by E. J. Noyes
“Ah, a regular cowgirl.”
I laughed and set the frame back down on the dresser. “Something like that.” I touched her back. “Are you hungry? Is pasta okay?” My fridge and pantry could always be relied upon to hold enough ingredients for a decent impromptu meal.
“Pasta’s great. Can I do anything to help out?”
I slipped by her and into the kitchen. “Absolutely not. But I might grab you when it’s time to clean up.” I smiled over my shoulder. “Take a seat, shouldn’t be too long. Any allergies or food hatreds?”
“Anchovies. Eggplant. Both hatred, not allergy.”
“Noted. You’re safe in my house, from anchovies at least.” I pulled out cherry tomatoes, marinated feta and a deli container of mixed olives. While the water came to a boil, I quickly halved the tomatoes and set to work removing pits from the olives.
Brooke sat at one of the high stools that lined the other side of my kitchen counter, slowly turning her water glass in circles. “Do you usually go to this much trouble when you have a friend over for a spur-of-the-moment dinner?”
“Cooking isn’t trouble for me, especially not a quick and easy meal like this.” I glanced at her before resuming my careful slicing. “Actually, cooking is probably one of the most relaxing things in my life, especially extravagant recipes. Gives me something to focus on, makes my brain be quiet for a while. I like to make batches of meals and leave them for Sabs and Bec so when they get home at some fucked-up hour after having to deal with fuck knows what all day or night, they’ve got a decent meal.”
“You are incredibly sweet, you know that?”
“You do remember our first meeting, right? The snapping and annoyance and bitchiness?”
She laughed. “I do. I think I remember telling you that I thought you were all bluster and bravado with a marshmallow core.”
“Yes, I remember that too.” And I remembered liking it. I bent my head to concentrate before I sliced off half my finger.
I’d hastily pulled my hair up into a clip, and now my haste was making me pay. I blew strands from my face over and over again and let out another exasperated huff. Brooke laughed and came around the counter into the kitchen. “Here, let me help.”
“Thanks.” I turned my head toward her.
She was right behind me, so close her hip brushed mine. “You have great hair, so thick and straight.” Brooke’s fingers brushed my neck as she carefully collected my hair in a bundle and restrained it in the clasp again.
The sensation was like someone was lightly sliding their tongue along my spine. Jesus. What was wrong with me? Clearly she exuded some pheromone that was going straight to my…whatever body part picked up on pheromones. I squirmed, trying to get rid of the admittedly pleasant feeling trickling over my skin. “I guess, except for the fact it’s got a mind of its own and I have to layer the hell out of it to make it look decent.” I motioned with my chin at her glossy brown hair, which she’d let down and was now curling softly at her collar. “I’d much prefer hair like yours.”
She grinned. “Yeah, until it goes completely crazy the moment there’s any moisture in the air.” Her voice dropped a few decibels. “I think we always want that thing we don’t, or can’t have.”
“Very true.” I twitched my ear toward my shoulder, trying to indicate my repaired hairstyle. “Thanks for that.”
“No problem.” She moved back a couple of steps but remained close enough that it felt like she was still touching me. “Sure I can’t help at all?”
I turned slightly to the side so I could cook and look at her when I talked. And so I could create a little distance between us. “Nope. Everything’s totally under control.”
“Oh I can see that.” She leaned against the counter, careful to avoid the assorted cooking debris, and folded her arms. “Do you always have to be in control of everything?” There was no accusation or malice in the question, simply a quiet curiosity.
“Not always, but it’s kind of my default state in case you hadn’t noticed. But, believe it or not, sometimes I enjoy someone else taking control of me.” A smile stuck itself on my lips and refused to leave.
Her answering smile was bright, warm, and more than a touch cheeky. “I’m not sure I believe you but okay, whatever you say.”
“It’s true!” I held up the middle three fingers on my right hand in salute. “Girl Scout’s honor.”
She raised a dubious eyebrow. “You were a Girl Scout?”
