She shoved her shoulder against mine. “Don’t worry. No one in my family wears a cowboy hat. Boots, that’s a whole different ball game.”
“You look sexy in yours.” My face shot up as if pierced with red-hot daggers.
“Not too hickish for your taste?” Again she prodded my shoulder.
“Not at all. If it ticks up your hotness factor, I say wear ’em.”
“You think I’m hot?”
“Are you kidding me?” I squealed or screeched; it was hard to decipher. “With your red hair, emerald eyes, peaches and cream skin, and slender body?”
“So is that a yes or no?”
“Need an ego stroke today?”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“Okay. Then what about me?”
“You want me to stroke you?”
I laughed nervously. Had Gemma been drinking earlier? “My ego, ding-dong.”
“Girls like you don’t need ego stroking.”
I crossed my arms. “What do you mean girls like me?”
“Girls who look like Elle Macpherson.” She met my eyes, challenging me to disagree.
“Whatever!” I rubbed the back of my neck.
“Sore?”
“A little. I had a minor boot mishap last night and crashed into the closet door.”
She widened her eyes. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Just tweaked my neck some.”
She patted the bed. “Flip around. I’ll rub it.”
“You wouldn’t mind? You have the best hands.” A shiver ripped through my soul.
“So all the girls keep telling me.”
I rolled my eyes. “One compliment about your boots, and now you have the self-esteem of Julia Roberts.”
She dug her fingers into my neck meat. “Please, I look nothing like Julia Roberts.”
“You have the red hair. That’s more than I have.” I started to sing Roy Orbison’s “Pretty Woman.”
She pulled my shoulders against her. “Don’t be cruel.”
“How is calling you pretty being cruel, might I ask?” I stared into her eyes, still leaning against her body.
“You’re teasing me.”
I crossed my heart with a finger. “I’m not teasing. Don’t let your experience with Kate taint things.”
Her expression and sigh held a sense of longing that excited and terrified me. I broke into Orbison’s song again to overcome the nervous crackle in the air.
Gemma shoved me off her and resumed massaging my neck. “You’re terrible.”
I scouted over my shoulder to peek at her face again. “You don’t really think that, do you?”
“Nah.”
The longing still resided in the recesses of her irises.
“Gosh, I don’t think I’m helping much. You seem tighter now than when I started.” She jabbed her thumbs into my muscles.
“Don’t give up. Not yet.”
Chapter Eight
“I’ve told you a million times, you don’t have to wear the Princess Leia bikini outfit. Hell, you don’t even have to be Princess Leia. There’s always C-3PO.” She gripped each of my shoulders with her hands and smiled. “You’d be covered from head to toe.”
It was the night before Halloween, and Gemma and I were putting together the final touches of our costumes. Her Luke Skywalker outfit was a midnight blue bathrobe (Mervyn’s didn’t have a black one), a black glove for his fake hand, and a plastic light saber we had picked up in a toy shop. It flickered on and off even when the batteries were fully charged. The Luke costume seemed more appealing than donning a metal bikini.
I eyed the unworn gold bikini on my bed. “But I got the gold armband and chain for the Leia outfit.”
“Okay, then…” Gemma rubbed the top of her head, one of the few signs of frustration she allowed herself to show. “You clearly want to wear the outfit”—she motioned to bits and pieces on the bed—“so tell me what the real issue is.”
I sat heavily onto her desk chair, crossed my feet, and lowered my eyes to the carpet. “My scar.”
“What scar?”
“On my back. I got it in high school when there was an accident—”
“An accident?” Her face screwed up in confusion.
“Kinda sorta. It’s hard to explain, really.” I flapped my arms about. It wasn’t actually difficult to describe, but I never wanted to tell people what happened to avoid having it twisted into much more than it was. “It left a scar, and my mom said I was damage goods.” I sighed. “I know it sounds crazy.” I circled my finger around the side of my head in the universal cuckoo sign. “Since then, whenever I think about wearing a bikini, I flip out.” I wrung my hands together.
“Okay. Have you thought about wearing a leotard under the bikini? A skin-colored one.”
“That’s brilliant!” I hopped off the seat, bouncing on my toes, clasping her hands, and waving our arms about in some kind of victory dance. “Come on!”
“Where?” She was grinning from ear to ear.
“Shopping for the leotard, of course. We’ll have to go to Fort Collins.” I placed a finger on her button nose. “And as a reward for your utter brilliance, I’m treating you to dinner.”
“Ah, you don’t have to take me to dinner. I’m just glad we finally came up with a solution so I don’t have to listen to you whine anymore.” Her broad smile was a pretty good indicator she wasn’t all that annoyed with me.
“I don’t whine.”
She sucked her lips in, and I couldn’t determine if it was for show or if she really was trying to curb a comment she’d regret.
“I don’t whine,” I repeated, my voice higher pitched.
“Of course you don’t. Who would say such a thing?” She winked at me.
“Now that we got that settled, I’m taking you to dinner.”
“Whatever you say, Tegan-the-non-whiner.” She bowed like a knight from King Arthur’s Round Table.
