Chemistry Lessons Page 7

  Ky sent her a baffled look. “What? I didn’t do anything.”

  Oh shit. Had she said that out loud? This dating experiment was really messing with her head. “Um, I wasn’t talking to you. I meant…” Her cheeks burned as she darted her gaze around, searching for an explanation, then vaguely gestured at the car’s loudspeakers, where soft music had started to play.

  “I thought you loved Jenna Blake,” Ky said. “Don’t tell me that changed.”

  “Oh, no, no. I still love her music. I’m just, um, getting hangry.”

  Ky widened her eyes comically. “Uh-oh! National emergency! Clear the streets and alert the restaurant!”

  Both chuckled, and part of the tension coiling in the pit of Regan’s belly eased. They would have dinner at their favorite neighborhood restaurant—which, as Eliza had pointed out, was too noisy for an intimate atmosphere—and Ky would playfully bat her hand away but still allow her to steal half the fries on her plate.

  Only dinner with her best friend.

  Nothing to it. Right?

  * * *

  Every time the waitress stopped by their table to ask if they—or rather Ky—needed anything else, Regan mentally deducted two dollars from her tip. Three if she “accidentally” brushed Ky’s shoulder or touched her arm while refilling her water.

  By the time they asked for the check, Blondie owed her fifteen dollars.

  Eighteen, she corrected as the waitress put the leather-bound folder with the check on the table, again managing to brush Ky’s arm. She nearly toppled over the half-full glass since she was busy staring into Ky’s eyes.

  Granted, Ky’s eyes were beautiful. According to her ID, they were blue, but Regan had always thought they were gray with hints of green. But no matter how interesting they were, that was no reason to dreamily stare into them.

  It wasn’t that Regan was jealous. Of course she wasn’t. But what if they really were on a date—one where they both had romantic intentions? Blondie couldn’t know they were only humoring their friends.

  Flirting with Ky right under her nose was beyond rude, and Regan would not stand for that kind of disrespect. She snatched the leather-bound folder with the check off the table. “I’m paying,” she told the waitress with her sweetest smile. “After all, I asked her out.”

  Blondie paled. “Oh. I didn’t… Um, let me double-check that. I think I made a mistake with the drinks.” She tried to take back the folder.

  Regan held it out of reach and peeked inside.

  That was bold. Blondie had written her phone number across the top of the check.

  Regan ungritted her teeth to confirm that she had indeed made a mistake—not with the drinks, but by flirting with Ky. But then she stopped herself. What are you doing? You and Ky have no chemistry, remember? Apparently, Blondie was convinced there was plenty of potential for a chemical reaction between her and Ky, though. If Ky thought the same, Regan couldn’t stand in the way.

  She closed the folder with a loud slapping sound and held it out to Ky. “You know what? The check is yours tonight.”

  They always argued over who got to pay, so Ky stared at her for a moment before taking it. “Oh, sure.” She pulled her credit card from her wallet and opened the folder. Her gaze went from the check to Blondie. Finally, she handed the folder back to Regan. “Actually, why don’t you pay tonight, and I’ll cover the next date?”

  Regan reached out to take it but forced herself to ask, “Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” Ky said firmly. “I’ve got something special planned.”

  The waitress rushed off with Regan’s credit card as soon as she had handed it over.

  Shit. Now Regan almost felt sorry for her.

  Ky stared at her retreating back. “Was she trying to ask me out, or was that phone number for you?”

  “For me? Yeah, right! Didn’t you notice how she kept brushing your arm or leaning against you when she refilled your water and brought your food?”

  “Oh. I thought she was just being clumsy.”

  Regan burst out laughing. “God, Ky. You’re so oblivious.” It was kind of adorable. “She’s been flirting with you for weeks. So if you are interested, it would really be okay if you—”

  “Nah. I’m not into blondes.”

  Regan snorted. “Most of your exes were blonde!”

  “Maybe I changed my type and prefer brunettes now.”

  Regan had reached up to run her fingers through her dark locks. Now she snatched her hand away.

  They stared at each other with the echo of Ky’s words hanging between them.

  Then Ky looked away to slide her credit card back into her wallet, and Regan exhaled the air caught in her lungs.

