Sure, I may had been in a relationship at the time, but that doesn’t mean I can’t feast my eyes on good looking people, right? It’s only bad if you act on it. At least, that’s what I tell myself. However, in my post-boyfriend state, my body is already reacting to her presence. I think I'm a lot more attracted to women than I initially thought. Or, perhaps, I'm mostly attracted to Jordan. I mean, come on. She's a stunner. Long blonde hair like she belongs in summer. Irises that flicker between different colors. A curved, oval face which would make her a good front-woman for a band, though she prefers to play the guitar.
“Down, girl,” Freddy says, noting my expression. “You need to stop with the rebound urges. And honing in on people who are not single.”
Jordan, also known as Jordy, with a brown and black acoustic guitar strung over her back, smiles at me. “Hey, Clarissa. Good to see you. You working or you off?” Her voice is deep and powerful, and I smile like an insipid idiot at her.
“Off. And bitching to my friend about my ex-boyfriend.”
“And her awful taste in men,” Freddy adds.
“Bad break up?” She says sympathetically. I nod, letting my hand creep over the table. I’m already visualizing touching her arm, stirring the little hairs on it, imagining her shudder and roll back her eyes. I wonder what it would feel like to have her on top of me, fingers buried inside as she sucks as my neck. The thoughts make me shuffle in my seat, aware of an ache between my thighs. I bite my lip and take a deep breath. My thoughts are running away frantically, and I know it's not good. Maybe it's because I'm desperate for company. I'm happier to think it's because my heart knows the kind of people it should go for – except for some reason, my heart really likes the non-singles. And imagining them in compromising scenarios.
“Yeah. Recent. Freddy’s cheering me up. But it seems, knowing you’re playing tonight, I’m already cheered up.”
I smile innocently, but keep eye contact with her. Freddy shoots me a vicious, warning stare, but Jordy laughs. “Oh. That was smooth. Maybe it’ll be my turn to get you a coffee instead.” She winks, and my stomach lurches. Then, Jordy glances back at the sound of stomping boots. “Alas, though, Noelle approaches.” She reaches to quickly brush my knuckles, before straightening up. My knuckles prickle up where she touched, and I feel fairly certain that when I get back home, I'm going to be doing something a little extra before sleep tonight.
Noelle Brandt, decked in tattoo sleeves of roses and serpents on her arms, with gothic black hair and makeup, strides to our table in platforms that boost her already above average height, and pulls her girlfriend away from us. “Come on. Let’s start the performing. Hey.” Although the hey is meant for us, Noelle barely flicks an eyelid our way, and drags an apologetic looking Jordy to the stage.
After a brief consultation with the announcer, they take their positions – Noelle by the microphone, Jordy to the left, fingers splayed on her guitar. I’m watching her fingers, noting to myself how long they are, and also seeing the scowl on Noelle’s face. Those fingers are ridiculously long. Perfect, I think, for hitting the g-spot. I bet she's quite talented at what she does. I bet she could make me scream.
“No,” Freddy says. “Don’t.”
“I’m not doing anything,” I protest.
“You’re thinking it. Stop.”
I grumble, but cease my fantasies of Jordy for now. I know Freddy is right, and it’s partially why I want him around me. He’s a good moral compass when my emotions are all over the fucking place. I’m still bitterly disappointed by Howard – and it taints the moments I did have with him, the nights we spent together.
Asshole. I down my coffee in one gulp, as Jordy strums soft notes, and Noelle rocks closer to the microphone. Her high, raspy voice fills the room, rough but soothing.
Always the same way, this place my heart is hurting
I'll play the blame game, so that the pain ain't lurking
The loss of love it makes me scream
I'll brush the words away, act like my mind is certain
Trapped in this self dismay, a web of my own making
The love is in my darkest dreams
And my heart is still here yearning
Getting older still not learning
Except how to fall
These grasses aren't so green
After all
All of these things you say, I’d rather you just listen
Though I can't convey what it is I'm truly missing
You try to show the way but I keep on slipping, slipping
Where’s the love I’m meant to see?
