Table of Contents
Synopsis
Other Books by Tracey Richardson
About the Author
Acknowledgments
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Epilogue
Bella Books
Synopsis
Thursdays aren’t simply another day of the week for Amy Spencer and Ellis Hall. Thursday afternoons sizzle with no-strings sex for the two women, who meet each week in a hotel room to forget their past—and their present.
The arrangement works perfectly for Amy, a busy surgeon who’s still smarting from a failed relationship. For Ellis, Thursday afternoons act as a pressure valve from her cutthroat job and the mistakes in her personal life she’s trying to rectify.
But soon the pair discover that their outside worlds are on a collision course with the carefully constructed world they’ve created on Thursday afternoons. What will happen when they discover the truth about each other? Will their weekly assignations come to a screeching halt, or will they turn into something much, much more…
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Praise for Tracey Richardson
I’m Gonna Make You Love Me
Claire and Ellie might just be my favourite couple that Tracey Richardson’s written so far. There are some great side characters between Claire’s best friend Jackson, and Ellie’s roommate and cousin Marissa, plus her family. They help us get to know the leads better and are integral to both of the women’s character arcs. Richardson’s writing is easy to sink into and this book was no exception. The romance has a nice burn to it that’s slow, but not too slow, and I marveled at how natural Claire and Ellie’s journey from former boss/employee to happily ever after was. If you’re a fan of contemporary romances, especially those with age gaps or opposites attract pairings, I recommend picking up I’m Gonna Make You Love Me. I thoroughly enjoyed it and will be reading this one again (especially if a spinoff happens!).
—The Lesbian Review
What a fun story with lots of fantastic music to read along to. One of my favourite tropes is age-gap romance and this did not disappoint; I really enjoyed this unraveling of the romance. The pace was perfect and I hadn’t realized I had read so long until I had finished the book in one sitting. It was easy to like both characters and the chemistry for both Ellie and Claire was there from the moment Claire returns Ellie’s pup home. This story had happily ever after written all over it from that moment on.
—Les Rêveur
Heartsick
This was such a sweet story of heartbreak turned friendship turned love. I knew I’d enjoy the story from the get-go because it’s a Tracey Richardson book but I was really drawn to the characters over and above the storyline itself.
—Les Rêveur
Delay of Game
There are so many things to love about this book. There are great characters working to be together in a seemingly impossible situation. The scenes on the ice were wonderful and visceral, but without slowing down the story. I’ve heard it said that in some sport romances, the sport scenes can get in the way of the plot, which is definitely not the case here. The action on the ice is as important as what happens off the ice, both in terms of character and plot development.
—The Lesbian Review
With a story set around the very real rivalry between the Canadian and US women’s ice hockey teams, this book has a realistic edge to it to go along with the romance that is the main focus of the tale. Although the romance is given slightly more weight, there’s enough of the hockey story to keep sports fans truly interested. Richardson clearly knows hockey, and all the scenes around practice, training, and actual matches come across as very authentic.
—Rainbow Book Reviews
Other Bella Books by Tracey Richardson
Blind Bet
By Mutual Consent
The Campaign
The Candidate
Delay of Game
Heartsick
I’m Gonna Make You Love Me
Last Salute
No Rules of Engagement
Side Order of Love
The Song in My Heart
The Wedding Party
About the Author
Tracey Richardson is the author of twelve previous novels, all of them lesbian romances with Bella Books. Her best known novels include No Rules of Engagement and Last Salute, both of which were Lambda Literary Awards finalists, along with bestsellers The Candidate, By Mutual Consent, Delay of Game, and I’m Gonna Make You Love Me. Tracey is a first-place Romance Writers of America Rainbow Romance winner, and has written several short stories, one of which won second place in an international competition. Tracey worked for nearly three decades as a daily newspaper journalist, but now writes fiction full-time. She lives in the Georgian Bay area of Ontario, Canada, with her wife, Sandra, and their dogs. Visit www.traceyrichardson.net for more information about her books and to connect further.
Copyright © 2019 by Tracey Richardson
Bella Books, Inc.
P.O. Box 10543
Tallahassee, FL 32302
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, 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, or actual events is purely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
First Bella Books Edition 2019
eBook released 2019
Editor: Medora MacDougall
Cover Designer: Sandy Knowles
ISBN: 978-1-64247-055-0
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
Acknowledgments
Health care is under siege around the world. The price of health care goes up constantly, while governments and insurers are inclined to spend less and less on this vital service. I’ve been privy to an inside perspective on health care from my years as a health reporter, and I hope this novel helps give readers a bit of insight into the growing p
ressures and demands that hospitals and staff face every day. Let me be clear, however, that this is a fictional story, and I’ve taken some artistic license. I remain indebted to our hospitals and to our dedicated health care workers. Without our health, not a lot else matters.
