“You look fine,” Shannon said from the doorway, causing Daisy to jump. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”
“No,” Daisy hissed. “I wanted you to talk to her, not put us in a room with some alcohol and a DJ, and hope it works out. Deals off, Abercrombie. I’m taking my pinky promise back.”
“This will be better,” Shannon said, but he didn’t sound as if he believed it. “I mean, she agreed, right? When she and Aiden randomly hung out before we all got dinner last Friday.” He said randomly as if it was unexpected, but Daisy knew better. Chelsea and Aiden had been two storms growing and growing, occupying space in a very small city and an even smaller social circle, bound to run into each other eventually. It was either going to be catastrophic, or what it turned out to be—an upside-down form of friendship.
Aiden peeked over Shannon’s shoulder. His lips pulled away from his teeth and he laughed, full and sharp like always. “You look hot,” he growled, snaking his hand around Shannon to pinch her exposed thigh.
She jumped and smacked his hand. “Is it too short?”
Both boys said, “No,” at the same time.
Three perfectly spaced knocks rapped on the front door.
“Heels or no heels,” Daisy spat furiously, hoping to get an answer before Shannon let Chelsea in.
“Heels,” Aiden said, and it sounded like obviously.
She listened to Shannon and Chelsea talk in the living room. Mercy meowed from the floor, and Aiden scooped the cat into his arms and nuzzled her with his cheek. Daisy vacillated between her tallest pair of platform boots or spiked heels. She thought of her ankles giving out and falling on the dance floor, and decided boots, yes, boots.
“Do you two even dance?” Chelsea said. Her footsteps grew closer and closer, from the entry way, past the kitchen, to the hallway.
“Yeah, can you even dance?” Aiden asked Shannon through a laugh.
Shannon made a very Shannon noise, an impatient sigh that turned into a laugh at the end. “We’ll see, won’t we?”
“How about you, Miss Daisy? Can you even dance?” Daisy heard Chelsea’s voice, the slow draw of each syllable, sexy in a way that wasn’t meant to be and still was.
The boys excused themselves to the kitchen, where they kept busy arguing over what kind of alcohol they should use for pre-cab-ride cocktails.
Daisy counted the seconds before she turned her head. One. She looked at her lips in the mirror again, they were naked, horribly, grossly naked. Two. There was a thick chain around her neck with a cross hanging from it. Three. She glanced at her feet, soon to be occupied by her chunky boots. Four. She turned and looked first at Chelsea’s face, bronzed and highlighted and sculpted perfectly, then at her short, pale pink top, cut right above her hips, showing just the tiniest thread of skin, and lastly at her white shorts. No heels. Good, they’d be the same height. Daisy exhaled a short breath.
“Maybe, yes, I don’t really know.” Daisy battled between feigning confidence and honesty. Chelsea’s hair fell over her shoulders in silky, golden locks, tapping on her elbows. Daisy touched the tip of her hair and twirled it between her fingers. “I assume all you and Shannon know how to do is line dance?”
Chelsea’s lips stretched into a toothy grin. One eyebrow popped up.
Aiden hollered, “Uber’s here!”
Chelsea stepped aside so Daisy could get through, pulling her boots on one by one and lacing them as everyone bickered over alcohol, cell phones and where to put them, whether Mercy had been fed, and whether shots would be taken at the bar.
Aiden appeared next to Daisy just as Shannon and Chelsea walked out the front door.
“Nervous?” he mumbled.
“Never,” she said, forcing a tight smile.
He bumped her with his shoulder. “It’s not like I’ve ever done this with Shannon. We’ve never had a date night at a raunchy club.”
“Yeah, but at least you know what he likes when it comes to raunchy. I just decided I’m down for raunchy, and I haven’t…” Daisy made a motion with her hand to explain, but it didn’t work. “… even talked to her about it yet.”
“She can’t be that hard to figure out,” he said, locking the apartment door with his set of keys.
Daisy couldn’t have disagreed more.
The club was a short drive away on the outskirts of town, nestled between a fenced-off lot full of warehouses and a mediocre hotel. Daisy slid out of the front seat, where she’d been chatting with the driver in an attempt to calm her restless nerves, and looked at the bar-lounge-club Aiden assured them was the place to be on Friday nights.
