34
Amanda stood in front of Ericka's door at exactly 7:58 PM.
Not that she'd been watching the time obsessively or anything. Not that she hadn't changed her outfit three times before landing on the one she wore now—black high-waisted trousers, a soft cream top that hugged just enough, and her hair pinned back in a way that felt casual but not careless.
She lifted her hand to knock, then dropped it again.
Then lifted it again.
Just knock, Amanda. She invited you. Stop being weird.
She knocked.
The door opened almost immediately, like Ericka had been standing just on the other side waiting.
Amanda's breath hitched.
Ericka had changed out of her usual armor—no tailored suit, no heels. Just a loose off-the-shoulder black sweater, dark jeans, and bare feet. Her hair was down, soft and wavy, framing her face in a way Amanda had never seen before.
"You're right on time," Ericka said, her voice softer than usual.
"You gave me very specific instructions," Amanda replied, offering a smile. "I wasn't about to break protocol."
Ericka smirked and stepped aside. "Come in."
Amanda entered the apartment, taking it all in.
It was beautiful—modern, clean, but warm. Low lighting, soft jazz playing in the background, and the scent of something delicious floating from the kitchen.
"You cooked?" Amanda asked, raising a brow.
"I ordered and plated it like I cooked," Ericka admitted, walking toward the kitchen with a grin. "That counts for something."
Amanda laughed and followed, more at ease now as she watched Ericka pour two glasses of wine.
"This is... really nice," she said, taking in the space again.
"I wanted it to be," Ericka replied, handing her a glass.
They clinked lightly, and Amanda sipped, letting the first taste settle the nerves she hadn't realized she still had.
After a few more minutes of quiet small talk and dinner served with a surprising side of playful banter, they moved to the living room.
Amanda curled up on the couch, wine glass in hand, as Ericka sank into the other end.
"So," Amanda said, breaking the silence, "are you always this good at pretending you're not thinking about kissing me?"
Ericka's head snapped toward her, her cool composure cracking for just a second. "That's a bold assumption."
Amanda tilted her glass toward her. "It wasn't a no."
Ericka looked at her then, really looked. And Amanda could see the internal war—professionalism vs. want, boundaries vs. whatever the hell this growing thing between them was.
"I've worked really hard to keep this professional," Ericka said quietly, eyes on her wine. "You have no idea."
Amanda's smile softened. "Then why does it feel like you've already stopped trying?"
Ericka stood slowly, like the couch had become too dangerous to stay on. She moved toward the kitchen, glass in hand, but Amanda could tell—she wasn't just walking away from the couch.
She was walking away from this.
Amanda watched her, heart pounding, breath caught in her throat. She knew this version of Ericka—the one who pulled back just before things got too real. The one who wore control like a second skin.
But not tonight.
Not after everything that had been said with their eyes, their laughter, the space between them that had been shrinking since dinner.
Amanda stood and crossed the room in two quiet steps.
"Ericka."
Ericka paused, her back still to her. "This is a bad idea."
Amanda didn't care.
She reached out, grabbed her hand, and gently turned her around. And before Ericka could say anything else, before another excuse could form—
Amanda kissed her.
Soft and sure and full of every feeling she hadn't said out loud.
Ericka froze for half a second—just half. And then she kissed her back, dropping every carefully built wall in the process.
When they finally pulled apart, Amanda whispered, lips still brushing against Ericka's—
"I've been wanting to do that since the first time I saw you."
Ericka's breath was shallow, lips still tingling from the kiss. Her fingers were loosely intertwined with Amanda's now, like she hadn't even realized she'd grabbed her hand until after it happened.
Amanda didn't move away. She stood close—closer than she ever had—looking up at her like she wasn't the least bit sorry.
Because she wasn't.
Ericka blinked slowly, eyes locked on Amanda's face. "You shouldn't have done that."
Amanda smiled, unbothered. "I know."
"And yet," Ericka murmured, voice softening, "you did."
"I had to." Amanda's thumb brushed gently across Ericka's hand. "You were walking away. Again."
Ericka didn't deny it.
"I shouldn't..." she whispered.
Amanda stepped in closer, her voice gentle but certain. "But you want to."
Ericka's eyes searched hers, looking for something—permission, courage, maybe a reason to let go.
"I've built everything on control," she said softly. "Structure. Boundaries."
