Lucas, of all people. He couldn’t have picked a better moment to ruin—and yet he hadn’t. Not completely, anyway. He’d held the door for them. Smiled at her. It was almost as if he was cheering her on. But that was impossible.
He had no reason to cheer her on. He’d been the one to tear her down.
Still, it’d been one of those moments—an important memory that, later on, she’d look back on and smile at. One that would mark the beginning of her relationship with Char. She pressed her lips together. Maybe that was wishful thinking. She wanted a relationship with Char. She had no idea what Char wanted.
Still, the whole thing underlined her refusal to hold a grudge against Lucas. He’d said some fucked up things, true. But he’d also moved out of their way and held the door for them. That spoke volumes.
To her, anyway.
She peeked at Char again. The crease remained. She cleared her throat. “So,” she said, bringing her iced latte to her lips for a sip. She swallowed, relishing the cool liquid. “What’s on your agenda tonight?”
Char glanced over at her, down at her ADVENTURE, THEN PIZZA T-shirt, then back at the road. “I was kinda thinking we’d get some pizza.”
“Really,” Amarie said dryly. “I’d never have guessed. Any particular place in mind?”
“Oh.” The tip of Charlotte’s nose turned pink, and a smile touched Amarie’s lips. That was the cutest thing ever. “I’ve never been in New York before.”
“No?” Amarie twisted in her seat, the ache in her back forgotten. “Oh, girl. I have family in SoHo. I used to spend entire summers living off pizza and hot dogs. My aunt worked in entertainment law,” she explained, “so I was pretty much on my own.”
“What do you recommend?”
She laughed. “Well, it was kind of a long time ago, so I’m sure none of those places are still around. Plus we’re going to be in Manhattan. I’m not familiar with that area at all.” She nibbled on the inside of her cheek. She’d been trying not to think about that particular detail. Come the morning, she was going to have to find Dr. Warren’s office all by herself while Char went to her convention.
“Oh.” Charlotte blushed again, and Amarie had to force herself to face forward again in her seat.
She couldn’t get a read on Char. One minute, she let her hand brush Amarie’s, and the next she was staring off into space, all scrunchy-faced and deep thoughts. Amarie knew what she wanted: more kissing and then a long stroll through Central Park all the way back to Main Street in Watertown. Real life wasn’t a romance movie, though, and she wasn’t about to live out her own version of a forced proximity trope.
“We could explore Manhattan together, then,” Char said softly.
“What?” Amarie turned to look at her. “We?”
Route 8 merged onto I-95 S, Charlotte guiding the Sunfire smoothly. “If you want,” she said.
Amarie sighed. “I do, but . . . I can’t make any promises.”
“Understandably,” Char said.
“So . . . you’re okay with that?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
Amarie touched the handle of her cane, her fingers gliding over to the Hit Girl keychain. She stroked the cloth cape between her thumb and middle finger. “Well, I mean, I’m sure it’s frustrating, being with someone who can do something one day but can’t the next.”
“I’m the one who invited you. I’m not going to let you sit in the hotel room by yourself.”
“I appreciate that,” she said, turning toward Char. Her head turned faster than she meant to, a muscle or nerve pinching in the process. She winced and rubbed her neck. “I don’t expect you to change all of your plans just for me, though.”
Char’s shoulders rolled as she took a deep breath. “I just mean, well . . .” Her cheeks and nose turned pink again. “We’re here. We might as well make the best of it.”
“Oh.” Amarie faced the road again, mentally chastising herself for even daring to hope. She released Hit Girl’s cape, her idle fingers moving to twist a curl. “So, to be clear, you don’t want to be together or do any more kissing, but you do want to . . . hang out, while we’re here.”
“I would love to kiss you more,” Charlotte said softly. “I’m just not ready for a relationship right now.”
“So there is a possibility, eventually?” Amarie asked, looking at Char again. She kept her eyes on the other woman’s face. She wanted—no, needed—a straight answer. Otherwise she was going to feel foolish if she kept saying things like “I’m going to make you fall in love with me.” She’d always believed in being forthcoming rather than dancing around a subject, but maybe she’d gone a bit too far. Char seemed a lot like a tiny bird, easily startled despite all of her bravado.
