by Megan Hart
“I don’t see the point of killing something just for my pleasure,” I tell her as I stroke the silky petals of a flower that looks so real it would be hard to tell it’s made of plastic. “Artificial flowers last forever, anyway.”
“What are they supposed to do with them after the reception, though? At least real flowers can decompose, go back to the source,” Sam says.
We both have good points, and we’re not arguing about it, just discussing, which I find refreshing and delightful. We’ve spent the past half an hour wandering these aisles with the excuse that we are scouting for things off Sam’s mom’s list. So far, we haven’t found a single damned thing.
Sam shrugs and gestures down the warehouse’s vast aisle. “All this money for a party. It’s such a waste.”
“Yeah. When I get married, I’m going to spend my budget on food and booze. No centerpieces. No favors.”
“I don’t plan to ever get married,” Sam says.
I turn to face her, walking backwards as we leave the sunflowers and move toward the lilies. “No? Why not?”
“Umm….” Sam gestures at her scrubs and short hair cut, like that’s supposed to be an answer, then adds, “you know. Gay?”
“Marriage equality is a thing, you know. There’s nothing stopping you from getting hitched.”
She shrugs. “Need a girlfriend before I can get a wife.”
No girlfriend. My insides twist and tumble with this news, even though I’d already casually asked Abby if her sister was single. Hearing Sam confirm it, though, makes me happier than I want to admit. Before I can say anything, though, we’ve made the mistake of rounding the corner to find Abby, her mom and my mom all huddled together over a display of hundreds of spools of ribbon.
“Uh oh,” I mutter, taking Sam quickly by the arm and pulling her into a small, dark nook with an emergency exit door. “Red alert.”
She’s laughing but trying to be quiet. We’re pressed together in the small, dim space, surrounded on all sides by fronds of silk ferns. It’s a little like being in a jungle, so I let out a little, low growl. Like a purr. I’m trying to be funny, but it comes out sounding more sexy than I mean it to. Or maybe, I think as I breathe in the scent of her, it’s exactly as sexy as I meant it to be.
I hear the rise of Sam’s mother’s voice. Sam and I go silent. Still. Her breath is hot against my cheek. I’ve turned my head. I can almost feel her lips on my ear. Our bodies press together.
My hand finds her hip, the lean curve of it beneath her scrubs. My fingers curl. I’m shaking, trying not to laugh and give us away. I’m shaking, trying not to kiss her. I’m shaking.
Her hand slips around the back of my neck, holding me still. Her other one finds my hand. Our fingers link. Squeeze.
I close my eyes, waiting for a kiss that doesn’t come.
A moment after that, her mother’s voice fades away. Sam steps back. I look at her. She won’t meet my eyes.
“We should get back out there,” she says. “I’m sure they’re looking for us.”
She pulls away, but I take a chance and reach to snag her sleeve. “Hey. Hang on. What are you doing after this whole debacle’s over? Are you going to lunch?”
“No, I have to get back to work.”
Shit.
“What time do you get off? Work, I mean.” The innuendo was unintentional, but I decide to go with it.
Sam’s lips twist into a small grin. “Tonight, seven.”
“Have dinner with me. We can bitch about our mothers. And get to know each other. I’ll pick you up around eight?” Damn, I’m bold. I don’t care.
“Sure. Okay.”
“It’s a date,” I tell her.
Chapter 7
SAM
It’s a date.
That’s just something people say, right? Jenna didn’t mean it’s an actual…date…I curse at my hair, which, after my shower, was supposed to have the perfect slant of spike and swoop, but instead is just sticking up all over my head like I’m a hedgehog. In the mirror, I stick my tongue at myself. If this isn’t a date, it won’t matter if my hair looks like I stuck my finger in an electrical socket.
