SOMETHING ABOUT LOVE (THIS IS NOT EROTICA)
Tess Mackenzie
Copyright 2013 Tess Mackenzie
Table of Contents
The First Night: The Night It Rained
The Second Night: Two Weeks Later
The Third Night: Some Months Later
The Fourth Day: Not Long Afterwards
The Fifth Night: Several Weeks Later
The Sixth Night: Six Months After The First
About the Author
The First Night: The Night It Rained
When the rain began it was thick and warm and heavy, falling on Sophie, sliding down her body, like she was being caressed all over by Jo’s hands.
Sophie wanted to be caressed all over by Jo’s hands. She wanted that a lot.
She also wanted not to get soaked, or ruin new boots, or have her hair matted to her face, so when the rain started, she said, “Um, run,” and did.
The rain had been rumbling and brooding and threatening all day. It was evening now. They had been walking back to Sophie’s house after meeting for a drink at a neighborhood bar. Jo seemed to be walking Sophie home, without quite saying she was. She’d asked which way Sophie was going, and started in that direction, but Sophie wasn’t sure if Jo was actually interested, or was just being polite. Jo was difficult to read. She kept her thoughts to herself. All night Sophie had been thinking Jo was hotter and smarter and better at just talking over a drink than the people Sophie usually ended up with. So they walked, and Sophie waited to see what happened, and wanted something to happen quite a lot.
Then it started to rain, while they were in an empty suburban street, most of the way back to Sophie’s, and as far as they could possibly be from trees or bus stops or anything else that could give them shelter.
So Sophie ran, and was drenched almost before she started. She ran as well as she could in low heels, wobbling a bit, splashing into the puddles that were already filling the street. As she ran, she thought about her boots. They were new, and suede, and hadn’t been sprayed with water-repellent treatment yet, and she suddenly worried about water stains.
She stopped. She hopped around on one foot, grabbing at the left boot’s zipper. Jo stopped too, confused, and looked at her.
“My place is that way,” Sophie said, and pointed.
Jo looked, then back at Sophie.
“Just go,” Sophie said, and pulled the first boot off. “I’ll just be a sec.”
Jo stood there and watched. “What are you doing?”
“They’re suede.”
“Yeah. So?”
“So water stains.”
Jo kept looking at her, surprised, but didn’t seem to be running off. She was already drenched, Sophie supposed, so going now wouldn’t make much difference. Sophie held the first boot out. “Hold that. Please.”
Jo took it.
“I only just got them,” Sophie said, struggling with the second zipper. It was stiff, and her fingers were wet, and kept sliding off the metal. “I didn’t have any waterproof spray.”
“You know it’s raining, right?” Jo said. “Like right now?”
Sophie glared at her, then tugged the other boot off. She held it out towards Jo, who took it too. Sophie pulled off her coat, grabbed both boots back, and wrapped them in her coat.
“Oh,” Jo said, looking at the coat. “Of course.”
Jo stood there looking at Sophie. Sophie looked back, in a thin dress, in heavy warm rain.
“Well, come on then,” Sophie said.
Jo grinned, like she thought Sophie was wonderful and mad at the same time, and ran. Sophie followed her, hugging the bundled up coat against her chest.
Then Sophie stopped again. She took off her socks, and threw them away, and ran in bare feet. She winced when she stood on stones, hopped once when one was very sharp.
Jo noticed. “Are you okay?”
“Yep,” Sophie said, limping two more steps. “Keep going.”
The rain was heavy and soft, not cold. The drops seemed bigger and thicker than normal rain. Sophie was soaked, completely soaked to the skin like she’d fallen into a swimming pool, by the time she’d run three blocks to her house.
“There,” Sophie called, as Jo, a little ahead, reached her gate. “The next one.”
Jo opened the gate and looked back.
“Yep,” Sophie said, and Jo went in.
Sophie’s front door had enough of a porch they could both shelter there. A porch and a light which Sophie turned on.
She wasn’t sure what being soaked would do to her dress. She could feel it sticking to her, clinging to her legs.
