Crash Into You

by Diana Morland

  Megan had meant to reassure Gianna that it was fine, she wasn’t more than a minute late, but at the compliment that all dried up to a mumbled, “Thanks.” She got in the car awkwardly, unsure how to act. The quiet, mild-mannered receptionist Megan wasn’t really her… but neither was foul-mouthed, sassy Margaret Splatwood. At least, not without skates on her feet.

  Once she was in the car with the door closed, Gianna drove in a swift, tight circle to get out of the parking lot again. “So, I was thinking it’s a little early for dinner, so we’ll do something else first. Is that all right with you?”

  “Yeah, that’s fine. Did you have something in mind?”

  Gianna grinned at her. “You bet I do. Hold on tight.”

  Megan was not at all surprised that Gianna took off driving fast. It fit with her personality—not to mention her car. As she hung onto the handle of the passenger door, she wondered what this exciting date idea was. She hoped it wasn’t too exciting. Her muscles were still sore from yesterday’s derby practice; she didn’t want to do a lot of walking or any other activity.

  Gianna took them south and parked at a meter in a popular area of South Philly, where nice houses and university buildings mingled with quirky shops and the occasional empty lot. It wasn’t entirely gentrified yet, but there were fun things you could do here. Were they just going to a shop? It wasn’t cupcakes, was it? That would seem to defeat the purpose of not going to dinner yet. (Not that Megan would ever say no to cupcakes.)

  “Okay, it’s a block or two from here,” Gianna said. “Come on.”

  She set a quick pace, obviously assuming Megan was in shape—which true. She might not feel like doing much walking right now, but two blocks was nothing with her derby-trained muscles.

  Megan lagged a half-step behind Gianna, both because she didn’t know where they were going and because she was looking around at the shops. It had been more than a year since she’d been to this particular street; some things had changed, and most of them for the worse.

  But they turned at one particular shop, and that one hadn’t changed at all.

  “Here we are,” Gianna said. “Seemed like the kind of thing you’d like.”

  Megan couldn’t argue with that, not when she was breathing deeply of the aroma and looking around with a useless grin on her face—looking at all the books. She never came here anymore, but she couldn’t resist a good used bookstore, and this was a good one.

  “Hi, Dusty,” Gianna said, leaning her elbows on the counter and talking to the person sitting reading a book behind it. “You have my books?”

  “Of course, Gianna,” Dusty said, putting down their book and leaning under the counter. “Just like you asked for.”

  “You must be a regular,” Megan commented, impressed and a little jealous at Gianna’s rapport with the bookstore worker.

  Gianna just smiled. When Dusty emerged, it was with a stack of three hardcovers, tied together with a ribbon.

  Gianna took them, turned, and held them out to Megan. “For you. My dad always says, if you want someone to remember you, do something memorable.”

  “Memorable doesn’t necessarily mean good,” Megan said, but she still felt her eyes widen as she opened the package. No matter what else happened with Gianna, she wouldn’t forget receiving books as a first-date gift.

  Her eyes got even wider as she looked at the titles. Oryx and Crake, The Year of the Flood, MaddAddam—it was Margaret Atwood’s latest science fiction trilogy. Megan had been wanting to read these for ages.

  “How did you know I hadn’t read these yet?” she managed.

  Gianna shrugged. “Lucky guess. I figured even if you had, you might not have this version.” She pointed to a sticker on the cover of Oryx and Crake. It had been signed by the author.

  Megan clutched the books to her chest, grinning. “Wow, if more girls romanced me with books, I’d go on dates a lot more often.”

  Gianna winked. “I’m smarter than most girls, babe. Do you want to look around the shop or just get going?”

  “Let’s look around a bit.” It was hard not to.

  But as Megan perused the titles, eyes skimming over the sideways-aligned words and names, her mind wasn’t on them. She was still clutching her gift, and thinking about the kind of person who would give her books—especially a signed Margaret Atwood trilogy.

  Gianna had obviously taken to heart Megan’s comment that she loved Margaret Atwood. Well, that was easy to remember; her derby name was Margaret Splatwood, after all. It was hard to miss the reference. And that had been only a week ago—they’d seen each other twice more since then.

