Radclyffe - Turn back Time

by Turn back Time (lit)

  Wynter grew still. "I'm going with Pearce."

  "I know that, but that's not what I asked."

  "We're friends."

  "Uh-huh." Mina sipped her tea. "Do you remember when you and Ken were medical students, and we invited you over to dinner for the first time?"

  Wynter smiled. "Yes."

  "That was my idea."

  "That was really nice of you."

  "Not really."

  Wynter studied Mina curiously. "What do you mean?"

  "I wanted to get a look at you. You were Ken's study partner, and he spent hours with you every day--more than he spent with me. He talked about you all the time. I wanted to see if you were competition."

  "Me?" Wynter's eyes went wide. "You're serious?"

  "Of course I'm serious. Men and women don't usually form simple friendships, not if they're both straight. The sex thing gets in the way."

  Mina set her tea aside as the sentence hung in the air.

  Shocked, Wynter protested, "But I never ...Ken never once--"

  Mina laughed and held up her hand. "I know that now. But I didn't know that then. I wanted to see if there was a situation brewing that I needed to take care of."

  "Is there a reason you're telling me this story now?"

  "Pearce is a lesbian, sweetie. You might be thinking of her just as a friend, but chances are she's not thinking about you in the same way. If you went out on a Friday night with a single man, you'd at least be thinking about it being a date--or that he might consider it one, wouldn't you?"

  "Well, yes. Probably." Wynter remembered the look in Pearce's eyes the previous evening. She remembered how easily their bodies had fit together. How naturally. "What are you saying, Mina?"

  "Pearce is probably thinking the same thing, or at least wondering.

  So sooner or later, you're going to have to be clear with her."

  Wynter picked up a small glass prism and turned it between her fingers, studying it as if there were secrets hidden within the rainbows trapped inside. At length she looked up to find Mina watching her. "I almost kissed her once."

  Wynter had rarely seen Mina surprised by anything, but the expression on her face now was one of total incredulity. Finally Mina managed an intelligible word.

  "When?"

  "Match Day."

  "Almost four years ago?" Mina shouted.

  Wynter nodded.

  "And you're just telling me about it now? If I thought I could catch you, I'd get up and thrash your butt."

  "You couldn't catch me even when you're not pregnant."

  "Don't you try me." Mina crossed her arms beneath her full breasts. "Why didn't you tell me?"

  Wynter set the prism carefully back on her dresser. "It was all over in a few minutes. A few minutes that I couldn't even explain myself. I just didn't want to ruin them by trying to." She lifted her hands and let them fall helplessly. "We met by accident, and it was as if there was a connection between us that had always been there. Being with her felt totally...right."

  "What about now?"

  "It still does."

  The doorbell rang.

  "That will be Pearce," Wynter said.

  "We're not done with this," Mina warned.

  "I know," Wynter said softly. She grabbed her full-length dark brown leather coat from the back of a nearby chair, hurried to Mina, and kissed her cheek. "Good night."

  "Have fun, sweetie."

  Wynter smiled gratefully. "Thanks."

  Once downstairs, Wynter rushed to the front door, gathering her keys and wallet from the sideboard in passing. She felt irrationally happy, excited, as if the evening held endless possibility. All she knew for certain was that she was going out with Pearce, and she was going to have fun. She was going to listen to Patti Smith rage, and feel her blood stir, and not think about a single thing that life demanded of her.

  She pulled open the door and instantly forgot everything she had just been so sure of.

  Pearce wore black. Tight black jeans, heavy black motorcycle boots, a black T-shirt, and a black motorcycle jacket cut in at the waist and wide at the shoulders that accentuated her powerful build. Her thick black hair was slicked back, her high cheekbones knife-edged above an angular jaw. This was not the Pearce Rifkin she was used to.

  This woman exuded something exotic and dangerous and alluring.

  "Hi," Wynter said, feeling suddenly bereft of normal speech.

  Pearce smiled. "Hi." She reached out and fingered the blond strands that were trapped between the collar of the leather coat and Wynter's throat. "Your hair looks nice down like this."

  "Thanks." Wynter's vision narrowed until all she saw was Pearce's face. Then just her mouth, lips parted and intoxicatingly full.

  Neither woman moved. The very tips of Pearce's fingers rested against the pulse that beat erratically in Wynter's neck. Wynter leaned ever so subtly into her caress.

  Pearce traced her thumb along the edge of Wynter's jaw and let her eyes drift downward, taking in the leather duster, the long legs sleekly encased in softer sheaths of leather, the hint of green silk calling to her like a cool mountain glade on a hot summer day. She'd barely slept the night before, the memory of Wynter in her arms tormenting her all night long.

  Mina came up behind Wynter, her gaze traveling between them.

