by Tessa Vidal
I smiled. “Does it worry you, Kaitlyn? Are you truly concerned that Sara’s out to learn all of our secrets, or are you just disappointed that you will never be able to get your hooks into me again?”
Kaitlyn waved off the remark. “I knew from the start that what happened between us was only a one-time deal and I never cared about that. It’s more that I care about my work here. Every woman who cares about fashion news and trends either reads us or aspires to work here. This is the pinnacle of achievement for those of us who want to write about fashion and beauty and more. You used to care about your job more than anything. What if that changes? What if your feelings for her blind you to what really matters?”
I’d never given any thought to there being a conflict of interest in my relationship. It just didn’t matter to me. Clearly, everyone could see I was in deep. That, alone, was frightening and I couldn’t suppress a shiver. If it was obvious to everyone around me that I cared about Sara, then I’d lost some piece of myself, somewhere. That woman who could slam a drink, get laid, and go to work fresh as a daisy the next morning with no regrets didn’t exist anymore. When had I lost myself so completely?
Even more concerning was the realization that I didn’t know if getting lost in my feelings for Sara was going to strengthen me or weaken me. I drew my elbows in tight against my sides, trying to ward off the continuous tidal wave of cold. If anything, I couldn’t let Kaitlyn see that she’d gotten to me.
“Just think about it,” Kaitlyn said, before rising from the chair and walking to the door. She turned and glanced back over her shoulder, unblinking. “That’s all I’m saying, Dylan.”
Think about it. Kaitlyn wanted me to think about how my relationship with someone who worked at a rival magazine would open me up to sabotage, which made some sense, but she’d given me something else to consider.
How it would open me up to losing the persona and reputation I’d built for myself. Was all of that really part of me, or was it simply an outer shell, a wall that was now crumbling down?
****
MY DAY PASSED IN A daze. Approving the work placed in front of me was the easy part of everything that came my way. Responding to Sara’s texts, though, was where I hesitated.
Normally, I didn’t respond to any woman’s text. Not even booty calls. That just wasn’t my style. Sara and I, however, had free-flowing communication in all respects but one. She told me more and more each day, opened up and gave me a little bit of her in pieces that made me want more from her. There was no such thing as “enough” where Sara’s willingness to open herself to me was concerned.
When I skimmed back through our conversations, I noticed something: I’d told her nothing that mattered. A stab of regret cramped my belly. Here I was, in a relationship, wanting and needing this woman, yet giving her nothing in return. It needed to happen, so I answered her text in the most raw and honest way possible.
Every letter that appeared on screen as I typed made me shiver more. When I set a goal for myself, I achieved it, no matter what. Opening myself up to Sara was no different. Hard, like scratching at old, barely-healed wounds, but worth it if I could build up new defenses with her help. I’d brought her into my world and now it was up to me to give her a reason to stay that didn’t involve hot sex and omelets.
No one glanced my way when I left the office well before the end of the day. If I didn’t get out of there and do something about the ideas swirling around in my mind, I’d go completely crazy. At first, I’d hated that Kaitlyn had planted a seed of doubt in me, but I knew I could nurture it into something else entirely. All I had to do was take a step in the right direction, to make the effort to meet Sara in the middle.
I’d invited her over for dinner and she’d accept. Now that was all I could think of, and there was no getting work done with my mind occupied. Tonight needed to be about the two of us and no one else.
I picked up everything that went into what I planned to make for dinner. There wasn’t any need to focus on making it memorable; our conversation alone would win big in that department. But I still wanted to show Sara how much I cared about her by doing the things I’d never done for anyone else. By the time she arrived after work, the quiche was cooling and I had a bottle of Riesling ready to pour.
Sara smiled at me as she set her purse on the end table next to the sofa and slipped out of her shoes. She let the tote bag slide down off her arm, onto the floor. I hoped she’d packed for an overnight, because it would take time to go through everything I wanted to tell her. A glance at the bag’s contents revealed cloth, a hint of lace, and a makeup kit. Good. She had an outfit for work tomorrow, just as I’d hoped.
