Girl Love Happens : Season One

by T. B. Markinson

  “I don’t doubt that. What I’m saying is don’t push her away trying to figure things out on your own. Talk to her.”

  “I tried that. Do you know what she said when I told her I hated being bisexual?”

  “What?”

  “That I should just stop. Like I can turn off the bi switch in my head.”

  Bernie chewed her bottom lip, the first sign she didn’t know what to say.

  “It’s hard to get that out of my head.” I circled a finger around my temple.

  “I know. That’s the problem with heated moments; snap judgments escape even from the most supportive people.”

  “So I should just forget she said it?”

  “Not sure that’s possible. But this would be a terrible world if no one received a second chance.”

  I closed my eyes. “Why do you talk like that?”

  She laughed. “Like what?”

  “Like you’re a mix of Buddha, God, and Oprah.”

  “Ah, you’re a straight shooter. I like that.” She shoved my shoulder.

  She liked that. Of course she did! Because she’s Bernie, everyone’s friend and therapist.

  She squeezed my leg. “I want to be your friend, Tegan. I know you have a lot going on and think you’re all alone. You aren’t if you don’t want to be. Even if you don’t let me in, let Gemma in. She’s beating herself up.” With that, she stood and rejoined the party.

  Gemma approached slowly, as if she were Marie Antoinette on the way to the guillotine. I couldn’t decide what made me sadder: her slumped shoulders or the fear that churned in her emerald eyes, turning them a dirty shade of jade.

  “May I sit?”

  “Of course.” I motioned to the cushion next to me.

  Unlike Bernie, she sat on the cushion on the far side of the couch, facing forward.

  I repositioned, now resting my back against the arm, and crossed my legs to face Gemma. Not completely at ease, I still gripped the pillow with both arms. Was I expecting her to rip my heart out or something while hoping the pillow would protect my chest cavity against all odds?

  “How are you?” she asked.

  I had to give her credit for taking the first step. It was more than I had done since that night.

  I shrugged. “You?”

  “Miserable.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

  “Me, too.”

  “You have no idea how sorry I am. I never should have said what I did.” She spun her head briefly toward me, but her neck jerked forward as if on a spring.

  “I shouldn’t have put you in that position,” I said, flinching over the ridiculous sentiment. It was like we were in a board meeting, not two lovers trying to find middle ground. The past few days, we’d coexisted in our room. If I had to choose one word to define our interactions, it’d be frosty. However, the frenzy of finals drove us, and now that we had both completed our last exam, our relationship issue reared its ugly head.

  Gemma nodded noncommittally.

  “What do you want? From me?”

  She swiped both palms on her jeans. I couldn’t detect if she hadn’t been expecting my bluntness or if she didn’t know how to answer. Like she didn’t know how to say, “I love you, but this whole bisexuality thing is much more than I bargained for.”

  “I want you. That’s all.”

  I laughed and nudged her thigh with my foot. “You have me as long as you want me.”

  Gemma’s head swiveled. “What does that mean?”

  Great! I’d upset her again. “It means I want to be with you.”

  “But why did you put it that way? ‘As long as I want you?’”

  “Uh, I don’t know. You kinda wigged out when I proclaimed I was bi.”

  “Exactly!” She punctuated the statement with a forceful I Dream of Jeanie nod, except she wasn’t granting me a wish.

  “So does that mean it’s… it’s…?” I couldn’t say the rest.

  “How could you ever forgive me?” Her eyes dropped to the couch cushions.

  “Forgive you?”

  “I completely discounted your feelings when you opened up. I had no idea how much you’d been struggling, and then when you let me in, I... Why would you want to be with me?”

  “That’s why you’re so nervous? Why you won’t look at me?”

  She shrugged, still not making eye contact.

  “Jesus, Gemma. It hurt, of course, but if I walked away from the most loving person because of one harsh statement, I’d be a fool. People—even ones in love—hurt each other.” I nearly laughed, realizing I was speaking Bernie-like. “Besides, how many times have you forgiven or overlooked one of my many spastic moments?”

