Burning Tracks (Book Two: Spotlight Series)

by Lilah Suzanne

  “Well, if you’re so miserable, maybe you should leave.”

  “Leave what, Grady?” Nico’s voice sounds thin, helpless. “This house? Your house? The state? You? All of it?”

  “Yes. No. I dunno.” Grady mumbles, just as lost as Nico.

  “Okay. I will be at the apartment then. For when you do know.”

  At the sound of rapid footsteps, Gwen jumps, picks up an umbrella from the stand by the door and tries to be really enthralled by the Velcro strap keeping the folds tightly closed.

  “Thanks for having me over, Gwen,” Nico says, forcing niceties with his jaw tight. “See you tomorrow.”

  “Goodnight!” she calls, with way too much enthusiasm. Nico gets in his little sports car, guns the engine, and peels away so fast his tires screech.

  Still, even with the palpable hurt on Grady’s face that makes Gwen’s stomach sink, even with the way he lets himself be gathered into Flora’s arms when she rushes back into the dining room—still, Gwen gets where Nico is coming from. To give someone everything and still believe it’s not enough, that nothing will ever be enough because you are not enough—Gwen knows what that’s like.

  7

  Eight years ago...

  Their first night together, Gwen took her to a clump of tan stucco apartment buildings: one of those complexes with a name that sounded exotic but didn’t really mean anything at all.

  “The Apartments at Casa del Capri,” Flora read, following Gwen through the entrance, up the sidewalk past metal mailboxes, a green-tinged pool, and a sparsely landscaped courtyard. At every step her heart pounded; rasping quick breaths made her throat dry. And not for the first time, she wondered what the hell she was doing here, with her. Adrenaline, uncharacteristic recklessness, and desire spurred her on; misgivings were tucked away.

  “Well, if they called it something true, like The Apartments del Roaches and Black Mold, I bet they’d have to lower the rent.” Gwen cut across a scrabbly patch of grass to apartment 127-C. “Watch out for dog shit.”

  Right. This little blue-haired punk girl had caught Flora’s attention and refused to let go. At that party Flora had sat, bored with her girlfriend, who was having a very intelligent discussion about Duchamp and his theory of art: Is art subjective or just a result of context? What is art? Can art be defined? It was the sort intellectual stimulation Flora had hoped to find at college, only—

  God, it was so tedious. Everyone trying to out-clever the others. And Imani—Imani was beautiful and tender both in bed and of heart. Everyone thought Imani was great. Flora thought Imani was great. Imani was just great. There were no sparks with Imani, but perhaps sparkless love was what mature, sensible adults had. Everything is great, great, great, she told herself. Until Gwen.

  “Here we go.” Gwen opened the door, flicked a light on, and pulled her bottom lip into her mouth. Sparks, and sparks.

  Flora stepped past the threshold into a dim studio apartment that smelled of damp, smoke and lingering incense. She imagined Gwen sitting cross-legged on the thin mattress that had been placed carelessly in the center of the space, reading the books stacked along the wood-paneled walls, and blasting her bulky over-sized stereo that had speakers larger than the mini-fridge rattling away beneath a hotplate in the corner. The carpet was dingy brown; the lone kitchen countertop was covered in unpleasant orange laminate. Still, it thrilled Flora to think of Gwen in this space, and even more to be there with her.

  Gwen fidgeted. She did that a lot: never still, always moving, always thinking. Is Gwen art? Flora had watched her at that party when Gwen had turned away, talking excitedly with her hands, laughing, shifting up to her toes. The rest of the room, the music and smoke, Imani and her counterparts, had all faded to a drone in the background.

  She had rings and studs punched through her nose and her eyebrow, and curving all the way up the shell of one ear; they glinted with silver and stones of green and black and purple and pink. Her hair was like a swath of blue sky, and she had round, curious eyes to match. Was art in the context of Gwen the delicate turn of her prominent clavicles, the slope of her pale throat, the pink bow of her curving lips, the slight upturn of her nose? Was it her small breasts, her flat stomach, the gentle hill of her hips, the shift of her thighs, the rise of her ass?

  Or maybe it was her laugh that was art: high and loudly uninhibited, the wild cackle of someone who gave zero thought to what people may have thought of a laugh like that. It was what Flora noticed first about her, that laugh. That zeal. That metal bulb in the center of her tongue.