“Mhmm. For about four months until my troop leader indicated that maybe I wasn’t suited to the team aspect of scouting.”
“Why?”
“Too bossy, opinionated, and always had to be right.” I grinned. “Nothing’s changed really.”
Brooke’s answering laughter was worth admitting one of the biggest failures of my childhood. Who gets asked to leave Girl Scouts? I turned off the flame under the tomatoes and olives, deftly swapped utensils and scooped a few pieces of penne pasta from the pot of boiling water. Squeezing one between my fingers, I declared, “Almost done I think.” Then I popped it in my mouth.
“Let me test.” Brooke made a gimme motion.
Inexplicably, instead of just passing the spoon over, I held up the second piece of penne. But she didn’t take it from me. The edge of Brooke’s mouth twitched before she carefully placed her hand over mine to steady it and ducked under my fingers. As she took the pasta in her mouth, her lips brushed my fingertips in a touch so soft it could have been my imagination. But I knew it wasn’t. My heart hammered double time and the unmistakable twist of excitement in my stomach meant only one thing. One confusing thing, because this was real life not a dream.
I wanted to kiss her.
That dream came back in full color, Dolby-surround audio. Oh fuck. I cleared my throat, hoping desperately that my expression didn’t match my thoughts. Get a grip, Jana. “Brooke. I, uh…” Yes, Brooke, who’d come to see me because she was upset. Brooke who didn’t need my weirdness on top of that. Brooke who could go out and find any girl and didn’t need a straight girl who was suddenly having lesbi-thoughts.
But she skipped right past my awkwardness with a calm, “Yeah, needs another minute I think.” Then she smiled, as if she knew what I’d been thinking. But underneath the serene expression I thought I could see something else—her own confusion and what seemed like desire?
“Okay,” I managed to get out before turning away from her and setting the slotted spoon beside the stove. Too cowardly to face her, or rather face up to that expression, I busied myself pulling plates down from the cupboard. “Could you please grab some cutlery, the drawer just to your right.”
She collected knives and forks, then peered around. “Do you have placemats?”
“No, I never use them. Don’t tell my mom, it’ll give her a heart attack. Not married, except to my job, I don’t have kids yet and I don’t use placemats.”
“Promise I won’t. I don’t want to tip her over the edge,” she said dryly.
“Bless you. I don’t think I could stand a lecture on table etiquette right now.”
Brooke helped me set the table, then stood awkwardly while I finished putting dinner together and placed the large bowl of pasta on the table. We sat opposite one another and I pushed the bowl closer. “Help yourself.”
She stared at the meal, eyebrows drawn as though she couldn’t quite work out what to do or say. Cooking for new people was almost like exposing myself for the first time to a lover, the edge of fear and excitement and that hope the other person would approve.
Brooke ate carefully. Nothing like the tipsy woman from the other night who’d used cheese sticks and fries to gesture while she made her case for why every cereal ever made is better than Grape-Nuts.
One thing remained the same—the little murmur of enjoyment, which was a borderline moan. “This is fabulous, Jana. So good.”
“Thanks, and ugh, this sounds like such a cliché but it’s really nothing, just something thrown together.”
> Brooke paused, fork hovering above her plate. She raised her eyes to mine, and the gratitude in them floored me. She had the most expressive eyes, telegraphing every emotion, and I wondered if she knew how easy she was to read. “This is one time you’re wrong. It’s everything, and not just the meal. Thank you.” Then she dropped her gaze back to her plate like she couldn’t bear to see my reaction.
“You’re welcome.” It sounded soft, tender, and I waited until she’d eaten another mouthful before asking, “Do you need to talk about today?”
“Hmm. Need? Yes, probably. But honestly, I don’t want to.” Brooke’s smile was tremulous. “Kinda drags the mood down.”
“I don’t mind, but I get it.” I pushed pasta around my plate, struck by the sudden urge to help her. “I’m always around if you need to talk, any time of day or night. Unless, you know, I’m caught up with a client or yelling at dickhead attorneys. But other than that, totally available.”
