Breathless

by Radclyffe

  I first met Valentine Darrow on the Monday after Thanksgiving.

  If it had been up to me, I wouldn’t have gone out at all that night—the semester was officially in its death throes, and I was overwhelmed by case studies and exam preparations. But it was Nicole’s “quarter of a century” birthday, and there was simply no way to plead out of the festivities. And so it was that I found myself in the Niagara at just past one in the morning, having been charged to order a round of lemon drops.

  At first, I thought the bartender was the most attractive man I had ever seen. But when I realized my mistake, my purely aesthetic appreciation became something far more primal. After almost ten years of being out, I knew what attraction felt like. That was not this. This—the electric shock that coursed down my spine, the dry mouth, the moist palms—was desire. I wanted the woman behind the bar with a blazing intensity that was as unexpected as it was sudden. I wanted to grip the biceps that leapt into sharp relief as she shook a cocktail, and I wanted her slender fingers to dip between the buttons of my shirt and trace the skin beneath. I wanted her at my mercy, and I wanted her above me.

  I wanted her. I didn’t even know her name.

  And I certainly couldn’t order drinks from her, feeling like this. I leaned one shoulder against the wall and took a few deep breaths. What was going on with me? I’d stopped drinking over an hour ago and felt completely sober. Was this my body’s way of telling me that my current dry spell had gone on too long? My last relationship had ended before the semester began, and I’d been too concerned about my classes to date casually. Clearly, I needed to carve out some time for a social life that didn’t revolve around my straight friends.

  After a few more breaths, I dared to return my gaze to the bartender, feeling reasonably sure I could hold a conversation with her without making a fool out of myself. As I watched, she raised her head and surveyed the crowd for thirsty patrons. When her eyes met mine, she froze.

  With her appreciative stare, my confidence returned and the paralysis that had anchored me to the wall dissolved. I moved forward until I could prop my forearms on the bar and glanced at the nametag pinned to her tank top, just above her left breast. Valentine. The name suited her—feminine, yet striking.

  And then I realized I was blatantly cruising her. A flush rose to my cheeks, chasing away the chill of the wintry night.

  “Valentine.” Her eyes were as blue as a robin’s egg. I fished my credit card out of my leather pants. “Seven lemon drops, please. And one Coke.”

  Her fingertips slid over mine as she took the plastic—a deliberate move, I knew, but my breath hitched nonetheless. Had she noticed?

  “Would you like me to keep it open?” she asked over her shoulder, granting me a vision of taut muscles and a slim waist as she gathered her ingredients.

  “Yes, please.”

  She poured the Coke first, and I sipped at it gratefully. As she lined up the shot glasses, a grin rose to her full lips. “I don’t trust a woman who doesn’t drink.”

  I arched one eyebrow, determined to keep my composure in the face of her cockiness. “Why is that?”

  “Not indulging in a simple vice implies that you’re saving yourself for something much more extravagant.”

  I laughed at her presumption. “It’s obvious you don’t know me.”

  She paused, vodka bottle poised above the row of shots. “I’d like that to change. Let me take you out to dinner. Tomorrow.”

  For a moment, I was in danger of saying yes. Valentine the Bartender was beautiful and confident and I enjoyed the way she looked at me. But what could we possibly have in common? Besides, I wasn’t about to indulge myself when the specter of final exams loomed on the horizon.

  “You’re very smooth. But no, thank you.”

  “All right.” Her shrug was nonchalant, her smile pleasant. The warm feeling in my stomach soured. Whatever chemistry I’d felt between us was nothing special to her. Valentine was obviously a player.

  I couldn’t help but watch the grace of her slender fingers as she arranged the glasses on a small tray, but petulance at her easy dismissal overruled my attraction. I deserved someone who would cherish me—someone who could both excite me and match my intellect. Valentine mixed drinks in a neighborhood bar on the Lower East Side. She probably took home a different woman every day. I’d been crazy to even contemplate her offer.

  “Thank you,” I said coolly.