  Gwen rocked up and down on her toes as Flora looked around the apartment. She crossed one arm across her stomach, dropped it, tucked it behind her back, and then bit her lip again. With every passing second she was less and less the dangerous, sexy rebel Flora had first pegged her for with a glance and a knee-jerk judgment based on blue hair, black clothes, and so many piercings. She liked both options: sexy rebel and cute and nervous. She liked the idea of all of the unexplored facets of Gwen. Every time they crossed paths, Flora could only think of exploring all of them.

  “Did you move in recently?” Flora asked, moving to a corkboard pinned with magazine scraps, the only decoration in the place.

  Flora could feel Gwen watching, her heavy gaze lingering on Flora’s shoulders, bare beneath the straps of her sundress. On the sweep of her body as she moved around the room. On her fingers as they traced a picture pinned to the board.

  “Yes,” Gwen said. She was quiet, and though Flora knew her mostly as a peripheral friend of friends, she at least knew that Gwen was not usually quiet. Flora looked over, and Gwen fidgeted and frowned. “I, um… left school… pretty recently, so.”

  Waiting for judgment, Flora could see. She hummed and turned back to the board. “Is this what you want to do instead?”

  On the board were pictures of clothes torn from magazine spreads, arranged into outfits: Headless torsos draped in gorgeous designer gowns, shirts and pants pieced together in interesting combinations, shoes and jewelry arranged with deliberate thought and care.

  Gwen shook her head and wrinkled her snub nose. She was so cute, with her blue hair, long on one side and shaved up the other. All black clothes and black combat boots every time Flora saw her. Flora wanted to feel every perky inch pressed against her. It was new and exciting and intriguing.

  Sparks.

  “It’s just for fun,” Gwen said of the inspiration board. “I like putting outfits together.” She shrugged one shoulder, sharp and thin as a sparrow’s wing. “Sometimes I watch people and think about what outfits I’d put them in.”

  “Oh?” Flora turned from the corkboard and made her way to where Gwen stood. “And what would you put me in?”

  Impish was the only way to describe that answering grin: slow and teasing, doe eyes nearly twinkling with mirth. She laughed, and Flora did, too. “I see.”

  Gwen lifted up on her toes, bit her bottom lip, and stared at Flora’s mouth before pressing a hard, eager, off-center kiss there. Flora stumbled back. Her thighs hit the top of the huge stereo speakers; they wobbled and thumped against the wall, and Flora grabbed Gwen’s hips to steady herself. Heart pounding, head spinning, knocked off balance, Flora turned her head, parted her lips, and took control of the kiss.

  Sparks, yes. From her mouth to her skin to the hot pit of her stomach to the twitch between her legs. But it also felt... right. In a way that Imani never did. She should be right here, in this crummy studio apartment with no furniture, with roaches hiding behind the crumbling plaster. She should be kissing Gwen now, later, forever.

  Gwen’s boldness made Flora feel bold; her eagerness made desire gather tightly in Flora’s belly as she pushed her hands up beneath Gwen’s T-shirt. She found the warm, taut skin of her heaving stomach, thumbed the ridges of her hipbones, the inward slope of her pelvis, skimmed a lingering brush just above the button on her jeans. Gwen’s breath
caught, then rushed out across Flora’s lips.

  Flora swayed back against the speakers again when Gwen lunged in for another fervent kiss, sliding her tongue across Flora’s. The speaker thumped, Gwen sighed, and Flora moved her hands to Gwen’s ribs, widening her legs to get a sturdier stance as her back twisted at an odd angle. Gwen wriggled immediately into the space between Flora’s thighs so the line of her body pressed into Flora. Flora’s hands slid higher; the firm mounds of Gwen’s breasts brushed Flora’s knuckles, and she explored the shape of them with her fingers: high and round and small. And when Flora teased lightly over the pebbled nubs of her nipples, Gwen gave a high, sweet moan and rocked her hips hard, nearly sending Flora toppling backward.

  “We should—” Flora pulled away from another heated kiss to push off from the sharp edge of the speaker. She laughed lightly at the awkwardness, cutting off when Gwen’s mouth simply moved on to Flora’s neck as if there had never been an interruption.

