by Jae
Claire suppressed a chuckle. She had to admit that there was something unexpectedly sexy about a woman who indulged herself without worrying about the fact that she was more curvy than others.
Apparently, Lana was about to indulge her sweet tooth now. She had set up everything for a cozy night in. The scent of caramel popcorn drifted over, and a bottle of beer sat on the coffee table.
“Oh, hi.” Lana looked up from the remote control and caught Claire studying her. “You’re home early.”
Claire directed her gaze away and pretended to check whether Lana had used a coaster—which she had this time. “My last patient of the day canceled.”
“Great,” Lana said. “Then you can come watch the movie with me.”
“Um, I brought some files home with me to catch up on my documentation.” Claire lifted the leather briefcase in her hand.
“Can’t it wait?”
Claire hesitated. “It could, but—”
“I’m about to watch The Philadelphia Story.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, why not? Since it’s one of your favorites, I thought I’d see what I’ve been missing.” Lana dangled the remote control in front of her like a carrot in front of a donkey and lowered her voice to a seductive purr. “Come on. You know you want it.”
Claire had seen the movie dozens of times, but it might be fun to watch it with Lana, so she finally nodded. “All right. If you give me five minutes so I can change…”
“Sure.” Lana jumped up from the couch with childlike enthusiasm. “I’ll get you a glass of wine. Pinot Noir?”
So Lana had already figured out her favorite wine as well as her favorite movie. She was amazingly attentive and a keen observer. “Yes. Thanks.”
Claire hurried to her room and slipped out of her pencil skirt and silk blouse. After a moment of hesitation, she put on brand-new sweatpants and a T-shirt she usually wore during her rare visits to the gym.
By the time she made it back to the living room, a glass of red wine and a plate of cheese, grapes, celery, and carrot sticks with two different kinds of dips were waiting next to her recliner.
Claire’s mouth watered. She slid into the recliner with a contented sigh. “Thank you,” she said as she reached for the glass. “I really appreciate it.”
She didn’t just say it to be polite. Since Lana had moved in, there were always fresh vegetables and fruit in the fridge, without her having to ask if Lana could swing by the store on her way home.
“You’re welcome.” Lana flashed her a grin. “Can’t have my girlfriend starve, after all.”
Claire popped a grape and a bit of cheese into her mouth. “Fake girlfriend,” she said as soon as she had chewed and swallowed.
Lana waved the remote control and started the movie.
“Jesus,” she said after a while around a mouthful of popcorn. She waved her hand at the screen. “She sets impossibly high standards for herself, doesn’t she? Kinda reminds me of someone I know.” She gave Claire a meaningful look.
“Me?” Claire pointed at her own chest.
“Certainly not me.” Lana gestured at the way she was lounging on the couch in cut-off sweatpants.
Claire considered it for a moment. “Okay, I do have high standards, but they aren’t as unrealistic as Tracy’s.” She gestured at the TV. “I was never as hard on Abby as Tracy was on her ex-husband. At least I don’t think so.”
She thought about it while the movie played on. Had she expected Abby to be perfect?
A ding from the iPhone she had placed on the coffee table provided a welcome distraction.
She peeked over at the device and then reached for it, but Lana was faster and snatched it away.
“Oh no. No email. We’re watching a movie.”
“But it might be work-related.” Claire tried to take back the phone, but Lana moved it out of reach. “I told Tanya to email me if any of my clients—”
“No work. We are watching a movie.”
Claire got up, rounded the coffee table, and lunged for the phone, which Lana held off to the side. She missed by several inches and landed sprawled across the couch—or, rather, across Lana’s lap. Popcorn flew everywhere.
Overly aware of the warm thighs beneath her, Claire scrambled back to the other end of the couch. “Lana, come on. I’ve seen this movie fifty-three times already, as you recently pointed out.”
“But I haven’t, and you’re the one who kept saying I’m missing out by not giving the great black-and-white classics a chance, so…”
“Of course you’re missing out! You’re an actress, and you have never seen The Philadelphia Story, for crying out loud!” Claire shook her head. “We can’t have that.”
“Which is why we are watching it to remedy that grand oversight.”
After one last glance at the phone in Lana’s hand, Claire slumped against the back of the couch. Instead of moving back to her recliner, she pulled her glass and plate closer and nibbled on one of her carrot sticks, while Lana picked up the popcorn that had spilled all over her lap and shoved a handful of it into her mouth.
Claire hadn’t really seen the movie fifty-three times, but often enough to nearly know each line by heart. Watching it with Lana made it a completely new experience, though.
Lana laughed at some of the funny scenes, booed when it seemed that the main character would marry the wrong person, and even threw a piece of popcorn in the direction of the TV.
Claire watched her with a smile and marveled at how involved Lana got in the movie, as if she had completely forgotten that it was only a film and these were just actors, not real people.
As long as you don’t forget that Lana is just an actress and this isn’t real. She studied Lana. Was she acting now? Was this, hanging out on the couch together, work for her?