  She smiled, lifting the cloud from her aura. “I wouldn’t even know how to calculate the incidents. A sliding scale, maybe.” She massaged her chin.

  I nudged her thigh harder with my foot. “Gemma!”

  “I mean, do panic attacks count? Choking incidents? Outbursts?” She was on a roll, ticking off each category with a finger.

  “Pouting around my mother,” I added.

  “Yes! Now you’re understanding my conundrum. How do I factor in all your spaziness?” She slipped her hand under my jeans, stroking my calf.

  I closed my eyes. “I missed your touch. Whenever denied, I realize how much your touch calms and excites me.”

  “Excites?” Her rapid breath was encouraging.

  “Very much so.”

  Gemma surveyed the room. There were a few diehard drinkers left, and none of them gave two shits about us hidden in the corner.

  “Shouldn’t we talk more?” she asked.

  “We can if you’d like. Or you can take me home. We have one night left until you go on vacation. I would like to create some memories to replay over the next two weeks.”

  Gemma rose, put her hand out, and said, “Come.”

  “Oh, God. I want to. Come all night long.”

  Gemma grasped my hand tighter. While we were among friends, not all of them knew we’d moved into relationship status; however, how most didn’t guess was beyond me. Bernie caught my eye, giving me an atta girl nod. It annoyed and pleased me in equal measure. Maybe she wasn’t like Darla.

  Our dorm was across the street, and many of the students had already fled for summer break.

  “Race you,” Gemma shouted over her shoulder.

  She dashed off, leaving me in the dust. Her playfulness indicated she didn’t have a care in the world. It was then that I realized I would love to trade places. Tomorrow, her folks and sister were picking her up for their annual summer holiday in Yellowstone and Grand Teton National Park. I was heading home to my mom’s for two weeks until I could move into my first apartment.

  An apartment I was sharing with Gemma. Even though things had been strained, neither of us mentioned cancelling the plan. However, the ink had dried on the contract and the first and last month’s rent had been paid.

  We were moving in together.

  It hit me. Yes, we’d been roommates since I started college, but a computer system had paired us together. I had signed a summer lease on the apartment and then a year-long lease starting in the fall. It would mark officially moving in with my girlfriend and leaving dorm-life behind.

  Gemma stopped on the other side of the street and stood with her head cocked, analyzing me.

  Her red locks framed her soft, creamy skin like a painting in a museum.

  Neither of us moved or said a thing.

  She smiled her typical What are you thinking now? smile.

  Her beauty bowled me over, and my knees wobbled.

  She placed her hands around her mouth, megaphone style, and bellowed, “What are you waiting for?”

  Her words drifted over asphalt, causing my breath to hitch.

  “You!” I said.

  “Do I need to come get you?” She panned up and down the street, not a soul in sight this late at night.

  “No. Stay there. I like the view.”

  She laughed, shaking
her head. “You always keep me on my toes. One moment you’re ready to go; the next, you’re planting your feet, refusing to budge.”

  “It’s part of my charm!”

  “If you say so.” Her smile agreed, even if her words were meant to tease. She hooked her thumbs into her belt loops, and she started to whistle the theme song from The Bridge over the River Kwai—a movie about war prisoners in a Japanese war camp.

  “Nice choice,” I yelled across the road.

  “I thought it fitting.”

  “Are you my captive?”

  “Have been since day one. I just didn’t know it.”

  “What if I’m your captive? Have been since day one?”

  “Even better, then. We’re both prisoners.”

  “Love prisoners,” I corrected. It was insanely freeing to share my feelings for all to hear, even if the street was empty.

  “Come on. Let’s go home,” she coaxed me to join her.

  I stepped off the curb.

  She waved her arms and shouted something, but I couldn’t hear her over someone’s screaming.

  I was forced to the ground, whacking my head hard against the asphalt. Out of the corner of my eye, a bicycle wheel spun.

  Gemma ran across the street. “Tegan! Are you okay?”

  I looked into her face as it blurred and went dark.

  A Huge Thank You!

