Perfect Match: A Lesbian Romance

by Violette Grey

  “You have to be positive,” she said as she laid her hand on my arm. I felt that tingling sensation course through my body. I pictured her grabbing me and kissing me right there for everyone to see.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “Yeah, why?”

  “You’re all red.”

  I giggled and she gave me a questioning look. “What?” she asked.

  “Oh, nothing. Let’s get going.”

  We started at a good walking pace and I could already feel my legs burning. Damn, I’m really out of shape, I thought as my muscles screamed at me. They probably realized now how good they had it with my short walks around the track. But I was determined to teach them to be stronger.

  What really worried me was that they would make me pay later.

  We made our first lap and I was doing pretty well. Sure, it was more difficult to breathe, but I was thrilled that I could keep up with Alice. Either that or she was going slow to help me out.

  “OK, let’s try a sprint,” she said.

  I gave her an exasperated expression. I was ready to fall over as it was and she wanted me to pick up the pace?

  “You have to start somewhere,” she said. “Come on. Just for a few yards is enough.”

  As we jogged, a woman in green yoga pants and a sports bra ran toward us. Her eyes looked me up and down and my face heated up.

  “Bitch,” Alice mumbled.

  I giggled at her.

  “Well, she can just keep her eyes to herself,” she said matter-of-factly. Then she flashed me a huge grin.

  I beamed at that. She was getting jealous and it made me feel good, good enough to give me a sudden burst of energy. Instead of jogging a few yards, I made it a quarter mile before I stopped and almost threw up on the grass.

  Alice laughed and I gave her nasty glare, which made her laugh even more. “I think we’re done for the day,” she said, patting me on the back. “Let’s get you home.”

  I stumbled to my car, my head spinning. “I guess I overdid it.”

  “Exactly why I said we needed to go slow at first. As soon as you felt a tiredness coming over you, we should have slowed down.”

  I leaned against the car, finally catching my breath. I grabbed a water bottle from the front seat of my car and took a long drink from it as Alice took a drink from hers.

  “You did well,” she said with a smile. “It won’t be long before you’re able to go running with me.”

  I forced a laugh. “Yeah, I imagine several months down the road maybe.”

  She shrugged. “We have time then.”

  I stopped in the middle of lifting my bottle. Was she saying we would still be together in several months? I could see being with her for the long haul, that was for sure. But was that what she meant?

  “Yeah, we have time,” I said with a smile.

  ***

  The following week I was getting ready for work and decided to send Alice a text. I had not heard from her in a few days, but I knew she was home for the week. ‘Hey, want to get together this weekend?”

  Her reply: ‘Sorry, had to go out of town until Tuesday. Meet then?’

  Unfortunately, I had parent-teacher conferences, and I sent her a reply saying so.

  “So, have you heard anything from your lady love?” Susan asked at school as we stood at the heavy metal doors to the playground waiting for the students to line up after recess. The day was chilly and I stood with my arms crossed in front of me trying to control the shivering. It made no sense to put on a coat, hat, and gloves just to pick up the students and bring them in, but I always thought that ‘next time’ I would be sure to at least grab my sweater. However, when next time came around, I always waved off the idea and regretted later.

  “No. I got a text from her last week. She’s off on the East Coast doing her ring thing.”

  Susan nodded. “Yeah, long distance is hard. I remember when Rick had to travel for work when we were dating. It stunk.” She put her arms out wide and smiled. “But look at us now.”

  “Between her traveling and working weekends, our schedules just are not clicking. It’s frustrating.”

  Susan tilted her head. “You really like her, don’t you?”

  I paused. “Yeah, I think I really do.”

  “James, keep your hands to yourself,” Susan said to a boy she had to say the same thing to on a daily basis, and oftentimes several times a day. Then she turned back to me. “Well, don’t give up on her then. It will work out if it’s supposed to.”

  I knew she was right, but it didn’t make it any easier. “Come on, everyone,” I said to my students. “Atten-hut!” The students immediately stood at attention like little soldiers. It was a game we played to get to walk in a line. Otherwise they would push past each other and eventually someone would fall and be trampled by the others. Then that child’s parents would sue the school and I would be in trouble. So, we kept order, or as much order as we could, anyway.

  The week flew by as my classroom practiced test-taking skills, the least productive activity we could possibly do. By Friday we were all brain dead. It was like a vicious cycle. If we did not do the practice, students would choose three answers instead of one on multiple choice questions, or write a sentence when they were supposed to write a paragraph. However, we spent so much time on these mind-numbing activities that, by the time the testing came the following week, it was almost more than they could stand. I did not blame them, I could barely stand them myself.

  Alice and I exchanged texts every few days that first week, then the following week was only a couple. I hated that we were both so busy.

  But there was nothing I could do.

  At the end of the week, Felicia, our secretary, came into the classroom carrying a huge bouquet of flowers. “These came for you, Miss Johnson,” she said with a grin.

  The students were all staring, most with their mouths hanging open, and some with huge smiles on their faces.

  I took the flowers from Felicia and pulled out the card.

  ‘Miss you. Have a good day. With love, Alice.’

