Learning to Love Again

by A. K. Rose

  + + +

  Rachel kicked herself for her momentary lapse in judgment. It wasn’t at all professional to ask Jessica the questions she’d asked her, and it wasn’t appropriate to tell her that Cassie liked her more. She found herself in an emotional spiral, confused and unsure what to do next. She liked Cassie; thought she was charming in her own way. She was smart and sensitive, and there was something about her touch that lit Rachel’s skin on fire. But, Cassie was definitely not over whatever it was that pulled her to Jessica, and she didn’t want to be someone’s rebound person. She remembered what happened with her own rebound person after Elise left, and that wasn’t pretty. It was an inevitable fact that the rebound person was usually not “the one.”

  “These just came for you,” her hygienist said as she put a vase full of red roses down on the counter behind Rachel’s desk. She’d retreated to the small private area in the back of her office to compose herself, to pack away her feelings and pull herself together. “There’s a card,” Crystal added as she walked away, pointing to the small white envelope taped to a wide ribbon that encircled the vase.

  Rachel opened the note, curious who sent the flowers, more than a little hopeful they were from a nervous lawyer on the other side of town.

  No flower holds a candle to your beauty, inside and out, but these come close. Can we start over? Dinner tonight? My place.

  -C

  + + +

  Against her better judgment, Rachel agreed to see Cassie again. She’d offer one more chance. That was it. Just one. They’d agreed to meet at Cassie’s apartment downtown—a change of venue offering an opportunity for new beginnings.

  “Hi,” Rachel said as the door opened. She stood holding a bottle of wine, an unfamiliar anxiety overtaking her. She hoped she wasn’t making a big mistake, but didn’t have to worry long. Instead of a verbal welcome, she found herself pulled inside the foyer, her jacket bunched under two firm fists, her lips enveloped, the unmistakable taste of spearmint filling her senses. The taste of toothpaste was strong—this was clearly a planned greeting.

  “Hi,” Cassie offered finally, releasing her grip and smiling shyly, hopeful her forwardness was okay. Hopeful her kiss would say what her words couldn’t. She had a good week. She’d done some mental work to clear the cobwebs out of her mind, to put Jessica back in the friend zone. She’d been hopeful Rachel would give her a second chance. She wasn’t sure if the flowers would be a hit or a bust—it really could’ve gone either way. This one went her direction, and she had no intentions of messing up again. Even she understood that her leash was short. “Come in, please . . .”

  “I wondered if I was going to hear from you again,” Rachel said, placing the bottle of wine on an end table in Cassie’s family room as she surveyed the apartment, an open floorplan flat that appeared to be decorated out of a Pottery Barn catalogue, shades of khaki covering the furniture in her view. It was fitting—khaki was safe; Cassie liked safety.

  “I know, I’m sorry. I was an idiot. I needed to work through a few things, and I wanted to give you some space, too.”

  “Did you figure them out? The things you were sorting through?”

  The fact that she was invited over meant something, the way she’d been greeted meant something too, but Rachel needed to hear it from the source.

  “I did. Very much so.”

  “And?”

  “This is going to sound cliché, I know, but it’s all I have,” Cassie was normally uncomfortable with extended eye contact, but caught Rachel’s gaze as she sat on the edge of her couch. She spoke with conviction, as if she were speaking straight into her soul, as if she were pleading a case to a judge. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you all week. After I left your house, I actually drove all the way to Padre Island. I didn’t plan to; it just happened. We used to go to the beach a lot when I was a kid—it’s sort of my happy place. I went there and just walked on the shore, thinking. I couldn’t stop thinking about what a fool I’d been, about how I’d probably blown something that has the potential to be great because of something that can never be great. I couldn’t sleep all week—I was trying to figure out how to get you over here so I could tell you this in person, so I could make you dinner and we could talk, so I could kiss your lips and hold your hand and ask about your life.”

  “Good answer.”

  “And I hope, well . . . I was hoping to just start over. Could we do that?”