Lana seemed to feel her gaze because she turned her head and gave her a curious look. “What?”
“Um, nothing.” Claire directed her attention back to the TV, but now she could feel Lana looking at her. She glanced back. “What?”
Lana regarded her for another moment, then her face creased into a smile, and she leaned toward Claire.
Claire’s breath caught. What is she…?
“You’ve got a little…” Lana gently disentangled a piece of popcorn from Claire’s hair and popped it into her own mouth.
“Oh. Thanks.”
They stared at each other, then Lana directed her attention back at the TV. She cocked her head. “Ooh, I see. So that’s why you like the movie so much!”
“Uh, what?”
Lana pointed one of her sticky fingers at the screen.
Claire turned her head.
On the screen, Katharine Hepburn was parading around in a swimsuit.
“Is she the kind of woman you like?”
Was she? Claire couldn’t help comparing the actress’s thin, elegant body and her tiny waist with Lana’s full hips, her ample breasts, and her well-rounded butt. A few weeks ago, her answer might have been different, but now she found that Lana’s more curvy body held a greater appeal.
But it wasn’t just her body that made Lana attractive; it was her attitude toward life, people, and herself. She seemed so genuine and comfortable in her skin—including her curves, her scars, the messes she left everywhere, and the fact that she wasn’t very successful in her career and didn’t have much money.
“Uh, no, she’s not really my type,” Claire said when she realized Lana was still waiting for her reply. “At least not the way you think.”
Lana put the popcorn bowl down. “What do you mean?”
“I admire her, that’s all. She was a very independent, headstrong woman who refused to conform to the expectations society had of women.” A bit like Lana, actually, just in a different way. “She wore pants at a time when it wasn’t seen as fashionable for
women, and she never gave in to the pressure to pad her chest.”
“Oh wow. I had no idea.” Lana gave the actress on the screen a respectful nod. “Kudos to you, sister.”
“What about you?” Claire couldn’t help asking.
“Me?” Lana chuckled and patted her generous breasts. “Never needed to pad my chest.”
Oh yeah. I noticed. Claire bit her lip. “No, I mean, is she your type?”
“I don’t think I have a type,” Lana said. “Well, other than someone who’s kind, smart, honest, and has a great sense of humor.”
Honest. Claire swallowed. Well, she was lying to pretty much everyone she knew, so that ruled her out. Not that she was angling for anything but a fake relationship with Lana, of course.
When the closing credits rolled across the screen, Claire sat up from where she’d half-reclined against the back of the couch. “So, what did you think?”
“I didn’t think I’d enjoy it, but I really did. Are her other movies as good?”
“Most of them. All her successful ones kind of follow the same pattern: a stuck-up high-society woman is brought down from her high horse by a more down-to-earth partner.”
Lana chuckled. “Sounds familiar.”
Claire arched her brows. Was Lana implying that she was stuck-up?
The thought fled from her mind when Lana unselfconsciously licked her sticky fingers.
The temperature in the living room seemed to rise several degrees. Claire bit back a groan. Cut it out. You’re paying her. That’s like lusting after an employee. “Um, stains,” she blurted out.
Lana paused mid-lick. “Excuse me?”
“You’ll leave stains all over the couch if you’re not careful,” Claire managed to say. “Why don’t you go wash your hands?”
Lana rolled her eyes. “Fine, Mom.”
Good thing she had no idea that Claire’s thoughts hadn’t been motherly at all. God, she really had to get a grip. The last thing she needed was Lana calling off this arrangement—or suing her for sexual harassment—because she couldn’t keep her hormones in check. She’d never had this problem before, not even as a teenager. It had to be one of those crazy rebound things some of her clients kept describing, so it would pass if she kept ignoring it.
To distract herself, she reached for her phone as soon as Lana had gotten up from the couch.
“Ever heard of a work/life balance, Doc?” Lana called on her way to the bathroom.
At the moment, nothing about her life was in balance, so Claire ignored her and checked her email. It wasn’t a work-related message.
It was an email from Darlene, a friend of hers. Well, maybe more of an acquaintance, since they hadn’t seen each other in months. What did she want now?
Claire clicked on the email.
Hi, Claire,
How are you doing? I haven’t heard from you in a while, so I hope you are okay and not working too much.
I just wanted to drop you a quick note and let you know that I would completely understand if you didn’t want to attend the gallery opening after all. I know Abby might be there, and I don’t know if she’ll bring anyone, but I understand if it would be too awkward or painful for you.
No hard feelings if you’d rather stay away.
Take care,
Darlene
Oh God. The gallery opening. Claire had completely forgotten about that, even though it had been on her schedule since the beginning of the year. Back when she and Abby had still been engaged, they had planned to attend together. But now, everything was different. With a few words, Abby had cut her life into a “before” and an “after.”
Darlene had given her an out. She could stay home and avoid running into Abby.
But somehow, that thought didn’t sit well with her. Staying away would mean people would talk about her absence and the possible reasons for it. She could almost hear their whispering: Poor Claire, she’s probably at home, crying her eyes out.