“I guess we’ll play it by ear,” Char said softly.
“You mean New York . . . or us?” Amarie pressed her lips together.
Traffic slowed, and Charlotte’s eyes met hers for a fraction of a second. “Am . . .” The nickname was a sigh on Char’s lips. No one else ever called her that, and coming from Char, it felt special, like a secret. A promise.
The cars in front of them slammed on their brakes all at once. Char brought the Sunfire to a stop, rocking both of them forward. She glared at the road.
“Sorry,” she said. “You okay?”
Amarie nodded. It was probably better to not have serious conversations while driving—especially not on I-95. She reached for Char’s case of CDs and began flipping through it for something light.
∞∞∞
The sea of concrete stalagmites swallowed the stream of traffic. Amarie couldn’t help but peer out her window in wonder at Manhattan. With the river on one side, the dusty khaki and sea foam gray maze of skyscrapers made a stark contrast, bright green highway signs breaking up the monotony every quarter mile or so. When visiting, she’d never ventured far outside of Tía Galena’s neighborhood. Manhattan was a far cry from small town, cowville Watertown—and made the city of Hartford look like an ant.
Though traffic was condensed even after rush hour, they made it to W 40th Street without any incidents. As Char passed the hotel building to look for parking, Amarie stared.
“Wait. We’re staying at a Sheraton?”
Char grinned at her. “I mean, it’s only a three-star hotel, but it’s decent.”
“Decent? Mira, the only ‘hotel’ I’ve ever stayed in was a cute little mom and pop inn down in Deerfield Beach.” Amarie shook her head. “This is exciting.”
“It is, isn’t it?” Char nibbled on a knuckle. “I’m only seeing valet parking for $65 a day.” She grimaced.
“Go for it,” Amarie said.
“Yeah, no problem. I’ll just throw it on my credit card.” Char rolled her eyes.
“I’ve got it. I mean, you paid for the hotel.” Amarie tugged her wallet free from her tote. “Plus then we don’t have to walk super far.”
“All of New York is walking, darling,” Char said in a mock show biz voice.
“Don’t I know it.” Again Amarie thought of the journey ahead of her in the morning. Since she still lived at home and didn’t have many bills, she had saved up quite a bit. There was plenty of money in her checking to take a cab if she needed to—and to cover valet parking.
Char drove around the block until they came to the valet sign again. “Are you sure about this?”
“Of course.” Amarie waved a hand. She was not going to be anyone’s charity case. She could pay her own way.
A valet greeted them at Char’s window, a young man who reminded Amarie startlingly of Lucas. He had the same full lips, thick brows, and chiseled chin. “Morning, ladies.” He ripped off a stub and gave the other half to Char.
Amarie glanced at her, wondering if she’d noticed the similarities—if it bothered her that Amarie’s ex kept popping up everywhere. She sucked in a deep breath through her nose. Maybe that was why Char was acting so wary.
“Am, you coming?”
Blinking, she nodded at Char, who sto
od beside her car door. She gathered her things and, giving the valet a weak but friendly smile, she got out. They both watched as the valet drove the Sunfire away.
“I’ve never used a valet before,” Char said. “I hope they don’t, like, steal my CDs.”
Amarie snorted. “Not unless he’s trapped in the ‘90s, too.”
Char nudged her arm playfully, then gasped and drew her hand back as if Amarie was on fire. “Shoot. I’m sorry! Did I hurt you?”
Amarie lifted her gaze, latching on to Char’s. “Don’t ever be afraid to touch me.” Her heart slammed in her chest, the bold words reverberating around them in the thick city humidity.
“Oh my God,” Char said.
Heat seared Amarie’s face and the back of her neck. Her lips parted to apologize, but the words got stuck. Instead, a lump formed in her throat. “What?” she croaked.
“I just figured out what we can do today.” Char grabbed her hand, pulling her toward the hotel entrance. Confused, Amarie stumbled after her, dragging her rolling suitcase behind her. Even as her brain fumbled to catch up with whatever they were doing, a current thrummed through her, humming in a wide sonar radius in the spot where Char’s hand met hers.