She carefully speared pieces of pasta and tomato. “I know, thanks. I just don’t want to burden you with all of my shit. Especially not just yet, in case you run screaming. But maybe in a few months, I’ll dump it all on you.” She leaned back in the chair, her grin a touch on the cheeky side. “That is, once I’ve wowed you with all my charm and you find me too irresistible to get rid of.”
“I look forward to it.” And I did.
The grin turned to a pleased smile before she dipped her head and dove back into her dinner. She had seconds, insisted on helping me clean up and accepted a container of leftovers, laughing in agreement when I admitted ruefully that I had a tendency to cook for an army.
“I’ll drive you home, just let me grab some shoes.” There was no way I was letting her walk six blocks for a bus and then go home by herself, even if she did it all the time.
“Ah, no I can’t ask you to do that.”
“You didn’t ask. I told you that was what I was doing. Bossy, remember?”
“Seriously, it’s fine. I’ll call for a cab, it’ll be here in no time.” She smiled, arranging her handbag and coat and the container of pasta into one well-balanced handful. “You’ve already done so much tonight, I’d feel better not asking for any more.”
I could have pushed but sensed it would only make her feel worse. “Okay, sure thing. Text me when you get home though?”
“Absolutely.” She placed a hand against the wall to steady herself as she slipped back into her shoes, then she straightened, staring at me with an expression of uncertainty. “Uh, well, I guess I’ll be off.”
I’d already hugged her once today. Fuck it. I opened my arms and she instantly stepped forward into them as though she’d just been waiting for me to initiate it. The embrace was less needy than our hug in my office, but still warm and comforting. I relaxed into her. “See you for coffee in the morning?”
I could feel her nod against my ear and she exhaled as though expelling all her upset on a breath. “Thank you,” she murmured. “Tonight was exactly what I needed.”
“Any time.”
She squeezed me tight then backed up while I opened the door. I stood in my doorway, watching her walk away, waving as she stepped into the elevator. Then she was gone. And I went back into my empty apartment with a strange sense of having just lost something.
Brooke ticked things off a small grocery list resting on the handle of the shopping cart. “Pasta, tortillas, tomatoes, milk, tea, um…tampons, barbeque sauce. Oh, can you duck over to the other aisle and grab some lube?”
“What for?”
“Never know when you might need lube.” She made a slow up and down inspection of my body, mouth twisting into a wicked grin. “Probably not for you any time soon, though.”
“Probably not,” I agreed, leaning against the shelving. “I’m hungry, are you hungry?”
“I am.” She handed me a box of Grape-Nuts. “Here, munch on these.”
“And what are you going to eat?” I asked, opening the box and pulling out a single piece of cereal.
“I think you know,” she said, voice husky with promise. Brooke pushed the cart away then knelt in front of me. She slid her hands under my dress and dragged my panties down my legs before slipping them off. With the lightest caress the tips of her fingers danced against my skin. Then she licked her way up my inner thigh and buried her face between my legs. Unexpected. Not unwanted.
I wedged the box on the shelf beside me so I could pluck cereal from it while Brooke attentively worked her magic. My other hand dropped to her head, gently pushing her hair back and holding it in a loose fist. She made the sexiest sound, something like the love child of a growl and a groan. “I don’t think this is going to satisfy me for very long. I’m going to be hungry again very soon,” she murmured before getting back to her intense attention to my clit.
I worked at trying to break a Grape-Nut between my molars. Most unsexy cereal ever. “Maybe I’ll try it sometime.”
“I think you should. I volunteer as your test subject…”
“I’m not sure I can wait long, I want to taste you. Fuck that feels so good.” I gasped as she hit a particularly sensitive spot.
Her tongue made another slow sweep, lingering warm and wet against my flesh before she closed her mouth and drew my clit between her lips.