Or maybe Abby would even paint her as the bad guy, the one to blame for their breakup, behind her back.
No, Claire decided. She couldn’t let that happen. She’d have to go, hold her head up high, and show everyone that she was fine without Abby in her life.
But she couldn’t do it alone. Not if there was a chance that Abby would show up with a new girlfriend in tow. She put the phone down and stepped out into the hall.
“Lana?” she called through the closed bathroom door. “Do you like art?”
The water shut off, and Lana opened the door, the towel still in her hands. “Art? You mean like Monet and Picasso?”
“More like Appel and Rothko,” Claire said.
“I have no idea who that is.” Lana flung the towel over the towel bar. “You’re not just asking to get to know me better, are you?”
Claire reached past her and straightened the towel, which had slipped halfway down. “No. That email I got… It’s a reminder about a gallery opening next week.” She hesitated but then decided that Lana deserved the whole truth. She couldn’t blindside her again, the way she had done when she’d told Vanessa that Lana was a lawyer. “Abby might be there, and she might bring someone.”
“So you don’t want to go alone and look like a sock without its mate.”
Claire tilted her head. “Something like that. So, would you come with me?”
“I’m game. But there’s one problem.”
“Don’t worry,” Claire said quickly. “I won’t kiss you again.”
“Uh, good to know, but that’s not the problem. I lost some weight after… Anyway, I haven’t had the time—or, to be honest, the money—to replace some of the items, so my formal attire is a little limited. Very limited. Actually, the dress I wore to the party is pretty much it.”
“That’s a problem easily remedied. We’ll go clothes shopping on Saturday. You need something to wear for New York anyway. I’m paying, and you get to keep whatever we buy once our arrangement is over. How does that sound?”
“That’s very generous of you. Thank you.” Instead of beaming in delight as Claire had expected, Lana looked as if Claire had promised her an afternoon of scrubbing toilets.
Claire studied her. “You don’t need to feel like you’re accepting charity. It’s all part of our deal.”
“That’s not it. It’s just that clothes shopping is on my list of favorite activities right after having a root canal.” Lana shrugged and put on an almost convincing smile. “But I guess I’ll survive it if it means I finally get to meet the infamous Abby.”
Claire groaned, suddenly no longer sure taking Lana to the gallery opening was a good idea.
The scent of freshly brewed coffee and hot chocolate greeted Claire as she pulled open the door of the Mean Bean. It immediately catapulted her back to a time, about a year ago, when she’d written The Art of Lasting Relationships. Whenever the words refused to come, she had grabbed her laptop and headed to the nearest coffee shop to write there.
“How can you focus with all that hustle and bustle going on?” Abby had always asked.
But to Claire, the background noise of conversations and clinking porcelain was stimulating. If she’d known about the Mean Bean back then, she might have even come here. The coffee shop wasn’t part of a big chain. With the small, round tables along two walls, bunches of fresh flowers everywhere, and mismatched armchairs in the corners, it had its own charm.
Lana was behind the counter, wearing a cute apron with a coffee-bean cartoon character. She was sliding two cups toward a customer, saying something to him that made him laugh.
The tall, black woman behind the cash register noticed Claire looking. Her tightly curled hair danced around her shoulders as she nudged Lana.
Claire straightened and crossed the room toward them, just as the only customer at the counter left.
“Thanks for coming t
o pick me up,” Lana said. She nodded toward the woman next to her. “Avery gave me a ride when my car didn’t start this morning, but now I’m stranded here.”
“I told you that piece of shit you call a car—”
“Hey!” Lana flicked a dish towel at her. “Don’t insult Dorothy.”
Claire watched them. She couldn’t imagine interacting with her colleagues in such an irreverent way.
“Oh, sorry. Where are my manners?” Lana gestured. “Avery, this is Claire, my girlfriend.”
Oh. Claire hadn’t been sure what Lana had told her colleagues about her. Should she have greeted her with a kiss?
Avery shook Claire’s hand. “So you’re the mysterious new girlfriend.”
Claire squirmed beneath the curious gaze.
“Yes, that’s my sweetie.” Lana leaned across the counter and planted a kiss on Claire’s lips.
It wasn’t much more than a platonic peck, but Claire flushed anyway.
“And this is Avery, my boss and favorite sister,” Lana said.
Claire looked back and forth between them. “Uh, sister?”
Avery pressed her dark cheek to Lana’s lighter one and grinned broadly. “Don’t say it. We look like twins, right?”
Lana bumped her with one hip, nearly tossing the thinner woman against the counter. “Stepsister, actually.”
As soon as Avery had regained her balance, she bumped her right back. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell your girlfriend that I’m black!”
Lana shrugged with an impish smile. “It didn’t come up.”
Claire watched them. They certainly interacted like siblings. “So you are one of the lucky seven who had to suffer through Lana’s tickle attacks.”
“Tickle attacks?” Avery gave them both a curious look.
A flush rose up Lana’s neck. “Uh, long story.” She untied her apron and lifted it over her head.
