Love After Hours

by Radclyffe

  *****

  Carrie settled on the back porch with a glass of wine and waited for Gina to arrive. Fifteen minutes later, Gina pulled in and pulled a pizza box from the front seat.

  “Beer or wine?” Carrie called, as Gina came up onto the porch.

  “Beer would be great.” Gina followed Carrie inside, letting the screen door slam shut behind her.

  “You can put the pizza on the counter—”

  “Done.” Gina caught Carrie around the waist from behind, spun her around, and kissed her hard. Carrie automatically backed up until she hit the refrigerator. Gina leaned in to her, her elbows braced on either side of Carrie’s shoulders.

  “Hi,” Gina muttered before kissing her again. “Longest damn three-mile drive in my life.”

  Carrie arched her neck as Gina kissed along the edge of her jaw and dove into her mouth again. Gina’s weight pinned her effortlessly. She couldn’t move, didn’t want to. The sensation of being captured was as thrilling as the fierceness of Gina’s kiss. She laced her arms around Gina’s neck and twined her calf around the back of Gina’s leg, getting as close to her at every point as she possibly could. Gina’s mouth was hot, her lips demanding. Carrie let her take what she needed until she couldn’t wait any longer to get her hands on Gina’s skin. She grabbed the back of Gina’s shirt and tugged it out of her pants, sliding her palms along Gina’s sides to the center of her abdomen. Gina groaned.

  “Come take a shower with me,” Carrie murmured, pushing one hand beneath Gina’s waistband. Gina jerked and Carrie pushed lower, stopping with her fingertips just low enough to tease, but not to torture. Too much.

  Gina went rigid, a growl rumbling in her throat. “You better stop right there.”

  “No way,” Carrie shot back.

  “Then you better be planning to keep going.” Gina covered Carrie’s hand and lifted her hips into Carrie’s palm. Carrie’s fingers slid into hot, yielding flesh. Gina closed her eyes and gasped.

  “Not yet, baby,” Carrie whispered. “I want you naked before I make you come.”

  “Carrie, come on,” Gina said, a note of desperation in her voice.

  “Upstairs.” Carrie slipped her hand free and Gina stumbled back, breaking their contact with a dazed expression. “I’ll take care of you. I promise.”

  Carrie led her to the staircase, stopping halfway up so she could kiss her again.

  “I love the way you taste,” Carrie muttered.

  “Anytime.”

  Carrie laughed. “Soon.”

  They left their clothes in a pile on the bathroom floor and got into the shower together. Carrie soaped her hands, rubbed circles over Gina’s chest and belly, and backed her against the shower wall. When she pressed her breasts to Gina’s, the slick glide of Gina’s skin was as arousing as Gina’s fingers inside her. She dug her fingers into Gina’s shoulders, straddling her thigh as her sex convulsed. “God. You make me so hot I want to come right now.”

  “Ride me, then.” Gina cupped the back of her neck and kissed her, one hand sliding down her back and over her butt.

  Carrie rocked on Gina’s leg, their breasts fitting perfectly together. The slick heat pierced her core and she moaned.

  “Come on, babe,” Gina urged, thrusting hard between Carrie’s legs. “Do it for me.”

  “I’m close,” Carrie gasped, shuddering. About to fall. About to shatter.

  “Yeah. Now. Come all over me.” Gina kissed her harder and deeper.

  Carrie threw her head back and wailed. Everything inside her melted at once. Gina’s arms tightened around her, holding her up.

  “I don’t know how that happened,” Carrie gasped. “I’ve never…”

  Gina dipped her head and kissed Carrie’s breasts. “Good. All mine, then.”

  Yes, yours. Carrie steadied herself with her hands on Gina’s shoulders. “I want to make you come. In bed, like a civilized person.”

  Gina laughed, ducked her head under the spray, and flipped the wet hair back from her face. She was magnificent. “You want pizza first?”

  Carrie laughed. “Hell no. I’m not waiting.”

  Gina framed her face and kissed her. “I don’t think I can.”

  “Come on.” Carrie pushed the shower door open, tugged Gina out, and tossed her a towel. “Race you.”