She stood there, breathing hard, wanting to laugh or scream or something, and Jo just looked at her.
Looked carefully, like she was seeing Sophie properly. Like Sophie was in a sleek wet dress that was stuck to her all over.
“I’m fucking wet,” Sophie said, then realized what she’d said. “Um.”
Jo kept looking.
“I’m soaked,” Sophie said. “I mean. I’m fucking soaked. Fucking rain.”
Jo grinned. All night she’d been grinning whenever Sophie swore too much, like she thought it was funny.. “You wore new boots,” Jo said.
“Yep,” Sophie said. “New dress too.”
“Yeah. But the boots. You wore them with no waterproofing.”
Sophie knew what Jo meant. Sophie had cared enough about seeing Jo she’d worn the boots even though it might rain. She didn’t want to admit that, though. Not yet.
“I didn’t have any spray,” Sophie said. “So what?”
“But in the shop,” Jo said. “Didn’t they ask if you needed any?”
“I’m not getting up-sold,” Sophie said. “No way.”
“Yeah,” Jo said. “Of course.”
Jo was smiling, still seemed to think Sophie’s worry about her boots was funny. Jo was also staring, Sophie noticed, which made Sophie wonder again how interested Jo was.
Sophie’s hair was soaked, was stuck to her face and getting in her mouth. She wiped it back, and water ran down onto her shoulders.
Jo was still looking at Sophie. Looking like she was wondering whether to kiss Sophie here and now, or wait until they were inside.
Sophie suddenly realized what that meant. Jo wanted to kiss her.
Jo seemed to be hesitating. Because they were soaked, Sophie supposed, and still outside. Perhaps because she was wondering what Sophie would do. That wasn’t important. Jo hesitating didn’t matter.
What mattered was Jo wanted to kiss Sophie.
Everything changed, right then.
For the last two hours, Sophie had been worrying Jo was too much for her, too hot and too good and more than Sophie deserved.
Now she was suddenly sure Jo wanted to kiss her. She knew Jo wanted to, because of the way Jo was looking at her, and that made everything different. Now Sophie was being chased, not having to do the chasing. Now Sophie knew she was wanted.
She suddenly felt a lot better.
“Here,” Sophie said, and held out her coat. “Hold that.”
Jo took it. Sophie kept watching her, and felt around in her bag for her keys.
She unlocked the door. She did it behind her back, without looking, still staring at Jo, and pushed it open.
“Come in,” Sophie said. “Obviously.”
Jo did, and Sophie pushed the door closed behind her.
There were tiles behind the door. A small tiled entranceway, then pale carpet down the hall. Sophie stayed near the door, off the carpet, worried about muddy feet and drips. Jo did too.
Water was running out of Sophie’s hair, and from her clothes, dripping
into a spreading puddle of water on the tiles. Sophie squeezed her dress, and water ran out of it, a stream of water trickling from the hem down into the floor.
Sophie didn’t want to touch the light-switch with a wet hand. She wasn’t sure if it was dangerous. There were letters stacked on a shelf behind the door, dumped as Sophie brought them inside. She used one of those, an unopened phone bill, to poke the light-switch and turn it on, then put the letter back with the others, its paper now damp.
She wiped her hair back from her face, and took the bundled up coat from Jo. She opened it, carefully, and checked her boots. They were okay, she decided. She’d covered them quickly enough she’d avoided water marks on the new suede. She was relieved. She put the boots down carefully, away from the water running off herself, and hung up her coat. It dripped on the hook, down the wall.
Jo was oozing water too. She squeezed her hair and water ran out like it had from Sophie’s. Jo’s coat was a different color now, several shades darker than it had been when they left the bar. She took off her shoes, and tipped them up, and actual water ran out. A stream, not just drips.
“Fuck,” Jo said, looking at the puddle she’d just made. “Sorry.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Sophie said. “But, um… I think we need to take everything off here.”
Jo looked up.