  She moved her way down with quick pecks, then sucked at the juncture of Flora’s neck and shoulder, dropped the strap of Flora’s dress away and nipped at her collarbone.

  “Oh.” Flora was knocked off balance just by the heat of Gwen’s mouth. She held one hand steady on Gwen’s shoulder, one on the buzz-cut back of her head. Gwen had both straps pushed down and was mouthing the rise of Flora’s breasts over her bra.

  “You’re so beautiful,” Gwen said, her bottom lip dragging on the newly exposed dark circle of Flora’s areola. “I don’t even care that you have a girlfriend.”

  “Actually, I—” Flora started to say, and then Gwen’s tongue and the hard metal bead of her tongue ring dragged a circle around Flora’s nipple. Flora gasped, hand spasming on Gwen’s head. “Oh.”

  Flora’s legs went wobbly and her quick breaths came out as soft moans. She barely remained upright as Gwen licked and sucked and bit down with gentle tugs of her teeth. Flora could feel how slick she was between her own legs, could sense the tight pulse of heat, yet if she collapsed onto this speaker she would crash to the ground and ruin the moment.

  “Can we—” Flora said with difficulty, as a fresh pulse of heat shuddered through her when Gwen looked up and flicked her tongue ring against one spit-slick, sensitive nipple. Words escaping her, Flora gestured to her uncomfortably twisted position and the speaker behind her.

  “Sit,” Gwen said with a jut of her chin. “It’s sturdy.”

  Flora gave the speaker a dubious look, but Gwen’s mouth returned to its task and Flora lost the battle with gravity. The speaker tipped a little, then settled against the wall, holding her weight just fine.

  “See?” Gwen said with her impish smile. She stood between Flora’s legs again, gaining a height advantage that she seemed to find delightful. “You ever sit on a speaker like this and crank the bass up? Feel it thump against you?”

  Flora looked up at her. “No.”

  Gwen leaned down for another kiss. “Maybe next time,” she whispered against Flora’s mouth, before capturing Flora’s tingling, tender lips between her own.

  Who was this girl? This reckless punk-pixie girl who sang to Flora like a siren? It wasn’t as if Flora had been asleep and was now woken gently by the kiss of a blue-haired girl in combat boots; this was a jolt, a sudden, shocking flare of awareness.

  Flora’s dress was shoved up to her hips; Gwen’s hand drifted over the inside of Flora’s thighs, slowly making its way to the aching wet heat in her pussy. Two fingers slipped beneath Flora’s underwear to rub over her swollen clit. Flora’s knees parted wider; she arched back against the wall, and Gwen’s fingers worked in quick, small circles, then long, slow drags. When Flora cried out and scrambled for purchase on the speaker’s edge, Gwen stayed focused on that perfect spot. She kissed her again with a clack of her tongue ring on Flora’s teeth, and the pleasure climbed and climbed.

  Gwen was not a slow sleepy awakening; she was a searing burst of energy.

  Still floating down from her climax, Flora fumbled the buttons of Gwen’s jeans with weak, uncoordinated fingers. She pulsed with heat anew when she found the front of Gwen’s red boy shorts damp and clinging.

  Flora pushed Gwen’s pants and underwear down as Gwen tugged her own shirt off. Everything about her was so small and tight and pale and pretty. Flora fanned her hands across Gwen’s stomach, liking the way it jumped and clenched beneath her fingers.

  Flora leaned up to lick across one tiny, pink nipple, then used the wetness to roll it between her thumb and finger.

  Gwen breathed out harshly through her nose. “Please.”

  Flora obliged her by pressing the heel of her other hand against her clit. Gwen’s hips jumped forward, Flora’s middle finger slipped inside her, and Gwen threw her head back and groaned. She planted one hand on the wall behind Flora’s head, riding Flora’s hand and biting her lip with her face scrunched tight.

  Flora crooked her finger at different angles until she found a spot that made Gwen spit a loud curse, then sat back to watch Gwen’s face with two fingers crooked inside, her thumb flicking Gwen’s clit, Gwen’s hands on her own breast pinching her nipple hard, much harder than Flora liked. Flora filed that away for another time just as Gwen came with a series of colorful curses and convulsions that sent her sinking down to the floor.