I rolled my eyes, choosing to ignore the nickname, which I hoped was the first and last time I’d hear it. “Great! It’s a date.” As soon as the word left my mouth, I panicked. “Er, I mean, it’s a time for two friends to sit down in a restaurant and have dinner together, as friends.”
“So just a friendly dinner between two friends,” she mocked.
“Can we cram another ‘friend’ into the sentence?” I joked, hoping to bury the awkwardness.
“Hmmm…” She placed a finger to her lips, deep in thought. “How about: A dinner with two friends to discuss how awesome it is to be super-duper friendly and to have such a friendly time together, simply as friends?”
“You’re a dork.”
“I’m the dork? You’re the one who freaked out when you said the word date.” She placed a hand on my shoulder. “I know you’re straight. No reason to go into panic mode, like you do, thinking I may hope for more.”
I brushed her warm hand off my shoulder. “What do you mean like I do?”
She pointed to the brown sack on her desk. “Remember hyperventilating last week during midterms.”
I thumped her shoulder harder than I intended. “Whatever. Are we going shopping and to dinner, or not?”
“By all means.” She motioned for me to walk ahead.
***
The waitress in Chili’s set down my chicken crispers and Gemma’s burger. “Anything else?”
We both shook our heads.
“Want my corn?” I pointed to the small corn on the cob.
“Thanks!” She plucked it off my plate and placed it on her own. “So where’s this scar?” Gemma bit into her burger. Grease and sauce trickled down the side of her hand, and she licked it.
I crossed my legs tightly and shifted in my seat. “On my back.”
“Is it big or small?”
“Hard for me to say. I don’t like to look at it.
“Did it hurt?”
I shrugged. “How about you? Got any scars?” I nibb
led on a fry.
Gemma was kind enough not to push about my scar. “No. My life has been pretty boring so far.”
“You make it sound like that’s going to change soon. Do you have something to confess?”
She took another bite of her burger, and I waited for her to “clean up” the sauce again with her mouth, but she used a napkin this time. After swallowing, she said, “Not sure about how soon. But when I finish school, I want to move to one of the coasts. More sports teams to follow.”
“And abandon the Husker’s?” I feigned shock.
“Never.” She raised both brows. “Once a fan, always a fan.”
“Are you devoted to everyone in your life… or only sports teams?” I supported my weight on my forearms.
Gemma’s eyes drifted momentarily to my cleavage. “Everyone? That I don’t know, but I am pretty loyal.”
“What about Kate? Do you two communicate at all?”
She shook her head.
“Do you ever hear about her?”
“Nah.” She sat back in her seat. “Most of the news I receive from back home is about family and my parents’ shop. Kate and her family keep to themselves, pretty much.”
I sensed she was putting on a brave face, so I opted to change subjects. “What character will April be tomorrow night?”
“Who knows? Even Jenny has been kept in the dark, and I’d be the last person she’d tell.”
“True. She hates your guts.”
Gemma balled up her napkin and tossed it at me, laughing.
“I haven’t been able to put my finger on why she dislikes you so much.” I held onto her napkin so when Gemma took her next bite of burger, she’d have to lick her hand or wipe it on her jeans, and I was willing to bet she wouldn’t choose the latter option.
“It’s a mystery, but not one I care to solve.”
“Yeah, probably best not to probe that too much. Who knows what you’d uncover—like she secretly has a crush on you and all she can think about is your lips—kissing them and feeling your tongue inside her mouth.” I shifted in my seat again.
Gemma was in mid bite, but she froze, studying my face. Two or three seconds ticked by before she said, “I seriously doubt that.” She licked her lips. “Besides, I’m not the type girls daydream about.”
I chewed on my lower lip. Gemma took a massive bite of her burger, and the flood of sauce was a relief to see. It took several swipes of her tongue to get every last delicious drop. “Don’t sell yourself short. I bet, right now, there’s at least one girl crushing hard on you.” I pointed a fry at her.
She laughed and then swiped my fry. “Who needs a girlfriend when they have a best friend like you?”
***
“Tell me what you want, Gem, and I’ll do it.” I lay on my side with her next to me under my bed covers.
She swiped a blonde lock off my forehead. “I can’t.”
“Won’t is more like it.” I pressed the tip of her perky nose with a fingertip.
“Pa-tay-to, po-tah-to,” she mocked.
It annoyed me that she was mentioning potatoes. “I’m serious. Tell me. Do I have a chance?”
“With what?”
“With you?”
Gemma’s face winced, and she sucked in a ragged breath. “That’s never been the problem.”
I closed my eyes, too afraid to see the truth as I asked, “What’s been the problem?”
“You,” she whispered.
“What’s wrong with me?” I whispered back.
“You aren’t into chicks,” she said, which was so un-Gemma-like, and the statement gave me pause. Did she really just say that? Was this really happening?
“What if I wanted to try? With you?” I opened my eyes to see an easing in Gemma’s frozen lips.
“What makes you think I’m willing to be your lesbian test case?”
I cupped her cheek. “I can see it in your eyes.”
“Maybe.”
“That’s a start.” I brushed my thumb over her lips. “Can I kiss you?”
She nodded.
I reciprocated the nod.