  First, thanks so much for reading Girl Love Happens: Season One. One of my favorite parts of writing this series is being able to take a stroll down memory lane. I headed for college in Colorado at the same time Tegan did, and I pulled a lot from my own experiences to tell Tegan and Gemma’s love story. I know that by admitting this, I risk having readers believe Tegan is me. This is far from the case. For one thing, I didn’t have a hot redhead as a roommate, but not having one may explain why I earned straight As because I’m terrible with balancing fun and work. Now that I’m older, though, it’s a true shame Gemma isn’t based on a real person in my past, but I’m getting off track.

  I’ve published more than twenty novels, and I still find it simply amazing people read my stories. When I hit publish on my first book back in 2013, after staring at the publish button for several days before I worked up the nerve to finally press it, I had no idea what would happen.

  Seven years later, I still panic when I’m about to publish a new project, but it’s because of your support that I find the courage to do it. My publishing career has been a wonderful journey, and I wouldn’t be where I am today without you cheering me on.

  If you enjoyed the story, I would really appreciate a review. Even short reviews help immensely.

  Finally, if you want to stay in touch, sign up for my newsletter. I’ll send you a free copy of A Woman Lost, book 1 in the A Woman Lost series, plus the bonus chapters and Tropical Heat (a short story) that are exclusive to subscribers. And, you’ll be able to enter monthly giveaways to win one of my books.

  You’ll also be one of the firsts to hear about many of my misadventures, like the time I accidentally ordered thirty pounds of oranges instead of five. To be honest, that stuff happens to me a lot, which explains why I own three of the exact same Nice Tits T-shirt. In case you’re wondering, the shirt has pictures of the different tits of the bird variety, because I have some pride.

  Here’s the link to join: http://eepurl.com/hhBhXX

  If you don’t want to say goodbye to Tegan and Gemma quite yet, keep reading for a sample of Girl Love Happens: Season Two.

  Preview of Girl Love Happens: Season Two

  “Tegan! Can you hear me, sweetheart?” a faraway voice asked. “Please, open your eyes.”

  It was Gemma speaking. Why did she sound worried?

  Why couldn’t I respond right away?

  I was lying on my back in the street. I racked my brain, trying to bring forth my last memory. Finals? End of the school year party? Resolving things with Gemma. Yes, I was going home with my redhead.

  I had stepped off the curb.

  Then blackness.

  What in the hell had happened?

  And why did Gemma have her ear to my chest like she was playing doctor?

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  She smiled, yet concern was lodged in her emerald eyes. “Determining if you’re breathing. Was about to start mouth-to-mouth.”

  “Maybe you should, just to make sure.” I tried to force a smile, but the pain in my head was too much. “I hurt.”

  “Where?” Gemma gazed down at my body.

  “My head.” I probed the back of my head, flinching. “And other things,” I said, unclear exactly where the pain was coming from. I sat up slowly and inspected the tear in my jeans and my bloody knee, which made my stomach squeamish.

  “Is she okay?” a male’s voice asked.

  I blinked, still not rising from the ground, my vision becoming less blurry. “Why’s it so dark?”

  “We’re outside. It’s after midnight,” Gemma stated calmly, yet a flicker of apprehension tinged her voice.

  “Tegan?” Jenny and Bernie stuck their faces in my grill.

  “What happened?” Bernie asked.

  “She jumped out in front of me, and I creamed her,” explained the short, scrawny boy with oily shoulder-length hair.

  “You okay?” Gemma placed a hand on his shoulder.

  He showed Gem his bloody elbow, which could be seen through a rip in his hooded plaid skater jacket. “A little road rash. Luckily, I landed on the grass.” He butchered the words “rash” and “grass.”

  He was so cavalier about the smashup I gathered he wasn’t feeling any pain. Was he sloshed? High? Both?

  “What should we do with her?” He pointed at me like I was a chemistry experiment grown out of hand.

  Four pairs of eyes peered down at me. If only I had the energy to shout, “Boo!”

  “The asphalt isn’t cozy.” I put a hand out to Gemma. “Can you help me to the curb?”