“How was your day, dear?” she asked and then chuckled at her own joke.
Even I had to smile at the cliché. In most scenarios, if I’d ever gotten into a relationship, it would be the other way around. But it was all in good fun at the moment. “It was good. How was yours, darling?” It was funny to play house a bit, though it tugged at my heart. I’d always dreamed of having this as an adult, something denied me as a child. Something I had to dig into with Sara, so she could really know me.
“Excellent. Today is National Lipstick Day, you know. I got to do a livestream for it and visit different stores offering their free lipstick deals today. It was so much fun.” Sara’s eyes sparkled with excitement and her cheeks were flushed from more than just the summer heat. Another stab thrust at my gut, a reminder that she was the one who opened up to me every single time we got together. Tonight, though, that was about to change. I wanted to give her all of me.
“Well, your lipstick looks amazing. Permission to ruin it?” I crossed the distance between us and leaned over her. Mauve lips pouted up at me, emphasizing the blue in her eyes.
She tipped her head back. Permission granted. I moved my mouth over hers, taking my time to explore her softness. Everything about Sara made me want to touch her. Tonight couldn’t be about that, though, as much as I wanted it to be. I thought I’d gotten my fill of her over the weekend, but I was so, so wrong.
Rather than stay there any longer, tempting myself to throw my entire plan off the rails, I stepped away and gestured toward the table. “I’d like to ruin it even more with dinner, if you’ll allow me.”
Sara followed me to the kitchen and let out a little squeal. “Ooh, quiche! I love it. You surprise me with your talents a little bit every day, you know that?”
Something about those words finally thawed the ice inside me. Here I’d been so worried that I was all take, take, take, without giving, but that wasn’t how Sara saw it. Despite that easing my mind, I knew I had so much more to give. I just had to find the courage to do it.
We sat at the table and I poured the wine. Just enough to enhance the quiche, no more. This wasn’t about getting drunk, but it didn’t hurt to have a little something to relax me, make me less inhibited. The women I’d taken to bed would have laughed at the idea of me having any inhibitions. But these weren’t the sexual kind. Not by a long shot.
I cleared my throat and lifted my glass. “To us and to all the people who never thought it was possible.”
“Why would you want to toast them?” Sara asked, the smile on her face altering to more of a smirk. “They don’t deserve any recognition from us.”
This kind of sass was new in Sara and the tingles returned. Except, instead of cold, nervous shockwaves, they were warm and needy. “You’re right, but you deserve something from me.” I set the wineglass down and picked up my utensils.
Once Sara mimicked me and started eating, I took a deep breath. It was too easy for any person’s story to sound like a call for pity. Mine wasn’t. All I wanted to do was tell her the truth.
“You know, I never had an example of what a loving relationship could be, except in the movies.”
Sara swallowed her bite of food and washed it down with her wine. “Is this when you tell me your life story? Because, honestly, you don’t have force it if you aren’t ready.”
“Of course. There’s always something to explain why people the way they are – why they won’t commit or why they desperately want to commit, or why a certain smell takes us back to a time and place we vaguely remember, and can’t really visualize. You’re the sex goddess everyone worships, but no one can pin down. There has to be a reason for that, but I’m not going to force you to tell me. It’ll come out in its own time.”
“Wow, you should have been a counselor or something.” I couldn’t believe how easily she’d put my thoughts into words. How was it that Sara could surprise me even more? Maybe it was arrogance that made me think I was the one full of surprises, that I was the only one capable of having secret facets, and that I’d already seen every side there was to see of Sara. Apparently not.
And that made me want her all the more.
“That was uncanny. I’m not even sure where to begin, now,” I confessed.
“At the beginning, of course.” She cut another piece of quiche and cocked her head to one side, an invitation to continue, without pressure.