  “Enjoy your night.” She turned back to the register, leaving me relieved. And aroused. And frustrated.

  But at least I had escaped unscathed.

  2 Valentine

  I found the right classroom in Vanderbilt Hall with ten minutes to spare. After poking my head inside the door to make sure she hadn’t yet arrived, I leaned back against the corridor wall to wait.

  Alexa Newland. If she hadn’t paid with a credit card, tracking her down would have been much more difficult. As it was, all I’d had to do was make enough idle chat with one of her friends to discover that she was a law student, and then make a late-night call to a friend of mine who was working part-time at the registrar’s office. And just like that, I had a copy of Alexa Newland’s class schedule.

  Shifting the hot cup of coffee from my left hand to my right, I surveyed the passersby. I wanted to see her before she noticed me. Technically, this probably qualified as stalking, but I wasn’t trying to be creepy. I just needed to talk to her again. She had written me off last night, and I was going to prove to her that she shouldn’t have been so hasty.

  As the minutes passed, my pulse actually started to race. I might have been back in high school all over again, nursing my first crush on another girl. In the intervening years, I’d never had to pursue women; they had sought me out, and I’d been happy to be found. Alexa was different. We hadn’t spoken for more than two minutes, but something about her called me to the quest.

  I looked right again, then left. And there she was, approaching the classroom briskly, glancing down at her watch as she walked. She wore charcoal slacks and a dark green blazer over a cream-colored silk shirt. I glanced down at my worn jeans and scruffy leather jacket and wished I’d gone for upscale instead of rugged.

  “Good morning.” I pushed off the wall when she was just a few feet away. Her eyes widened, black eclipsing the emerald irises that had captivated me last night, and a blush bloomed over her cheeks.

  “Valentine? But what are you…” Her surprise became suspicion. “How did you find me?”

  “Ah, that.” I flashed her as charming a smile as I could muster on three hours of sleep. “I looked up your class schedule.”

  “How?”

  “I can’t reveal my sources,” I said, holding up one hand when she looked like she wanted to steamroll right over me. “But my purpose isn’t nefarious, I promise. I just wanted to offer you some caffeine, since you were up late last night and this class is early.”

  She moved forward until she was close enough to touch, and my fingertips itched with the urge to tuck a stray lock of crimson hair behind her left ear. She looked from the cup to me, then shook her head.

  “I gave up coffee in college. Excuse me.”

  Without another word, she breezed past me and into the classroom.

  3 Alexa

  The next morning, I returned to Vanderbilt Hall with a mix of trepidation and anticipation swirling in my stomach. Would Valentine be there again? Or had I succeeded in blowing her off?

  In all honesty, I hoped I hadn’t. Late to class, caught by surprise, and blindsided by the same visceral desire that had beset me on Monday night, I’d been less than polite. Cold, even. Now I wanted another chance.

  Thankfully, when I rounded the corner she was leaning against the wall next to the amphitheater door and holding a Starbucks drink tray. Yesterday, sporting a worn leather jacket that clung to her broad shoulders and framed her slim torso, she had looked every inch the hot bartender. Today, dressed in khakis and an orange wool sweater, she looked insouciantly pr
eppy. She smiled when she saw me, a slow and easy smile that made me want to twine my fingers in the front of her shirt and—

  Fantastic. Now I was blushing again.

  “Hi,” I said, clutching my bag as though it would help me regain my inner balance.

  “Good morning.” She proffered the tray. “How do you feel about chai lattes? I brought one made with soy, one with skim, and one with two-percent. Just in case.”

  “You went to a lot of effort.” I moved closer. “Tell me, what does my taking one of these drinks entail?”

  “It’s pretty easy,” she said, a teasing lilt to her voice. “All you have to do is grab whichever one you like best, and then I’ll know what to bring you tomorrow.”

  “And that’s it?” Where, I wondered, was the second request for a date? How long would she be content to ply me with caffeine before asking for something in return?

  “That’s it.”

  I reached for the soy latte. “Will the leftovers be used in other attempted seductions?”