“It’s a gay club,” Daisy noted, scanning the front windows, plastered with an assortment of multicolored flags. “I didn’t know places like this still existed. Since the Clock, you know, everyone’s sort of inclined to be accepting.”
“There’re a still a few left,” Aiden said, tucking his phone in his back pocket. “They cater to queer Rose Roads, and as it happens, we fit in that category.”
“Where are we?” Chelsea asked as she looked at her phone while her thumbs danced across the screen. “All that’s coming up for my check-in is the cannery over there.” She pointed at the warehouses.
“You’re checking in on Facebook?” Shannon seemed taken aback. His eyebrow lifted and he tilted his head.
“Yes,” Chelsea cooed, “I am.”
“Won’t your parents see—”
“Yes, Shannon, and I’m not worried about that.”
The first thing that came to Daisy’s mind was her own parents—who were thrilled that Daisy had timed out with a beautiful doctor—and then Chelsea’s parents, who had been mentioned a handful of times in passing and seemed more like ghosts than people.
They hate me. They don’t approve. They wanted Shannon too. They’re monsters anyway.
“Velvet,” Aiden piped, nudging Chelsea with his elbow. “It’s called Velvet Lounge.”
They walked toward the patio which was lit with strings of white lights. People stood outside, smoking cigarettes, nursing drinks, eating bar food, and chatting. Daisy glanced at couples and triads, huddled together against walls or seated at tables. An affectionate quartet made up of three boys and one girl gathered by the short metal fence on the other side of the patio, nibbling at each other’s necks with hands shoved in pockets or resting on chests. She couldn’t take her eyes off them; a security guard checked their IDs and motioned them inside.
Chelsea pressed her mouth against Daisy’s ear. “That must be exhausting,” she said softly, gazing at the same quartet.
Aiden slung his arm over Shannon’s shoulders and dragged him along toward the double doors on the other side of the patio. “Bar’s inside.”
They wove through the crowd: past a person with a shaved, tattooed head; a boy with gorgeous dark skin and pianist hands; two older femmes in quirky, colorful outfits; and a table of lush, glittering drag queens, waving their pointed nails, hollering about a winery in San Diego.
Music roared inside. Lights bounced off the walls and spanned the dance floor, casting a glow over the crowd from the DJ booth high up in the corner. It made sense now, this place being Aiden’s choice. The music vibrated in heavy, long beats, sexy and heated, dangerously inviting. Its occupants were oddly familiar, like them in a way that they weren’t like anyone else. No one paid attention to the couples pressed against the wall, the slow, languid kissing in dark corners, and hands under clothes on the middle of the throbbing dance floor. Aiden had picked a place built on sensuality, made for people like them, in situations like hers.
If there was a place designed for wanting, this was it.
“What do you want?” Chelsea said against her ear.
“What, oh,” Daisy glanced at the bar where Chelsea waited. “What’re you having?”
“Mexican Mule.” Chelsea’s lips brushed the shell of
her ear again. She told herself to listen to the words, not to focus on the feeling.
Daisy didn’t want to keep shouting over the music, so she just nodded and smiled, mouthing sounds good as Chelsea turned to order.
Next to Chelsea, Daisy watched Shannon shake his head. The word no came out of his mouth again and again. Aiden was doing the opposite, nodding and saying yes again and again. She snaked between Chelsea and Aiden and saw what the argument was over. Four shot glasses filled with amber liquid sat on the bar in front of them.
“Absolutely not,” Shannon said.
“You have tomorrow off, chill out. You’ve been killing yourself over that stupid case. Just have some fun with me tonight, all right?” Aiden slid a shot glass toward Shannon, and Shannon reluctantly picked it up.
Chelsea didn’t dance around the subject; she picked hers up, put it to her lips, and swallowed it in one smooth motion—no wince, just a tiny wrinkle of her nose as she exhaled and set the shot glass down.
Aiden gestured at Chelsea with a sweep of his hand. “Be more like Charm School.”