“There’s carpet everywhere else,” Sophie said. “Like white carpet. I don’t want everything getting wet.”
“Yeah,” Jo said. “But…”
“I would if it was just me,” Sophie said. “It’s no big deal. And I can put your stuff in the drier.”
Jo just stood there looking at Sophie.
“Come on,” Sophie said. “You may as well hang around for a bit, until this stops.”
The rain had probably messed things up, Sophie thought. It had probably ruined Jo plans for how she was going to hit on Sophie, assuming she had been going to. Ruined her plans, Sophie thought, or maybe had just made everything easier.
“So take your clothes off,” Sophie said.
Jo didn’t move.
“Seriously,” Sophie said. She reached back and unzipped her dress, tugged upwards until she could get it off, all clammy and wet and sticking to her arms.
She stood there dripping in her underwear. “I’ll get a towel,” she said. “Or three.”
Jo nodded.
Then Sophie remembered her muddy feet. “Actually,” she said. “Could you go?”
Jo looked a bit surprised, almost like she was hurt.
“Go where?” Jo said.
“That cupboard,” Sophie said, realizing how it had sounded. “Fuck, I’m sorry. Just go and get a towel, that’s all. Because of my feet.”
Jo looked relieved.
“Sorry,” Sophie said. “I didn’t mean….”
Jo shook her head. “It’s fine.”
She stood there for a moment, looking at Sophie, like she was thinking about kissing Sophie again. Sophie was damp, and bare, and very close to her, and always wanted to kiss her back.
Except she was also a little cold.
“Towels,” Sophie said. “Please?”
“Yeah,” Jo said, and wiped her feet a couple of times on the doormat, and went down the hall to where Sophie was pointing.
“These?” she said, holding some up. “Bigger ones?”
“Any. Those are fine.”
Jo came back, and held one out to Sophie. Sophie took it, and dried her hair and face, then wiped her feet clean too.
“You too,” Sophie said. “Undress. Don’t drip all over my house.”
Sophie didn’t wait to see if Jo did. She walked off down the hall. As she walked, she was pretty sure Jo was looking at her ass. She had nice undies on, going out and getting laid undies, and they were sticking to her, and thin, and may as well not have been there at all.
Sophie went down the hall to the laundry, and threw her dress in the laundry basket to deal with later. It would have to go to the dry cleaners, but she’d need to dry it out first. There were clean clothes folded on the bench, and she looked at them, trying to remember what was there and how frumpy it might look. She fished out old shorts and a tee-shirt she wore around the house, and quickly put them on. Then she got the same out for Jo.
Jo was still in the hall, behind the front door. She had taken off her shirt and jeans, and dried her hair, and put the towel around herself.
Jo had nice arms. Really nice arms, Sophie thought, looking and pretending not to. She watched Jo’s muscles move, as she fiddled with the towel. Sophie was into arms, so much that she sometimes felt odd checking out arms while the rest of the world leered at tits and legs.
“Here,” Sophie said, and held out the clothes. “Something to wear.”
Jo took them. “Thank you.”
“Do you want more? Like a warmer top?”
“This is fine,” Jo said.
“Bathroom,” Sophie said, and pushed the door open.
Jo went in to change. Sophie picked up Jo’s wet clothes, and was about to put them in the dryer, then she stopped, thinking she’d better ask Jo first.
She waited in the hall until Jo came out.
Nice arms, Sophie thought again. Jo was holding the towel out, like she didn’t know what to do with it.
“Give it here,” Sophie said. “Can your stuff go in the dryer?”
Jo nodded.
“Nothing else to put in too?” Sophie said, wondering about underwear.
“I’m fine,” Jo said, so Sophie went and dumped Jo’s jeans and shirt in the dryer, and turned it on.
“In here,” Sophie said, and went through into the lounge. “It’ll be an hour or so.”
“Thanks,” Jo said, and Sophie shrugged.
*
“So,” Sophie said. “Want a drink or something?”
“Juice is fine,” Jo said.
Jo had been drinking orange juice all night. Sophie had assumed because she had to drive, without actually asking.