  A flash of hurt crossed her face so quickly that I wasn’t sure I’d even seen it. In another moment, she was leaning in close to put her mouth level with my ear. “This is not a seduction,” she murmured. “Not yet, anyway.”

  And then she brushed past me to toss the tray into a nearby garbage can. The wordless rebuke stung.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “That was an ungrateful thing to say.”

  “You don’t have to apologize.” Valentine’s gaze slid up my body slowly—a deliberate once-over that she wanted me to notice. “You’re a beautiful woman, Alexa. I’m sure you get plenty of unwanted attention.”

  I foundered, not knowing how to reply. Despite myself, I wanted her attention. And I was pretty sure she knew it.

  “Well…thanks for the chai,” I said lamely.

  She tapped the side of her head. “Soy. I’ll remember. See you tomorrow.”

  In three long strides, she was around the corner, leaving me anticipating tomorrow before today had even really started.

  4 Valentine

  On Thursday, Alexa was waiting for me, despite the fact that I’d arrived twenty minutes before her class began. She was dressed as impeccably as ever, in black slacks and a silver turtleneck sweater that hugged her breasts and the subtle curves of her waist.

  “What took you so long?” She extended her hand expectantly, a grin playing around the corners of her mouth at my obvious consternation. Before this moment, I’d been in charge of our little encounters. Now I felt ambushed.

  I kind of liked it.

  “Um, hi,” I said, handing over her drink.

  “So, here’s how this is going to work from now on,” she announced. “Whenever I ask you a question, you are obliged to answer. For every question I ask, you can ask one in return. But I reserve the right not to say anything.”

  “That hardly seems fair. Is that your best offer, Counselor?”

  She crossed her arms over her breasts and fixed me with a steely stare. “Take it or leave it.”

  “Okay, okay. Deal.”

  “First question. What is your last name?”

  “Darrow.” I said it as matter-of-factly as I could, hoping that she wouldn’t make the connection to my father. That was a conversation for later in our courtship.

  She held out her right hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Valentine Darrow.”

  I indulged myself by brushing my thumb over her knuckles as I slid my palm against hers. “Likewise, Alexa Newland.”

  All too soon, she pulled away. “Now that we’ve been properly introduced, your turn.”

  There was so much I wanted to know, but I felt certain she wouldn’t answer most of my burning questions. So I started with something innocuous. “Where are you from?”

  “Eau Claire, Wisconsin.” The words sounded like a challenge, and I wondered why she was defensive about her hometown. But when I opened my mouth to ask, she shook her head. “Obey the rules. Second question. What do you want to be when you grow up?”

  “What makes you think I’m not grown up already?”

  Her eyes narrowed to green slits. “That was a question, Valentine. You don’t get to ask one until you answer mine, remember?”

  I liked the way she said my name, and the assertive edge to her words was making my throat dry. “Psychiatrist,” I said, wondering if she could detect the rasp in my voice. “I have a master’s in counseling psych already, and I’m going to take the MCAT in a few weeks.”

  Her eyes widened in surprise, and I leapt at the opportunity. “My turn. Tell me what you thought I was going to say.”

  Instead, she looked down at her watch. The blush had returned to dust her cheekbones. “I need to get to class.”

  I wanted to protest, but she had made the rules and I’d agreed to them. Whatever it took to hold her interest. Besides, her obvious chagrin partially answered my question; she’d underestimated me and was feeling more than a little ashamed of putting me in a box. That could only work to my advantage.

  “All right.” I took a step backward so I wouldn’t reach out and touch her. It was too soon for that. “Until tomorrow, then.”

  5 Alexa

  I flat-out ran from the bus stop to the entrance of Vanderbilt. The bus had been late, and now I only had five minutes to get to class. When Valentine saw me approaching, her frown gave way to a smile of relief.

  “What happened?”

  I let my fingertips brush hers as I took the cup of chai. “I get to ask the questions first, remember?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Fine.”

  I’d thought long and hard about what to ask next, but the nervousness of her movements prompted a different query. “Were you worried about me?”

