by Cynthia Dane
“You are positively glowing,” the stylist said beside Leah. The car slipped through traffic, ensuring that they would arrive at the restaurant before the reservation was up. “You make me wish I had a date tonight.”
Leah sputtered in embarrassment. “What makes you think I’m going on a date?” She realized how silly that question sounded and shook her head. “Never mind. I look like I’m going on five dates tonight.”
“That, and I was told to dress you up for a date at one of the most exclusive restaurants in Chicago. Honestly, I don’t know how Ms. Sloan got a reservation there, unless she’s piggybacking off someone else’s or… never mind.”
“No, what?”
The stylist looked as if she should have never said anything. “Or, perhaps, she has a standing reservation whenever she cares to use it. That’s not uncommon for people who can afford it.”
“I see.” No wonder the stylist didn’t want to suggest that. She made it sound like Sloan planned to go on a date with any woman tonight, as long as she enjoyed her Valentine’s Day in decadence. If it weren’t me, would it be an escort? That was rather sad, wasn’t it? Valentine’s Day was supposed to be for real couples, or maybe best friends enjoying Singles Awareness Day. I could see hiring an escort for some private company, but taking her out to dinner? That doesn’t make sense to me. But, based on what Sloan had said about her private life, it was unlikely she would take a woman she intended to date for real.
Whatever that meant. Did that include Leah. Unlikely. Damn, why did she have to put herself down like that before she went on her date?
“We’re here,” the driver announced.
Leah almost jumped out of her dress when the stylist leaned over and offered to shake her hand. “Pleasure meeting you today, Ms. Vaughn. Have a happy Valentine’s Day.”
She thanked the stylist for her hard work before getting out of the car. Leah was deposited in front of the restaurant’s revolving door, where the host popped out to ask if she was the woman he awaited.
“Ms. Sloan sat down a few minutes ago,” he said with a slight French accent. Leah still had yet to catch the name of this place. “Please, follow me.”
Leah held her sweater closer to her body as she gawked at the elegantly ostentatious designs of the dimly lit restaurant. Sapphire blue walls stenciled with black fleur-de-lis were accented with gold sconces and original paintings by modern French artists. (Not that Leah would discover that wholesome tidbit until she looked this place up later.) The tables were segregated by glass partitions until they reached the back of the gallery, where a whole section was dedicated to more private tables at least ten feet apart. The pricier tables were almost fully enclosed by partitions. A few, however, were out in the open. Leah passed someone she swore was a famous athlete, although she couldn’t tell from what team – her father watched ESPN every day, so who, besides him, knew?
The host brought Leah to the rear of the gallery, where a raised dais housed only two tables, separated by a frosted glass wall. The table on the right was still empty. The table on the left?
Leah’s breath was gone. Stolen from her the moment she saw Sloan sitting in the corner, elbow propped up on the table and fingers drumming next to a humble floral arrangement – if five red roses bunched together could be called humble.
Sloan’s outfit matched the roses. A bright red tie-front crop top neatly tucked its knot beneath her breasts, and a crimson camisole was the only thing keeping her stomach hidden from the rest of the world. Black trousers that could go with any outfit elongated her already impressive legs, and a pair of black ankle boots kicked toward the bottom of the table.
She could have worn any wig that night and been a goddess to behold. The black ones would’ve made her look like a softer version of herself, though. Sloan rarely went for that. If she were wearing a red and black outfit on Valentine’s Day, then she was wearing her blond wig with the side-swept bangs, and Leah would appreciate it. Constantly.
Her face lit up when she saw Leah in her baby pink dress. “My, my,” she said with that inescapable purr. “I see you went with the pink one. I hoped you would.”
Leah waited for the host to pull out her chair before approaching the table. Her ballet flats touched the dais the moment the host bowed out of her way. “You knew which dresses the stylist had chosen?”
Sloan snorted. “She originally had five dresses. I picked the final two. Thought you should give me some surprise tonight.”
“So you were the one who actually decided what I should wear?”
