It Gets Even Better

by Isabela Oliveira

  Ro had told her that would happen, and Tasha had assured her that Maude and Richard were different. That Tasha was different. That she could make it different.

  Tasha sighed as they approached the car. “I’m so sorry.”

  Ro walked over to the driver’s side door. “I just want to go home.”

  Alone. She didn’t say it. She didn’t have to.

  Tasha bit her lip. “A musician.”

  Ro looked up from her keys. “What?”

  “You asked what I see when I look at you. I see a musician who can make me laugh or cry or wonder with a song. I see a geek who loves space operas over superheroes because stuffing old mythology into capes and spandex doesn’t make tired stories new. I see someone who held my hand while I came out to my mom and who learned to make my mom’s roti and naan, and her own aunt’s pita and baklava, to bring all of us closer. And I see a woman who’s loved me for months now, but never pressured me while I figure out what love means to me.” She smiled, her own eyes beginning to tear up. “And I’m so sorry I couldn’t make them see that too.”

  For a long moment, Ro just looked at her. Tasha fought not to squirm, suddenly very curious what Ro saw. She wondered whether Ro thought Tasha was worth the effort.

  But then Ro smiled. She opened the car door and unlocked the passenger side. “Let’s go home.”

  * * *

  Ro opened her eyes. “Good morning.”

  Tasha was touching the vale between Ro’s breasts, where her wool was naturally thin, more a soft peach fuzz than the full curls that covered most of the rest of her body. The unprotected skin there was sensitive and tingled with each brush of Tasha’s lazy fingers.

  Ro smiled and stretched, wriggling beneath the slow tease. “What are you thinking for breakfast?”

  Tasha paused thoughtfully before pressing her lips to Ro’s shoulder. “Pancakes?”

  Ro felt Tasha’s hands stroke down her belly. “With turkey bacon?”

  “Mmmm. And eggs.”

  Ro’s eyes fluttered shut at the sweetly insisting feel of Tasha parting her thighs, making room for herself between Ro’s legs. “Scrambled?”

  Tasha shook her head then nipped the spot on Ro’s inner, upper thigh, just at the wool-line. The spot that she knew drove Ro crazy. “Poached.” She licked that sensitive bit of skin. “Just a little runny.”

  Ro bit back a groan. “Hash browns would go better with that than pancakes.” She imagined the thick, flowing yolk soaking the warm potatoes, practically tasting it on her tongue.

  Tasha placed a kiss below her belly, just above her mound. “But I’m craving something sweet.” She nuzzled the thicker, coarser curls between her legs. “All that melted butter and warm syrup.” She made a low hungry sound.

  Ro gripped the sheets at her sides. That did sound good.

  The tip of Tasha’s tongue dipped between the folds of Ro’s labia, teasing the ready flesh and making Ro groan.

  It had taken a long time to get here, but as Tasha slipped a finger deep inside her, Ro knew it’d been worth it.

  Tasha licked and nipped at her, as she thrust within her. Heat bubbled throughout Ro’s whole body, spilling in aching sounds from her throat and liquid heat from her core. Pressure built and built inside her, threatening to snap.

  And then it did.

  Sensation flowed and rushed through her, overwhelming her. Her body shook and shuddered as pleasure stole her breath. The intensity of it, like a psychic burst inside her, was so much she felt lost within it.

  Until Tasha’s gentle weight settled on Ro’s chest, grounding her to the bed. Ro clutched Tasha to her, clinging to her soft steadiness, while her rocked world settled.

  With a smug smile on her face, Tasha smacked a kiss to Ro’s lips. “Now that’s a good morning.”

  Ro laughed and kissed her back. She hugged her tight around the waist, squeezing an excited squeak from that sweet mouth. “Yeah, well, you certainly do know what pucks like.”

  * * *

  Tasha blinked, staring at the cafe again. She could still feel everything. Even as the memories, the exact details of it all, began to fade.

  She wanted to cling to the memories, wanted to fight to keep them.

  But, no matter how hard she tried to focus her mind, she couldn’t.