  My heart swelled as I set the flowers on my desk.

  “Who sent them?” Brandon asked.

  “How do you know somebody sent me flowers? What if I ordered them myself?”

  He rolled his eyes. “No, flowers are sent because someone loves someone else. Everyone knows that.”

  I smiled at him. “That’s true. And who sent me the flowers is my business, so turn back around and finish your work. All of you.”

  I looked at the flowers again.

  The card had said ‘With love, Alice.’

  ***

  Once all of the students were busy with their individual work, I called Chris back to the reading table for our daily one-on-one reading time. The boy who came to group today was so different from the one who had come before our lunch together only two weeks earlier. He came with a smile, excited to read more about famous painters.

  We had made our way through four early reader books about famous painters including Da Vinci and Monet. His excitement with the topic made him want to get better at reading, but he still struggled. This worried me. Was there something else going on that was making it difficult for him to learn to read?

  This was something I would certainly want to bring up with parents, but I did not look forward to it at all. The district did not do any testing for reading disabilities such as dyslexia, so parents were required to take the students to specialists. The question was would his parents be willing to have him tested?

  Chapter Seven

  Friday night could not come soon enough, so when it did, I went straight to the liquor store, chose my favorite wine, and headed home with a bag of snacks for a night of self-pity and reflection. Parent-teacher conferences with Chris Bakersfield’s parents had been a nightmare. His mother, Trisha, had accused me of picking on her child as his father, Frank, sat and stared off out the dark window. They had insisted on having their conference as late a
s possible, which only reflected on the lack of importance a regular bedtime was for their son.

  Luckily, Georgia had joined us, since she also had the boy in her class. Her soft-spoken voice helped calm down the loud and irate Trisha enough to give us a chance to focus the conversation on Chris’s academics. When I shared that he was at a kindergarten level in reading, his mother only said, “Well, he doesn’t like to read. Right now I want him to be my little boy. There will be time when he’s older when he’ll need to worry about being grown up, so I just want him to be happy to be a child for as long as he can be.”

  I almost rolled my eyes, but stopped myself. “I understand that you want him to have a childhood. I don’t blame you for that one bit. However, he also needs to gain skills to be a successful adult. Right now, at this age, is the best time for a child to learn. It will be much more difficult when he gets older, and each year is going to be more challenging than the previous year.”

  She waved her hand at me before standing and saying to her husband, “Come on, Frank, let’s go. We’re done here.”

  I swore the man sighed, but he had covered it up pretty well.

  I never even got the chance to bring up my concerns for a possible issue with his learning.

  And now I sat at home, wallowing in my own self-pity. Here I was, thirty and single. My dates with Alice had gone well, but we both were so busy, I didn’t get to see her. We found ourselves not contacting each other for days at a time, which is counterproductive to a relationship.

  The flowers I received earlier in the week had helped, but I felt like we were being pulled apart before we actually had gotten together.

  The last time I had had my self-pity party was when I broke up with Cathy. I had caught her making out with her boss in the back room of the store where she worked. That night was a vague memory of too much wine, ice cream, Oreos, and bags of chips in front of three tear-jerk movies, my go-to for those especially depressing days when I could barely look out upon the world and think about my life.

  Then I would wake up the following morning hung over and sick from all the junk food vowing to never do it again. Yet, here I was again, my Moscato wine, Ben and Jerry’s Cherry Garcia ice cream, Oreos, and several brands and styles of potato chips arranged on the coffee table in front of me. I pulled the lap blanket up over my chest, leaned back into the pillows on the sofa, and hit ‘play’ on the remote.

  The movie played, but I found my mind wandering. Before Cathy it had been Theresa, and before Theresa it had been Vicky. It was always the same pattern, we would go out, have a great time, and she would move in within a couple of months. That was when I really found out how incompatible we were, even though the signs had been there earlier on.

  Cathy was messy, really messy. She never picked up after herself, so I followed after her like a mother with a toddler. It was not as if I were a super neat freak, but I did not appreciate living in a pigsty. Then on one of those cleaning expeditions I found a letter from a woman who was supposed to be an ex only to find it dated the week before. After a heated confrontation, she admitted that they had hooked back up again the previous week but insisted it was over. I threw her out that same day and the last I heard they were still together, and I spent a weekend binging on my pity food.

  Theresa had been better about cleaning up after herself. It was as if the pendulum had swung in the opposite direction. As a matter of fact, she was so clean, she got onto me about anything out of place. When I graded papers, I tended to spread out over the coffee table, sofa, floor, whatever space I had available, while watching movies or some of my favorite TV shows. One day, Theresa threw a fit and walked out. I called in sick the following day and wallowed in my self-pity.

  After Theresa I swore I would not allow a woman to drive me so far down. I was stronger than that. So when Vicky took a job in Arizona, I decided to give myself one day only to indulge in feeling sorry for myself before going back to my regular diet the following day. At least it had not been because of our incompatibility that we had broken up. It was just that we had different paths we wanted to take.