“When you put it that way, you make it sound much less romantic than I intended.”
“You intended this to be romantic?”
Sloan looked around their corner of the gallery. “Do you think I would bring you to a place like this if I didn’t want to be romantic? I have it in me, you know.”
Leah didn’t turn down a glass of red wine. The bottle had been tucked behind the roses, the perfect Instagram photo if Leah had been rude enough to take out her phone now. “Sometimes it’s difficult for me to believe that someone would want to be so romantic with me.”
“If I’m dressing you up to look like the pretty, pretty princess you are, then I’m not opposed to some romance.”
“Who says you’re the one dressing me up?” Leah almost burst to already reach this level of flirtation on their Valentine’s date. “I don’t remember you zipping up this dress.”
“No,” Sloan said with a heavy sigh, “but I’ll be the one unzipping it later.”
They placed their orders before Leah could continue the banter. Sloan was impressed that Leah already knew so much about French cuisine. When she reminded her date that she had attended culinary school not too long ago, Sloan begged her forgiveness and said that she wasn’t used to dates who knew how to pronounce the items on the menu, let alone what they entailed.
“Next, you’ll be telling me that you’re also a sommelier.”
“No. Afraid the only thing I know better than my French and Italian cuisines is how to pipe icing onto wedding cakes.” Leah pulled out her phone. There was a new message from Gina that began with, “She better rock your pu…” but Leah ignored it in favor of accessing her gallery. “I did this one last week.” She handed her phone across the small table. “It was a lesbian couple. They wanted rainbow icing, so… I gave them rainbow icing.”
Sloan’s manicured eyebrows crawled up her forehead. “That definitely is a seven-colored concoction.” She swiped to the next photo. “My God. Do people in Portland have no tastes? No. Don’t answer that. I know the answer for myself.”
Leah laughed. She was quite proud of her work, but understood why others would find it… not to their tastes.
If it weren’t for flying First Class into a city she barely knew, going to the type of spa the mayor’s wife would call her own, and getting dressed head to toe by a stylist who knew her wardrobe better than Leah did, then she would think this was a perfectly normal Valentine’s Day dinner. Sloan was warmer than she had been on previous evenings out. When she wasn’t covertly brushing her hand against Leah’s or passing one foot over the other, she was gazing into her date’s eyes with that knowing look that said they were in for the night of their lives if Leah was willing to participate. It helped that the food and wine was delicious. And although the quiet conversations and live jazz music populated the air, Leah still enjoyed privacy with her girlfriend thanks to the smart layout of the five-star restaurant.
She wished she could say it made her comfortable. In truth, Sloan’s amiable demeanor and ideas of romance terrified her. It was uncharted waters. A new frontier. The expanse of space that no man had yet to enter, let alone survive to talk about. For all Leah knew, this was the real Margaret Sloan, finally comfortable enough to let her guard down around the woman she often slept with.
Or it was the calm before a hedonistic storm Leah would barely survive.
She discovered her answer when Sloan asked her to scoot her chair around so
they could lean in toward one another and talk of what their separation had done to drive them crazy. Leah dared to touch her girlfriend’s thigh without invitation. Sloan’s smirk when Leah felt what a certain someone hid in her trousers was enough to stop every heart in the room.
***
Look at her. I can’t tell if she’s too cute to kiss, or so hot I can’t wait to rip that dress right off her body.
Sloan divided her attention between Leah’s magenta lips and the fantasy burning behind her glazed eyes. “Took you long enough to notice.” Sloan pressed her knuckles against her cheek. Her elbow bumped against her empty plate, but the table was big enough to accommodate both it and her atrocious manners. “Thought I was going to have to bring out my big neon sign telling you to check out my cock.”
The look on Leah’s face was priceless. Even if she forewent playing Sloan’s games for the rest of the night? That look was worth it.
“Here?” the poor naïve woman squeaked. “In a nice public place like this?”
Sloan couldn’t hold back her boisterous laugh. That was too precious! “I’m capable of a lot of dirty games in public places. You’re talking to an old pro here.”