  “Why can’t I remember it?” It was so frustrating to be able to remember the feelings the experience evoked, but not the experience itself. It was like something that was never really hers had been stolen from her. It shouldn’t hurt, but damned if it wasn’t tearing her apart.

  Ro rubbed the backs of Tasha’s hands. “It’s easy to create a fantasy.” She shrugged wistfully. “Much harder to live it.”

  Tasha frowned. “Was any of it real?” It’d felt real. Almost more real than the rest of her life. But now… Her mind felt so muddled. “Was that really you? Really me?”

  Ro nodded. “My sight lets me see and show potential futures. It shows what, given the two of us together, might happen. It was really you, really me.” She tilted her head hopefully, her hair shifting to show more of her horns beneath the curls. “So, if you want, it — or something like it — could be real.”

  Tasha nodded back. She took a sip of her tea, more to give her hands and lips something to do while her mind tried to puzzle this all together. She set down the cup. “That all happened in less than an hour.”

  The corners of Ro’s lips lifted a bit wryly. “A whole lifetime in less than twenty minutes.”

  “You know, even after all that, it’ll take a lot longer than twenty minutes for me to feel comfortable enough to get intimate with you again, right?” Warm feelings aside, it wasn’t as if anything had concretely changed. They were still virtually strangers. In the fantasy, they may have known everything about each other; in reality, they still didn’t. She didn’t want to say how long it would take because she didn’t really know — it just had to feel right — and she didn’t want to scare Ro away. But she also didn’t want to make promises that she couldn’t keep. Tasha forced a laugh, trying to lighten the mood when she felt so weighed down by her insecurities. “And you know what pucks like.”

  Ro nodded and looked at her, really looked at her. She gripped Tasha’s hands in hers tightly. ”Yeah, you.”

  Sonni de Soto is a queer storyteller of color, who believes that the romance and speculative genres too often don’t get the credit they deserve. They tell us a lot about humanity. What we desire and fear. Our values and taboos. They allow us to explore sides of ourselves that we can’t anywhere else. They allow us, as storytellers, to showcase the soul. de Soto has had the privilege of publishing novels and stories with Cleis Press, SinCyr Publishing, and many others. To find more from her, please visit instagram.com/sonni_de_soto and patreon.com/sonnidesotoallaccess.

  Content notes can be found at the end of the book.

  Gold Medal, Scrap Metal

  by Lauren Ring

  Cameras flashed throughout the cheering crowd, lighting up the lunar night as Jinx Montoya’s gleaming hovercar barreled down the home stretch. As the finish line loomed ahead, Jinx pushed her thruster to its limit, trading stability for a little more power. This was going to be close. Another racer clung to her side as tightly as a bumper sticker, threatening her hard-earned lead and pushing the limits of safe flying distance.

  Jinx set her jaw and tightened her grip on the controls. The other driver should have known better than to play chicken with her. As the star rookie of the Luna Circuit, the media darling and the sponsorship idol, Jinx had too much to lose. Besides, Prilla deserved a champion, not some loser who washed out in the semifinals.

  Instead of swerving away and sacrificing her speed, Jinx edged toward the other hovercar, close enough to touch. Close enough to crash. The hovercars flew wingtip to wingtip for one exhilarating moment.

  Then Jinx pulled ahead and sped to victory.

  The semifinals were over at last. Adrenaline pumped through her veins like lightning as she climbed out of he
r hovercar, slapping it on its side before the pit crew pulled it away. One more win and it would all be worth it. She would finally be worthy.

  When she returned to her garage and saw the grim expressions on her crew’s faces, the thrill of the race faded. Jinx had won, yes, but barely. The finals next week would be full of faster, better racers. If she lost her edge now, she was doomed.

  Jinx stripped off her racing suit and flung aside her helmet. Outside, the lunar paparazzi swarmed like flies, surrounding the garage with a buzz of chatter. Jinx frowned. She loved attention — basked in it, even — but only on her terms. These cameramen were nothing if not predatory.

  “Montoya,” her coach called. “The press want me to do an interview, unless you’re finally willing to talk to them. You gonna survive on your own or do I need to call a babysitter?”

