She had finished her first drink and ordered her second before anyone else came into the water. Sam opened her eyes and saw a familiar pixie haircut.
“It sounded like a good idea. Hope you don’t mind company?” Carla asked, raising her glass in a toast.
Sam reached behind her for her drink and returned the gesture across the water.
“Now what?” Carla asked.
Sam raised her eyebrows. “This is all I had planned for tonight.”
“I’m surprised,” Carla said. “I thought you would be more open to whatever opportunity presented itself.”
Sam inclined her head. “And what opportunity might that be?”
Carla smiled and laughed. “You like everything spelled out, don’t you?”
“I like to know the details of a deal before I commit.”
“No committing here, just mindless pleasure.” Carla crossed the pool and kissed Sam. “How about we go to my room?” She took Sam’s hand in hers. “You’ve soaked long enough to be softened up.”
Sam flushed. Had it been that long since she had truly enjoyed being with another woman. “Lead the way.”
Carla walked up the steps of the pool and handed Sam her towel as she followed. “Don’t want you too wet.”
“It’s too late to worry about that,” Sam said under her breath.
Carla laughed deep in her throat.
Carla’s room was two floors above Sam’s and looked out toward Wrigley Field. Sam whistled as she peered out of the window. “You guys from South Carolina go first class. I overlook the service alley.”
Carla poured drinks and handed Sam a scotch on the rocks.
“This should set well with the piña coladas.” Sam looked at the dark alcohol dubiously.
Carla emptied her glass in one gulp and crossed the room to the bed. She dropped her two-piece suit and slid under the covers, slithering to the far side of the bed. She patted the mattress.
“You don’t waste any time, do you?” Sam asked.
“Not when I see what I’m going after. I execute quickly.”
Sam walked to the bed and stepped out of her suit. She reached for the lamp before getting in.
“Leave the lights on,” Carla said.
Sam looked about the room. All three lamps were turned on, as well as the overhead light in the bathroom. “It seems a bit bright.” So much for ambience.
Carla patted the bed invitingly.
Sam shrugged and climbed in. Carla reached into the drawer of the bedside table and handed Sam an object wrapped in a hand towel. She then stretched an arm to the tabletop and tossed Sam a tube. She lay back on the pillow and waited.
Sam knew what was in the towel without looking.
“You don’t have a problem wearing that, do you?” Carla spread her legs invitingly. “It’s the only way I come.”
Sam looked at the strap-on. It wasn’t that she minded, just that she felt a slight betrayal to being a true lesbian while using a male appendage. If that’s what Carla needed, Sam would oblige. Sam couldn’t shake the image of Lisa standing with folded arms and shaking her head at Sam’s exploits.
Sam eased on top of Carla. “I’m not too heavy?”
“Not at all.” Carla pushed down on Sam’s shoulders after another kiss.
Sam took that as a not-too-subtle hint to pay attention to Carla’s breasts. Their tips perked straight up with no sag to the flesh. Oh, boy, Sam thought, boob job. Sam used her tongue and hands, then continued to move down in the bed.
Sam glanced up. Carla stared at the ceiling.
Sam guided the dildo into Carla and pumped her hips. There was no indication of satisfaction or pleasure from Carla. Finally, Carla gripped Sam’s hair and pushed her away. There had been no vocalization, no moans, no moving with Sam. “Was that okay?” Sam asked.
“Oh, yes.” Carla still hadn’t changed position. “Don’t you want me to wear it now?”
“Not really.” Sam lay on her back. Carla rolled to her side and explored Sam’s body, including the flailing strap-on, finally working her fingers like a piston between Sam’s legs. Sam grabbed Carla’s hand. “Easy.” Carla withdrew and rolled to her opposite side.
Sam hadn’t felt this empty since she broke off her last serious relationship and tried a few one-nighters. Sam waited until she heard the gentle rhythm of Carla’s breathing as she slept.
