”

  He nodded. “Ready whenever you are.” He grinned.

  I set my beer on the table one last time, scooting over on the couch until I was mere inches from him. I was close enough to breathe in his unique scent, a blend of spicy cologne, clean laundry, and something uniquely male, something uniquely Brian. I’d never realized he smelled so good.

  He looked me over, his eyes roving my face, lingering on my mouth. “You sure about this?” he asked quietly, his deep baritone barely above a whisper. His blue eyes met mine, and we stared at each other for a beat.

  I nodded slowly. “This’ll be nothing,” I whispered, more bravely than I felt. “We’ll laugh about it later.”

  He nodded, biting his bottom lip. “Nothing. For sure.”

  He raised a hand and hesitantly slid it behind my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair. His eyes never left mine as he gently pulled my head down to his. My eyes fluttered closed just as his lips met mine.

  Oh, wow.

  His lips were warm and soft, and my own tingled at each sweet, feather-light brush of his mouth against mine. He kept one hand on my neck, and rested the other lightly on my thigh. I shivered at his touch.

  Gradually, instinct, or desire, or I hardly know what, took over, and the kiss became deeper. I moved my hands to his shoulders, pulling him closer. I ran my fingers through his hair, which was surprisingly soft and silky. His tongue ran lightly across the seam of my lips as if asking for entrance. I opened for him on a sigh, and his tongue darted into my mouth, caressing mine. His hand began to rub my thigh, moving slowly higher.

  Before I completely lost my head, I pulled back, breaking the kiss. I felt giddy from the cocktail of alcohol and excitement and lust. We stared at each other for a few moments, both trying to get our breathing under control.

  That was definitely not “nothing.”

  Slowly, a wicked grin spread across his face. “One more time,” he whispered, and leaned in for another kiss.

  Holy shit.

  I’ll be honest, I almost laughed when Hannah suggested we kiss. I didn’t think she was serious at first, especially after all that beer. But once I realized she wasn’t joking, I was just drunk enough to agree to it. What the hell, right? Besides, I definitely didn’t think it would be anything to write home about.

  Don’t get me wrong, Hannah wasn’t a dog or anything. She was actually really pretty. Long red hair that was naturally wavy, like a mermaid. Almond-shaped green eyes and a sprinkling of freckles across her button nose. A petite little body that she kept in good shape with running and swimming. A brilliant smile that lit up her whole face.

  But she was not my type. I usually preferred blondes, with the occasional brunette thrown in. I’m not ashamed to admit that redheads were usually too much for me to handle. And as tall as I am, I preferred not to have to bend nearly in half to kiss someone.

  Personality-wise, I liked girls who knew how to have a good time. My major, electrical engineering, was pretty demanding, and I liked to party as often as I could to offset the stress. Sure, I knew that I probably wasn’t going to find the future Mrs. Campbell at a frat house, but I wasn’t really looking for anything serious anyway.

  Despite a similarly tough course load, though, Hannah was my polar opposite in that regard. There’s a reason she was home watching ESPN on a Friday night, and it’s not because she was bummed about seeing her cheating scumbag of an ex earlier. Hannah was, frankly, kind of a stick-in-the-mud. She could be uptight about a lot of things, and she had a hard ti
me letting go long enough to relax and have fun.

  Unless she was drunk, apparently.

  All in all, I’d just never been attracted to Hannah. We were good as friends, and we got along as roommates, but there was never anything sexual between us.

  So I was kind of shocked to discover that she was a really fantastic kisser. And that I really enjoyed kissing her. Really, really enjoyed it. Like, if she came any closer to my lap she’d discover just how much I enjoyed it.

  The second kiss was even steamier than the first, and I knew she felt it, too. I could feel her body trembling under my hands as I explored her mouth. God, she tasted sweet. Her fears about pizza breath were totally unfounded. And her lips were so soft and full. Luscious. I got the feeling I could definitely get used to kissing her.

  Fuck. I pulled back, shaking my head slightly, trying to clear the lust-and-alcohol haze from my brain long enough to think. Kissing my roommate once was a very, very bad idea. Wanting to kiss her over and over again was damn near suicidal.

  Hannah looked up at me, confused. “Why are we stopping?” she asked, in a breathy voice that shot straight to my groin. I bit back a moan.

  “This was a bad idea,” I said. I ran my hand through my hair, pulling it back from my forehead.

  Hurt flashed across her face. Fuck. “Yeah. I guess it was.” She started to get up from the couch.

  “Hey,” I said, grabbing her hand and pulling her back down. “I didn’t mean it like that.” She still looked doubtful, so I glanced pointedly at the bulge in my cargo shorts. “I liked it. A lot.”

  I watched as her eyes followed, and she blushed. “So what’s the problem, then?” She grinned at me, desire and innocence combined in her expression, and damned if it didn’t take every ounce of restraint I possessed to keep from pulling her back in for another kiss.

  I shot her a come on, be serious type of look. “We’re roommates, Hannah. We can’t get involved. That shit never ends well.”

  She tried to throw me a withering look, but it just looked adorable to me. “Kissing isn’t ‘involved,’ Brian. It’s like friends with benefits. Friends with kissing benefits.”