“You can just stay,” Sophie said. “Like stay the night. If that’s easier.”
“Yeah,” Jo said. “Maybe.”
“So you don’t need to walk back to your car in this,” Sophie said. It was still raining heavily.
“Okay,” Jo said.
“Or drive home,” Sophie said.
Jo nodded.
“So do you want a drink?” Sophie said.
Jo shook her head. “Juice is fine.”
Sophie wasn’t sure what to make of that, but she didn’t really care. She went into the kitchen and looked in the pantry, and was a little surprised to find she actually had a box of orange juice.
“Is warm juice okay?” she called.
“It’s fine,” Jo said, from the lounge.
Sophie opened the box, and poured some into a glass. Then she poured herself half a glass of vodka, and went back into the lounge.
They sat on the sofa, and Sophie tried to decide if the mood between them had changed. Jo was just sitting there, watching her, and Sophie wasn’t sure why.
Jo didn’t seem as interested as she had earlier. She was looking around the room. Looking at Sophie’s house, Sophie thought, being polite, so maybe that was why. Maybe Sophie was just second-guessing herself.
She did that fairly often.
Sophie listened to heavy rain on the roof and the dryer’s rumbling from out in the hall. She wondered if she should ask if Jo was warm enough, or offer her a hoodie or something.
She sat there and wondered. Then, instead of asking about clothes, she kissed Jo.
She tried to kiss Jo.
She decided fuck it, she was going to kiss Jo, and started to lean over.
Sophie was tipsy enough to be brave, and this was her home which made her braver, and she was still almost certain Jo had wanted to kiss her outside. And Jo was hot, and Sophie had been single for six months and was lonely, and she didn’t have much to lose. And if you didn’t try, she told herself, if you didn’t at least try these things, you
would never know what might have happened when you were old and dying and regretful.
So Sophie leaned over and was about to kiss Jo, but Jo put out her hand, put her hand on Sophie’s chest, and stopped her.
“Shit,” Sophie said, and sat back up. “Oh fuck, I’m so sorry. I thought…”
She felt embarrassed. She felt like she’d just misread something terribly.
“I want to.” Jo held out her orange juice. “Just have some of this first.”
Sophie looked at her.
“I really want to,” Jo said. “I swear. But please, have this.” She kept holding out her glass.
“Okay,” Sophie said. “Why?”
“Just do.”
Sophie hesitated, then put her own glass down on the carpet and took Jo’s. She wondered what Jo was doing, and if she was about to get drugged, but that didn’t make any sense at all when it was Sophie making the pass.
Sophie sipped a little juice.
“More,” Jo said. “Please.”
Sophie took a mouthful, and swallowed. Jo watched her.
“Now kiss me,” Jo said.
Sophie did. It was a good kiss. A slow, involving kiss, intense enough Sophie forgot about the glass, and keeping it upright, and Jo had to take it away from her. Intense enough Sophie forgot mostly everything except the orangey taste of Jo’s lips and the way she opened her mouth and how much Sophie wanted to kiss her.
After a while they stopped kissing. They had barely touched except their lips. Jo was still holding the glass of juice.
“Why?” Sophie said. “With the drink?”
Jo shook her head.
Sophie felt breathless, and nervous, and wasn’t sure what was going on. She reached down, and picked up her own glass, and swallowed a mouthful of vodka. Then another. That made her feel a little more normal. She realized Jo was watching, with an odd expression. Watching, staring at Sophie’s glass.
“What?” Sophie said.
Jo shook her head.
Sophie held out her glass, an inch of vodka still in the bottom.
“Really,” Jo said. “No thanks.” She touched Sophie’s arm, pushed slightly, moved the glass away.
Sophie looked at her glass and thought. “It’s not because you’re driving, is it?” she said. “Because you’re not.”
Jo kept looking at her, and didn’t answer.
“And you wouldn’t be next time either,” Sophie said.
“Nope.”
Something About Love (This Is Not Erotica) Page 1