Amanda reached up, brushing her fingers along Ericka's arm. "You think I don't know that?" she said, her tone warm, teasing. "You practically breathe in bullet points."
That pulled a reluctant smile from Ericka, but it didn't erase the weight in her eyes.
"You scare me," she admitted quietly.
Amanda blinked, caught off guard. "Me?"
Ericka nodded, just once. "Because this... you... make me want things I told myself I couldn't have."
Amanda's voice dropped to a murmur. "Then have it."
The space between them disappeared once more. Ericka didn't speak—didn't need to.
This time, when she kissed Amanda, it wasn't hesitant or measured. It was slow and deep and full of everything she'd been trying to hide.
Amanda responded instantly, her hands sliding up Ericka's arms, anchoring herself in this moment. Her heart thudded in her chest, but it wasn't nerves. It was adrenaline. It was relief.
The kiss slowed, then broke gently, their foreheads resting together in the hush that followed. Their breaths mingled in the warm air between them, and Amanda let her eyes flutter shut for just a second. Just to feel it.
Just to remember.
Ericka was the first to speak, her voice softer than Amanda had ever heard it. "You undo me."
Amanda smiled without opening her eyes. "That's the idea."
They stayed like that for a moment longer—quiet, connected, not needing to say anything more. Until Ericka pulled back slightly, just enough to really look at her.
"I don't know how to do this," she said honestly. "Not with you. Not like this."
Amanda tucked a loose strand of hair behind Ericka's ear. "Good news? Neither do I."
"Hey," she said softly, drawing Ericka's eyes back to hers. "We don't have to figure everything out tonight."
Ericka blinked, her expression unreadable.
Amanda gave her a small, calming smile. "We don't have to label anything. Or define what this is. We can just... take it slow. One day at a time."
She reached over and gently touched Ericka's hand, grounding them both.
"No pressure. No promises. Just honesty, and space to feel what we're feeling without rushing it."
Ericka was quiet, eyes searching Amanda's face, like she didn't quite believe it could be that simple.
"And work?" she asked. Her voice was quieter now, but steady.
Amanda nodded. "We never cross that line at work."
Ericka's eyes narrowed slightly, the corners of her mouth tugging upward—just a bit. "You think we can do that?"
Amanda smirked. "I think we've been toeing the line already. Not stepping over it will be a breeze."
That pulled a quiet laugh from Ericka, and the sound was everything Amanda hoped it would be—relieved, warm, just a little bit reckless.
"One day at a time," Ericka repeated softly, almost to herself.
Amanda gave her hand one last squeeze. "Exactly."
____________
Amanda woke up slowly, the unfamiliar softness of high-thread-count sheets and the filtered morning light slipping through sheer curtains easing her into consciousness.
For a moment, she didn't remember where she was.
The bed wasn't hers, the smell in the air—fresh linen, subtle jasmine—wasn't hers either.
Then she turned her head.
Ericka.
Still asleep.
Lying on her side, facing Amanda. One hand tucked under her cheek, her hair slightly tousled from sleep, the last traces of control nowhere to be found.
Amanda didn't move. She barely breathed.
It wasn't about panic.
It was the kind of stillness born from not wanting to disturb a moment you didn't know you'd been waiting for.
They hadn't done anything more than kiss. Hadn't rushed into anything. After that last quiet promise—"one day at a time"—they'd stayed curled up on the couch until exhaustion won.
Sometime past midnight, Ericka had simply stood, taken Amanda's hand, and said, "You're staying, right?"
And Amanda had followed.
Now, wrapped in a borrowed oversized T-shirt and curled into a bed that smelled like Ericka, Amanda felt... calm.
A rare thing.
She slid out of bed carefully, trying not to wake her, and padded quietly toward the kitchen. She found the coffee machine easily—because of course Ericka had one of those machines that looked like it belonged in a boutique hotel—and started a pot, humming under her breath.
Moments later, she heard the soft shuffle of footsteps behind her.
Amanda turned, smiling. "Good morning."
Ericka stood in the doorway, still in the same tank top and shorts she'd pulled on the night before, hair even more of a mess now, but her eyes were awake—curious. Watching.
"You're still here," she said, almost like she didn't expect it.
Amanda held up a mug. "That a problem?"
Ericka stepped into the kitchen, bare feet quiet on the tile. "Not even a little."