The automatic doors parted for them, cool air whooshing over Amarie as they walked inside. Char led her toward the desk, where a concierge checked them in and handed them plastic room card keys. Her fingers still twined with Char’s, Amarie let her tug her toward the elevators. She couldn’t deny that she enjoyed the way their hands fit together. Still, a mix of curiosity and panic sprang through her limbs as the elevator made its ascent. She’d gone out on an apparently thin limb and made a super forward remark, and Charlotte hadn’t even acknowledged it.
They were still holding hands, though.
The doors opened to their floor. She trailed after Char through the hall all the way down to a room at the end. Her fingers tingled where Char’s skin met hers—but whether from anticipation or apprehension, she wasn’t sure.
Char threw open the door, released Amarie’s hand, and grabbed both of their luggage.
“Um,” Amarie said, watching as she shoved the suitcases just inside the door, pulling it shut behind her.
“Are you nervous about tomorrow?”
“Huh?” Amarie glanced from the closed door to Char’s face. Those bright blue eyes shimmered with childlike excitement. It all would’ve been completely adorable, had Amarie not blurted out an unrequited innuendo moments earlier.
“I am too,” Char said, taking Amarie’s hand again.
“Where are we going?”
“Outside.”
Amarie tugged her hand free and planted her feet firmly on the carpet. She took a deep breath. “What are we doing?”
“We are grabbing ourselves a bottle of confidence.” Char took both of her hands, engulfing her aching joints in soothing warmth.
“A what?” She lifted an eyebrow, the corners of her mouth lifting in amusement.
“I can see you with a bright red,” Char continued, “or even a cotton candy pink. I’m thinking lavender for me.”
She gave Char’s hands a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, “but I’m not up to shopping.”
“We’re not—promise! There’s a convenience store right next door to the hotel. We’re going to dye our hair.”
Amarie peered into Char’s eyes. She did not appear to be joking. Char’s blonde roots were showing through the teal. “In the hotel room?” she asked dryly.
“Yes.”
“With all of those pristine white towels and marble surfaces?”
“Yes.”
Amarie grinned. “Okay . . . Red, you said?”
“Or whatever you want,” Char said, taking a step toward her.
“I want to kiss you again,” Amarie whispered.
There was something there. She just knew it. For whatever reason, Char was holding back. Somehow, Amarie would find a way to break through her walls.
“We should get going,” Char said. “Ready?”
She was afraid to speak. Instead she only nodded. Together they walked back to the elevators. Though they rode down in comfortable silence, Amarie’s mind churned. Her mouth just kept blurting everything she was thinking, yet she still didn’t know what Char thought. Sure, she’d said she wasn’t looking for a relationship at the moment, but every time their hands touched, Char’s racing pulse sent a completely different message.
She sighed inwardly at herself. Instead of just enjoying the moment, her anxious mind was running rampant. Living with pain had changed not only her body, but also her mind. Gone were her carefree days. The longer she lived with her mystery disease, the heavier her worries grew, pressing down on her.
As if reading her thoughts, Char reached for her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. Then she released it, stepped to the side, and pulled open the door.
Amarie grinned. “You’re so sweet.”
Char blushed, ducking her head as she hurried in after Amarie.
“So what are we here for? Do they sell professional beauty supplies?” Amarie strode toward the hair dye aisle. With each step her ankle buckled, sharp pain shooting up her leg. She gritted her teeth. Not now, she told herself. Her cane was upstairs, strapped to her suitcase—doing her an awful lot of good at the moment.
“No.”
“What?” She turned toward Char.
“They don’t sell professional stuff. But,” Char said, holding up a box of purple L’Oreal dye, “times have changed. You can get fun colors pretty much everywhere now.”
Amarie fingered a dark curl, eyeing it dubiously. “Will my hair take that?”
“Not without bleach.” Charlotte grabbed another box off the shelf. “I’ve done this a million times. I did Rowan’s hair, too. I promise I won’t ruin yours.”