I’ve searched so long for love to breathe, for the wings of a smile to set me free
And my heart is still here yearning
Getting older still not learning
Except how to fall
These grasses aren't so green
After all
I smile, and get up with Freddy to order another drink. I love their lyrics, and I know for a fact that Jordy’s the brains behind them. She often sings of searching for love – and they resonate somewhere deep inside, because I’m searching, too. I’m fucking up a lot, but I know I won’t find it by sitting still. I have to believe that what I’m doing is right.
Well, I think. All things considered, I might as well enjoy this evening. There’ll be a time for me to sob my eyes out later. I suck in air, forcing the tears beginning to well up in my eyes to back off.
As if sensing my mood, Freddy wraps his arm around my shoulder, and we watch Noelle and Jordy as they perform their next song.
Freddy truly is a good friend, and the blunt way he tells the truth has always been something I need. However, I still need to step out at a point, because the mood of the music has dragged me to that hollow place. In the cool, crisp night air, with clouds obscuring the sky and the street lamps illuminating buildings and roads, I watch my breath unfurl in the air like dragon smoke. My heart aches, and something prickles behind my eyelids.
It's not that much to ask, is it, that I can have someone by my side, who isn't going to fuck me over, and loves me for who I am?
The love is in my darkest dreams. Those lyrics ring true, as does not knowing anything except how to fall. I fall for people. And I lose them. It makes me wonder sometimes if I'm just unlucky and fall for the wrong types, or if there's something I'm doing that has made the relationships crumble apart. Quietly, I hum the words.
I'm a singer as well, though I dislike my voice, because it has a high, girlish folk air. I want to sound mature and gravelly, and not like a high-pitched country mouse. I exhale the last note, and stare up to the sky for a moment.
There's no point in staying sad forever, though there's always a time to be sad. Taking a deep breath, I enter the Café and return to my friend, who promptly buys me a drink. Of course, watching Jordy play helps to boost my mood, and gives me plenty of opportunities to feast on her visually. I try to hide the obvious staring in front of my friend, so he doesn't think I'm fixating on the guitarist. The beautiful, talented guitarist, who writes those lyrics, who sometimes makes an effort to catch my eye in the crowd, and smile.
Later on, of course, I picture Jordy's form in my head. I see those hazel eyes, her long, light blonde hair, and those fingers brushing over me. I close my eyes and touch my breasts under the bedcovers, imagining that these are her hands. The temperature of the room rises as I toss and tumble under the sheets with a sigh, trying to capture the perfect images. She glides over me in my mind, as smooth as silk, and presses into me as she nibbles my ear, and tells me that she wants to fuck me senseless. I picture her saying it with a low growl, her voice dipped into sultry, body igniting tones.
I know I shouldn't be doing this on a level, but her body and that tantalizing scent of her triggers arousal in me, and I want to experiment further with this new thread of thought, having never been with a woman before.
Will it be soft? Rough? Will she be gentle when she touches me, or aggressive and pushy? Would she stare
at my naked form, suck at my breasts and dig her blunt nails into my skin, before lapping me dry at the well? What does a tongue feel like down there? I think with our legs tangled together, we would fit quite well. Perhaps we would be like a jigsaw puzzle, or our long hairs, red and blonde, mix together in an orange tint as we writhe under the sheets. She might fix me with those eyes that change color in the light, and assault my body in mounting desire, wanting nothing else but me in that moment.
It's almost too easy when I finally dip to my wet core, and stroke at the tiny nub there. On bad days, it can take thirty or forty minutes to orgasm, and with my last boyfriend, just so he didn't feel bad, I pretended to get off, and then would take care of my issue later.
With the vision of Jordy in my head, and the thought of her sighs, and her voice – the feeling increases with every stroke, until I topple over the edge, and the warm flood of orgasm flows through.