  Jeez, calm down. She didn’t mean it like that. This is Ky, remember?

  Good thing they were going to the movies next. They would sit in the dark, without having to talk or look at each other, and by the time the flick ended, they would be past this weird awkwardness and back in friend territory.

  * * *

  What was it with flirty food people today?

  The guy behind the concession stand at the Academy Theater was clearly chatting Regan up.

  Ky loved the historic movie theater with its 1940s charm and its very affordable ticket prices, but Mr. Chatty was starting to piss her off. How long could it take to prepare an order of popcorn and two sodas? Was he trying to draw it out so he could enjoy Regan’s presence a bit longer?

  Not that Ky could blame him. Regan was dressed to kill…and Mr. Chatty wasn’t her only casualty. Ky really shouldn’t notice how the bodysuit outlined Regan’s subtle curves or how its neckline, square on the back, dipped low and didn’t reveal any straps, making her wonder if Regan was even wearing a bra.

  She had thought it was only the damn dress from last week, but apparently, every single item from the back of Regan’s closet now had this effect on her.

  Or maybe it wasn’t the clothing. Maybe she had been deluding herself and wasn’t as over her childhood crush on her best friend as she had assumed.

  The thought zinged through her brain like an electric shock, leaving her weak-kneed.

  She grabbed on to the water fountain along the back wall with both hands and held on until the room stopped spinning around her.

  Bullshit. She’d just gotten caught up in this chemistry experiment. So what if she wasn’t completely oblivious to how great Regan looked? And even if it was a flare-up of her old crush, she had gotten over it before, so she could do it again. She would be fine as long as she didn’t do something rash—like put her hand on that exposed piece of bare skin on Regan’s upper back to guide her to the theater.

  She splashed cold water onto her overheated cheeks.

  Of course, Regan chose that moment to finally return from the concession stand. “Popcorn!” she cheered, then paused and studied Ky. “What’s up with you?”

  Shit. Regan knew her too well. She could read Ky’s body language with her eyes closed. “Nothing. I was just beginning to wonder if that guy was having to harvest the corn for our popcorn first.” God, she hated lying to Regan. But what was she supposed to do? She wasn’t about to risk their friendship.

  Regan’s dark eyes remained trained on her face, probing. Finally, her intense expression eased into a grin, and she thrust the tray with their sodas at Ky. “Come on. Let’s grab seats before the best ones are gone.”

  They picked two seats in the last row, as they had done as teenagers.

  “Or is this too far back for you to ogle Grace Durand?” Regan asked as she sank into the seat next to Ky. “I heard she even dyed her hair because you’re no longer into blondes.”

  Damn, she should never have said that. “Yeah, sure.”

  “No, she really did. Well, probably not for you, but she’s playing a brunette.”

  Truth be told, Ky didn’t know much about the characters Grace Durand and her co-star portrayed. Her favorite actress playing a lesbian was pretty much all she needed to know. Besides, what lit
tle she’d read about the movie seemed perfect for them: the romance should make Regan, ever the hopeless romantic, happy, while the supernatural twist would keep Ky entertained.

  It wasn’t long before the lights dimmed, and the red velvet curtains slid back to reveal the big screen.

  The Academy never showed a lot of commercials, so only a few minutes later, a preview for a romantic comedy appeared on the screen.

  “Ooh, that one looks good too,” Regan whispered. “Will you go see it with me?”

  “Yeah, of course. It’s in the best-friend contract after all.” Without looking away from the screen, Ky reached into the bucket of popcorn Regan had wedged between her thigh and the armrest.

  Her fingers brushed Regan’s, who had grabbed a handful of popcorn at the same moment.

  A tingle ran up Ky’s arm.

  Popcorn went flying as she jerked her hand back. No, no, no. She shouldn’t be tingling. Their hands had brushed like this hundreds of times, and there hadn’t been any tingling since she’d grown out of that silly crush.

  Regan let out a muffled squeak. “What was that?”

  “Um, one of the kernels was still pretty hot.” Ky rubbed her hand as if she had burned herself. Maybe she had, but not on the popcorn. She could still feel Regan’s touch.