“I promise you, this isn’t forcing anything. These are things I want to share with you. I’ve never shared them with anyone, except maybe Eve. Out of every woman in this city, she’s been my only real friend.” Something in Sara’s face softened and I wished I could tame the beating of my heart. I’d never thought anyone could care about me, but there was someone who cared and she was sitting across from me at my kitchen table, in my apartment.
For once in my life, being proven wrong was the most amazing thing ever. I took a bite of my quiche while it was still hot. Even though I’d gone through all that effort for her, I still needed sustenance to get through this. Sharing had never been my strong suit.
“My parents divorced when I was a teenager and disappeared on me. I mean, I knew where they were, but they pretty much went off to live their own, separate lives without each other or me. I was fifteen and the best thing I could do was pretend not to care that my own mom and dad left me alone in a big house in the Hamptons with household staff. Most people think it doesn’t matter, because I was rich and spoiled, and at least they didn’t fight over me. But I wish they had.”
To my shame, my cheeks heated and tears pricked at my eyes. This wasn’t supposed to be Dylan Lambert, the city’s most eligible lesbian. Butches don’t cry! I told myself. But I knew stereotypes were made to be shattered when Sara reached across the table and held my hand. Now there was no stopping the flow of tears.
“Jeez,” she muttered. “What jerks your parents are. I don’t care if a child is five or fifteen. Any kind of parental loss is heartbreaking, especially when the adults choose it.”
I wiped at my wet eyes and nodded. How could I let myself break down like this in front of her? This wasn’t meant to be a moment of pitiful self-indulgence, but an opportunity to share something deeply personal.
“Yes, they are jerks. I think that’s accurate.” I blew out a breath. Somehow, telling her that lifted the weight and I sat up straighter. “We have contact with each other and all. But I went to a pretty exclusive school with stereotypical mean girls. The only way for me to deal with the loss and the inevitable taunting from kids teasing me that even my own parents didn’t want me, was to make everyone else want me.
“So that’s what I did. Instead of wallowing, I turned into one of the mean girls, too, except worse. I made myself the queen bee and worked my way through every girl in that school. Guys were jealous of me and all the girls wanted to be with me. I threw the best parties, served the best alcohol, and had the best sex. It filled the void and made me feel powerful, like I could control at least something about my life.”
I waited for Sara to hand down her sentence, to tell me I’d chosen the shallowest path possible to cope with my parental abandonment. Instead, however, she reached across the table, squeezed my hand, and said, “Sometimes, that’s what we need. Even if that control is an illusion or not fulfilling us in other ways, I can’t judge how other people cope with their losses.”
Again, her sweetness and understanding cut deep inside me. Now I knew what I’d spent years trying to understand – that the women I hooked up with weren’t the conquests. We both were. I was as much a trophy lay to them, as they were to me.
“It made me feel powerful until I met you,” I told her. “I’ve had women turn me down before, but when I’d move on to another one, they ones who turned me down would inevitably turn around and chase me, because I made them feel what my parents made me feel – worthless. It wasn’t nice of me, but I never pretended to be a nice person.”
“No, you didn’t.” Sara rose to her feet and circled the table to stand behind my chair. She leaned down and wrapped her arms around me. “Because you are nice on the inside. You just chose not to show that to anyone. It was survival. And then you entered a competitive industry, working at the top fashion magazine in the world. How could you let anyone know there was something beyond the face you showed them? They would have eaten you alive.”
I choked out a laugh and tilted my head to look up at her. “Are you just saying that? You’re so sweet and no one has gotten the best of you, yet.”
“That’s because I’m not as nice as I look and, besides, I don’t work for the cutthroat dragon lady.” Sara kissed my forehead and her warm breath fanned over my face. I closed my eyes and reveled in her closeness. This person really and truly wanted me, not for something quick and easy, not for status, not to show off. She just wanted me.