Neither of us moved.
I laughed. “We aren’t making much progress.”
“Not true, I think we are. I now know you like me.” Her smile gave me the encouragement I needed.
I leaned in, and she met my lips halfway. At first, our lips smooshed against each other. It wasn’t until I opened mine a crack that her warm tongue entered my mouth.
A moan escaped both of us.
Much to my delight, she deepened the kiss.
I could kiss her all night.
I wanted to kiss her all night.
Gemma rolled me onto my back, not breaking our lip-lock, and her hand roamed down my side. I didn’t even care when it found my scar and then passed right on by.
“Yes, Gem. Yes.”
Her hand slipped under my pale yellow Gap T-shirt, and her fingers migrated to my breasts. Her fingertips so soft, her kneading pleasant but urgent.
I fisted her hair, pulling her deeper into the kiss.
Gem’s fingers trailed down my stomach, not stopping at the elastic band of my pajama bottoms. In one movement, her hand thrust under both the PJs and my panties and a finger split my wet pussy lips. She pulled her head up and peered into my eyes. “Can I make love to you?”
I bolted upright in bed, clawing at my shirt, and the wetness between my legs was intense. Tiny bubbles of excitement zinged through my body, confusing the hell out of me. But I craved her touch again. Each caress singed my skin and left her stamp on my body and soul.
“Tegan! Are you all right?” Gemma called from her bed.
Her bed?
I was in my bed, and she was across the room.
It’d been a dream.
Thank God. I think.
I looked across the room and saw the worry etched into her face. “Weird dream, that’s all. I’m fine.”
“You want me to come over there?” She started to lift the covers.
“No! No, it’s fine. I’m fine. Stay put—I mean, stay warm under the covers.” How would I explain the wetness on my sheet?
She recovered herself with her Husker’s bedspread. “You sure you’re okay? You look pale, like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I lay back down on my back. “Really, I’m fine.”
“Tell me about your dream,” Gemma said. “Was it a scary one, or was it about Josh?” Gemma would never outright ask me if I had a sex dream.
I put a hand to my eyes, massaging them harder than was comfortable. “I can’t seem to remember it.”
I recalled every second of it and wanted to drift back into it, which horrified me even more. Or did it?
“Can you just talk to me?” I forced my eyes wide open.
“When my sister was a kid, she used to have night terrors. Oh man, you’ve never heard something so heartbreaking as a five-year-old screaming bloody murder because she was frightened for her life.”
“What caused them?” I rolled my head to face her.
“Don’t know.”
“How did she overcome them?”
“Not sure. One night before bed I told her to dream of puppies. She hasn’t had a bad dream since.”
I tucked my pillow under my head, propping myself up. “You saved her.”
“Nah.” She waved a hand. “I just gave her a suggestion. She did the hard work.”
In the dark, I could sense her blush.
“You’re a beautiful person, on the inside and out.”
“Weird dreams make you sentimental,” she joked in a tone that indicated she was uncomfortable.
“Can you keep talking until I fall asleep? I need to hear your voice.”
“Anything for you.”
Gemma chattered on about her childhood. When she ran out of stories, she talked about the people in her hometown. Even mentioning two little old ladies who owned a craft store. Every
once in a while, she made sure I was still awake, and when she saw my eyes peeled open, she’d start on a new topic. When she brought up her calculus class, I intervened.
“Gem?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you think I should break up with Josh?”
“Uh, not sure I should be the one making that decision. What do you think?”
I shrugged. “It was just so weird when he visited. I think the long distance—it’s hard, ya know?”
She started to speak, hesitated, and then said, “Give it some thought. You said he isn’t going home for Thanksgiving, right?”
“Right.”
“So wait ’til winter break. See how it feels, and if it doesn’t feel right, then you can make your decision. What’s a few more weeks, really?”
I stared at the ceiling. “A few more weeks. That’s a good way to think of it. Are you always this sensible?”
She ignored my question. “Besides how he acted when he visited, is there another reason why you want to end it?”
Oh God, did she know I had a racy dream about her? Did I call out her name? Cry out, “Oh, Gemma, I’ve wanted this for so long,” and then moan?
“I don’t know. I—it’s hard to explain. Inside, I feel like something’s wrong or different.” I ran my fingers back and forth over my eyebrows, messing them up and righting the hairs again.
“I know what you mean.”
“You do?” I could hear the shock in my question.
“Oddly, I do.” She didn’t explain, and I wasn’t sure if I should push her to.
Neither of us said anything for what seemed like an eternity, and I thought she’d fallen back to sleep.
“Good night, Gemma,” I whispered, thankful I was able to say her name.
“Night, Teeg.”
She sounded wide-awake like me.
Chapter Nine
“Tegan, you look great.” Michelle, dressed as Obi-Wan “Ben” Kenobi, hugged me. Her gray beard scratched my cheek.
Jenny stepped back, appraising my outfit. “Um, I don’t remember Leia wearing a bodysuit. What gives?”
I flushed, not wanting to explain about my scar.
Gemma came to my rescue. “Geez, Jenny. It’s October in Colorado. You want Tegan to freeze to death?”
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