I’m also indebted to readers of lesbian fiction. Your loyalty gives us, the writers, a home for our creative outlet, and it’s an honor and a privilege to write for you. Thank you, as always, to the Bella Books team, and to Linda and Jessica Hill for continuing to serve lesbian readers and writers. Thank you to my fabulous editor, Medora MacDougall, for sharing her expertise with me and making my work better.
Dedication
To those who’ve devoted their lives to working in health care. And to my wife, Sandra, who retired recently from thirty years of exemplary service as a police officer. Those who make a living helping others are true heroes.
Chapter One
Amy Spencer presses the button for the hotel’s ninth floor even as she tells herself it’s not too late to back out, as if she has a choice. Which she does, except she’s not the kind of person to bail at the last minute. If anything, she’s the opposite—the last one to turn out the lights, even in the most hopeless of situations. Disappoint someone? Fall short of fulfilling an obligation? Not in her DNA.
She unlocks the door and opens it, a rock settling into her stomach. Which of course is anatomically impossible, she reminds herself. It’s a hotel room that’s not unlike the endless hotel rooms she’s stayed in for medical conferences—a king bed, a dresser, a loveseat and chair surrounding a neat but plain coffee table. The familiarity dulls the edges of her anxiety for a moment, until a parade of questions stampedes through her mind, the biggest one being, what the hell am I doing here? She’s about to meet a stranger, a woman she met on a lesbian dating app with only a first name—Ellen—for an afternoon of mutually satisfying, hot sex. Well, sex anyway…the hot part and the satisfying part she can debate later. At thirty-nine, it’s a little too soon to blame a midlife crisis for this crazy idea. But she hasn’t had sex in more than three years and if she remains celibate for even one more month, she really will go crazy. This, she reassures herself, is the way to do it. No strings, no expectations, no demands on her time and attention, which lord knows she has so little of at the end of a long day at work.
She goes to the minibar and gives serious thought to opening an airplane bottle size of Jack Daniels, even though it probably costs ten bucks. It would calm her nerves, grease her introversion, but she dismisses the idea because it’s an hour’s drive home and she’s most certainly not spending several hours here, even though technically the room is hers—theirs—until tomorrow morning. The sooner she can slink away with her shame and her post-sex glow, the better.
She takes a long, deep breath. Reminds herself it’s only sex, and if this Ellen woman—which of course probably isn’t her real name, just as Amy is using the name Abby—is half as hot as her photo, it’s all good. Provided, of course, that Ellen is not a sadist, a nut job, or, like, some kind of serial killer. But really, what are the chances of that? And as for this Ellen’s motives for an afternoon tryst, well, who cares? It’s not like we’re going to become friends, Amy tells herself. After today, I’ll never even have to see her again.
A quiet knock on the door spins her around. Oh shit. She’s really here. She takes her time getting to the door because it wouldn’t do to answer out of breath, showing herself to be too eager (code for desperate). Plus, she still isn’t entirely convinced she wants to go through with this. And, oh yeah, what if this woman is nothing like her photo? The possibilities of what the real Ellen might look like play havoc with Amy’s imagination even as she places her hand on the door handle. Fuck, it never occurred to her before that her “date” might have used someone else’s photo.
When she opens the door, she’s dumbstruck—because Ellen looks exactly like her photo. Long, thick, reddish blond hair that’s like a flaming sun sliding into the horizon and viridian green eyes that her dark framed glasses can’t hide. At the edge of her left eyebrow, there’s a very small and very faint scar—the only flaw (if you could call it that), as far as Amy can see. Ellen is gorgeous, and Amy exhales her held breath.
“Hi,” the woman says in a low voice that somehow manages to sound sultry and sexy while also shy. “I’m Ellen.” She elegantly offers her hand and Amy shakes it like they’re conducting a business transaction. Which they kind of are, minus the exchange of money.
“A…ah… I’m Abby. Nice to meet you.”
Ellen sheds her bright spring vest and makes a beeline for the minibar. She roots around, grabs one of the little bottles of Jack, retrieves a can of soda water from the bar fridge. “Mind if I fix a drink?” Her nervousness is a good sign, because in their email exchange, she too claimed never to have done this before.