  But still, she and Gianna hadn’t been interested in each other when they’d had their brief chat about Margaret Atwood—at least, not any more than physically. Or Megan didn’t think so.

  They’d only just learned each other’s names. Was it possible to become emotionally interested in someone only after seeing them play, not yet getting to know each other?

  She still didn’t even really know why Gianna was interested in her, but maybe being good at roller derby was as good a reason as any. And Megan was certainly more into Gianna now that she’d gotten the gift.

  She glanced through the shelves at Gianna, who seemed to be focused on the books of poetry on that side, her lips twitching slightly as though she were reading the titles softly to herself. What if there was an ulterior motive for this gift? It was pretty extravagant for someone who didn’t really know her—they hadn’t even started their date. One book would be okay, but three? At least one of them signed by her favorite author?

  Megan swallowed and shifted the books in her arms. What if Gianna were just trying to get more information about Monstrous Regiment and its training schedule? She had to know Megan wouldn’t give it up willingly, but maybe she hoped she could be persuaded.

  It was an awful lot of trouble to go to just to get some information. Practicing harder would be a much better use of Gianna’s time. But maybe she couldn’t practice harder.

  “Hey,” said Gianna from right over Megan’s shoulder, making her jump. She hadn’t noticed the other woman moving.

  “Sorry.” Gianna took a step back, holding her hands palm-out by her hips as though to ward off an attack.

  Megan sucked in a breath and smiled. “It’s okay. I was just lost in thought.” She wanted Gianna back near her again, but she wasn’t going to say that—especially not in a small bookstore, where the clerk could probably hear their every word.

  “Did you find something you want?”

  Megan shook her head. “You know what, I think three books is enough for today. I don’t get a lot of time to read between work and derby practice.”

  Gianna rolled her eyes heavenward. “I know exactly what you mean. To be honest, I get plenty of reading done, but it’s all for six-year-olds. If I don’t read another Fancy Nancy book it’ll be too soon.”

  Megan giggled, even though she didn’t know what Fancy Nancy was. “I’m sure Margaret Atwood is an excellent antidote.”

  “Most of the time, yeah,” Gianna said with a shrug that used her entire arms. “Anyway, want to head to the restaurant?”

  “Sure, did you have somewhere in mind?”

  Gianna winked. “It’s a surprise.”

  “If it’s the same kind of surprise as the bookstore was, I may not be able to stand,” Megan joked.

  Gianna grinned fiercely, looking up into her eyes. “Babe, by the end of the night I definitely aim to keep you from standing.”

  Megan’s breath caught in her throat. Now was the perfect moment—just lean forward a little bit and lock her lips to Gianna’s, those juicy, hot lips. It would be so easy.

  But they were in a bookstore, so she swallowed and turned away slightly. “Um, so show me this restaurant.”

  Gianna led the way back out of the bookstore, saying a quick goodbye to the clerk as they left. Megan added a thank you. The clerk just waved at them lazily, reading their book again.

  “You
can put the books in the back,” Gianna said as they reached her car. Megan checked for traffic, then nestled the books into the seat behind hers, struck for a moment with the absurd idea that she should buckle them in. But they were books; even if Gianna stopped hard and they slid onto the floor, they’d be fine. The dust jackets already had a few nicks from the previous owner.

  Once they were both in their seats, Gianna slid the car out into traffic. “It’s short for a drive, but too long for a walk. I never want to walk after eating here, anyway—I’m too full.”

  Megan laughed. “Sounds good.” She turned her head to the window and watched the city go by in the bright, late-summer light.

  They parked in a garage this time. The blocks around them were more crowded—they were surrounded by tall buildings filled with businesses, a restaurant on every corner. Megan didn’t know which one they were headed for.

  Gianna took her around the corner to one she hadn’t noticed, an elegant-looking Italian place. Megan wondered if she was underdressed, but Gianna was wearing jeans; her dress would probably be fine. “I have a reservation, Sam,” Gianna said to the maître d’.