This isn’t a date. Abby’s never said a word about Tony’s sister being into girls, and I think that’s something my sister would have mentioned to me at some point over the last four years that she’s been dating the guy. Or Tony would have said something himself, you know? I mean, one of the first things anyone ever tells me is about their gay friend, cousin, co-worker, college roomie, whatever. They’re usually trying to be nice, to connect. Be inclusive. It’s not a bad thing, even if most of the time it’s totally unnecessary and sometimes, just plain awkward.
I drag the comb again through my hair, adding a little wax to the front. I turn my face from side to side. I moisturize. I don’t like wearing makeup, but I take care of my skin. I brush, floss, rinse, spit.
I put on a pair of clean skinny jeans and a pristine white v-neck tee. Should I wear the black one, or maybe the green? Shit, maybe I should go with a button down. Are jeans too casual? I have a pair of black dress pants in the back of the closet, but then I can’t wear my Docs and will have to find the black wingtips I haven’t worn in about a year.
If this isn’t a date, why do I care so much about what I’m going to wear?
It’s almost eight by the time I get myself together. I grab my wallet, make sure I have enough cash. Shove it my pocket. Shrug into my jacket.
The doorbell rings, and I’m down the stairs two at a time. Abby’s not home anyway, she’s out with Tony. Mom will be watching TV in the den. I’m not quite fast enough, because Mom answers the door.
“Jenna? Abby’s not here, she’s out with your brother.” The way my mother makes it sound, my sister’s out with a serial killer.
Jenna steps to the side to look past my mother, and spots me. Her smile, oh, God. I could get lost in that smile.
“I’m here for Sam.”
“Sam?” My mother shakes her head, confused, and I push gently past her.
“We’re going to dinner,” Jenna continues. “Me and Sam. Sam and I. Heading on out for something to eat. Jusssst the two of us. You know. As you do.”
I’m staring kind of goggle-eyed at Jenna because of the words tumbling out of her mouth, but she’s wide-eyed and seemingly innocent. The best part is Mom’s face. She’s not sure what the hell is going on, but clearly, something is.
She doesn’t like that. Mom doesn’t like anything that’s not somehow, even indirectly, about her. She especially doesn’t like it if she thinks someone’s trying to pull something over on her.
“Since when did you two girls become such good friends?” She asks suspiciously. “Are you getting together to talk about the wedding? Because if you are, maybe I’ll —”
“Oh, we couldn’t ask you to tag along, Mrs. Donovan, that would be so boring for you. Sam and I are going to that trendy place downtown, you know, the one where they serve the drinks in weird containers.” Jenna reaches past my mother and grabs the sleeve of my jacket.
She pulls me a few steps toward her and the door. Beyond my mother, whose mouth is gaping now. And then we’re down the front steps and I’m in the passenger seat of her turquoise VW bug, and we’re speeding off from my house with a squeal of tires.
“Holy shit,” I say when I manage to catch my breath after all that. “What the hell?”
Jenna laughs, loud and long, and if I thought her smile took my breath away, that laughter is like…it’s like coming up for air after suffocating for so long you didn’t think you’d ever breathe again.
Yeah. It’s that powerful. Unexpected.
She twists the radio knob to turn on the music, and we’re driving fast with some good tunes playing, and she rolls the windows down so her hair whips around and I think oh, I could do this forever.
Or about ten minutes, anyway, until we pull up in front of the place she was talking about. A new bar downtown, and let me add this, it is absolutely not the sort
of place I would choose to go on my own, but I’m glad she’s taking us there because it’s not going to be around for long. It is trendy, and there’s no way this little town is going to support it for that reason alone.
“Oh, it’s crowded,” she says when we walk in.
“No place else to go, really.”
Jenna eyes me as we grab seats at a hightop near the front windows that look out over Main Street. The server brings us menus, and the food looks pretty good. Overpriced, but that’s to be expected.
Jenna orders a whiskey drink served in a mason jar with a cinnamon stick, and I get a champagne cocktail named after the town’s founder. We order appetizers, too, pinwheels of Lebanon Bologna rolled with cream cheese, potato skins. Trendy bar food trying to appeal to this small town by acting “local.”