“Whatever you do,” I whispered, “don’t let me turn into that person, again.”
Sara’s arms tightened around me and her lips brushed over my forehead with her reply. “Never.”
Chapter Thirteen
Sara
We’d parted with a kiss that morning, but before we went our separate ways, Dylan threaded her fingers through mine there on the New York City streets and said, “Wait.”
I hesitated and turned back to her. Neither of us were running late, so I could linger a few minutes before hailing a cab. After her amazing dinner, we’d curled up on the sofa to watch TV together. It was something I could get used to, talking about our deepest thoughts, distant pasts, and potential futures, while spending my nights with her. “What is it?”
Dylan jiggled our joined hands and said, “Just remember, I’m the kind of girlfriend who likes getting answers to my texts. It doesn’t have to be immediate, but I like to hear from you. Is that okay?”
Okay? From the person who ignored countless booty-call texts from lanky models with bedroom eyes? The first woman I’d taken a real chance on since my last break-up – the unattainable, hot, confirmed bachelorette – had been calling herself my girlfriend ever since whiny Ashley’s birthday party. Everything was okay.
Those words kept me floating on cloud nine during my morning meeting. Better yet, I had some real insight into Dylan and the life she’d cultivated for herself. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe in commitment or some kind of bullshit like that. Everything about how she conducted herself was a defense mechanism, one I couldn’t blame her for developing.
All of us had them. Especially me. Any person who claimed they didn’t was lying to themselves and others. From self-deprecating humor to deflecting attention, I knew everything about these tactics and building walls around one’s heart. I excelled at it.
Tonight, it was my turn to tell Dylan that we were more alike than either of us had ever realized at first.
****
“I’M PRETTY SURE I APPROVED an article about blue eyeshadow today.” The confession made my heart twist with regret and I took a deep breath. Heat raced into my lungs, along with the tang of fresh asphalt.
Dylan made a face at me. “Blue eyeshadow? What was wrong with you?”
“I don’t know,” I lied. “At the time, it seemed like a fun idea, but now I think...” My words trailed of
f and I pressed my lips together. I knew what happened. The entire day, all I could think about was Dylan, her confessions last night, and how I would reciprocate. Now it was early evening and we’d made this pre-dinner stop at my request. It was a place where I could gather my thoughts and share them, without the expectation present in one-on-one conversation.
We climbed the steps to the New York Public Library, passing the lions that acted as stone sentinels on either side. The atmosphere of the historic building was like a welcoming embrace. I loved the hushed whispers, endless shelves of books, and vintage artwork on display. Even Dylan stopped talking until we reached the place I wanted to show her.
“You gave me more of you yesterday, maybe even all of you,” I told her, “so I wanted to give you more of me.”
“The library?” Her eyebrows drew together as she looked around the interior, and then at the section we were standing in. “Non-fiction? That’s so romantic, Sara.” She smiled as she said it, gentle sarcasm edging her tone.
Unable to keep myself from laughing, I tugged a few books down off the shelf and showed her the covers. “Very funny, but I want to get this out and this is the easiest way.” I sucked in a deep breath and blinked up at her. “I was always the fat kid, you know? The one with too many extra pounds, the one who got picked last for teams in gym class. My parents loved me, of course. They never shamed me or tried to send me away to lose weight. Maybe that’s for the best. I had a pretty healthy sense of self-esteem for the most part, until I tried to start dating.”
When I glanced at Dylan, I saw that her brow had furrowed even more, her eyes narrowed. “Anyone who treats you as something less for your weight deserves a kick in the ass.”
“I appreciate that,” I told her with a grin. “Really. But when I was fifteen, same age as you when your parents left, the romantic rejections started piling up. That’s when I went to these, books about how to be beautiful. They’re all about the outside, of course, but they focused on the one thing I felt I could control – my face. I could make it beautiful by knowing the right colors to wear and how to apply makeup.”