Ready or Not (10 page)

Mallory regarded her friends as they walked. “You guys are my favorite. You should know this.”

“Back atcha,” Sam said. “We happen to adore our fearless leader.” The sentiment touched her.

They said good-bye to Brooklyn and Jessica, who caught a cab that would take them back to their place in the Village, and she, Hunter, and Samantha headed upstairs to their respective apartments.

And good God, the bath Mallory slid into exceeded her expectations. She eased farther beneath the bubbles as her body surrendered to the warmth of the water around her. She found herself relaxing from the day piece by piece in the most welcome way. Amidst the suds that smelled sweetly of lavender and vanilla, she closed her eyes in happy unravel and, for the first time that night, allowed herself to relish the still-vivid visual of a beautiful blonde in a red tank top.

She shook her head in mystification at the dichotomy.

She and Hope were ridiculously ill-suited, but at the same time, she couldn’t help but float in the memory of that sinful kiss in the Hamptons or how absolutely edible she’d looked tonight behind the bar. It was like someone had poked the tiniest hole in her universe and it was getting harder and harder to not notice it as it continued to expand. Shocked at her body’s very potent reaction to the daydreams, Mallory let her mind wander further, to even hotter fantasies, as parts of her screamed out with newly realized yearning.

She opened her eyes and acknowledged what she couldn’t escape. She had the hots for the annoying bartender. And not just any hots either. This was soap-opera style, hard-core lust, and while part of her was embarrassed at her very base reaction, another part had her smiling, because a few racy thoughts never hurt anybody, right?

No one had to know…

When Hope made it home that night, it was going on three a.m. Her limbs burned and a headache lingered from the music, but the night had been a good one. She’d had fun at the bar, playing darts with Hunter and Mallory, and now she had Thursday to look forward to. How could she not smile at that? It wasn’t a date, but it still made her stomach tense pleasantly, and well, nothing had done that in quite a while.

The stairs into her building, however, weren’t so inviting. She stared up at them with a combination of excitement to see her sister and fear at not knowing when the other shoe would drop. Hope hadn’t spent time in the same place with Kara in a long while by design, in fact.

She took a deep breath. It was now or never. Regardless of whether she wanted Kara at her place, Hope knew she’d done the right thing by allowing her to stay. She’d lent a helping hand, which she’d hope her twin would do if their roles were reversed.

The apartment was quiet when she entered, so she made sure not to shut the door too loudly in case Kara was asleep on the couch. A lonely light above the kitchen sink greeted her, but the rest of the place was dark and empty, including said couch. She shrugged out of her cargo jacket, taking note of the pile of dirty dishes in the sink. Seemed her steak had been sacrificed after all. A newspaper lay in sloppy sections all over her small kitchen table, and drinking glasses stood empty in various spots around the room. Her place wasn’t big, but she took pride in keeping it somewhat neat and put together. She swallowed the mild annoyance and focused on catching some much-needed rest. It was possible Kara was just out enjoying her evening and would return at some point, so she’d keep an ear open for the door.

As Hope made her way into her bedroom, the shock of blond hair across her pillow caused her to pull up short. Her sister was sound asleep, snoring even. In
her
bed.

“Damn it, Kara,” she breathed, because all she wanted in the world was to curl up under
those
covers and let the exhaustion fall off her. Instead, she grabbed the spare blanket from her closet and dragged it to the couch, but not before placing the covers over Kara’s exposed shoulder because, well, there was a chill in the air.

When Hope woke up six restless hours later, she spotted a note scribbled on a Post-it stuck to the end table next to the couch. She blinked away sleep and forced her eyes to focus.

Had to jet. Thanks for putting me up. Let’s catch up soon. –K.

She’d taken her bag and clothes with her, which meant Hope didn’t know when she’d see her sister again. It could be the next day. It could be never. She had, however, left the pile of dishes and an unmade bed in her wake.

Hope would have expected nothing less.

*

Was she actually doing this?

The thought played on a loop in Mallory’s head that Thursday evening as she walked the few blocks from her building to Showplace. The day had been killer, and quite honestly, she should be working tonight, not going on a non-date with Hope Sanders to satisfy some stupid bet. What would they talk about anyway? They didn’t have anything in common. Still, she’d made an agreement, and when Mallory committed to something, she always followed through.

