Read Online Chance (The One More Night Series) by Christina Ross - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Christina Ross
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which—after surviving last year’s heat wave—we’d since nicknamed ‘Hell in a Low-Rise’.
This year, we’d been able to afford a used air conditioner. It was too small to cool the entire apartment, but at least it made the living room somewhat tolerable. If we didn’t have it, given this year’s heat, somebody likely would have found us dead by this point.
After paying the driver and stepping out of the cab, I reminded myself that oneday, Brooke, Elle, and I would earn enough money to live somewhere that actually supported human life—instead of condemning it.
The question was when.
The first thing I saw when I unlocked the front door and opened it to a rolling wave of heat was a mouse darting beneath the staircase. Nice , I thought. I walked up the suffocating five flights of stairs, turned the corner toward our apartment door, and was about to unlock it when it opened for me. Elle stood just beyond it, and on her pretty face was her usual layer of mischief.
“Tough climbing up those stairs?” she asked.
“Well, it is hot,” I said.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know what you meant.”
“Feeling a little bit… I don’t know… chafed?”
“I’m not taking the bait, Elle.”
“Have your sugar walls turned into fire walls?”
I had to laugh at that one. “You’re a mad woman. Let me inside before you let out all the cool air. Today is going to be murder. It’s, like, eighty already.”
She stepped aside so I could move past her. At five-foot-eleven, Elle was the tallest among us, and her French-Canadian genes gave her olive skin a tone that made her look as if she had a tan even when she didn’t. Throughout the winter, she had a healthy glow. But now? In July? After spending time walking around Manhattan? She was golden brown and beautiful, which perfectly suited her job at Vogue .
“Looks like someone’s in need of a cold shower,” she said.
I knew this was coming, and I was armed for it, but I didn’t answer her. Instead, I wanted her to pull it out of me. I dropped my purse on a side table, and moved into our tiny living room, where Brooke already was sitting up on our beat-up sofa with a cup of coffee in her hand.
Elle wasn’t joking—Brooke looked as if she hadn’t gotten any sleep. She held the rim of her cup just below her bottom lip and took frequent sips while she just stared at me and—given her sour expression—damned me to hell for cheating her of what she loved the most—sleep.
“Hi,” I said.
“Coffee,” she answered.
“Right,” I said.
“Wrong,” she answered.
Oh, dear….
Brooke was the fairest among us. She was a petite blonde with blue eyes, a pale complexion that burned easily in the sun, and hair that just came to her shoulders.
“Not even a phone call?” she finally said to me. “Not even a text? Are you crazy? Don’t you ever do that to us again, Abby. I’m glad you got laid and all—seriously, it’s about damned time that you went through with it—but you’ve got two people here to consider. Two people who’ve had your back longer than whatever stud picked you up last night.”
She was right. These were my girls—my oldest and dearest of friends. Brooke Martin and Elle Pierce were like sisters to me, and I’d let them down, which made me feel horrible. We’d known each other since grade school, had been through the highs and lows of adolescence together, and nothing had parted us since. We were that close.
“I screwed up,” I said. “It won’t happen again. I’m sorry, Brooke.”
“Whatever. Now that I can see that you’re alive and breathing, you and I are fine—just don’t do it again. OK? OK. Now, get a cup of coffee, sit down, and spill the goods. I didn’t get out of bed for nothing. Elle and I want the deets. And they better be salacious.”
“As Elle kindly noted, I really should take a shower first.”
She
This year, we’d been able to afford a used air conditioner. It was too small to cool the entire apartment, but at least it made the living room somewhat tolerable. If we didn’t have it, given this year’s heat, somebody likely would have found us dead by this point.
After paying the driver and stepping out of the cab, I reminded myself that oneday, Brooke, Elle, and I would earn enough money to live somewhere that actually supported human life—instead of condemning it.
The question was when.
The first thing I saw when I unlocked the front door and opened it to a rolling wave of heat was a mouse darting beneath the staircase. Nice , I thought. I walked up the suffocating five flights of stairs, turned the corner toward our apartment door, and was about to unlock it when it opened for me. Elle stood just beyond it, and on her pretty face was her usual layer of mischief.
“Tough climbing up those stairs?” she asked.
“Well, it is hot,” I said.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know what you meant.”
“Feeling a little bit… I don’t know… chafed?”
“I’m not taking the bait, Elle.”
“Have your sugar walls turned into fire walls?”
I had to laugh at that one. “You’re a mad woman. Let me inside before you let out all the cool air. Today is going to be murder. It’s, like, eighty already.”
She stepped aside so I could move past her. At five-foot-eleven, Elle was the tallest among us, and her French-Canadian genes gave her olive skin a tone that made her look as if she had a tan even when she didn’t. Throughout the winter, she had a healthy glow. But now? In July? After spending time walking around Manhattan? She was golden brown and beautiful, which perfectly suited her job at Vogue .
“Looks like someone’s in need of a cold shower,” she said.
I knew this was coming, and I was armed for it, but I didn’t answer her. Instead, I wanted her to pull it out of me. I dropped my purse on a side table, and moved into our tiny living room, where Brooke already was sitting up on our beat-up sofa with a cup of coffee in her hand.
Elle wasn’t joking—Brooke looked as if she hadn’t gotten any sleep. She held the rim of her cup just below her bottom lip and took frequent sips while she just stared at me and—given her sour expression—damned me to hell for cheating her of what she loved the most—sleep.
“Hi,” I said.
“Coffee,” she answered.
“Right,” I said.
“Wrong,” she answered.
Oh, dear….
Brooke was the fairest among us. She was a petite blonde with blue eyes, a pale complexion that burned easily in the sun, and hair that just came to her shoulders.
“Not even a phone call?” she finally said to me. “Not even a text? Are you crazy? Don’t you ever do that to us again, Abby. I’m glad you got laid and all—seriously, it’s about damned time that you went through with it—but you’ve got two people here to consider. Two people who’ve had your back longer than whatever stud picked you up last night.”
She was right. These were my girls—my oldest and dearest of friends. Brooke Martin and Elle Pierce were like sisters to me, and I’d let them down, which made me feel horrible. We’d known each other since grade school, had been through the highs and lows of adolescence together, and nothing had parted us since. We were that close.
“I screwed up,” I said. “It won’t happen again. I’m sorry, Brooke.”
“Whatever. Now that I can see that you’re alive and breathing, you and I are fine—just don’t do it again. OK? OK. Now, get a cup of coffee, sit down, and spill the goods. I didn’t get out of bed for nothing. Elle and I want the deets. And they better be salacious.”
“As Elle kindly noted, I really should take a shower first.”
She
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