  “Do you know that’s the third time you’ve asked me to start over?” Rachel asked, thinking back to the first night at the bar, when she’d almost walked away from an awkward blonde with no small talk skills whatsoever, and then the note on the card earlier that day.

  “Uh . . . I guess you’re right . . . I’ve used up all my chances. If you say yes, I promise it’s the last time I’ll ask—no more second chances, okay? Just first experiences.”

  “It’s a deal. Listen . . . I know you have a past. Everyone does, you know? And, it’s okay, really. I just felt really vulnerable telling you what I did . . .”

  “I know . . . for a lawyer, my timing is awful. You’d think I’d be better at that sort of thing,” Cassie shrugged, “but I am who I am.”

  Dinner was in the oven, the buzzer threatening to interfere any minute, but Cassie took one more risk as she reached out and took the hand she desperately wanted to hold and pulled, drawing a smile in return. She managed to sneak in one soft kiss, one small taste, before the kitchen timer ruined the moment and she had to tend to her casserole.

  “I have to agree. Your timing is awful.”

  + + +

  “Do you want to spend the night?” Cassie asked tentatively. They were on her couch, her head in Rachel’s lap, legs dangling over the armrest, their conversation slowing. It was after midnight and they’d been talking nonstop since dinner.

  “Do you want me to?” Rachel wasn’t going to push it this time, but ran her fingers through the hair on her lap in encouragement. Non-verbal cues could be just as powerful as words, she knew that.

  “I do.”

  “Okay, so, does that mean you’re ready for bed, or are you asking me to stay the night on your couch?”

  “Ouch! I guess I had that coming. Let me try again . . .” Cassie sat up and shifted her weight to straddle her guest, her hands lightly gripping the back of Rachel’s head. She pulled with purpose—forceful, but not too hard—drawing their lips together in a silent show of her intentions. She wasn’t going to back out this time; not a chance.

  “Mmmm,” came the response.

  Rachel’s lips on hers were the most perfect match she could imagine. So soft, so tender in their caress—why had she walked out on this woman before? She had no clue. Don’t screw this up, she told herself, over and over, as she felt playful scratches run the length of her back, as warm exhales lingered on her cheek. Rachel indeed had a magic touch—her nails sent shivers up Cassie’s spine, even though they were still fully clothed. For now.

  “I’ve always wanted to pull a sweater off a hot dentist . . .” Cassie whispered as she tugged a black turtleneck up and overhead, tossing it aside before finishing her thought, “. . . at least since I found out there was such a thing.”

  The dim glow of a floor lamp barely lit her living room, but she didn’t need light to tell that Rachel wasn’t wearing a bra. Had she been before? Cassie didn’t know, but couldn’t stop her hands; they were automatically drawn to the pert breasts before her, her lips not far behind.

  “You don’t seem all that surprised,” Rachel murmured, basking in the warmth of fingers on her body, damp lips kissing her nipples, her desire mounting, “with what you found.”

  “Oh, I’m surprised,” Cassie answered, her palms massaging taut nipples while she spoke, “but I’m not complaining. You’re stunning, and the fact that you hung out here for hours so calmly . . . that you wanted . . . is there anything under these slacks?”

  “You talk too much, counselor.”

  “I know,” Cassie conceded with
a kiss on an inviting breastplate. “Let’s not talk. Come with me.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “I have a soap fantasy that you star in . . .” Cassie stood, holding her hand out on offer, gesturing with her head towards her bedroom, the location of her shower, the setting of her fantasy.

  “A soap fantasy? Sounds very . . . hygienic. Do I even want to know what that is?”

  “You definitely do.”

  + + +

  It took a few moments for the hot water in her shower to warm, a slight downside to living in such a tall apartment building—it always took a while for the water to get to its destination with the proper temperature. A dual-headed shower stall surrounded by floor-to-ceiling glass awaited. Cassie’s building was relatively new and decked out with high-end fixtures, a big reason she’d rented the place. Maybe someday she’d own a home, who knew? When the water was finally hot, she opened the glass door dramatically with an invitation, “After you.”