I know I should feel guilty, for tending to matters in this way, but I don't.
It's not cheating if I just think about it, right? I'm justifying it for Freddy and myself. People dream about celebrities all the time. People indulge in their fantasies, and it does no harm. Why shouldn't Jordy have a place in my hall of fame?
Though I wouldn't mind having her touch me like this for real.
I get up, wash myself down, then clamber back into bed and drift into a contented sleep.
Chapter Two
It's not until a few days later that I bump into Jordy again. I've been thoroughly drilled by Freddy to not go headhunting for human sized bed warmers, and to give my break-up some breathing space so I don't appear desperate to the one I date next. He threatened to change his Netflix password if I ignored his advice, and that's a threat I take seriously.
Unfortunately, in all my attempts toward my new, saintly ways, I did not account for my secret girl-crush to show up at the book store. It took me completely by surprise, since I'd been holding up this book that had a picture of a princess and a dragon on it, and it looked like the female dragon and princess got on really well. Like, really, really well. The suggestive content had me ogling the book blurb, and I turned the corner past the shelf that's almost twice the length of me, and screech to a halt when I spot Jordy DeWitt perusing the stacks.
My heart does this annoying lurch and forgets how to beat. Shit! I think. She's here. And she likes books. And I'm holding some dragon princess lesbian erotica.
Slightly awkward, but not the end of the world. Should I approach? Say something cool like, “Hi, I didn't know you liked books,” and then lean against a shelf all casual like? I immediately halt the train of thought with a curse. No. If I do this, I'll be barred from Netflix. I'll never finish Stranger Things.
Jordy has a girlfriend, so she falls into the taken category. She also fits into my track record of dating taken people.
You need to stop with the rebound urges. And honing in on people who are not single. Freddy's voice rings in my head like a death knell.
Well, fuck. Exit strategy, implementing now.
I discreetly put down the book, intending to make a graceful, speedy line for the door. Just as gracefully, I take about three steps before I crash my hip into a table choked with books, let out a squeak as I fall forward, and my hands instinctively lash out. Books are flung everywhere as I topple onto them.
Just to make things more entertaining, the table is a collapsible one that happens to split down the middle.
I lie there in an ungainly heap, completely giving up on life and my futile dreams of a silent exit, since I'm pretty certain that people on the other end of the street heard that shit. Apparently, I'm the bull in the china shop. It's a wonder I haven't died in a car accident or something yet.
Jordy of course, snaps her attention to the source of the noise, spots me lying there in a self-made pool of ruin, and strides over to help me whilst simultaneously laughing her ass off. My cheeks are burning at this point, and both of us, under the murderous glare of the shop-owner, set the table upright, lock it into place, and shove the books back on.
“How?” she asks, wiping a tear of mirth from her cheek. “Just how?”
“I don't pay attention to things that are lower than chest height,” I say, noting that another dragon erotica has somehow found its way into my hands.
“That would make you a bad lesbian,” Jordy quips, and I gape at her, thrown by her flirtatious manner. Her vibrant hazel irises are fixed on me, and her lips are slightly curled at the corners.
Shit. She's so hot. Jordy has clearly done something with her hair today, as the long dark strands have a glossy shine, perfectly framing her oval face. Again, my mind starts drifting to interesting places, picturing her in a different scenario, such as being chained to a bed, fully naked, with a feather tickler in my hand as I brush over her pale skin.
“To be fair,” I admit, dodging eye contact because it's making me blush further, and my heart's doing some seriously weird palpitations, “the only things I've learned is how to crash my hips into a hard bit of wood.”
Jordy grins wickedly at this statement. “Sounds like you could do with a hand, then. A deft touch to make sure you don't... crash again.”
We're flirting. Oh sweet baby Jesus, we're flirting.
Freddy is going to kill me.
“I'm sorry for this, by the way,” I say, attempting to steer our ship back from dangerous waters, “it seems I'm always making a mess out of everything nowadays. Even walking through shops.”