Leah snatched her hand off her girlfriend’s leg. Was that real blush on her cheeks? Or was it the makeup? Hard to tell in that light.
“Dessert?” Sloan had meant literal dessert, yet Leah looked like she was going to choke on her spit. “I mean food, honey.”
“I, uh…” She was so cute when she was flustered! How was Sloan to stand it for much longer?
“I highly recommend the chocolate cake with strawberry ganache,” the waiter said. “It’s our special Valentine’s dessert this evening.”
“How about we share a slice?” Sloan went and ordered it. “Oh, c’mon Leah, you can’t tell me you’ve never felt up a woman’s crotch before.”
To her credit, Leah sobered up from her shock faster than she finished drinking her wine. “To be fair, those crotches usually go into the body.”
“I promise my pussy is still in there. Somewhere.”
“Isn’t that… uncomfortable?”
Sloan laughed. “You get used to it. Takes some practice, you know? Besides, not like I’ve got a monster hiding in my pants. What do you think I’m trying to be? A man?” She leaned in closer, her muffled words reaching their intended target with ease. “I thought you enjoyed the fun we had the last time we met up. Thought I’d do you a favor and offer you a constant reminder all evening.”
Leah shook her head in disbelief. “I can’t say I’ve ever been on a date with a woman packing a dick in her pants, no.”
“How do you know?”
“I think I’d know!”
“Hmm. I’m not sure about that.” Sloan kicked back in her seat. Naturally, Leah glanced down, searching for what she had felt only a few seconds ago. “It happens more often than you might think.”
“Maybe that’s you.”
“You must like it, if you’re dating me. Admit it.” Sloan fully intended to self-inflate her ego, and that’s what she did when she continued talking. “You like that I always keep you guessing. It’s a daily party when you’re with me.”
Leah went from shaking her head in disbelief to giggling once again. Got you, darling. Sloan had learned that was the giggle she wanted from Leah Vaughn. Every day, if she could swing it. “I’ve been thinking… about what I want from this relationship.”
Sloan lost any mirth hiding in her cheeks. “Excuse me?” Talk about a topic change!
“Maybe it was dumb of me, but I bought this book about the kind of relationship we have. Well, we’ve been reading it… and I realized that I need to be more forward about what I expect and need from a relationship with someone like you.”
“Is that so?” A huff of laughter escaped Sloan’s chest. “Go on. Tell me. I’m all ears.”
“When we talked on the phone about punishments, I admit, it turned me on.” Tell me something I don’t know, precious. “For the wrong reasons. I thought I was into the idea of being punished in the bedroom. Bad girl stuff, you know? But I think the reverse is truer. I’m much more motivated by rewards than punishments.”
“I see.” That was how these things tended to go. There were women who got off on intentionally messing up and getting their asses spanked and nipples twisted by the end of the night. Then there were those who got off on pleasing others. They were the ones who lit up when told Good Job! in any situation. It doesn’t have to be sexual… but the response can often be. Gee. How in the world did Sloan know that? “If I’m being completely honest, I have to say that I enjoy doling out rewards more than punishments. You can only punish someone so much before you need a change of pace. Rewards are endless.”
Leah’s grin stretched from curl to curl. “Glad we’re on the same page.”
“So, did you write down every time you thought of me?”
“Oh. You still want to do that?”
“Of course.”
Leah sifted through her bag. Is that the one I bought her? I can’t remember. These kitschy bags all looked the same after a while. In a perfect world, Sloan wouldn’t need a bag. There was something to be said for having a small wallet and a pocket to shove it in. Too bad her daily look required some makeup. Plus, she needed a comb, medicine, tissues…
Being a woman was too much work. When she wasn’t in the bathroom, fighting either cramps or a snarl in her wig, she was touching up her makeup because the men she worked with were fragile porcelain figurines who couldn’t handle a forty-year-old woman’s face in its natural state. She already pushed it with the gruff mannerisms and pantsuits. Was she prepared to lose business because she dared to not wear eyeliner for one day?