  “Of course, right this way,” he said with a smile, picking up menus and gesturing them forward. Megan wondered if Gianna knew people all over the city, or if she just took dates to the places where she was on a first-name basis with the staff so she could impress them.

  She wondered if Gianna really cared about impressing her.

  The table they were seated at was certainly swanky, with a white tablecloth, a real candle, and cloth napkins folded under the silverware. The maître d’ set down two menus with a small drinks menu on top and walked away, leaving them to their own devices.

  Megan sat down, smoothing her dress under her. Gianna picked up the drinks menu and scanned it. “Do you drink wine at all?” she asked. “I saw you drinking beer at the afterparty.”

  Megan nodded. “I drink wine sometimes. Beer seems wrong for a place like this.”

  Gianna grinned, then set down the drinks menu quickly. “Are you all right? You seem nervous.”

  Was it that obvious? Megan looked down at her bread plate. “I just feel a little underdressed. You didn’t tell me we were going anywhere this fancy.”

  “Hey, you’re dressed fine,” Gianna said. “Didn’t I tell you that you looked great? People don’t need to dress up here.”

  Megan nodded, but she still felt out of place. She reached for the menu and opened it, but couldn’t make sense of the words at first.

  “Hey, babe.” Gianna reached out and touched the back of Megan’s hand lightly with her fingertips. Surprised, Megan looked up. “If you’re really uncomfortable, we can leave.”

  Megan smiled. Oddly enough, Gianna’s suggestion made her feel more comfortable. “No, that’s okay. You picked this place out, and it seems nice.”

  Gianna smiled warmly and withdrew her hand. Megan was a little disappointed at the end of the contact, but Gianna picked up the drinks menu again. “So what kind of wine do you like?”

  “I don’t know.” Megan tried to think back to the wines she’d had before, but she’d mostly been drinking them just because they were available; they’d been cheap wines, more about the alcohol content than the flavor. “I don’t know anything about wine.”

  “That’s okay. I’ll pick something based on what we order. Maybe a bottle, maybe different glasses for each of us. That work for you?”

  “Yeah, sure.” She hoped they wouldn’t work their way all the way through a bottle of wine, but maybe Gianna held her liquor well.

  “And order whatever looks good, don’t try to pick something cheap, all right? It’s on me, and I want you to have a good time, since you’ve been so kind as to stay here.”

  Megan laughed. “Hey, I didn’t do it to be nice to you. I did it because you said we’d be really full, so the food here must be good.”

  “Oh, you bet it is,” Gianna said, her grin sharpening again. Once Megan returned her attention to her menu, Gianna picked up her own, and they were quiet for a few moments.

  When Megan put down her menu, Gianna asked her what she’d selected; she gave Gianna the names of an appetizer and a pasta dish, to which Gianna nodded appreciatively and ran her finger down the wine list. When the server arrived, bringing them a bowl of bread and glasses of water, Gianna ordered rapidly for both of them, including a bottle of wine with a name so long Megan couldn’t even tell how many words were in it.

  When the server had left with the menus, Megan raised her eyebrows at Gianna. “I’m a little surprised you didn’t order in Italian. You know, go the extra mile to impress me.”

  “What, bambina, you think my Italian is so good? Grazie mille, but I did not listen to my nonna enough growing up, to my everlasting shame.” Gianna accompanied her words—complete with Italian accents on the English words—with exaggerated hand gestures.

  They both laughed. “Serves me right for making assumptions about your Italian name,” Megan said.

  “I could order in Italian, but I’d have to read it. This way was faster.” Gianna winked. “My nonna is indeed ashamed of me, but around here they don’t care.”

  The server came with the wine to pour, then set the bottle on the table, between them but by the window. Megan looked at it skeptically. “I hope you’re not expecting to get through that whole thing.”

  “Of course not. But it’s nicer if we can both have as much as we want, and I can take home whatever’s left in the bottle.” Gianna took a sip of her wine, then added, “I’ll see how much I can drink based on how much I eat, and whether or not we have dessert. The desserts here are divine.”