  “Yes, of course! I have an overactive imagination, and I kept—” She cut herself off, suddenly abashed. “Worried. Yes.”

  I had to smile at her quick, uncalculated response. “Everything is fine. Just a late bus.”

  “Okay. Good.” She rocked back and forth on her heels. “So. My turn. Just in case something like this happens again, can I have your phone number?”

  My first inclination was to give in. My second was to keep playing hard to get. Fortunately, there was a way to compromise.

  “No. But give me yours.”

  She was rattling off the final digits when Nicole, who always breezed into class precisely on time, approached. I could sense the rabid curiosity in her from across the hall.

  “I have to go. Thanks for this.” I raised the cup in one hand and grasped Nicole’s arm with the other to tug her into the lecture hall before she could say a word.

  “Lexie,” she singsonged as soon as we were inside. “Who was that?”

  There was no use in trying to evade her interrogation. Besides, I was in need of a confidante; this kind of persistent seduction was far beyond my experience. Nic would be able to advise me on how I should approach the next step. Valentine wasn’t going to keep bringing me free lattes indefinitely, after all.

  “Her name is Valentine Darrow,” I said as we slid into our seats. “She was tending bar at the Niagara on Monday.”

  Nicole grabbed my arm in a grip Superman would have envied. “That was Valentine Darrow?”

  “Yes. Do you know her?”

  Nic dramatically thrust both hands into her perfect hair. “You can be so dense sometimes!” she hissed. “Think about it—how do you know that last name?”

  I racked my brains, feeling like an idiot. It wasn’t easy to keep up with the Who’s Who of New York, especially when Nicole’s guilty pleasure was socialite gossip, but I did my best to know just enough that I wouldn’t be labeled an ignorant Wisconsin farm girl.

  “The only other Darrow I can think of is the Secretary of the Treasury,” I finally said, exasperated. “Edward Darrow.”

  “Who got his start in the city, of course, and just so happens to have a daughter named Valentine.” Nicole sat back in her seat, looking pleased with herself as I grappled with my surprise
. Valentine’s father was a Cabinet member?

  “I had no idea. What do you know about her?”

  “She’s a lesbian,” said Nicole.

  I swallowed a laugh. “Yes, I gathered that.”

  “She’s into you.”

  “Nic.” I gave her my best serious look. “You did not hear that through the rumor mill.”

  “Oh, sweetie.” She squeezed my shoulder lightly as the professor stepped up to the podium. “All I had to do was watch her watching you for five hot seconds.”

  6, 7 Valentine

  The weekend was taunting me. I’d wanted to sleep in after a long night’s work at the bar, but my internal alarm clock had woken me at seven o’clock in the morning. Just in time to make it to Alexa’s class, chai in hand…if it hadn’t been Saturday. Tired but restless, I’d been unable to fall back to sleep.

  Now I stood at a festive street corner across from Central Park South, waiting to meet a friend for brunch. A cacophony of Christmas music blared from nearby storefronts, but I found that for once, I didn’t mind. The holidays hadn’t felt festive to me for a long time, ever since my coming out had provoked the ire of my entire extended family. For the past several years, Christmas had meant protracted meals with aunts and uncles who ignored me and cousins who never stopped taking verbal potshots. But now, the music and lights and window displays made me think of Alexa. I found myself wondering whether she would go back to Wisconsin for winter break, and what kinds of oddball traditions her family had, and what little thing I could give to her that might make her laugh.

  Later that evening, by the time my shift at the Niagara was halfway over, I still hadn’t come up with an idea. I had, however, been propositioned twice—once by an attractive Mrs. Robinson type who claimed I made the best dirty vodka martini she’d ever tasted, and once by a punk kid with purple hair who asked me out as I was in the process of handing her over to the bouncer for trying to use a fake ID.

  When I turned back to the bar, Alexa was standing at my end. She cradled a half-empty glass of wine in her right hand, and I paused to appreciate how the deep red of her hair was mirrored by the shade of the liquid.