Pushing through the turnstile with hip-cracking speed, Ava rushed for the L exit and then hit North Damen at what she’d like to think was an inconspicuous clip. But even if it wasn’t, who the hell cared? The entire Wicker Park community could see her sprinting with her suit skirt riding up her thighs and her commute sneakers burning up the street, and it would be better than the alternative she’d made every reasonable effort and possibly a few less reasonable efforts to avoid.
She had to get home in time.
Deliveries usually came between three thirty and five P.M. And, checking her phone, it was now three forty-seven. Which meant even though Ava had all but feigned appendicitis to get out of her meeting early, there was a chance the truck had already come.
No. She couldn’t have that kind of bad luck.
She just—oh cripes, the truck was parked in front of their place.
Her stomach plummeted.
And there was Sam—what the heck was he doing at home?!?—resting against the stone footing at the front of their walk, long denim-clad legs crossed at the ankles, a small brown box tucked beneath his arm as he signed that little electronic pad.
That was her package.
He had it.
And she was still the better part of a block away.
Throwing an arm up into a wild wave, she forced her already straining lungs to gasp his name.
Only it was no good. Some hot rodder was revving his bike and Sam didn’t even look up.
Winded and sweating through what had been a gorgeous suit when she put it on that morning, she pushed her legs and tried again. “Sam!”
But he was still chatting it up with the delivery guy. They were laughing about something and maybe that was better anyway, because then she could act all nonchalant when she swept in and snagged her box.
Except then, Sam was digging in his pocket and pulling out that folding tool thing he always had on him.
“No. No, no, no no nonono.” Her arms were pumping, her lungs raw. “Sam! That’s mine! Don’t open that. It’s my package! Sam!!”
And that last he must have heard because his head came up and he nodded in her direction with a smile, before looking back at the delivery guy to resume whatever they were talking about.
His hands were turning the cardboard box over and around in his hands, and then he was prying up the lid. Ava lunged the final distance, stumbling into him as she slammed her hand onto the cardboard, wheezing, “My package…Thanks for signing…I’ve got it…from here.”
Sam’s chin pulled back as he met her eyes and then turned his attention to the box caught between their hands. “Uh, Ava? This one’s mine. Yours are behind me.”
Yours? Like plural, as in more than one box?
Leaning over Sam to look at the ground behind him she saw that there were in fact three boxes. Two medium-sized and one a little bigger than the box in Sam’s hand. Longer.
“Oh, right.” Her face, already flushed from that desperation-driven run, burned even hotter. “Of course.”
How much had she actually ordered?
“What is all this stuff? I’m usually the one getting the deliveries.”
Right, because when Sam got bored in the wee hours of the night, the guy tended to get an itchy trigger finger when it came to the “As Seen On TV” offerings. And honestly, Ava was usually the lucky recipient.
Which gave her an idea.
“I can’t tell you. They’re presents.”
Sam’s eyes went wide, and then all that river-washed blue cranked down to the boxes in question.
She should have known better, because she knew Sam, and while giving presents was really his thing, when he got them—
He had the awkward stack balanced in his arms and was halfway to the front door before Ava realized her mistake and started staggering after all her dirty secrets.
“Sam, wait!”
The security door was on its backward swing when she got a hand on it.
“Sam, stop it. I’m serious,” she called, chasing him up the stairs, her messenger bag slamming with each step. Shoving past her still open door, she gasped, “Don’t open them. They aren’t—”
Too late.
Sam was standing at the bar, his utility tool lying beside the three open boxes and an avalanche of popcorn stuffing spilled around his feet. He shook his head, a smacked look on his face as he lifted what might have been her third or possibly fourth impulse buy from within.
“So I’m guessing the vibrator isn’t actually a present for me, then.”
Who was he kidding? This little treasure trove was the kind of gift that just kept on giving. Possibly forever. Because holy fuck, it looked like Ava had bought out the entire stock of self-gratifying toys, and seeing her arsenal—knowing what it was she might be using on herself just one freaking floor away—
He stepped behind the bar, resting his elbows in a casual stance he only hoped would cover the rock-hard, aching evidence of just how much he appreciated this very special present, indeed.
Only then he noticed the hot burn working up Ava’s neck and cheeks looked like it had moved past embarrassed fluster and into apoplectic territory.
“What the heck, Sam?” she demanded, her foot actually stomping the floor beneath her as her fists balled at her sides. And he wanted to laugh because like that, she was eight years old in front of him again, and he loved it so much he wanted to pull her into his arms and give her a bear hug until she squealed and kicked his shin to make him stop.