  Megan lifted her own wine glass. “Well, I’ll thank roller derby for my appetite, because three years ago I couldn’t have eaten a meal and still had room for dessert. Unless they serve really tiny portions here, like at the super-fancy restaurants.”

  Gianna shook her head. “You think I’d take you to a place where they don’t feed you enough? Look at me. And try your wine already. You don’t have to like it, but I think you will.”

  “What, you think you know what my taste in wine is?”

  Gianna laughed. “No, I just think it’s a really good wine. Try it.”

  Megan sipped, liking how Gianna hadn’t given up on getting her to taste the wine. It was better than the cheap wines she’d had before—richer, with more depth of flavor. She put the glass down slowly, smacking her lips a little to try to figure out the flavor.

  “I do like it,” she finally said, “but not as much as beer. I’m not sure if I’ll finish the glass.”

  Gianna shrugged, her hands wide. “Fine by me. More for me to take home. Thanks for trying it.”

  Megan smiled. “Hey, you insisted.”

  Gianna smiled back at her, and they were quiet for a moment, the restaurant noisy around them but somehow not penetrating. It was just them.

  And then the server brought their appetizers, interrupting the moment, but that was okay with Megan. She was hungry.

  They ate, swapping pieces of appetizer so they could each try everything. Megan found both delicious. She sipped at her wine some more; she enjoyed it more with each sip, and she hoped that didn’t mean that the wine was so strong she was getting drunk.

  She was already half full when the main course arrived, and their plates were indeed heaped high with pasta, sauce, vegetables, and—in Megan’s case—seafood. She looked at it with mingled excitement and dismay. “You expect me to leave room for dessert after this?”

  “The wine will help you digest,” Gianna said, pouring her own second glass. “Want me to top you off?”

  Megan snorted. “I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works.” But she let Gianna add a little more wine to her glass.

  She took another sip before digging in to her pasta. When she did take a bite, however, she realized quickly that something was wrong. The flavor wasn’t what she had expected at all; this was supposed to have an alfredo sauce, and the sau
ce was thinner, with a strong lemon flavor. It was still tasty, but not quite on the level with the appetizer or the wine—and not what she’d ordered.

  She drank some water before taking another bite of the pasta, just to make sure it wasn’t the wine messing with her tastebuds. Before she could finish chewing, Gianna asked, “Something wrong?”

  She didn’t know how Gianna noticed these things when she wasn’t sure herself. “This isn’t quite what I expected, is all. It’s still good.”

  Gianna frowned and, without asking permission, stuck her fork in Megan’s plate and twirled up some pasta. She chewed it briefly, then shook her head. “No, this isn’t what you ordered. I’ll send it back.”

  Megan shook her head quickly. “No need to go to that much trouble. It’s still good. I’ll eat it.”

  But Gianna was already lifting her hand in the air, and she snapped her fingers twice, making her whole arm jiggle. In moments, a server was at their table—not the same one who’d served them before. Gianna explained what was wrong, and the server swept the dish away, back to the kitchen.

  “You want some of mine while you wait?” Gianna asked.

  “Sure, I’ll try it,” Megan said, reaching over to cover up her embarrassment. She didn’t usually like making a fuss like this—not in public. On the other hand, wasn’t it Gianna who’d made the fuss, not her? And she kind of liked how Gianna had taken charge of the situation to make sure Megan got what she’d ordered.

  “So you’re a kindergarten teacher,” she said, trying to make conversation. “How’d you end up in roller derby?”

  Gianna laughed. “Ruth got me into it. Jane Bowie Knife. Her son was in my class last year, and we got to talking about it at a parent-teacher conference. She inspired me to try out, and helped me get in, I think.”

  Megan shook her head. “I don’t think you needed help getting in. You’re really good.” It was weird to her to think of the mom of a kindergartener being the same person as Jane Bowie Knife, but was that really any stranger than Mountain Bruise teaching that kindergarten class?

  “That’s sweet of you to say. But this was almost a year ago—I’ve practiced a lot since then. But really, we should talk about something other than derby. We have plenty of chances for that. How do you like working for the trampoline park?”