by Megan Hart
But now, feeling oddly playful and flirtatious, possibly because I have every idea that Jenna is never going to be more than that hot, funny chick whose brother married my sister, I had replied to her with that sassy comeback.
I thought you’d never text.
I could have easily as said I never thought you’d text, and it would have been the same thing, but way less cute. I watch my phone screen for Jenna’s reply. She’s typing.
“Sam, I need you to take care of getting Mrs. Winslow to the beauty parlor, okay?” My supervisor, Amy, pauses to look me over. “Sam?”
Just because we aren’t forbidden from using our phones at work doesn’t mean it’s not frowned on if we’re caught with our attention on it instead of our jobs. I quickly slip my phone into the pocket of my uniform without taking the time to see what Jenna has answered. I feel the humming buzz of it against my thigh. I’m desperate to pull it out and look, but I give Amy my full attention. I need this job. Just as importantly, I like it. I don’t want to get in trouble.
“Yep. I’m on it.” I give Amy a nod, then pause. “Something else?”
“You look…different.”
I’m not sure what she means, but self-consciously, I swipe a hand over my spiky hair. “Ermmm?”
“No, nothing like that. Something on your face,” Amy says thoughtfully.
I make a show of wiping my mouth. “Hope it’s not jelly.”
Amy laughs. “You just look…brighter, today.”
“Thanks? I think?” I’m not sure it’s a compliment, but I like Amy, and I’m sure she doesn’t mean it in a bad way.
In Mrs. Winslow’s room, I find her already in her wheelchair. She’s staring out the window with her gnarled hands folded neatly in her lap. She doesn’t turn when I rap on the door and come through it.
“Mrs. Winslow?”
“You know, you’re one of the few who addresses me that way instead of calling me by my first name,” she says, still without looking at me.
I move closer. “I’d be happy to call you by your first name if you like. But you’ve never told me to.”
“It’s respectful.” She twists a little to face me. “I like that about you, Sam. You’re considerate.”
I think about that for a second. “Is there someone on staff here who isn’t considerate and respectful? Because you should tell me if that’s the case.”
Cornwall Manor has strict policies regarding how the staff are supposed to treat residents, but of course you always have the one or two who don’t think that applies to them. Mrs. Winslow shakes her head and gives me a small smile. She waves a hand, regally.
“No, no. It’s not that. I don’t mind, really. But it’s something, isn’t it? The power of a name.”
“Yes. I’d say so. Are you ready to go to your appointment?” I take hold of the chair’s handles and get ready to push.
Mrs. Winslow twists a little. “Yes, dear. But let me ask you, do you think your name has anything to do with…you know?”
For a second, I don’t, but then I laugh gently. “The fact I like girls? Because Sam is a boy’s name? I don’t think so. I mean, my parents gave me the name, and I am one hundred percent sure they would have preferred if I went the usual romantic route and dug dudes.”
“Did they always call you Sam?”
We push through the door and down the hall, heading for the beauty parlor. “They used to call me by my full name, Samera, but once I got to high school I made them stop.”
“What would you have done if you’d had a different name? One that couldn’t be shortened to a boy’s name? Would you still have taken one?”
I think about this as we get closer to the parlor. “Nah. I don’t want to be a man, Mrs. Winslow. I’m queer, not trans. I mean, I’m happy to be a woman.”
“I see.” She nods and is silent for a moment before saying quietly, “I don’t understand what it would be like to feel as though you were not born into the right body. My goodness, this old thing is giving me pain after pain, nothing’s working right any longer, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. It seems to me that feeling all right with the body you’re in is not just something to take for granted, Sam. It’s something to be grateful for. ”
“It’s definitely something to be grateful for,” I tell her as we pull up in front of the beauty parlor doors. “And, here we go.”
She twists a little to look at me again. “Everyone should be allowed to be who they feel they are. Love who they love. That’s what I think.”