  Jinx flipped her off, shrugged on a camera-blocking dazzler hoodie, and headed out. She needed something to help her clinch the lead, and there was one place she could always count on for the rarest spare parts. She just had to go down to Earth for a while.

  It was a short flight to the terran surface with the latest in lunar transport tech. Jinx touched down near her best-kept secret: the Castle Junkyard. She had to take a long, winding path from the landing pad to shake off the few cameramen who had managed to follow her, and the heat of the day clung to her, inescapable. Still, it was all worth it when she arrived.

  Outside the Castle, heaps of scrap metal and spare parts gleamed like jewels in the sunlight. A neon dragon flickered above it all, breathing pixelated fire that spelled out DEALS DEALS DEALS. The crenellated towers of the front office cast cool shadows across Jinx’s face. As a child, she had sworn that if she climbed them, she could touch the clouds.

  The rusty bell on the door jingled as Jinx walked in, a far cry from the tech she was used to up on the moon. The store itself was full of an eclectic mix of new and old, from real gas engines to a mag drive only a few years out of date. To the side, a huge window looked out over the expanse of the junkyard.

  Jinx pulled off her hood and headed to the counter, where an older man fiddled with the settings on his holo display.

  “Is the princess here?”

  “In the back.” He didn’t bother to look up from his display. Jinx was the only one who used that nickname.

  “Thank you, my liege.” Jinx swept into a mocking bow before heading around the counter to the back room.

  The scent of motor oil filled the hot afternoon air, and fumes stung Jinx’s eyes. She blinked away tears, and when her vision cleared, there was Prilla.

  Prilla, the princess of the junk castle, stood next to a motorcycle that looked older than the lunar expansion. Her golden locks were swept back in a bandana as pale pink as a peony, and her plump cheeks were rosy red from exertion. She wore her usual overalls and a heavy flannel shirt, both featuring hand-embroidered petals: her signature.

  Prilla often made her own clothes, since most of the plus-size fashion down on Earth wasn’t suited to her taste. The best styles could only be found in expensive lunar boutiques. Anything affordable was either limited to straight-sizes or about as attractive as a rusty hubcap, according to Prilla. She wanted to shine.

  “Hey, princess.” Jinx hooked her thumbs into her pockets and leaned against the entryway. “Where’d you find that little showpiece?”

  Prilla looked up from her handlebar repairs and huffed.

  “Jinx Montoya,” she said, “haven’t I told you not to bother me when I’m working?”

  “Sorry.” Jinx stepped forward. She wanted to ask about fixing up her hovercar, but cutting to the chase would mean less time with Prilla. “I thought maybe I could lend a hand.”

  “The famous Jinx, dirtying her hands?” Prilla giggled. “A minute with you costs more than a hundred of these bikes. Don’t waste your time.”

  “It’s not wasting it if I’m spending it with you.” Jinx shot Prilla a dazzling grin. Prilla rolled her eyes and bent back over the bike. She was immune to Jinx’s charm — they’d known each other for too long. Prilla wasn’t some fan Jinx could woo with an autograph and a smile. Prilla was the bubbly lightness of lunar gravity and the roar of engines on the home stretch. Jinx wouldn’t dare make a real move without at least one championship title.

  “All right, champion, pass me that socket wrench.” Prilla stuck out a hand and wiggled her fingers at a nearby table. Jinx obeyed, flushing a little at the nickname. Prilla wasn’t reading her mind, though. She was referring back to their schoolyard games of princess and champion, when Jinx had always valiantly fought for Prilla’s honor.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Jinx handed over the wrench. Prilla took it, then paused.

  “Why did you really come here?”

  “I wanted to see you.”

  “Be honest.” Prilla kept staring down at the engine. “You must have more exciting things to do up there on the moon.”

  “It’s not all that great.” Jinx shifted uncomfortably. She wanted nothing more than to sweep Prilla away on a grand lunar vacation, but that would mean exposing her to the prying eyes of the media. What kind of champion would Jinx be if she let the paparazzi get hold of her princess? The tabloids were never kind to anyone she associated with. It could get messy, and then both of their reputations would be destroyed.

  “I can always tell when you’re lying.” Prilla put her hands on her hips. “Spill it, Jinx.”