  Regan pulled the front of her bodysuit away from her chest and reached inside.

  What the…? Ky looked away before Regan could catch her staring.

  Regan fished a piece of popcorn from her cleavage, slid it into her mouth, and licked her buttery fingers.

  Jesus Christ. That so wasn’t fair! What had she done to the universe to deserve that kind of torture? Ky’s face burned, along with the rest of her body.

  Why had she ever thought the movie theater was the perfect location for their second no-chemistry date? For the third one, she definitely needed a place where no finger-licking and no cleavage-flashing could happen. She chucked down half of her soda with big gulps.

  “Whoa, slow down.” Regan leaned closer to study her in the semi-darkness.

  “Guess I was more thirsty than I—” An unexpected spasm interrupted her. Hic! Ky groaned. No! Not that too.

  The opening scene of the movie flashed across the screen, and Ky tried to focus on it, hoping it would distract her and stop her case of cleavage-induced hiccups. Surely the first glimpse of Grace Durand—in blue scrubs no less and with dark, sexy-messy hair—would make it happ—

  Hic!

  The hiccups continued, unimpressed by the drama unfolding on the screen as Grace’s character shouted orders and shocked her female patient, only to be zapped herself.

  Ky tried everything she could think of to get rid of them. She recited the alphabet backward and held her breath until she had to gasp for air.

  Hic!

  A quieter scene now played across the screen—the ER doctor talking to the young woman whose life she’d saved—so the loud hiccuping seemed to echo through the entire theater.

  Several people in the row in front of them turned.

  Regan leaned across the armrest. Her breath washed over Ky’s ear, making her shiver. “Have you tried holding your breath?”

  “Yes. Every trick in the—hic—book.”

  “Anonn always gave me a spoonful of vinegar when I had the hiccups.”

  Ky patted her pockets. “I’m all out of vinegar. Any other ideas?”

  “There’s only two I can think of.” Regan’s teeth flashed in the darkness as she grinned at her. “A nice, long…”

  “Bath? Sorry. Don’t have a—hic—tub with me either.”

  “No.” Regan cleared her throat. “I’m talking about a nice, long, passionate…kiss.”

  She was so close that Ky thought she would make good on her suggestion and lean in to kiss her. Her heart thudded against her ribs.

  “Ky?” Regan whispered. “Are you breathing?”

  “Uh. Yeah. No. Just holding my breath to get rid of the hiccups.”

  “Hey, I think it worked.”

  Ky paused and pressed her hand to her diaphragm, waiting for another spasm. Nothing came. What do you know? The thought of Regan kissing her had cured her hiccups. “Wow. I guess—”

  A woman in the row ahead of them turned. “Would you mind taking your conversation—? Oh! Kylie? Is that you?”

  Ky froze. It was official now: she was in hell. “Uh, hi, Lindsey.” Of all the people in Portland, she had to run into her ex!

  Hic!

  Groaning, Ky let her head fall back against her seat.

  * * *

  Sometimes, Portland really was a small town. But, of course, every women-loving woman in the city would want to see Grace Durand in the sapphic movie of the year, so maybe running into Ky’s ex at the Academy wasn’t much of a coincidence.

  Her attitude toward Regan hadn’t changed in the two years since she and Ky had broken up. When Lindsey caught sight of her sitting next to Ky, she huffed, muttered something, and turned back around.

  “Nice to see you too,” Regan mumbled.

  Another hiccup, even louder than before, came from Ky. “I’ll be right—hic—back.” Before Regan could answer, Ky got up and squeezed past the two people at the end of their row.

  Regan stared after her. It wasn’t only the hiccups that had made her flee the theater; she could sense that. Was this about Lindsey, or was something else going on with Ky?

  Things had felt off all night, and she wasn’t sure if it was Ky or her or both of them or this weird situation.

  She was still having fun, as she always did whenever she spent time with Ky, but it wasn’t the casual night out they had shared in the past. Whenever their arms brushed on the armrest, a shiver of awareness rushed through her. Had Ky felt it too?