Only then he caught a glimpse of her bedtime buddies and—hello, whiplash—she was back to the all grown-up woman he’d had a taste of the week before. Ergo, he was thinking about the noises experience had taught him she made when she was getting close and he was wondering which one of her new toys would have her making them the fastest.
“Sam, stop looking!” she demanded, and, yeah, he knew she was right, but he’d be damned if he could tear his eyes away from what hours—hell, minutes—from now she might be working into that tight body of hers.
“Sam!”
And the screech levels of that plea were enough to break through.
He turned back to Ava, his favorite flavor of forbidden fruit, and seeing the mortification burning too bright, and without the usual laughter that accompanied any embarrassment they shared, all that hot and hard riding him fizzled to brain-functioning levels.
She was really upset.
“Hey, Ava, com’ere.” He stepped out from behind the bar, more concerned about the hurt in her eyes than the obvious lingering effects of seeing the contents of this box. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
He pulled her into his side. Better to avoid any obvious obstacles to a serious conversation. But the girl who’d always melted into him was stiff in his arms. “This is why I can’t ever have anything private in my life.”
He pulled back, his brow furrowing. “What are you talking about?”
Her shoulders slumped and she pulled away. “I’m talking about you being into everything, every part of my life. Every corner of my home. Can’t I have a few secrets I don’t have to worry about you shining your spotlight on?”
His fingers were still, resting at the small of her back, the contact maybe more for him than her. Especially hearing her talking like there wasn’t enough distance between them, when for as far back as he could remember the closeness they shared had been as important to her as it was to him.
His gut wrenched, because there was only one thing that had changed.
The sex.
Jesus. It had seemed so right. It felt so right. And when he’d looked into her eyes the way he’d been doing since they were kids, he’d seen how right she was with it too. How confident she was that their single night wouldn’t impact their friendship. But here Ava was telling him he was too close.
“Ava, talk to me. Where’s this coming from?”
She laughed, and the sound of it made the center of his chest hurt, because it wasn’t the laugh he loved. Counted on. It wasn’t the laugh they shared, and that was making him start to panic.
Had he fucked everything up? Risked the one thing that mattered to him more than anything else on the planet for a single night? A single fucking night?
Only that wasn’t right. It wasn’t just the single night he’d been lying to the both of them about being enough. If it had been, then he wouldn’t have been watching her the way he was, thinking about what it had been like to be inside her, fantasizing about all the things he’d wished he could do. Looking for any sign that she was doing the same.
Had he driven a wedge between them?
“It’s not you.”
Bullshit. If it wasn’t, she’d have her arms looped around him and her forehead buried in his shirt.
“Then what is it?”
Ava’s hands came up to her face and she turned her back to him. Another first. Another fist to his gut.
Why hadn’t the one night been enough?
“It’s what happened, Sam.”
He was nodding, because what else could he do? He already knew. But at least she was talking to him. If they were talking, then they could work through anything.
He wouldn’t believe anything else.
“It was stupid, Ava. I’m sorry. But it doesn’t have to be any big deal. We can work through this.”
She turned to him, confusion in her eyes. And then frustration as they raked down the length of him. “Of course we’ll get through it. I’m just…I’m wound too tight. You know I’m not like you, with all the casual company and regular outlet for sexual tension. And I guess it had been awhile for me. Long enough that one night—one great night, because it really, really was amazing and you shouldn’t feel bad about it or like you didn’t deliver, because you totally did—”
Didn’t deliver? What was she talking about?
“—but now, it’s like I’m ready to burst. Like what we did was just enough to make me want more. And I’ve been going crazy. And because I’m not quite so casual as you, I figured my best bet for letting off some steam was a few personal accessories. But I was kind of hoping the whole world wouldn’t have to know about it.”
Sam blinked. “So if I have this right, you pulling away from me just now wasn’t because I’d gone and fucked everything up by taking you to bed. It was because you needed more than the edge taken off and you were embarrassed for me to see that you were taking matters into your own hands. So to speak.”
Chin pulling back, she shook her head.
“Why would you think things were effed up with us?” she asked, her voice starting to get that pinched sound that told the story of just how worried she was. “Is that how you feel?”
Giving in to a relieved laugh, he pulled her close. “How I feel is like maybe our mutual problem isn’t that we gave in to a night between us, but after twenty years of close proximity, we thought a single night would be enough.”