  Bernie offered a tissue from her purse, and I dabbed my knee, too discombobulated to make a comment about her being a Girl Scout.

  The streetlight behind Gemma enhanced her hair’s redness. “I think we should take her to the hospital. Head injuries can be dangerous.”

  “Good idea.” The dude righted his bike and patted the handlebar with his good arm. Did he really think I would climb on board after he had taken me out? Another surefire sign he was drunk.

  “I don’t need to go to the hospital.” I rubbed my forehead. “All I want to do is go to sleep. Don’t make such a fuss about nothing. Bernie, do you have Tylenol in your bag?”

  “Your head hurting could be a sign of a concussion.” Gemma turned to the others for their input.

  “How’s your vision, Tiny T? Are you seeing double?” Jenny made a peace sign, moving it back and forth, or maybe my head was wobbly from all the gin and tonics. “How many fingers?”

  “One hundred and seven,” I deadpanned.

  No one laughed.

  “Should we call her mom or something?” Jenny posed the question to Gem and Bernie.

  “No, you should not!” I blurted, the exertion making me lightheaded.

  The three of them widened their eyes as if physically hurt.

  “This is embarrassing enough. Don’t complicate things. My mom won’t be helpful.” I softened my tone. “I was kidding, earlier. Jenny held up two fingers. I’m fine. I promise.” They still didn’t look convinced. “Have you considered my head hurts because this drunk jackass mowed me down? I’m just tired. I don’t have a concussion.”

  “Cuddy,” he said.

  “What?” I asked, sticking a finger in my ear and wiggling it about.

  “My name is Cuddy.” He kneeled and stuck out his injured arm. I barely touched his fingers, afraid to jostle his bad wing. “Nice to meet you.”

  “What kind of name is that?” I regretted my words and tone after Gemma winced. Even Jenny gave me a Whoa, Nelly! look.

  “Uh, it’s my last name.” Cuddy cradled his
arm. “Meriadoc is my first name.” He spoke to his tattered sneakers.

  Was this joker fucking with me?

  “That’s unusual,” Gemma said with a sympathetic smile.

  “My parents live and breathe The Lord of the Rings. My brother is named Bilbo, and my sister is Galadriel.”

  “Bilbo Baggins!” Gemma snapped her fingers and looked down at me. “When I was a kid, my favorite book was The Hobbit.”

  Cuddy nodded. “That’s the one. Not in the trilogy, but the start.”

  “I was clobbered by a drunk hobbit?” I asked. “Why do these things only happen to me?”

  The four of them seemed to remember the issue at hand: what to do with me.

  A beat-up Ford truck drove by slow enough to get an eyeful. The driver stuck his head out and shouted, “Another victim, Dr. Feelgood?”

  The other occupant howled with laughter. The driver accelerated, laying down rubber.

  “What feels good about getting hit by a hobbit?” I squinted at Gemma. “I don’t get it.”

  Gemma hitched a shoulder, casually studying Cuddy with an expression I couldn’t decipher.

  The hobbit motioned for the rest of the group to step a few feet away from me. They huddled, discussing my alleged concussion. I started to giggle.

  Jenny whipped her head around. “Who’s the president of the United States?”

  I shook my head, annoyed. “Bernie.”

  Jenny and Gemma exchanged a quizzical look.

  “I’m kidding. Geez, there was a time when all of you had a sense of humor. Bill Clinton.”

  The hobbit waggled a finger in my face. “Wrong! Everyone knows Hillary is in charge.”

  I locked my eyes on Gemma. “Is this guy for real? He’s making my headache worse.”

  They all stopped talking and stared at me. I zipped my trap shut.

  Bernie whispered behind her hand, and everyone nodded. Obviously, a plan had been agreed to. Them not filling me in on it was a terrible sign.

  Jenny dashed across the street.

  Gemma approached slowly, showing her hands. “How ya feeling now, Teeg?”

  “I want to go home. Go to bed.” I rubbed my face with both hands. “I mean, I want to go to bed.”