“Yeah, Abercrombie,” Daisy teased, downing her shot and thanking every god she’d ever heard of when she didn’t gag, “we’re not driving tonight, and it’s not like you’re with strangers.”
Shannon caved and took the shot.
Time passed slowly at first. They stood on the far end of the bar near the doors, drinking cocktail after cocktail. Aiden talked about photography, and Daisy told stories about her college art classes. Through bouts of laughter, Daisy’s muscles loosened. Her anxiety dissipated. She found herself leaning back against Chelsea’s front as they drank their third Mules, and enjoying the warm weight of Chelsea’s hand on her hip.
“Do you remember that time we had to outrun your daddy, Shannon?” Chelsea’s voice was light and true under a wave of laughter. “When we took his car out when we were sixteen and headed to the lake?”
Shannon licked his lip, trying to suppress a grin.
“Lloyd pulled up behind us in his patrol car. Now, be mindful, we thought Lloyd was on a case in the next town over, but he wasn’t. He turned on his lights, and Shannon just floored it. Took off!” She motioned with her hand over her shoulder. “Right into the woods!”
The evening was a cacophony of laughter, story after story being told through playful, lighthearted banter. Daisy leaned harder into Chelsea and tucked her face into Chelsea’s neck. Shannon left to find the bathroom, and two minutes later Aiden lifted a brow and sighed.
“I’m going to find him, and we’re not coming back,” Aiden said, mouth twisted in a devious half-smile. “Text me before you head home, yeah?”
Daisy nodded. “Are you leaving?”
Aiden’s brows furrowed. “No, I’m making Shannon dance with me.”
Chelsea snorted a quiet laugh, heard only because Daisy was so close to her. And then Aiden was gone, stalking through the crowd on the dance floor.
This was what the night was for. This moment. This split.
Daisy was alone with Chelsea, and Chelsea’s fingers pressed harder: index, middle, wedding, pinky, thumb, wrapped securely around her hipbone.
“Still think all I can do is line dance?” Chelsea’s teeth scraped her jaw.
“Well, it’s not like you’ve proved me wrong,” Daisy said, trying to sound as coy as she could.
Chelsea took a step, urging Daisy to do the same. She pressed up against Daisy’s back, and her lips trailed down the side of her neck. “Go on,” she said, nudging Daisy forward.
Daisy moved. Tequila bubbled in her veins, and encouraged her to reach for Chelsea’s hand and pull. Her blood felt alien, as if it was flowing the wrong way in her body, throwing her off. She wanted to blame the alcohol, but that wasn’t it. The culprit was Chelsea Cavanaugh, who slithered up behind Daisy as they made their way into the sea of people, put her hands on Daisy’s waist, and let her teeth play on the nape of her neck.
Attraction was a dizzying thing at this level.
Daisy had been attracted to several people at several stages of her life. She’d dated Vance—no, she scolded herself, deciding not to think about him—she’d looked at people at work, in the store, at the beach, and knew what wanting felt like.
This was not just wanting.
Chelsea pulled until Daisy flipped around to face her. As it turns out, Chelsea could dance just as well as Daisy could, which wasn’t saying much, since Daisy didn’t know if she could or couldn’t dance. People had told her she could; they’d whispered that she was sexy, that the hip hop lessons she’d taken in high school had paid off, but that didn’t mean she believed any of them.
“Stop thinking,” Chelsea said. One hand lifted to Daisy’s face, where her fingers curled around her jaw and tugged. “You’re here with me, be here with me.”
Wide blue eyes stared Daisy down; lashes fluttered against bronzed cheeks. Her thumb moved across Daisy’s mouth, and then every shred of control was gone. First, Daisy bit her, because she had to. She bit Chelsea’s thumb, then surged forward and kissed her, just so she could bite Chelsea’s lip, too.
It became a delirious mess of mouths and skin. Chelsea’s palms glided on the back of Daisy’s legs, tugging her closer. Hips pressed and surged. Daisy didn’t bother being quiet, because the only person who would hear her was Chelsea, and a feral, heated part of her wanted Chelsea to hear quiet moans rasped in the back of her throat, lost breath, hungry whimpers. This is what you do to me. She pulled on the nape of Chelsea’s neck and slid her hand up the back of her shirt. This is what I want. Her nails raked down Chelsea’s spine, causing her to bend and push against Daisy’s abdomen. You are what I want.