  Gina followed Carrie down the hall, leaving a trail of wet footsteps behind. She hastily toweled off on the way and left the towel draped over the back of a wooden chair in Carrie’s bedroom.

  “Over there.” Carrie gave her a shove toward the bed.

  Gina grabbed Carrie and pulled her down with her. Carrie landed on top of her, her mouth fused to Gina’s, her hand between Gina’s legs. One stroke, another, and she was inside her.

  Gina’s breath stopped in her chest. Her muscles clamped tight and her heart tripped over itself.

  “Can you come like this?” Carrie murmured, deep inside her, her teasing strokes short and fast.

  “If you stroke my clit,” Gina gasped.

  “You do it,” Carrie ordered and picked up her pace.

  Gina was already so close, a few short caresses and she exploded.

  Carrie rested her cheek on Gina’s shoulder, her face in the curve of Gina’s neck. “Oh my God. You are so sexy when you come, I never want to stop.”

  Gina laughed and rubbed her cheek against the top of Carrie’s head. “Like I said, it’s all you, babe.”

  Carrie closed her eyes. “I’m pretty gone on you, Antonelli.”

  “Ah, Carrie.”

  Let me see you, Carrie had said.

  A surge of panic caught Gina by the throat. She’d gone so long without feeling anything—without even hoping to feel again—she didn’t know how to start. Desire, wanting—that came from some primal place she couldn’t control. But what Carrie was talking about, what Carrie deserved, she wasn’t sure she could resurrect. She’d killed that part of herself a long time ago. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “I know, and I don’t care. It is what it is.” Carrie heard the echo of her own words. The heart wants what it wants. Even when that road led to heartbreak.

  “I wish…”

  Carrie pressed her fingers to Gina’s mouth. “No. That’s not why I said anything. And I don’t need you to say anything.”

  “Don’t you?”

  Carrie kissed her. “Yes, probably, one day soon. But not tonight.”

  Gina sat up. “I should let you get some ice on that shoulder.”

  “First we’re eating pizza, and I’m finishing my wine. Plus I owe you a beer.”

  “Tonight was amazing,” Gina said, knowing her words weren’t anywhere near enough.

  “Yes,” Carrie said softly despite the ache in her chest. “It was.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Stretched out on her back on the dolly under her truck, Gina yanked on the stubborn bolt that refused to loosen. Inventively cursing under her breath, she felt around by her side for a different tool and paused as the crunch of gravel signaled she had a visitor. She scowled. If she’d wanted company she would have answered the phone when it rang, which she hadn’t done any of the six times it had annoyed her so far. Turning her head, she regarded the pair of boots lined up next to the truck. She recognized them by the shoelaces. Joe favored red shoelaces.

  “Working here,” she called.

  “You’re not answering your phone.”

  “Like I said, working here.”

  Joe hunkered down and peered underneath her truck. “You want breakfast?”

  “No thanks.” He looked tired and Gina sighed. Snapping at her brother wasn’t making her feel any better. Working wasn’t helping much, either. Every five seconds she thought of Carrie, and the same mix of excitement and apprehension welled up in a tangled knot in her chest. Maybe Joe’s company would take her mind off what she didn’t want to think about. “You work all night?”

  “Nah, midnight to seven. I slept some before I went in last night. Where’d you sleep?”


  “Right here.” Gina pushed herself out on the dolly and sat up, leaning back against the side of the truck. “Did you just come by to personally invite me to breakfast?”

  He turned and sat on the ground next to her, stretching his legs out. “I called you about breakfast first. Then when you didn’t answer, I figured I’d come around. Haven’t seen that much of you lately.”

  “Busy.”

  “Uh-huh. Too busy to go out after the games with the team. Too busy for breakfast. What’s next, skipping family meals?”

  Gina snorted. “Yeah, like that would work. Death and softball are the only two reasons to miss one.”

  Joe grinned. “So what’s going on?”