Hope was seated at the bar when she arrived, talking to that Teddy guy, who grinned when he saw her approach. Had she told him about the non-date? She had, hadn’t she? Then her eyes drifted to Hope, who looked rather nice in a long-sleeved black top, dark-green pants, and short black boots.

“Hey,” Hope said as she approached. “How was your day?”

“On a scale of zero to crazy, pretty insane.” Mallory said, offering a polite smile. “Hi,” she said to Teddy, who seemed to be actively listening. She offered him her hand. “We haven’t officially met. Mallory Spencer.”

He seemed extra amused at the concept of a handshake.
Right, this isn’t a business meeting, Mal
. Why was she nervous exactly?

“Theodore Francis,” he said in an ultra-conservative voice that earned him an admonishing look from Hope. “Call me Teddy,” he said, returning to laid-back mode.

“Teddy it is.” She turned to Hope. “So where are we off to tonight?”

“What do you mean?” Hope asked. “Where would we be off to?”

Mallory opened her mouth in confusion and then closed it again. Did she have the date wrong? No, they’d agreed on dinner Thursday night, but it seemed Hope had forgotten and now this was embarrassing. Mallory’s usual command-of-any-situation seemed to have once again been stripped from her as she grappled to respond. “Oh” is what she managed in place of a normally dignified answer. Hope’s eyes danced at her discomfort, which only amplified it. “I thought we were…Didn’t we decide that…” She glanced to Teddy for help, which was ridiculous.

“I’m just screwing with you,” Hope said. “And you totally fell for it, which was bonus.”

Mallory blew out a breath. “So not funny.”

Hope held her thumb and forefinger close together. “A little bit funny.” Teddy mimicked Hope’s gesture and Mallory enjoyed the relief, even in spite of wanting to kill them both a little. “I know a place near the Seaport. You up for it?”

“I’m sorry. The Seaport?”

“Yes, the Seaport. Live a little, Park Avenue. You might love it.”

“I’m a very successful businesswoman, I’ll have you know, so while we can definitely head down to the Seaport if that’s what you had in mind, we might have to lose that nickname.” Teddy raised his eyebrow at Hope. “Don’t think I didn’t see that,” she said, pointing at Teddy.

“My apologies, Miss Spencer,” he said, then widened his eyes at Hope in fear.

“Call me Mallory.” And for good measure, Mallory turned back to Hope. “See? Not a snob. Seaport. A non-date. Let’s go and get this over with.” She headed for the door without waiting for a response.

Hope stared after Mallory, who’d clearly taken the reins back, and couldn’t help but find it kind of fun to watch her do so.

“She’s a little uptight, huh?” Teddy asked.

“Ya think? But the night is still young.” Hope winked at Teddy and followed her non-date out of the bar.

A short cab ride later and Hope took a deep inhale of the salty sea air as they stepped out of the cab at the South Street Seaport. While adjacent to the financial district in Manhattan, the Seaport was designated a historic district all on its own. For years, Fulton Fish Market had operated just off Pier 17, and fishmongers lined the wall waiting for work. There was something about the place that Hope just loved.

The backstory, the water, the ambience. Or maybe all of it combined.

They walked quietly toward the pier. “So what are you in the mood for?” Hope asked. Mallory raised an eyebrow. “Food wise,” Hope clarified. “I’m not always flirtatious.”

Mallory’s blush was adorable. “Good to know. Um…while it’s my inclination to pick the restaurant and work my magic to get us a fantastic table, I think I’ll leave this little outing to you.”

“How about lobster rolls on that bench over there?”

Mallory seemed to take a moment with the suggestion but, to her credit, didn’t balk outright. “I think lobster rolls on a bench sounds sublime.”

“Sublime? Really?”

Mallory turned to her as they walked the pier, the sweet aroma of cotton candy and corndogs wafting their way. “You’re teasing me again.”

Hope shrugged. “I can’t help it. You make it so much fun.”

“I’m rude to you and you tease me mercilessly.” Mallory shook her head. “What a pair we are.”

Hope spun so that she was walking backward, facing Mallory as they talked. “But the story’s not over yet, Park Avenue. See, anything could happen.” With that, she turned on her heel and led the way to a nearby food truck.