I give her a smile and let her pat my hand. The attendant for the beauty parlor greets her and wheels her inside, and I’m off to find my next task. But before I do, I slip my phone out of my pocket and check it eagerly for Jenna’s message.
Thanks for connexing with me. *Leering winky face emoji*
My fingers skip over the screen. My pleasure. I don’t use it very much.
It’s the devil, comes her reply.
Maybe we should just text each other, I type. Instead of tempting Satan.
Maybe we could see each other more often in person. That might even be better.
“Yes,” I mutter, too happy before I remember to rein myself in.
I type quickly. When are you back in town?
A long pause. Too long. Was I too forward? Damn it, I curse myself, I shouldn’t have made that jump. Except Jenna had opened the door, I was just walking through. I curse myself again for being too worried about it.
Not due back until next month. Maybe we could meet halfway before then? Have dinner? Drinks?
I vaguely remember Abby mentioning where, exactly, Jenna lives, but can’t pinpoint it. I know it’s about two hours away, which is kind of a long way to drive for just one date. But an hour’s drive, to spend a few with her? Yeah, I think with a grin. Yeah, sure. I could do that.
I’m off Thursday and Friday, I type. Just tell me where and when.
❖
Ten
Jenna
* * *
I haven’t been this nervous about a date since…well, hell. Never, not that I can remember. Probably because I’ve never been unsure about how into me, or not, someone might be. I know it’s bitchy and arrogant to say it out loud, but guys usually make it pretty clear they think I’m hotter than fuck.
Sam, though…Sam is…I shiver as I look at myself in the mirror, trying hard to see what she might see. I think of the picture of her with the woman who has to be her ex, and I know that I’m prettier than that, but does that matter? I turn my face from side to side, checking out my makeup. My hair. All the things I’d do for a date with a guy, I’ve done for Sam, but I’m totally not sure she’ll like it.
Then I think, suddenly standing up straight, I shouldn’t care if she likes it or not. I feel good wearing winged liner and sparkly lip gloss, with my hair curled. I feel good in a cute dress and shoes. I feel good for myself, I realize, which is a lot different than putting all this on to impress someone.
I still want to impress her, of course. I don’t know why I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her since we first hung out, why that kiss, that tiny, simple kiss, has set me on fire. I don’t want to delve too deep into my reasons why, to be honest. If I have a habit of going after exactly the person who is the most wrong for me, I don’t want to face it.
We’ve agreed to meet at Firestone’s, a really nice restaurant halfway between the two of us in a town known for its historical tourist attractions. I don’t care much about what ancient president slept in some old bed and breakfast, but the food at Firestone’s is supposed to be out of this world. I park in the garage and wait for her by the front door to the restaurant. I don’t pace only because the sidewalk is a little uneven, and I’m afraid I might trip and wipe out. That would be impressive, all right. Impressively uncool.
Then, there she is. Sam comes around the corner, and she hasn’t yet seen me. My heart skips. My breath hitches. I start to smile, and I can’t stop.
“Hey,” she says, sounding
a little surprised, but she smiles and takes a long look at me, up and down. “You look…amazing.”
“This old thing?” I flip the hem of my dress.
We both laugh. She puts her hands in the pockets of her black skinny jeans and rocks back on the heels of her Converse to look at the front of Firestone’s. Now that she’s here, I’m strangely, suddenly calm.
“Shall we?” Sam asks, pulling a hand from her pocket to make a sweeping bow at the front door. “After you.”
Inside, we get a table upstairs by the balcony railing. The server brings us ice water as we look at the menus. My stomach is rumbling. I was too excited and nervous to eat all day.
“What looks good?” Sam asks, studying the menu.
“You.”
She looks up, eyebrows high but lowering as her gaze turns assessing. “This old thing?”
God, she’s funny. Clever. Witty. I am smitten. I realize this as I watch her order us the cheeseboard to share, and tell the server we’ll need a few more minutes to decide what we want for entrees.