“All righty then.” Sam eased out of bed, stepped out of the strap-on and into her suit, wrapping her towel around her waist. She glanced at the clock showing 9:30 as she drank the last of the scotch.
Sam talked to herself while she waited in the hallway for the elevator. “I should know better by now. What in the hell is wrong with me? I’m not some lame-ass kid. I was done with one-nighters in my twenties. Sex is nothing without a little romance. Hell, wearing that thing and performing like a rabbit—I might as well be a man.” The prospect of an empty room was the best deal of the day.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Sam purposely avoided everyone except the women she worked with after her return from Chicago. There had been no message from Paul. She knew he was still licking his wounds from the breakup with Scott. Only Haley’s truck was at her house, so Sam left well enough alone. Ava’s lights went on and off in their usual schedule. Maybe they all needed to isolate and regroup. November always seemed to make them more introspective with cold rainy days and early evening darkness. Sam was less than thrilled with her approaching forty-fourth birthday, which fell on Thanksgiving. “I’m just going to be an old maid.” She chuckled at the memory of hearing her mother use the expression and thinking house cleaning was involved.
Sam settled into the soft cushions of the sofa with the gas logs in her fireplace on low and the beer in her hand just taken from twenty minutes in the freezer. “Maybe being single isn’t so bad except that I talk to myself, but who’s here to know?” Sam savored the taste of the regular Heineken.
Her doorbell rang.
Sam stared at the front door in disbelief. Whoever stood on her stoop knew she was home, so it was unlikely that she could simply wait them out. Sam set down the beer bottle and took the poker from the fireplace. She held the poker behind her as she opened the front door.
Paul’s daughter stood on the concrete stoop staring at Sam.
“Angela.” Sam didn’t move to open the storm door.
“Sam,” Angela said, “can I come in?”
Sam stopped herself from using her mother’s refrain of “I don’t know, can you” and held the door open. Angela walked in and sat on the end of the L-shaped sofa nearest the fireplace. “Those logs feel so good.” Angela held her hands toward the gas flame.
Again, Sam resisted pointing out that Angela had no idea how the logs felt. “There’s no mess as when burning wood.” Sam sat on the middle of the sofa opposite Angela. “I was having a beer. May I get you a soda or cup of cocoa?”
Angela smiled. “I’m legally old enough to drink.”
“You’re still Paul’s little girl in my eyes. If Paul doesn’t serve you alcohol, I don’t either.”
Angela nodded. “You and my dad are so tight. I wanted to apologize for being such a b-i-t-c-h the last time I saw you.”
“You’re old enough to say bitch, and I’ve been one a few times myself,” Sam said.
Angela grinned, an expression Sam seldom saw on the girl’s face. Sam knew it hadn’t been easy on Paul coming out after he married and fathered a child. Nor had it been easy for Angela to lose a full-time father and live with an extremely bitter mother.
“Do you want a beer?” Sam asked.
Angela shook her head. “Too fattening for me.”
“For me, too, but I’m past the point of worrying about it.” Sam raised her bottle as in a toast.
“Yeah, I’m looking forward to that. Robbie hates it if I gain a pound,” Angela said, looking about the room.
“Robbie?”
“My boyfriend. We’ve been together almost six months.” The way Angela
said it, it might as well have been years. “He may be the one.” She nodded to reassure herself.
“Well, don’t jump in too quick.”
“That from a U-Haul lesbian, please.” Angela frowned. “He’s the other reason I’m here, besides apologizing.”
“Is that so?” Sam set the empty bottle on the coffee table. This was the Angela she knew and didn’t like—a girl who always had an agenda that benefited herself with little effort on her part.
“I’ve had it with my parents. I thought maybe you could help me.”
“How so?” Sam sensed that this was going to be a good one.
“You know I want to stay on at college for another master’s?”
Sam nodded.
“Mom won’t budge on alimony, and Dad won’t pay for an apartment.”
Sam raised her eyebrows.
Angela nodded toward the door leading to the ground level. “You have an empty apartment.”