“Please do.” Amy watches Ellen take tiny sips by the minibar, shakes her head no when Ellen asks her if she’d like one too. “Should we, um, talk first or something?”
Lips that have been painted with a soft and slightly glossy pink lipstick curl slowly into a smile that seems equal parts flirtatious and bashful (how does she do that?). The woman tosses back the rest of her drink in two swallows, peels off her glasses, which land with a soft thud on the coffee table. A clear signal, Amy supposes, that pretenses and small talk are over.
“Come here,” Ellen says.
A low rumble begins in Amy’s stomach as she stands before her soon-to-be-lover, noticing instantly that while Ellen is tall, Amy is still a good inch taller in spite of the two-inch, strapless sandals Ellen is wearing. Amy’s height has always given her confidence, though nobody would accuse her of lacking any—at least, not at the hospital, where a simple glare is often all she needs to make her point. It’s in her personal life, in moments like these, that she’s a little lost. With her sophomoric gestures and words—lack of words, more like—she might as well scream out that she’s a loser when it comes to women.
But Ellen doesn’t seem to notice. She quirks a finely shaped eyebrow, tilts her chin up. God, Amy thinks, those eyes! They look like exotic jewels…emerald or jade or the rare green sapphire she once saw at a jewelry store—she’d been surprised to learn that not all sapphires were blue. “Kiss me?” Ellen phrases it as a question, and Amy almost declines because who said any of this was about kissing?
“All right.” She’s wrestled patients from the jaws of death, but saying no to a beautiful woman standing in front of her, asking to be kissed? She doesn’t stand a chance.
The kiss is tentative at first, their lips meeting as softly as the brush of a butterfly’s wing as they become accustomed to the taste and feel of one another. It’s been awhile since Amy has kissed a woman, but instantly the sensation is familiar, swamping her with a deliciousness that’s like a returning to herself. Oh, I’ve missed this, she thinks as she deepens the kiss, surprised by her newfound bravery. But it feels good, especially when Ellen’s hand slides up her back and presses softly. Such an intimate, affectionate gesture that is completely contradictory to the fact that they’re about to have meaningless sex. Amy’s only had casual sex once before and it didn’t suit her. And yet…there can be no other alternative, not if she ever wants sex again with another human being.
Sex. How easy it is when you’re young—when you think about it all the time without really reflecting on it. So concerned about when and how and with whom that you forget to wonder what it means. Well, this one is easy. This won’t mean anything, she decides, even though it feels…okay. Better than okay.
Ellen pulls her mouth away, traces a finger along Amy’s jaw, and it’s right there in her eyes that she’s trying to be brave too, that she’s playing a role that isn’t entirely comfortable. Her apprehension gives Amy the courage to take her hands and gently lead her to the bed.
“Should we…undress each other…or undress ourselves?” Ellen asks.
No way is Amy up to undressing a stranger, especiall
y one who looks like she’s stepped out of a fashion magazine—her beauty as intimidating as a supervising surgeon calling on a medical student to answer a complex question. Oh, Amy remembers those days—her mouth as dry as her armpits were drenched while she struggled to make something out of the mush gumming up her brain.
Amy swallows and says, “Let’s do our own disrobing.” She unbuttons her dress shirt, her slacks, modestly turning her back to Ellen, who’s doing the same thing. She can see that the woman’s clothes, now folded in a neat pile, are expensive—the fabric fine, the shoes designer—confirming that she’s a fellow professional. Maybe another doctor, though Amy has never seen her before.
They both make a dash to get under the covers, as though it’s freezing cold, and Amy is tempted to ask Ellen why she’s meeting a stranger for sex—why in hell she needs to meet a stranger for sex looking the way she looks—at Windsor’s riverfront Hilton Hotel on a Thursday afternoon. She’s guilty herself of failing to fit the profile of someone into anonymous hookups. Women, men too, take one look at the stethoscope around her neck and her ring-less left hand, and she has to beat them off. But there’s an unspoken agreement that she and Ellen are not to ask personal questions. Probably a good thing, because she doesn’t need to take on somebody else’s burdens. She’s shouldered plenty of them in her life, some hers, mostly not, and it’s for damned sure she doesn’t need any more.
The first touch from Ellen ignites a trail of fire down the center of her chest, and Amy slams her eyes shut.
“You’re even more attractive than your picture,” Ellen whispers, her breath ruffling the short hair above Amy’s ear. “I didn’t quite know what to expect, but…”
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