She catches me looking. “So…we should get this out in the open, I guess. This is a date, right?”
“God, I hope so,” I tell her.
“Good. Me too.” She grins, pauses, then adds with a more serious expression, “I didn’t mention anything to Abby.”
“Do you usually talk about your dates with your sister?”
The cheeseboard arrives, and we fall silent for a few seconds in appreciation of its glory.
“I haven’t actually been on a date in a long time,” Sam says as she digs the fancy cheese knife into the small pat of bleu cheese to spread on a cracker. She hands it to me before making one for herself.
I make a muffled sound of yum when I tuck the cracker and cheese into my mouth, chewing and swallowing before I say, “it’s not like I tell Tony everything, either. Anyway, believe me, he doesn’t want to know.”
Sam adds a dab of apricot jam to a slice of cheddar and nibbles. I like the way her expression twists with pleasure. Getting this much pleasure from watching her eat might be a little weird, but I can’t help it. I like seeing her indulge.
She orders the salmon. I get the steak. We agree with hardly any discussion to share each. I also order us a bottle of red, since hey, this is a classy place and a fancy dinner, and it is a date, after all.
The wine comes before the food. We clink our glasses. I sip; it’s good, but I don’t know anything about wine. Sam takes the time to breathe it in and sip it, doing that whole wine tasting expert thing, and I watch her, fascinated and impressed, although it’s clear she’s not at all doing it to show off.
“Took a couple classes in wine appreciation,” she says when she catches me looking. “This one’s nice.”
Then we’re just staring at each other across the table, both of us with silly grins. Wine, cheese, a woman who makes me laugh.
“This is the best date I’ve had in a long time,” I say.
Sam lifts her glass again. “Cheers. Me too.”
❖
Eleven
Sam
* * *
I was nervous before the night started, but I’m not, now. Jenna has such a way of making everything simple. We eat and drink, we share a huge piece of chocolate caramel cheesecake, we laugh. Early on she’d said this was the best date she’s had in a while, and by now I’m seeing it’s the best date I’ve ever had, ever.
She sips coffee daintily, with a happy sigh. “That meal was amazing.”
“I’ll have to roll out of here,” I agree.
We sit in happy silence for a few seconds. I like that about her, a lot. She’s bright and bubbly, yeah, but Jenna doesn’t have to fill every space with words. Our conversation tonight ran from current events to celebrity gossip to favorite childhood memories, so this moment or so of simply enjoying our coffee is welcome.
“We shouldn’t tell any of them,” she says abruptly. “About this. Us.”
I take my time to think about that before I answer. “Okay?”
“It’s not anyone’s business,” Jenna says.
“No, of course it’s not. And it’s only been one date,” I point out. “We aren’t…you know. A thing.”
Jenna put her coffee cup on the table. “There’s so much going on with Abby and Tony right now, I mean, the wedding’s in a few months. They have enough to worry about without us…you know…”
“Yeah.” I think I know what she means. My sister and her brother have enough to worry about with us throwing some brand-new relationship, or not-relationship, into the mix. It would be selfish, wouldn’t it?
“You wanna get out of here?”
I nod and put my hand over the leather wallet with the check before she can get to it. “I got this.”
She doesn’t argue with me, but her small smile and the light in her eyes shows me she’s pleased. In minutes, we’re out of the restaurant, on the uneven sidewalk. Night had fallen while we ate and laughed and talked. The trees lining the streets are hung with white fairy lights. The shops, a record store, a coffee shop, a small art gallery, are all still open.
“I’m a little buzzed,” I say. “I shouldn’t try to drive home just yet.”
“Do you have to drive home?” Jenna links her arm through mine.
We settle into a slow ambling walk along the sidewalk, sometimes pausing to look in the store windows. “Eventually.”
“But not tonight,” Jenna says.
I glance at her. “No?”