Sam should have seen it coming; she must be getting old. “That I use for extra income to pay down my mortgage.”
“Please, you don’t need the money.”
“Excuse me?” Sam couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
“Robbie is a junior. I want us to have our last year in college together. He can afford some toward living expenses, but his folks won’t help pay for an apartment, either. They told him to get a job.” Angela said it as though he had been instructed to fly the shuttle service to the moon.
“Imagine that,” Sam said. “So I’m supposed to let you two live in my basement?”
Angela nodded. It made perfect sense to her. “We both have student loans. We can use money from our parents for groceries.”
“What would you do in exchange for the apartment?”
Angela looked blankly at Sam. “I’m straight.”
Sam choked. “I meant mow the yard, clean the gutters, clean the house, or rake leaves—some type of chore.”
“We don’t have much extra time. Robbie’s in a band. I stay busy on campus to pad my résumé and stay in good with the profs.”
Sam noted no indication of altruism. “So we’re all supposed to compromise ourselves to enable your lack of responsibility?”
Angela blinked, finally catching on that none of her logic was compatible with Sam’s.
Sam watched the realization dawn on Angela. If she let the couple move in, she would have Angela literally underfoot indefinitely. “I’ve made a previous commitment on the apartment.”
Angela rolled her eyes. “I knew you’d say something like that.”
“Let me finish. To Haley, in case she needs a place while she and KD separate.”
Angela smirked. “That’s the other thing my dad is so pissed about. He hasn’t told you?”
Sam waited.
“The last time he talked to Scott, Scott told him that KD agreed with going through the court-ordered rehab program as long as Haley doesn’t break up with her. Haley’s giving KD another chance once the rehab is over.”
“Goddamn,” Sam said. “I’m going to kick her in the ass.”
Angela laughed. “That’s what my dad kept saying, that and he couldn’t wait to give you the good news, meaning he wasn’t going to be the one to tell you.”
“So you just decided to do it for him. You’re a little bitch. How much have you been nagging at him while he’s vulnerable after a breakup?” Sam asked.
Angela stared.
“How dare you come here and try to play me, then tell me about KD to get back at me? Stop being a financial drain on your parents just to punish them. Some kids work their way through school. I did. Haley did. Why should your parents foot your bills while you play at being a student? Do you have any real skills to offer an employer? Get a fucking job, Angela, and stop putting your parents through a guilt trip because they divorced. Guess what? Most marriages don’t last. Give your father a break!”
“How in the hell would you know about real marriage—one man, one woman? You’re as screwed up as my dad. Gay people thrive on drama. Dad knew it would never work with Scott. He just wanted to screw up another family like he did us.” Angela jumped to her feet.
“Is that so?”
“You’d think his world has come to an end because he finally realized hunky Scott wasn’t leaving his family for an old fag. At least Scott chose his family. My father owes me for leaving us to live with his first boyfriend. Why shouldn’t he pay for me to live with mine?”
“Get out of my house.” Sam went to the front door and held it open.
“I suppose you’re going to tell my dad all of this?” Angela asked as she slowly walked across the room.
“Why should I? He knows what you are. He tries his best to ignore it. I’m not going to add to his misery. I value him too much, as should you.”
Angela opened the storm door and once in the yard, turned to extend both middle fingers at Sam.
Sam gave her a mock salute and closed the door. Maybe being alone in the world wasn’t that bad after all. How many times had she thought that recently?
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Sam stared at the flat-screen television in the corner and sighed like a petulant child as she watched the bands assembling for the parade. She hadn’t moved any farther than to reach for the coffee carafe on the table in front of the sofa since seven o’clock that morning.
“I’m comfortable, and I don’t want to go.” She actually felt her lower lip protrude.
Her cell phone rang. She opened the phone but remained silent.
“Get your ass off the sofa,” Paul said as his way of a Thanksgiving greeting. “Oh, and Happy Birthday!”
“Screw you.” Sam didn’t budge. “You guys promised not to mention that.”