  Rachel was in her shower, her ordinarily wavy caramel-colored hair reduced in volume and weighed down with water but still fetching, her muscular physique on full display, little droplets clinging to smooth skin in the most sensuous way. In this light, Cassie could barely see the scar from her C-section—it seemed tiny. Was it? She really didn’t care. She wondered why Rachel was self-conscious about it. She was fit and tight and somehow more attractive than Cassie had imagined. She was in decent shape herself, but didn’t have the same muscle definition; she suddenly felt self-conscious, nervous even, and had to repeat her mantra: Don’t screw this up. The last thing she needed was to get caught up in a mental hang-up over her own body image when things were going so well.

  She reached for a pink bath puff on a hook behind her and squeezed a generous amount of shower gel on it, working up a lather before pulling Rachel close and scrubbing her back, lubricating her skin with the melon-scented soap, kissing her lips with curiosity. Those lips were intoxicating; teeth impossibly smooth under the pressure of her tongue. Cassie thought she could kiss this woman for an eternity.

  There was no space between them now, so she backed slightly to soap Rachel’s front, running her hands over toned arms first, teasing.

  “This is your soap fantasy, huh? Washing my arms?” Rachel pressed, wanting the suds—and hands spreading them—in other places.

  “No, this is my soap fantasy,” Cassie countered, dropping the puff to the shower floor and using only the lather on her hands to caress bare breasts again, the slickness created from the water and soap enabling them to glide effortlessly across warm skin. Cassie leaned in with a deep kiss, closing the distance between them again and pushing Rachel firmly against the tile of the shower wall, her hands firmly on pronounced hipbones. She moved slowly against Rachel’s breasts with her own, her teeth nipping gently on a bottom lip so perfect she wasn’t sure she could ever let go.

  “Getting better . . .” Rachel managed as a hand glided over her abdomen, just missing the scar she couldn’t hide, before lightly grazing her inner thigh. “Getting a lot better . . .”

  That small gift of encouragement was all Cassie needed to continue. She hadn’t done this in years, but it came back quickly. It felt so natural to be holding a woman—so soft against her—it felt so right to be in this private moment together. She pivoted and put her back against the wall so they were facing the same direction and continued to lightly brush her fingers, slowly, methodically, against thighs that were inching open. Rachel couldn’t have sent a bigger signal of her approval—this fantasy was better in real life than it had been in her mind.

  Tentatively, she introduced a single finger inside Rachel’s most intimate folds, her touch met with an immediate gasp of approval. Slowly, she traced small circles with her finger while biting gently at the curve of an elegant neck, sensing Rachel needed more but not quite ready to give it to her.

  “Cass?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “I need you now,” Rachel pleaded, a little growl emerging in her voice, an urgency in her tone.

  “God, you are so sexy, what . . .” Cassie stopped herself. She almost finished her thought, she almost asked what she was thinking by walking out the week before. She wasn’t going to blow it this time, she kept reminding herself and saved it at the last minute, “. . . did I do to deserve this moment with you?”

  “Not now, counselor. No more talking.”

  Cassie obeyed orders, her intention set; instinct taking over as she cautiously worked her middle finger, then her ring finger inside the ready center of the woman in her arms. All that water hadn’t washed away Rachel’s desire, and that only turned her on more. She knew it would be tough standing up, but it was do-able. She should have reconsidered the venue for this little tryst, it was their first time together—neither knew what to expect; she was taking a big risk.

  She focused, finding a rhythm, letting Rachel lead the way with the motion of her hips, rocking together in search of release. Her attentions seemed to be working. Rachel’s breath was ragged and her moans became louder, quicker. When she sensed the time was right, Cassie flicked her thumb across Rachel’s most sensitive nerve endings—she wanted so badly to hear that final cry in her ears, to feel satisfaction clench around aching fingers, and she didn’t have to wait long.