She shrugs. “I thought maybe we could go have another couple drinks. And I don’t condone driving under the influence…so…if we end up needing to crash, there’s a nice hotel within walking distance.”
I definitely don’t want the night to end already, and I am also definitely not going to take her suggestion as an offer for anything other than safety. Still, a low curl of heat comes to life in my belly when I think about sharing a hotel room…a bed…with Jenna. Even if it’s just so we don’t have to drive home.
“Sure. I could go for another drink. Where?”
“There’s a cute little pub around the block.”
We head in that direction. Our hands slip into each other’s grips naturally. Our fingers curl. We look in all the windows, taking our time. By the time we get around the block, I’m glad to feel like I have room in my overfull stomach for a drink. We grab seats at the iron patio furniture, sitting across from each other. Jenna taps my foot with hers, and we both grin. We order drinks and enjoy the scenery.
“I didn’t think downtown would be so hopping on a Thursday night,” I say. “This is a neat little town. Good idea to meet here.”
Jenna sips her drink, making eyes at me over the top of the glass. “I’m full of good ideas.”
“Yeah?” Like the one about staying overnight, I think but don’t say aloud.
There’s a woman with a guitar singing covers of eighties pop tunes mixed with her original stuff, and she’s good enough to make us both turn our chairs to listen. Now we’re next to each other instead of across from each other, and the waitress brings us two more drinks. Jenna leans her shoulder against mine, and the electric crackle of that touch is amazing.
Two more drinks, and I’m at my limit. I’m also in no condition to drive. Jenna’s giggling as she insists on paying the check, and we’re both a little unsteady as we leave the pub.
“Right,” she says as though we’ve discussed and agreed. She pulls out her phone and swipes at it to pull up a GPS app. “Hotel?”
I have a hundred questions to ask her but I keep quiet and go with this. I let her take the lead, and honestly, it feels good to have someone wanting me like this. Even if I know it’s dangerous to put any hope into it, right here and now, I’m coasting on the drinks and Jenna’s smile.
The clerk behind the desk doesn’t even blink when we ask for a room. I guess a hotel in downtown right around the corner from the bar district sees a lot of giddy, giggling couples coming in for rooms without prior reservations.
It’s my turn to grab for the bill when I slide my credit card across the counter before Jenna can pay for the room.
In the elevator, we stand side by side, our shoulders touching, but saying nothing.
In the room, she says, “I have to pee.”
While she disappears into the bathroom, I look around. There are two queen-sized beds, so it’s not like there’s an absolute certainty that we’re going to be snuggling up with each other. I close the curtains against the view of the building next door. From the bathroom, I hear the sound of running water and Jenna, singing a little off key, one of the songs we heard tonight at the pub. It’s Friday, I’m in Love by The Cure, and even though it’s only Thursday, I think I might be well on my way.
“Hi,” she says from behind me.
I turn. “Hey.”
“Nice room.” Jenna moves closer to me, her eyes on mine. She’s slipped off her shoes, so she’s not taller than me any more. She lets them fall on the floor by the closet.
I’m not sure who kisses who first, but I am sure that it doesn’t matter. Fire floods me at the taste of her. My hand slips around the back of her neck, cupping beneath the fall of all that gorgeous blond hair. I pull her closer, eager to feel her body against mine. Her mouth opens. Her tongue strokes mine; I moan, or she does, or we both do, it’s hard to tell where she ends and I begin.
We are melting into each other.
Jenna pushes me back to one of the beds, and we fall back as she straddles me. Her hands move up my sides, over my boobs. I’m not wearing a bra under my t-shirt, and her touch through the soft fabric teases my nipples into tight points immediately.
“Oh,” she breathes into my mouth. “Oh, God.”
I wasn’t expecting any of this tonight, or ever, really, but I really wasn’t expecting her to be this aggressive. And, although I am totally into this hot chick who’s kissing and touching and rubbing me, it’s all happening a little too fast for me to process. I grip her hips.