“I should have asked you if this place was okay,” she says when we’ve placed the order. “But I didn’t want to go to a chain place. And…”
“There’s no place else to go,” I repeat with a laugh. “It’s fine.”
She looks around. “You grew up around here?”
“Yep. You guys moved here from Virginia?” I think that’s what Abby told me.
“My parents did, yeah. When Tony was a senior in high school. I was already in college. So I never really lived here.” She looks around the bar again, then back at me. “You never…wanted to move away?”
The question could feel intrusive or rude, but she looks so genuinely curious that I don’t take it that way. “I did, for awhile. Went to school in Colorado. But then my dad got sick, and I moved home to help out. That was about five years ago. I got a good job at Cornwall Manor and…sometimes it’s easier to stay than go.” I sip my drink. It’s fancy, but pretty good.
Jenna is quiet for a moment. “What are you going to do when Abby moves out? That’s only what, five months or so from now?”
“I’ve been trying not to think about it, to be honest.” My laugh is meant to sound light, but it comes out more like the sound of biting a fork.
The food arrives, and Jenna digs in at once. We eat in silence for a minute or two, but it’s not awkward, and I appreciate that. I’m not one of those people who talk just to fill in the silence.
“So, why don’t you think you’ll ever get married?” Jenna asks suddenly, looking serious. “I mean, aside from not having a girlfriend now. Because you could find one.”
I laugh, surprised at the direction this conversation has taken. “Theoretically, sure.”
“You’ve had girlfriends, right?”
I sit back a little in my chair. Her questions still don’t feel intrusive, but they’re making my heart pound a little faster. Why is she so interested? “Yeah. Nothing serious or long-term. I was dating a girl in college, but when I came back here, it kind of fell apart.”
“Long distance is hard,” Jenna agrees. “But five years ago, that’s a long time. Nobody else, in all that time?”
“Nobody that lasted. How about you?”
She grins and reaches for another pinwheel. “Sure. One or two.”
“…girlfriends?” I finish my cocktail.
She nods.
“I didn’t you…I mean,” I say, stupidly, “Abby never mentioned….”
“I don’t talk to my family about it. I’ve never been with a woman who was important enough to me that I wanted to bring her around the family, so why get them all shook about something that doesn’t involve them? It’s not any of my family’s business who I’m sleeping with.” Jenna scowls and shakes her head, than apologizes. “Sorry. Rant over.”
I’m quiet for a few seconds, watching her, before I reply, “you don’t have to be sorry. It’s valid.”
I want to ask her if she’s bi or just occasionally curious, but I stop myself. It’s not her family’s business, and it’s not mine, either. So instead I drag a potato skin through the sauce and tuck it into my mouth so I have an excuse not to talk.
The rest of the night passes fast, too fast, because I’m having such a good time that when I catch a glimpse of the time I’m surprised at how late it got. “Sorry to do this, but I really need to get home. I have to get up at five.”
“Gross,” Jenna says, but with a smile. She waves the server over and grabs the check before I can stop her. “Nope, I asked you out. I got it.”
All I can say to that is thanks, and remind myself that still doesn’t make it a date, but by the time we get back to my house, my palms are a little sweaty at the thought of the night ending. I guess I shouldn’t have worried. Jenna turns off the ignition and turns toward me.
The kiss is soft and sweet, and also quick. It lasts no more than a second or two before she sits back. She’s not smiling, and her serious expression is hard to read.
“Goodnight, Sam,” she says. “Call me.”
“Yeah, sure. Of course.” I want to kiss her again, something harder than that barely there brush of lips on lips she just did.
I don’t, though. We sit and stare at each other for a moment or so. Both of us smile, eyes locked. The tension rises between us, and I know I’m not imagining it, but I don’t act on it.
I get out of the car and head for my front door, but when I turn around to wave goodbye, Jenna’s already gone.
Chapter 8
JENNA
I kissed Sam last night, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it all day. I kissed her because I was pretty sure she wasn’t going to kiss me, but now I’m uncertain if I regret it or not. Kissing Sam has complicated things, right?