A piece of paper slid toward her, bringing her out of her thoughts. “Hello,” she said, snatching the paper. It was freshly torn from a notebook in Leah’s bag. “Let’s start counting, shall we?”
She had expected scratches representing every moment Leah thought about her in the past two weeks. Instead, she received one sentence details, some of them sweet, but most of them naughty.
“Monday. I’m decorating a cake with gold frosting that reminds me of your eyes.”
Something was trapped in Sloan’s throat again. She really needed to stop swallowing so much air.
“You okay?” Leah asked.
“This is… adorable.” Sloan had no idea what to make of it. On one hand, the idea that Leah spent so much time fantasizing about her inflated her ego until she was confident enough to take on half of Chicago. On the other? I don’t think any woman has been this infatuated with me before. If they had, she never hung around long enough to find out about it. This was usually the time Sloan decided that she had strung her girlfriend on long enough. Tonight would be the last hurrah, then…
She chuckled.
“What’s so funny?” Leah asked.
Sloan popped open her cross-body bag and pulled out the neatly folded paper from within its depths. “I think you win. Obviously, you’re given too much thinking time at your job.” She handed Leah her own paper.
Fingers tipped in warm, pink nails unfolded the note. Eyes lined in a light red widened to read the words. “You did it too?”
Sloan pocketed Leah’s extensive list of dirty and sweet thoughts. “You’re not the only one thinking about others all day. I’m also a fan of a nice fantasy or two. Life is stressful. Why not think about your girlfriend when times are tough?”
Leah gazed at her with more rapt attention. “You think of me as your girlfriend?”
“Honey.” Even though Sloan’s nerves piqued within her jittery heart, she still offered Leah the most no-nonsense smile. “I’ve flown you out here twice. I talk to you on the phone more than I talk to my own family. If that doesn’t make you my girlfriend by now, then I don’t know what does.”
She wouldn’t let Leah know what a big deal this was for her to admit, however. I haven’t had a real girlfriend since… college? How long ago was that? Fif
teen years? Eighteen? The years went by so quickly that Sloan couldn’t tell when one ended and the next began. A girlfriend. Me. How preposterous. She wasn’t starting to settle down at forty, was she?
If I could settle down at thirty, then I suppose it’s not too difficult at forty. Actually, it was more difficult. Because Sloan already knew what that yoke felt like. She knew its constricting grip like she knew her own body. Escaping that life and making a new one for herself meant never looking back.
Who knew that looking forward might make her see a woman like Leah Vaughn?
“You’re okay with having me as your girlfriend? Because, I…” Leah looked like she didn’t know whether to smile or grunt in disbelief. “I’ve been really careful how I talk about you to my friends. They know I’m seeing someone, but I’ve made sure to not use words like girlfriend. I wasn’t sure how you felt about it.”
Sloan glanced across the restaurant. Where are you, mister reporter? The only single man lurking in an upscale French restaurant on Valentine’s Day would be a reporter. They were notorious for infiltrating these places on romantic holidays, hoping to catch everyone in high society cavorting with mistresses and attempting to smooth things over with estranged children. There he is. Is that a guy from the Tribune? No. He’s probably well-paid tabloid trash.
She briefly made eye contact with the man. He shoved his camera into his bag and pretended to be obsessed with his phone. Sloan knew the truth. He was taking subpar photos with his phone. Probably some of her and Leah.
“People are already talking about us around town, darling.” Sloan took Leah’s hand on top of the table. She received a happy grin for her troubles. “I’m not afraid to own up to whom I’m dating. I’m not the type of woman to keep you in the dark – well, not that kind of dark. There’s a lot of fun to be had in the dark.”
Those giggles were melodic. “I still can’t believe this is happening.” Leah didn’t react when Sloan reached into her bag and pulled out a black velvet box. “The way we met… how fast things have been going… this is like a dream come…” She noticed it now. Her face was so white that she almost passed out.