  “Christ, Cass, I didn’t think you had that in you,” Rachel breathed, slowly coming back to earth, “that was kind of amazing. And, against all odds, really. I mean, standing up, water everywhere. Damn.”

  “Mmm-hmmm,” Cassie agreed, wrapping her arms around the waist of her lover, her head resting on a wet shoulder, her eyes closed to avoid having them fill from the shower spray. It was kind of amazing, she thought, as the water suddenly shut off without her intervention.

  “Let’s save some water and take this out of here, huh? I need to show you a thing or two now that you’ve had your fantasy time . . .”

  ELEVEN

  Alejandro’s was packed. It was the Friday before Thanksgiving, and for some reason, the diner had a full house. Cassie and Jessica picked this night—of all nights—to resume their traditional Friday night dinner debriefs. Enough time had passed, each agreed, that they could try to hang out again like they used to—as friends.

  It was more difficult than usual to hear, the din of multiple loud conversations dominating the room, the clanging of flatware hitting plates, of glasses being picked up and put down, laughter reverberating off the high ceiling.

  Anxious to pick up where they left off, to depress the pause button that had been pressed on their friendship, Jessica decided to talk about work. Work was a safe topic; it always had been. She’d just been assigned her first case that would involve being present in the courtroom. It was a large class-action suit and her role would be that of a real-time fact-finder if points were brought up that the lead attorneys hadn’t anticipated. She didn’t know what to expect; how much she’d be called upon; if she’d need to speak. What if she had to speak? To have her first real case be of such a magnitude was nerve-wracking.

  “So are you nervous? When you go to court? Do you still get nervous?” Jessica asked in rapid-fire question fragments, swirling long strands of spaghetti around her fork.

  “You know, not really anymore. But in the beginning, yeah, I got really nervous. I was young and green, taking on men that were there for a good reason—they didn’t pay their child support—and it was intimidating. I wouldn’t want to see game film on what I was like in the beginning,” Cassie paused, thinking about how far she’d come. “But, it got easier. The more I did it, the easier it got. I started to learn about the judges, their personalities, their quirks. Some have really sensitive spots for certain words or phrases, so I know what to say now, depending on the judge. It took time, though.”

  Jessica nodded along, intent on gleaning some useful information from her friend’s experiences, realizing she was just at the beginning of something that would take a long time to develop.

  “Yeah, that’s what I was afr
aid of. They haven’t let me go to court yet, so I don’t really know what to expect. Luckily, I should have a mostly silent role, to help with quick reactive info, but it’s still unnerving. I didn’t think I’d be five years into my career and still pushing paper. I thought I’d be mixing it up with the cocky prosecutors by now.”

  As if on cue, their favorite waitress, Jill, showed up with fresh coffee and a big smile. She was never without that smile as big as the state of Texas. They weren’t sitting in her section that night, but she made a special trip to greet two of her most loyal patrons. “Hi girls! Haven’t seen y’all in here in a while. Doing okay?”

  “Doing great,” Cassie offered for the duo. “You?”

  “As good as I can be, sweetie. It’s a little crazy in here tonight, but I’m hanging on! See you two next week?”

  With double nods in her direction, Jill was off again, serving up weak coffee to the masses.

  “So why aren’t you then,” Cassie picked up where they’d left off, “why not find a job where you can do what you want?”

  “Ah, I don’t know. Safety. Security. Why does anyone stay in any job?”

  “I get that, sure, but it’s not like you’re some twenty-year senior lawyer with a partnership and a BMW you have to pay for. You’re young in your career—you have time to try a few things out. You don’t have to be tethered to that firm, you know?”

  “I guess so, yeah. I haven’t honestly thought about it more than casually. I guess we’ll see how this case goes—if I even like the courtroom drama. If there’s even any drama . . . I know better than to expect excitement . . . So are we doing this Turkey Trot next week?” Jessica asked, changing the subject. She hadn’t really thought much about leaving her job, but she would now, at Cassie’s suggestion. Cass was good for her—she asked the hard questions; she cared.