By the time I finish the two hour drive home, I’ve convinced myself that kiss didn’t mean anything. It was friendly, that’s all. Two gals out for a couple of drinks. That’s all. We’re practically related anyway, or will be when her sister marries my brother. So there’s no way we could possibly get into something with each other. That would be a little wrong, wouldn’t it?
Not to mention the shit show both our mothers would throw.
My mom isn’t as bad as Sam’s, but I’ve never once felt like I could talk to her about the fact I’m not straight. The idea of talking to my dad in any way, shape or form about who I’m dating is enough to make me gag a little. My brother would be okay with it, I think…at least the part about dating women. The part about being interested in his wife’s sister, though, that might be a problem.
It’s not any of their business, I remind myself. I don’t have to explain myself to anyone. Sam and I went out one time. We barely kissed.
I can’t stop thinking about her.
I am so screwed.
So, of course I do what I always do when I find myself in a situation like this. I get out my shovel and start digging that hole even deeper. It was just a simple friend request on Connex. I make them and take them all the time. It’s the way of the world, now, all this social media. Using my laptop, I immediately stalk Sam’s entire account. Every single profile picture first, then the rest of the ones she’s uploaded. She doesn’t have many, not compared to me, so I guess she doesn’t use the account as much. Still, there are a number of really cute, sweet pictures for me to ogle, although I’m super careful not to accidentally like any, especially the older ones.
Hey, I might be a stalkery creep, but I’m smart about it.
Far, far back, I find it. A picture of Sam with her arm slung around some girl in a way that’s too familiar for them to be just friends. Instantly, my nose wrinkles, and I judge the hell out of her…be nice, Jenna. I’ve never been great about handling jealousy, even when, or maybe especially when, it’s about someone who has nothing to do with me at all. I check to see if the photo’s been tagged, but although there’s a name there, it’s grayed out. Whoever she is, she doesn’t have an active account, or it’s set to super private.
I have to satisfy myself with looking at everything else. You can either tell a lot or nothing at all by the sorts of things a person adds to their Connex profile, and I quickly discover that Sam’s the latter sort. Her likes aren’t anything too
revealing. Music, food, movies. She doesn’t post memes or quiz answers or anything like that. She doesn’t post much of anything at all.
I close my computer and sit myself back in my chair, thinking hard about what I want to do about this. A kiss is just a kiss, I remind myself. It wasn’t a contract or anything like that. Hell, for all I know, she’s not even thinking about it.
I can’t stop myself from pulling up her number and typing a message. Simple. To the point. Non committal.
Hey.
She doesn’t wait an hour and a half before answering. She doesn’t wait a minute and a half. My heart thuds, and I can’t stop myself from grinning when I read her reply.
I thought you’d never text.
Chapter 9
SAM
I’m not the best flirt. I’ve had past lovers tell me it’s because I’m too straight to the point, probably the only kind of straight I’ve ever been. I tend to say what I feel, when I feel it, instead of playing dating games.
Still, when Jenna’s text pings through, I’m feeling playful and not sure, exactly, what to think about the “date” and the kiss, after. According to her, she’s never brought a woman home because she hasn’t found one important enough to share with her family. I can respect that. But I’m still uncertain if that means she’s into girls for fun, for kicks, or if she’s open to the idea of it being something more.
Because there’s no way she can’t bring me around her family. We’re about to become each other’s family, sort of, when her brother marries my sister, and even if that doesn’t make me and Jenna related, there’s a one hundred percent chance that we are going to be crossing paths even after the wedding.
Anyway, do I want it to be something more than casual? My last casual girlfriend had torn through my heart like a fork through pudding, and had left behind as much of a mess. That had been only two years ago. It wasn’t that I was determined “never to love again!” Like some drama queen. I just hadn’t put much effort into romance or relationships. Not much time for it, and even less desire. Living in my mother’s house had been bad for my libido.