“I’m not worried about you ruining it . . .” She dropped the curl. “It’s just, I’ve never dyed my hair before.”
“Really?” Char grinned. “Oh my gosh, this is so exciting! I get to pop your hair dye cherry.” She clapped a hand over her mouth, ivory skin turning crimson. “Sorry,” she murmured through her fingers.
Giggling, Amarie tugged her hand away. “That’s the only cherry you’d be popping.” She turned to the shelves. “Cherry does sound fun, though.” She imagined herself walking into the doctor’s office with a halo of bright red curls around her. It could either be a huge confidence booster or she could end up looking like a Dominican Ronald McDonald. She tapped her lip.
“You don’t have to go bright, or even red at all,” Char said. She pointed to a box of indigo dye. “This would look stunning on you.” Her eyes met Amarie’s.
“You really mean that,” Amarie breathed.
“Of course I do. Why would I lie?”
“I just mean . . . You hold doors. You give me compliments. You kiss like Rhett fucking Butler.” Charlotte giggled. “You’re a thousand times classier than anyone I’ve ever known.” Amarie’s eyes widened as it dawned on her. “Oh my God. I’m calling you Rhett from now on.”
“Can I call you Scarlett?”
“Not if I go indigo,” Amarie said, grabbing the box off the shelf. “Let’s do this.”
Chapter 10
Jolting up in bed, Charlotte shoved the comforter off of her, heart racing. She was late. Somehow she’d slept through her alarm. They weren’t going to let her into any of the panels. She’d ruined everything.
She grabbed her phone off the nightstand and gaped at the time. It was only 6:55 a.m.—exactly five minutes before her alarm was supposed to go off. She slumped back into the pillows, shoving her freshly dyed lavender hair out of her face.
The sight of light purple strands reminded her of the night before. What a night it’d been. Turning her head, she glanced over at Amarie, who lay curled beside her, her back to Charlotte. She slept nearly on the edge of the king bed, two pillows under her head, another between her knees, and a fourth supporting an arm. Indigo spirals formed a cloud
around her face, the skin between her eyes creased with pain even in sleep.
She wanted nothing more than to take that pain away, to press spoons into her body with her own. Those extra five minutes would never be enough, though. Besides, it was probably better to let Amarie sleep.
Her little curly-headed beauty.
The thought made her smile. Amarie wasn’t really hers. After all, she’d told her that she wasn’t interested. Still, she’d had so much fun the night before, just hanging out, that she wanted the whole package. All she could have, though, were the remaining four days they had together. Whatever time left, she wanted it.
All of it.
She slid out of bed, bare feet hitting the scratchy carpet. The air conditioning cut right through the thin knee-length sleep shirt she’d gone to bed in. It said The Snuggle is Real. Every time she looked at it, it made her giggle. When she put it on the night before, though, it’d seemed immature in comparison to Amarie’s lacy boxer-esque flannel shorts and matching maroon tank top.
Which, of course, she’d looked heartbreakingly sexy in.
It wasn’t the first time she’d shared a bed with another woman without anything sexual happen, but it’d certainly been the hardest on her heart.
Shaking away the memories of the night before, Charlotte tiptoed away from the bed to her suitcase. She’d left it open on the floor, clothing spilling out of it. Amarie, on the other hand, had tucked her neatly folded clothing into the empty drawers.
From every angle, they were a mismatch.
She hadn’t put much thought into what to wear to the convention, she realized as she stared into her suitcase. She’d tossed in a striped T-shirt dress and a utility jacket to wear on her first day. More than likely, everyone attending would be in chef’s jackets. She massaged her temples.
Once again, she had the overwhelming feeling that she was in way over her head—in more than one way.
Sighing, she grabbed the clothing and headed into the bathroom.
After a quick shower and her regular makeup routine of smoky eyes and berry lips, Char left a still sleeping Amarie in their room. She pulled Google Maps up on her phone while she rode down in the elevator. The Javits Center was roughly forty blocks from the hotel. Thankfully, she’d at least had the foresight to pack her comfortable sneakers.
Any Other Love Page 9