  “Nothing.” Okay, so maybe she snapped a little after all. Joe was in one of his niggling get-her-to-talk moods, and if she’d wanted to do that, she would have answered the phone when Carrie called. She would have confessed to Carrie that the idea of getting close to her—really close, like thinking about her every second of every day, and wanting to touch her every time she saw her, and wanting, hell needing to tell about all the things she kept locked away inside—was paralyzing her.

  Joe nudged her foot with his. “Yeah, that’s why you’re working on the truck at eight o’clock on a Sunday morning. And not answering your phone. So what is it? Woman troubles?”

  The churning in her middle expanded until she couldn’t take a deep breath. She’d left Carrie’s around eleven after a late meal of beer and cold pizza. At three a.m., she was still staring at the ceiling. At five she gave up. She hadn’t wanted to leave Carrie’s, and every second that she’d stayed, she’d been torn over wondering if she was being fair. Carrie had been honest and she’d taken a chance revealing how she felt, and Gina wasn’t sure she even knew where to start. Blake and Margie, two kids nearly half her age, had more guts than she did.

  “Carrie’s serious,” Gina murmured.

  “And you’re not?”

  Gina stared at the wrench in her hand. She’d scraped her knuckles on the underside of the carriage, and blood streaked the tops of her fingers. She remembered fragments of the accident, mostly in her dreams, but she could never remember seeing Emmy in the wreck next to her. Only pain and flashing lights and the taste of blood in her mouth. She was glad she didn’t see her and felt like a coward for not wanting to know. “You know, it was my fault, that night.”

  “Why?” Joe didn’t even need to ask her what she was talking about. That night was a constant companion, the uninvited guest at every conversation, the secret they both kept.

  “She went out with Kevin to some party, and he got wasted. I was so pissed off at him.”

  “Kevin”—Joe said the name like it was a curse word—“always was an asshole.”

  “I was pissed at her too. And myself.” Gina took a deep breath and told him all of it. Her fury, the kiss and the guys who saw it, the threats, Emmy’s panic. When she finished, Joe scrubbed his face with both hands and let out a long breath that sounded like it hurt.

  “Fuck, Gina. Why didn’t you say something?”

  “You’re the only one I could’ve told.” She closed her eyes. “And we both know what you would’ve done.”

  “Hell—”

  “Language,” she muttered.

  “Fucking hell,” Joe said, “I feel like doing it now. Where is the asshole these days, anyhow?”

  “Kevin?” Gina grimaced. “He married Chrissy Dominic, remember? Like six months after the accident.”

  “Yeah, his girlfriend dying had a big effect on him, I guess,” Joe said.

  “Wasn’t his fault, not really,” Gina said. “He didn’t put us in that car. I did.”

  “That’s bullshit,” Joe said sharply. “You and Emmy had been together, what, five years by then? She was your girl. She had plenty of time to change her mind about the two of you, and you waited in the fucking dark for her. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “It wasn’t really like that,” Gina said softly, opening her eyes. “We figured when we went away to school, we’d have more freedom, and Emmy would tell her parents eventually.”

  “Yeah,” Joe said with a weary sigh. “I get it. I know it made sense to you then. But damn, Gina. You gotta let it go now. You gotta have a life.”

  “I’m not sure I can let anybody in, not all the way.” Gina met his gaze. “Something’s missing inside me, I think.”

  “I don’t believe that, but I’m not the one who needs to.” Joe’s tone was as unyielding as their father’s when he’d settled on a course of action. “This one’s on you, sis, and you better decide before it’s too late.”

  *****

  Carrie tried Gina’s cell one more time and got voice mail again. She disconnected without leaving a message. Gina knew her number. She’d see the missed call. If she’d wanted to call her back, she probably would have by now. Carrie turned her phone over and over in her hands, too restless to spend the next six hours wondering what Gina was doing or second-guessing herself over how dumb she’d been blurting out her feelings when she knew damn well it was way too soon to go there. She just didn’t want to pretend she felt anything less than she already did. Maybe she shouldn’t have said anything, but sometimes feelings were too big to keep secret. And sometimes secrets like that had a way of coming back to haunt you.