“Hey, no calling me that,” she heard Mallory call after her. “We agreed.”

Hope shot a grin over her shoulder before speaking to the man behind the counter. “We’re here for lobster rolls,” she told him as Mallory pulled up next to her.

“Maine or Connecticut?” the guy grumbled.

“Maine.”

“Connecticut.” They answered in unison.

Hope held up a finger. “One Maine. One Connecticut. And a large order of fries with lemon?” she asked, turning to Mallory, who nodded. After scoring a couple of sodas for the meal, they found a bench facing the water and took a seat. It was overcast, but in a way, that kind of fit the pier.

“Oh, wow,” Mallory said after taking a bite of her Connecticut lobster roll. She covered her mouth as she spoke to be polite. “This is amazing. Oh my God.”

“I thought you might think so,” Hope said and glanced back at the truck. “Red Hook Lobster Pound. No one does a better roll than those guys.” Mallory shook her head and indulged in a second bite. It was cute the way she took time to savor the flavors of each bite and closed her eyes to do so more effectively.

“So why the Seaport?” Mallory finally asked, reaching for her Diet Coke.

“As opposed to taking you to a nice restaurant?”

Mallory shrugged. “I guess so, yeah. I mean, that would be the go-to for most people.”

“Well, I’m not most people, I guess. Anyone could take you to a nice restaurant. I wanted to take you somewhere that was special to me.”

“And why is this place special to you?”

“My older brother used to bring us here when I was a kid. We’d hang out over there,” she said, pointing to the railing along the side of the pier, “and watch the fishing boats go out in the morning. The fishmongers would line up against that back wall way over there, waiting for work. JD included.”

“JD is your brother?”

“Was. He was killed in a car accident when I was twelve. I looked up to him a lot. He was the one person I knew who got the concept of honest, hard work, you know? He brought his paycheck home and made sure none of us starved. No one else in my family really gelled with the idea. He’s who I aspired to be. Still is.”

Mallory’s eyes held sympathy, and she seemed to look around the place with new eyes. “I get it. That makes total sense.”

“JD is also the one who bought us our first lobster roll with his paycheck. They didn’t have the Red Hook Lobster Pound truck back then, but there were plenty of stands around. We thought we’d died and gone to heaven.”

“Who’s we?” Mallory asked.

“I’m sorry?”

Mallory tried again. “You said ‘us’ earlier and now ‘we.’ Who’s we?”

“Oh. I guess I meant my sister, Kara, and I.”

“Older or younger?”

“Older. But Kara’s a whole separate story. We’re very different. We’re not as close as we used to be.”

“I’m sorry,” Mallory said, and Hope could tell she meant it.

She shrugged. “Don’t be. Just how things are. What about you?” Hope asked, turning the tables. “You don’t strike me as the kind of girl who spent a lot of time on piers around fishermen.”

Mallory smiled at that, and God, that smile did a number on Hope. She felt warm all over in response, despite the chill drifting in off the water. “No, not a lot of piers. I grew up in Manhattan. The Upper West Side to be exact.” Hope offered her a fry, which she wholeheartedly accepted. “Five brothers and sisters. That’s six kids total and—whoa, these fries are good. Why are these fries so good?”

Hope laughed at the non sequitur. “It’s the lemon. Salt and lemon on French fries is what makes the world turn. Trust me. But back to what you were saying. Six kids. Rich part of town. What else?”

“Work hard. Play hard. Represent the Spencer name.” Mallory raised a shoulder. “That was pretty much the gist of it.”

“Are you close with your family?”

Mallory considered the question. “Definitely close with my father. We do once-a-week lunches, and we’ve always seemed to just get each other. We’re not a very touchy-feely group, but we love each other.” She sighed. “But my parents expect a lot, you know? They always have.”

Hope grinned and tried to imagine a young Mallory skipping into a fancy high-rise for afternoon tea. Most likely an exaggeration, but amusing all the same. “Wait. So you’re telling me your parents are still married?”

“That is what I’m telling you.”

“Wow,” Hope said in appreciation. Because she couldn’t remember the last time she talked to someone near her age with that kind of set-up.

“Yours aren’t?”

Hope laughed at the thought. “Not even close. I never met my dad.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” And then, “I seem to be apologizing a lot.”