Daisy wanted to pretend she didn’t almost trip when Chelsea shoved her backward through the crowd, but she almost did. Chelsea didn’t seem to notice. Her eyes were an avalanche, melting snow and breaking ice caps as she pushed Daisy against the black-painted wall, amidst other couples being as grossly attentive to each other as they were.
One couple in particular stopped what they were doing. Daisy’s eyes weren’t open—because of course they weren’t. But she knew that laugh.
Chelsea kissed her with a fury, as though something tight inside her had finally unwound and she was free to kiss as hard as she wanted, touch as much as she wanted. Whatever line they’d drawn, tonight they were crossing it.
“Bye,” Aiden shouted through a laugh.
Daisy cracked her eyes open as Chelsea broke away, with her fingers wrapped around Daisy’s thick necklace. She pulled hard, forcing her teeth deeper into Daisy’s neck. She exhaled against Daisy’s pulse, a warm gust of trembling breath.
“You’re leaving?” She tried to look less shattered than she was.
Aiden saw right through her attempt at looking put together. He didn’t seem much better himself, especially with Shannon right on his heels, mouth on the nape of his neck as they stumbled past. “Fuck yeah, we’re leaving. Looks like you will be soon, too. See you in the morning.”
Chelsea bit. Daisy faltered; her eyes slipped closed again.
She didn’t see Aiden and Shannon leave. She didn’t care. Her weight fell on the wall and she lifted one leg, wrapping it over Chelsea’s hip. Her fingers threaded through long, golden locks. She noticed Chelsea’s perfume—sweet and expensive. She’d sampled it at a store once and thought this smells far too pretentious for me, but on Chelsea the citrus notes and strong gardenia carried a regal air.
They were hardly dancing, but Daisy could still call it that. Her hips still rolled, her waist still swayed, she still managed to pay attention to the music.
Chelsea’s hand slipped up the inside of Daisy’s thigh.
They were no longer dancing.
“Tell me where I can touch you,” Chelsea said breathlessly against her ear.
Daisy couldn’t breathe. She gripped Chelsea’s wrist, pulling un
til she could stumble away and drag Chelsea with her toward the exit. They squeezed through smokers and dancing triads, the stunning quartet engrossed in touching and being touched, and two boys younger than them talking shyly by the fence.
They took an Uber home. Chelsea kept her hands in her lap and looked out the window. It took decades, centuries, eons to get to the apartment, to pretend Daisy wasn’t on fire when she shoved the key in the door, to keep her composure when Chelsea didn’t bother turning on a light.
They crashed into the corner next to the TV, in the middle of the two walls where Aiden kept his collection. She turned her head, letting Chelsea’s teeth and tongue leave marks on her shoulder, and glanced at Catalyst.
She pulled at Chelsea’s shirt until it was gone, revealing pure white lace. Daisy wanted to chew through it, but instead she pushed one cup of the wireless bra aside and left a bruise on top of Chelsea’s beating heart.
A curse dripped from Chelsea’s mouth like honey, drowned under a gentle moan. “Daisy,” she said, clipped and quick, “tell me what we’re doing. Tell me where I can—”
“Everything, anywhere,” Daisy blurted.
Chelsea nipped her jaw, kissed her hard on the mouth. “Tell me to stop, okay? If I do something wrong, just say so.” She shoved at Daisy’s tight black dress until it was above her hips, dropped to her knees, and tossed one of Daisy’s legs over her shoulder. Daisy dug her heel into the center of Chelsea’s back. Her boots were still clasped up her shins so the buckles caught the moonlight coming in from the balcony.
“Jesus Christ,” Daisy hissed. The back of her head smacked the wall. Her vertebrae stretched open at the same time her ribs did; her body arched up and up.
“We’re not in church,” Chelsea said smugly. She didn’t bother with Daisy’s underwear, just pushed the thin fabric to the side.
Curved Horizon Page 17