“Oh shit, fuck…yes, do it just like that and I’ll co—”
I came awake on the brink of climaxing, heart hammering and my breath catching in my chest. Clutching the sheets in tight fists, I squeezed my thighs together to stave off the imminent orgasm. But my automatic response to waking up hyper-aroused had the opposite effect and the pressure against my clit sent me spiraling into release. Back arching against the climax, I could do nothing but helplessly ride out the exquisite sensations.
When I could finally think again, I realized what’d happened. I’d had a wet dream like a damned teenager. What the actual fuck? I hadn’t even touched myself. Not to mention the fact I’d spent most of the evening comforting her, and here I was treating her like some warped erotic object. This was getting beyond ridiculous. I rolled over and buried my face in my pillow, trying to ignore the remnants of pleasure coursing through my body.
But…I had to admit to myself that despite my confusion, I’d liked what’d just happened.
Scratch that.
Really, really liked it.
Chapter Twelve
The next morning when we met up for coffee, Brooke seemed to avoid talking about her meltdown the night before. As for me, I managed to keep myself together and mostly not think about those dreams. Mostly. While we talked, my mind wandered until I had to yank it back like a toddler on a safety leash. And then off it went again.
The mind wandering was not helped by small things like the way she kept fiddling with her takeout coffee cup, which of course had me staring at her hands while she tapped and turned. Slender fingers, nails painted a deep purple, that silver ring she always wore on her right middle finger.
And with every realization and new observation came an answering jolt in my stomach. Excitement? Guilt? No, not guilt but definitely confusion. Clearly these random thoughts plus the two dreams about Brooke were a sign I needed to get laid. Or start allocating more me time during the week to quiet down those urges. It wasn’t like batteries were expensive and the way I was going, I wouldn’t need much time to get the job done.
Maybe I’ll volunteer…
Oh shit. The remembrance of last night’s dream sent an unconscious shudder down my spine. Right, that’s it. Brooke is not an object to be lusted over, she’s a friend. A woman friend at that. The moment I got home, I was sorting this out.
The object of my lust, er…confusion glanced at her watch, grumbling, “I have to get going. Work awaits.”
“Don’t remind me.” I pushed my chair back. “Plans tonight? Hot date?” Casual question asked friend to friend, no big deal.
“Not in the slightest, unless you count TV, your leftovers, and wine as a date.”
“Actually,
I think I might.”
Brooke grinned and stood, moving quickly into my space to give me a quick, one-armed hug. She disengaged before I could do anything but pat her back. Her voice was low, almost intimate. “If I don’t see you later, then have a great weekend. Try not to work too hard, or actually—try not to work at all.”
“I’ll try. You too.”
“Oh I don’t intend on doing anything but play this weekend.” She squeezed my shoulder, and with a quick bye, slipped out of the café.
And I watched her go, wondering why I’d never noticed before what an enviably great ass she had. Enviable, yes…that’s it.
Overwhelmed by hunger on my drive home, I caved and detoured for pizza. I ate a slice as I drove and another slice as I stripped out of my court clothes and into sweats and a tee. Stomach temporarily satisfied, I planted myself on the couch to eat pizza straight from the box, with a bottle of cheap champagne to wash it down. Classy.
After another slice of supreme, I felt human enough to work on my other problem. My wayward libido. Holding the pizza box aloft, I stretched to grab my phone from the coffee table and once I finally got a grip on it, navigated straight to one of my dating sites and began my quest.
The quest was unsuccessful. Too young, too scruffy, too illiterate. Boring, boring, cute but still boring. Every profile was beyond uninspiring, and the more I tried to find a guy who I’d be willing to get to know before sleeping with him, the less I felt like doing exactly that. Of course I could have slipped out and gone to a local bar to pick up a random, but despite the fact I’d decided getting laid was the perfect answer to my issues, I couldn’t set aside my standards to just go out and hook up with a stranger.
A text saved me from slow death by unsuitable partners. Brooke. I realized I was grinning. Hugely. Like a fool.