  Nah. Regan had never been Ky’s type. She had never wanted to be Ky’s type, and things like that didn’t suddenly change after twenty-five years of friendship. That was why she’d do what she had always done: make sure her friend was okay.

  She slid past the two grumbling people in their row and made her way down the steps to the exit. When the heavy door swung closed behind her, shutting out the sounds of Grace Durand playing squash with her love interest to test their mysterious connection, Regan squinted into the sudden brightness.

  There was no sign of Ky at the water fountain. Had she gone to the restroom?

  Regan nudged the door open with her elbow and peeked inside.

  Phew. There she was.

  Ky stood at the sink, with the water running, but she wasn’t washing her hands. She was staring into the mirror as if she were trying to make it explode into a thousand little pieces by the sheer intensity of her glare. Water dampened her sideswept bangs and glittered on her flushed cheeks.

  Regan’s heart did a quick double beat. “Ky?” she said, but for once in her life, her voice was too quiet—so soft that Ky probably couldn’t hear it over the gurgling of the water.

  Ky looked up anyway, as if sensing her presence.

  Their gazes met across the otherwise empty restroom. The entire situation felt surreal, as if they were caught in Grace Durand’s movie.

  Oh God, that would be bad. If there really were some kind of telepathic connection between them, Ky would be able to sense what strange thoughts she’d been having. Luckily, things like that didn’t exist in real life.

  “You okay?” Regan finally took a step into the room.

  Ky interrupted their eye contact to shut off the water. “I’m fine. I think I got it to—hic! Damn. I thought it had stopped.”

  “Remember when Unonn had the hiccups for two full days? If they hadn’t already been married for forty years, I swear he would have proposed on the spot when Anonn got them to stop.”

  “How did she manage that?” Ky waved one hand in a gimme-gimme motion.

  When Regan cleared her throat, the sound echoed through the restroom. “Um, that’s where the trick about the kiss came from.”

  “Oh.” Ky chuckled nervously. “Now I’m almost afra
id to ask about—hic—the second remedy you mentioned earlier.”

  “That one’s completely PG-rated.” Thank God. “It’s just pressure points.”

  “Cool.” Ky slid up the sleeves of her sweater, revealing her strong forearms. “So where do I tap? Here?” She drummed her index finger against the bend of her elbow.

  “Um, no. And you don’t tap; you…” It was easier to demonstrate than to explain, so Regan stepped closer, right into Ky’s personal space.

  Ky’s eyes widened, and she went completely still as Regan placed one fingertip in the small indent below her earlobe.

  Along the length of her finger, she could feel the thud of Ky’s pulse. Her own heart sped up too, as if trying to match it. “You press down very, very gently.” Why was she whispering? There was no one else in the restroom, so she wasn’t bothering anyone. Regan cleared her throat and moved her finger to the second pressure point, right above Ky’s upper lip.

  The skin there was soft—so incredibly soft—and the almost microscopic hairs seemed to vibrate beneath her fingertip.

  Ky’s breath washed over her knuckles, and Regan’s own breathing stuttered in response. She fought against the urge to trail her finger along the curve of Ky’s mouth.

  What the heck was she doing? This suddenly no longer felt PG-rated at all. Quickly, she snatched her finger away, but the third and last pressure point wasn’t any better—quite the opposite.

  “Um, can you…take your sweater off? I have to…” She gestured at Ky’s upper chest.

  Was it just Regan’s imagination, or did Ky’s already flushed cheeks turn an even more intense shade of scarlet? But she gamely whipped the sweater up over her head, tousling her hair, until she was standing there in a white tank top.

  Regan had seen her like that—and in much less—a hundred times before. Totally old hat. Or at least it should have been. But today, everything about Ky seemed to register in a new, very confusing way.

  Focus and get this over with. She traced one finger down the center of Ky’s throat until she reached the hollow at the base, where she placed the tips of both index fingers.

  Ky’s heart thudded along with her own as Regan slid her fingers down an inch, then to the sides, along the edge of her tank top. Goose bumps sprang up beneath her touch. Ky’s chest heaved as she sucked in a breath. She covered Regan’s fingers with her own, either to press them closer or to keep them from moving. “I think you can stop. They’re gone.”