Paul laughed. “I guess it’s too early for a ‘bah, humbug.’ Do I know you or what?”
“Smart ass.” Sam sipped the last of her coffee.
“I bet your bladder is about to burst and you’re convincing yourself to go pee,” Paul said.
“It must be nice to know so damn much about someone.” Sam stood and stretched and started to the bathroom. “Want to listen or shall I call you back?”
“God, Sam. Keep moving and get dressed after you pee, will you? Just clean sweats if jeans are too much of an effort. I’ll be at your door in twenty minutes. I want to be at the midpoint of the race to cheer on the main pack since I sponsored several of the runners.”
“Which one do you have designs on?”
Paul hung up on her.
Sam managed comfortable jeans and a cotton sweater over a T-shirt. She combed out her hair and kept a heavy hand on the hair spray to keep it in place. She applied bright red lipstick and stopped short of pinching her cheeks for more color—the cold air would take care of that soon enough.
Paul opened the front door while tapping on the steel panel. “Happy Turkey Day.”
“Not for the turkeys.” Sam walked along the hallway, carrying shoes and socks. “Ta da.” She smiled brightly.
Paul shielded his eyes. “I know that hurts you more than me. You can veg out tomorrow when everyone else goes shopping.”
“Thank you for managing my time.” She sat on the couch and pulled on her heavy white athletic socks.
“Bitch.” Paul didn’t look at her as he watched the formation of the floats in the Macy’s parade.
“Ho!” Sam grunted as she leaned over to tie her shoes. “As in singular and floozy and nothing to do with Santa Claus.”
“I do love the holidays.” Paul hugged himself. “I’m over feeling sorry for myself, and I’m taking you with me.”
Sam finally chuckled. “I know. I can’t believe I let you talk me into going to the 10K to stand on the sidelines and cheer—thank God you’re not a runner. At least we have Ava’s cooking to look forward to afterward. Yum. It’s so sweet of her to insist on making us a proper lunch when she realized we were all at loose ends this year. She knows we’re practically orphans since neither of us is dating this holiday
season and who knows about Haley and KD—at least KD’s locked down in rehab. Ava takes pity on us, and I get up in a bad mood about it. You’re right—I’m such a bitch.”
“But we love you anyway.” Paul angled his head. “Nice Skechers.”
Sam extended her leg. “Comfortable, and I love the mix of red and gray.”
Paul glanced at his watch. “I know it’s silly, but I want to check on Ava before we head out. I don’t know how much of the neighborhood is descending on her.”
“I offered to help yesterday, but she refused when I called her at lunchtime,” Sam said.
Ava had a Thanksgiving buffet each year for anyone in their section of the subdivision who didn’t have a home to go to for the holidays. She recruited Sam and Paul to place invitations in the mailboxes on the streets surrounding theirs. She typically set out cheese and crackers, crustless sandwiches, and cookies. Ava’s son stoically bore the floating number of guests as he watched football while making his perfunctory visit. Sam suspected that Ava busied herself with the buffet to keep Don from feeling the pressure of maintaining a long conversation with his mother.
“I wonder where Haley bought dessert.” Sam jangled her car keys. “Just in case we need to make a run to the store for Ava.”
They crossed the yard between the houses. Sam tapped on Ava’s front door. She waited, then tried the knob. “Locked. Weird.”
Paul reached over the door frame for the spare key.
Sam eased the door open and called out to her friend. “Ava?”
The house was silent.
“Uh-oh.” Paul stayed on Sam’s heels as they entered the living room.
Sam went directly to the kitchen, the logical room to find Ava, and took note of no activity on the large stovetop. Buffet items were in neat containers on the counter, ready to plate. She listened and turned toward the office and sunroom.
Ava was nestled in the corner of the sofa in the sunroom, her chin against her shoulder. She jumped slightly when Sam and Paul entered the room and rubbed her neck. “What are you two doing here on a weekday?”
Just A Little Romance Page 13