  Although Alice and I were not a couple, I knew I really liked her. There was something different about her, something that attracted me to her, something I wanted in my life. Yet, here I was, at my pity party, feeling sorry for myself as if we had already been together and broken up. She was off doing her thing, traveling around, while I was busy with school and school-related things.

  My cell phone went off, telling me I had a text. Damn it, I forgot to silence it. I paused the movie. I would have to start it over anyway because I had no idea what had been going on.

  ‘Back in town. Want to meet up?’

  My heart raced and I looked around at the mess on the coffee table.

  What was I doing mourning a relationship that was too young to be developed? I admonished myself and sent a reply.

  ‘Sure. When and where?’

  I set the phone on the arm of the couch and got up to clean up the mess on the coffee table. Halfway to the kitchen, the phone rang.

  “Crap,” I said as I set my armload of items on the table and ran to get the phone before it went to voicemail. “Hello?” I did not even look to see who it was first.

  “Hey, it’s Alice. Sorry, I hate texting.”

  I laughed. “Yeah, me too. How was your trip?”

  “Eh, it was fine. Super busy, but it went well. I met with a modeling agent while I was in Boston. He came by a match I was working to see me in action and then gave me his card.”

  “Wow, that’s great! What did he say?”

  “He wants me to go back to Boston next weekend for a photo shoot to see if I have the look he wants for some jean ads.”

  “Well, congratulations, Alice. I know this is something you’ve been wanting.”

  “Definitely. So, I have missed you. I have to work an MMA match tomorrow, but I got tickets to bring a couple of friends. Do you want to go with me? Maybe we can grab a bite afterward or something.”

  I had never been to any sort of fight before and just the thought made me feel clammy. Maybe it was the fear I got when my students fought, or some past issues, but thinking about going to a place where the main focus was fighting made me feel uncomfortable. But I really wanted to see Alice, and I found myself saying, “Sure, sounds like fun.”

  “Great! It’ll be at the Pepsi Center.”

  I gasped. “The Pepsi Center? Wow, this must be something big.”

  “It is.” I could hear the pride in her voice. “So, just go to the Will-Call window and give them your name. They’ll give you a VIP pass that will get you into the back. Just ask Jake at the back hall for my dressing room.”

  “Then I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

  “I look forward to it,” she said.

  So did I. It felt like we had been apart for far longer than our two weeks, and I could not wait to see her again.

  Now to figure out what to wear…

  Chapter Eight

  The lines at the Pepsi Center were long and I was so glad I could go straight to Will-Call and pick up my pass. Several men gave me strange looks when they noticed my VIP pass, even looks of jealousy, probably because they wished they could go behind the scenes. I wanted to revert to the level of my students and stick my tongue out at them.

  The Pepsi Center was a massive stadium built as an event center. The Colorado Avs hockey team played there, as well as the Denver Nuggets basketball team. I had attended quite a few concerts since the center was built and thought it was a great venue.

  I made my way through the groups of people to the correct section and walked straight out on the bottom level.

  A large man with arms that were bigger than my thighs stood with his arms crossed across his chest in front of a door marked ‘Staff Only’. I showed him my pass and asked, “Where can I find Alice Crombly?”

  “Last door on the right,” he said in his deep baritone as he opened the door for me.

  I followed
the long hallway past several doors. One was open and a man stood with his hands on a table, deep in thought, probably psyching himself up for the fight. When I got to the last door on the right, I listened and heard several female voices.

  The door opened to my knock and a blond with a great body, curves in just the right places, and wearing a bikini, stood there. “Yeah?” she asked. Her smile was huge and she practically bounced on her toes.

  “I’m looking for Alice.”

  “Oh, that’s Carrie,” I heard Alice say from somewhere in the room. A moment later, she was at the door and all I could do was stare. She was wearing a button-up shirt tied off just below her breasts and unbuttoned low enough to show off a generous amount of bosom. Her long legs looked great in the black glittery heels she wore.

  “Hey,” I said breathily.

  She reached out and pulled me to her. “I’m so glad you came,” she said before reaching in and kissing me.

  I was so shocked all I could do was stand there trying to ignore the tingling feeling that was radiating down my stomach. It was our first real kiss and I felt flushed when she let me go.

  “Look at you dressed like a teacher,” she teased. I looked down at my loose-fitting shirt and jeans wondering what she meant, but catching my reflection as I followed her into the room standing next to her, I could see what she meant. I looked more like I was ready for a bake sale than a date.

  The blond and another woman sat at vanity tables with large mirrors with lights around them. “This is Tiffany,” Alice said of the blond. “And this is Emily. We’ve been traveling together for, what? Three years now?”

  The woman nodded and Alice gave her a hug. Her figure was as amazing as Alice’s and I found myself pursing my lips. A feeling of jealousy raged through me like the winds of a hurricane. Three years with this beautiful creature and they were hugging? I tried to fight down the green monster, but he just sat there like he belonged. “This, ladies, is my Carrie.”

  My Carrie? I looked over at her and saw pride on her face. We had not seen each other for weeks, had kept in touch through text messages and phone calls, and I was hers? Well, that was something, since the women she was around were so darned sexy, because I did not consider myself anywhere near as good-looking as they.