  Carrie considered her options. She could call her sister, but seeing as it was still dark in California and Erin liked getting up early about as much as she did, that was out. Mari was working nights in the ER. She’d just be getting ready for bed. She finally called Presley.

  “Hey!” Presley said. “You’re up bright and early.”

  “Have any of those cinnamon buns left?”

  “Only about half a dozen. Lila baked, remember?” Presley laughed. “You want to come over?”

  “It’s Sunday morning.” Good one, Carrie. State the obvious. “I don’t want to barge in.”

  “Harper is out back putting a new roof on the chicken coop. I’m sitting on the porch with my second cup of coffee reading a book. You won’t be interrupting anything.”

  “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  “I’ll be sitting in the same spot,” Presley said.

  Carrie grabbed her softball uniform from the dryer and stuffed it into her duffel, tossed her phone and wallet in after, and was out the door in two minutes. When she pulled around back, Presley was exactly where she’d said she would be, in a rocker on the back porch, her feet propped on the railing, tablet in her lap.

  “Coffee and cinnamon buns in the kitchen,” Presley said, waving her inside.

  “Thanks.” Carrie helped herself in the familiar kitchen and plopped into the rocker next to Presley. At eight thirty in the morning it was already close to ninety. “This feels a little bit like Phoenix.”

  “Funny,” Presley mused, “Phoenix seems like another planet. This place feels like home to me. Like it’s always been home.”

  “You’re right. It does to me too.” Carrie broke off a piece of the gooey, deliciously sinful cinnamon bun. In the distance, Harper was banging away at the chicken coop. The young chickens pecked and squawked in the dooryard under Rooster’s self-important gaze. “I’m definitely getting chickens. Do you think Harper will build me a chicken coop?”

  Presley laughed. “I’m sure we can rustle up a few people to do that, but should I point out that you appear to have your own carpenter at hand?”

  Carrie let out a long sigh. “Maybe.”

  Presley set her coffee cup and tablet on the porch beside her. “What does that mean?”

  Carrie picked at her cinnamon bun.

  “Hmm,” Presley said, “if you’re not eating that, there’s something very wrong.”

  “I’m in love with her,” Carrie said.

  “So is this visit about Gina or about you?”

  Carrie caught her breath. “What do you mean?”

  “Since you’re here before nine, and it’s way past business hours, and you’
re not eating, I’ve come to the brilliant deduction you’re not happy.”

  “I’m not sure it’s a good thing.”

  “Really?” Presley sounded surprised. “Is being in love ever a bad thing?”

  Carrie’s knee-jerk reaction was to say sometimes. But maybe what she really needed to do was separate her feelings from what she was worried Gina would do about them. Somewhere, someone had documented all the neurochemicals and hormones and other bodily things that being emotionally connected released, attempting no doubt to explain away the irrational feeling of being in love, but she knew better. Being in love changed a person. Gina stirred her, awakened things in her, excited and satisfied her. The world seemed a little sharper and brighter and more challenging, as if she’d stripped away a layer of insulation that had been wrapped around her until now. She wouldn’t trade that sensation of being more alive, more herself, than she’d ever been before just because she couldn’t predict—or control—what might happen.

  “Being in love is amazing.” Carrie laughed. “As if that’s a news flash.”

  Presley grasped her hand and squeezed. “It’s hard to separate the feelings from the expectations. But I say enjoy the experience, because it’s special, no matter what comes next.”

  “Well, I told her, more or less,” Carrie said, “so the what comes next is coming fast.”

  “Did she run screaming from the house?”

  “Maybe, metaphorically.” Carrie finished off the cinnamon bun and mentally replayed the night before. Again. When they’d finally gotten out of bed they’d attacked the pizza and talked about everything except their relationship—the work on her house, the rest of the softball season, a television series they both followed. When Gina left, she hadn’t made another date, and so far this morning, she hadn’t called or answered her phone. “It’s complicated—”

  “Isn’t it always?” Presley glanced out toward Harper, perched on a ladder in a T-shirt and cut-off jeans, and smiled. “Relationships are always complicated, even when they look simple on the surface.” She turned her gaze back to Carrie. “Is this complication something time can fix or something a lot more permanent?”