“That was klutzy, for sure, but I wouldn't say you're making a mess of everything,” Jordy disagrees, her face softening. My overactive imagination is already going places. I wonder if her cheeks are as soft as they look, and what her lips will taste like. She has a boyish figure, whereas I'm more hourglass shaped, but she also hides her shape under a dark blue T.A.R.D.I.S hoodie and jeans. I can't even tell what cup size she is.
“It's just frustrating,” I say. “Can't keep myself focused.”
“Maybe I can help with that. How about you join me for lunch shortly?”
No, Jordy. That is not going to help me with my focus. At all. “I –” I begin to bluster, before Jordy interrupts me, her friendly tone adopting a hint of steel.
“I insist. I need to find a way to pay you back for all those complementary cups of Joe you've given me over the months.” Her right long-fingered hand briefly strokes my shoulder, and a tiny shiver launches through me, right from where she touches to the pit of my stomach.
Oh.
After that I'm putty. Heart doing a staccato beat, I end up at the nearby sushi bar with Jordy, though I've never tried sushi before. Jordy insists that it's worth the experience, though the idea of eating raw fish balled up in sticky rice hasn't been something that appeals to me. Or that weird wasabi paste stuff. We sit at a circular sushi bar where the food revolves around in little platters, and we can pull them off the conveyor belt, depending on what we want to try out.
I bravely commit myself to a salmon roll, and Jordy and I exchange casual, probing questions about one another. Such as what our favorite bands are (Mine is The Levellers, hers is Within Temptation) and best superpower (Obviously flying, duh. She chose mind control like a boring person.)
Then, as she's stuffing a cucumber and tuna paste roll into her mouth, she says, “You know, I was thinking, Clarissa. What are you doing with your life? What plans do you have?”
My first reaction is to get massively offended, and a faint flush creeps into my cheeks. I've been working in Café Fix for almost two years, and it's not the first time someone has asked me that question, along with: “You're too smart to be working here, why haven't you gone to college?” or “You can sing, right? Why don't you do something with that?”
“Why do you ask?” My voice comes out stiffly.
Jordy's senses my discomfort, and hastens with her explanation. “Look, I'm sorry if that's not a question you like to be asked. I didn't mean it offensively – I just meant what sort of plans or dreams
do you have at some point? I used to wait tables myself, until the gigs kept coming. I was always hoping they would take off some day, you know? So, what about you?”
At this, my mind blanks for a second. Truthfully, I've never been one to know what I've wanted. I've known things I like to do, such as singing, becoming a writer, being an artist – but I get easily discouraged because there's thousands wanting the same dreams as me. And those dreams don't get the bills paid, if you're not instantly scooped up as a child prodigy, or taken into college on a scholarship. I am neither bad nor exceptionally good at anything – and it's a problem.
But, staring into Jordy's gleaming hazel eyes, a bold impulse takes over me. “I wouldn't mind trying a hand at what you do. Singing. Not guitar playing.”
“Singing?” One of Jordy's eyebrows raise. “You can do that?”
“I've dabbled,” I say, downplaying the fact I had singing lessons once a week for four years before I stopped. “Then exam pressure came along, and then my dad ended up in the hospital because of cancer, and then I started working – and I didn't pick it back up. Still sing in the shower, though.” At Jordy's wide-eyed expression, I add, “dad's okay. He got chemo and he's back to work, though he looks weird with stubble hair.”
“That's good,” Jordy says, relieved. I feel a tiny bit guilty for dropping big news like that unannounced onto her lap, but happy at the same time to witness her concern.
I'm manipulating her, and I know it. I want her to like me, and to keep hanging out. Jordy also seems to hold interest in me, despite her official status as Noelle's girlfriend. I wonder if it's anything like Freddy's relationship, and then I picture Noelle's scowling, black makeup smeared face, and decide that girl would likely enjoy filleting me if she ever got the chance.
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