  “Well, you probably saw the news this morning.” Jinx rubbed the back of her neck. “I didn’t do so hot in the race.”

  “Didn’t you win?”

  “Barely. I need to do better if I’m going to make it through the finals next week.”

  “And you need me to help you out again.” Prilla sighed and set aside her wrench. Then she smiled, making Jinx’s heart flutter. “Well, what are you waiting for? Let’s go junk hunting.”

  With the push of a button, the garage door rattled upward, revealing the sun-drenched stacks of steel that lay only steps away. Jinx was breathing in the scents of Earth dirt and desert air when Prilla grabbed her hand and tugged her forward into the junkyard.

  It took Jinx a moment to process the fact that they were holding hands. The heat of skin on skin almost overwhelmed her. She stumbled forward, holding tight to Prilla’s oil-smeared hand as Prilla weaved deftly through the heaps, stopping here and there to pick through the debris.

  Jinx’s thoughts drifted into fantasy. She pictured facing a cheering crowd, slinging one arm around Prilla’s waist while holding her championship trophy high. The paparazzi and their flashing cameras stayed at a respectful distance — this was Jinx’s fantasy, and she got to make the rules — while shouting their praise and adoration.

  “How about this?” Prilla held up a dented piece of equipment. Right. Not a winner yet. Jinx shook the daydream from her mind. “You need a new mag drive?”

  “New?” Jinx pointed at the dent in the drive.

  “I’m doing my best here.” Prilla pouted. “Someday, Jinx, I’d like you to visit just to take me out to lunch.”

  Jinx’s cheeks flushed hot as she realized her mistake.

  “We could go to lunch,” she stammered. “I didn’t realize you would want to.”

  “You really need to come down to Earth, and I mean that both ways.” Prilla tossed aside the dented drive and kept walking. Jinx hurried to catch up.

  “Princess — Prilla — I’m sorry, I thought you were too busy for me these days. You work so hard.”

  “I could say the same about you.” Prilla picked up part of a coolant rig. She looked it over, then set it back down. “I always assume you’re off partying with moon models and drinking free champagne.”

  “Only when I win.”

  “Right, right. That’s why you’re here.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” Jinx rubbed her forehead. She was sweating again, and not just from the heat. “It’s not all fun and games up there. Half the time I’m just wishing I was down here with you, lik
e old times.”

  Prilla crossed her arms. There was a softness in her eyes that vanished when she blinked hard. Jinx began to realize how much of Prilla’s life she had missed in her long lunar absences.

  They kept searching, but the heat of the day was fierce, and it soon overwhelmed Jinx. She sat down on the wing of a junked spaceship, took off her dazzler hoodie, and tied it around her waist, letting the slight breeze play across her toned arms. Prilla hesitated, then joined her. Together, they stared up at the clear blue sky, marked only by jet trails and distant rocket launches.

  “Remember when we were kids?” Jinx asked, still looking away from Prilla. “We’d run around with old antennas, swordfighting ‘til it got dark. You’d ride on the back of my bike past the hovercar track and tell me someday I’d be out there too.”

  Prilla sniffled.

  “Prilla?” Jinx glanced over to find her wiping away tears. “Did I say something wrong?”

  “No, I’m all right.” Prilla managed a small smile. “I really thought you were gone, Jinx. It’s been so long since we talked like this. Every time you visit, it’s just for parts.”

  “I’m sorry.” Jinx wanted to tell her the real reason for her visits, but she couldn’t, not yet. She had to be a real champion first. Everything was all tied up together, the finals and Prilla and the moon and the junkyard, but they were almost to the finish line. “I’ll be a better friend from now on, I promise. I’ll work harder on that than on racing.”

  “As if,” Prilla laughed. “I’d be happy to be your second priority, though.”

  “All right. It’s a deal.”

  There was a bright flash in the distance. Jinx squinted, trying to find its source among the glints and reflections of the junkyard, but Prilla’s gasp drew her attention away.

  “Look!” Prilla cried, kneeling at the back of the spaceship wing. “This thruster is still intact. I bet I could jury-rig it to propel your hovercar.”