  Flora craned forward, curious now about the bass thumping against her, as she was still aching, still so turned on.

  Gwen leaned back on her hands with her legs bent at the knees, gave Flora a dark, lusty look, and asked, “Wanna try the bed out this time?”

  It was much too soon to think that she’d follow this girl just about anywhere, so Flora just replied, “Yes.”

  “Can I take you out?” Gwen asked later, handing Flora a lukewarm glass of sulfurous water. She fidgeted, looked away, and then blurted, “Unless this is like, a one-time thing, which I totally get. Because you have a girlfriend and I knew that, and this is definitely a hookup, okay.”

  Flora pressed a smile to the rim of her glass. Oh, that’s what she meant to say before they got carried away. “Actually, Imani decided she needed some time to fully embrace her transcendent self. Which she naturally had to be single to achieve.”

  Gwen scowled. Adorable face scrunched indignantly. “What the fuck?”

  Flora hummed. “Yes, essentially.”

  It was just as well. They’d barely even been a couple these past few months, and one of them had to work up the nerve to end it eventually. Flora had felt guilty that she’d waited so long and not done it herself, particularly when she’d spent more time thinking about the girl with blue hair than her own girlfriend. Her guilt had shrunk, however, when Imani informed Flora that she was “ruled by her id.” Flora knew enough about philosophy to recognize a pseudo-intellectual insult when she heard one.

  “What a douche, I mean—” Gwen’s eyes widened. “Sorry, that was—my mouth gets ahead of my brain. I shouldn’t...” Her creamy-pale cheeks blushed prettily.

  “You can take me out,” Flora said, pleased at the turn of events. She hadn’t expected Gwen to be interested in dating—hookups, but not dating. How many more surprises did Gwen have in store? Flora’s stomach fluttered at the thought. “I’d like that.”

  8

  It’s a week later—seven days filled with thoughtful silence and vague hums and far off gazing, of Gwen asking, “What?” only for Flora to reply, “Hmm? Just thinking”—before they talk about the awkward fight between Grady and Nico after the awkward impromptu dinner party.

  “Are you happy?” Flora finally asks, halting and hesitant and in the dark of their bedroom.

  Gwen considers her current position settled between Flora’s legs, a hand on the sumptuous curve of her ass, her mouth dragging kisses up the warm, generous swell of one breast, the other hand pinching and rolling and circling the hard, peaked nipple of the other. “I am pretty damn happy, yes.”

  �
�I don’t mean right this second.” Flora’s fingers fall from the nape of Gwen’s neck to pick at a crease on the bedsheet. “I mean. Generally. In Nashville. In this house.”

  I came here for you echoes in Gwen’s head. The conversation with Nico about missing L.A. The tickle in her brain that she’s stuck, trapped, being dragged along on this baby plan. How she can never let on, because it would devastate Flora.

  “I think it’s been good for us,” she says, catching her bottom lip on Flora’s nipple so things don’t get too far off track. “I don’t work as much. We can afford this huge house where you can garden. The bathtub is rad.” All true things, all good things. Gwen closes her eyes, settling with a sigh in the soft give of Flora’s cleavage. Certainly, things could be much worse. She could be Nico, alone in his bachelor apartment, iced out, untouched and frustrated.

  Gwen moves down, lips and nose and tongue tracing the downward contour of Flora’s torso, the inward ebb of her ribs and waist, the outward flow of hips and softly rounded stomach, and down between her thighs.

  Flora sighs and shivers. She is propped on mounds of pillows with her knees bent and dropped open. “But—” she says, exhaling, “—are you happy?”

  “I’m happy if you’re happy,” Gwen says easily, because she is. Because... that’s enough for her, isn’t it? There are more pressing matters at hand—or mouth—and anyway, what does it matter? She’s here, and they’re settled. She’s never been one to dwell on what could be or should be or might have been. She was defiant and rebellious in her youth, but she’s an adult now, doing adult things.

  She has everything she’s ever wanted and things she never expected to have. The nagging itch is something she’ll just have to ignore.

  And right now she’s not really interested in talking. Gwen ducks down, licking with pointed laps until Flora’s clit swells hard and glistening from its hood, and Flora inhales sharply as her fingers scrape restlessly against the back of Gwen’s head.