  "If you all don't want those tickets, Ken and I will take them, and you two can stay here and babysit."

  "Not a chance," Wynter said, her eyes never leaving Pearce's face.

  Pearce smiled and gently moved her hand away. She looked past Wynter. "Hi. How are you doing?"

  "Other than the fact that I'm getting too big to get out of my own way, I'm just fine. Now, if you two could move along, I'll close up over here and go find out what trouble my husband has gotten himself into with those children."

  "All set?" Pearce asked, unable to keep her eyes from Wynter's face for long. Looking at her was the only thing that eased the ache that had set up permanent residence in the center of her chest.

  Wynter put her hands in her pockets before she touched Pearce somewhere, anywhere . And she couldn't. Not when there was so much she didn't understand. She cared about Pearce too much for that. "Yes.

  I'm ready."

  "My car's around the corner."

  Wynter followed Pearce down the stairs, Mina's question resounding in her mind. Is this a date? Of course it wasn't. Was it? v "There they are," Wynter said, pointing into the crowd that milled around on the sidewalk in front of the Theater of the Living Arts on South Street.

  Pearce looked where Wynter pointed and saw a woman who had to be Wynter's sister Rose, since she looked like her carbon copy, only slightly shorter. Rose was glued to the front of a surprisingly scruffy guy in a black leather jacket that looked very much like Pearce's. He had a diamond stud in his left ear and blue jeans that were torn out in the ass. Rose had her arms around his waist, both hands stuffed into his back pockets, and was squeezing said ass. "Tell me he's a law student too."

  Wynter laughed. "He's a drug counselor when he isn't playing bass in a rock band."

  "Interesting combination."

  "Apparently it's working for them. Come on," Wynter said, grabbing Pearce's hand. "Let me introduce you."

  If Rose was surprised by Pearce's presence, she didn't show it.

  She smiled and extracted one hand from her companion's jeans and held it out. "Hi. I'm Rosie, and this is Wayne."

  "Nice to meet you. I'm Pearce."

  "Good to see you," Wayne said in a surprisingly mellow baritone.

  Further conversation was curtailed as the doors opened and the crowd surged forward. Pearce and Wynter fell in behind Rose and Wayne in the haphazard line. Wynter held tightly to Pearce's hand, and in a few minutes the crowd had poured itself into the theater, from which all the seats had been removed on the main level. It was standing room only in the dark, warm space. Staircases on either side led to a balcony area where a few tables stood along the railing, but most of the area on th
at level was filled with people standing as well.

  "It's really jammed," Wynter shouted above the din.

  "We're going to go upstairs," Rose said, struggling for balance when someone unintentionally bumped her hip in passing. "We'll meet you after, if we don't see you up there."

  "Okay." Wynter looked at Pearce. "Upstairs or down?"

  "Your call," Pearce replied, automatically sliding her arm around Wynter's waist and pulling her close as two men with plastic cups of beer sidled past them.

  "What do you say we stake out a place on the stairs?"

  Pearce nodded as Rose and Wayne disappeared. "We'd better move fast."

  Plenty of people had the same idea, but luckily they found two open steps halfway up along the wall. Pearce claimed the upper one and Wynter wedged in on the one just below her, leaving barely enough room for people to pass next to them. They shed their jackets and stashed them against the wall by their feet. The security staff, men and women in black T-shirts and jeans who shouted into walkie-talkies as they pushed through the throng, looked the other way despite the fact that standing on the stairs was in violation of code. The entire theater was wall-to-wall people by the time the warm-up band bounded onto the stage.

  Wynter, her back lightly cushioned against Pearce's chest, tilted her head back against Pearce's shoulder. "You okay?"

  "Terrific." Pearce steadied herself with a hand on either side of Wynter's hips when another person crowded onto the stair just behind her. As soon as she regained her balance, she quickly moved her hands.

  "Sorry."

  "No need to be." Wynter's face was very close to Pearce's. As the band started to play, she said, "I'm really glad you came tonight."

  "Me too," Pearce shouted before all conversation became impossible.

  Waitstaff, against all odds, managed to snake their way through the packed room holding aloft circular trays laden with bottles of beer.

  Pearce snagged two, tossing what she hoped was a ten onto the tray before passing a bottle to Wynter. Unlike most openers, the first band was better than good, and forty-five minutes later the crowd was primed for the main attraction. When Patti Smith hit the stage growling, lean and hungry in leather pants and a faded Dylan T-shirt, the room was seething with the contagious energy of sex and booze and rebellion.

  Wynter rocked against Pearce as she clapped and stomped, her body hot against Pearce's chest and stomach. The sounds were primal, the words prophetic, and Pearce was on fire. By the time Patti screamed that desire was the hunger, Wynter's hips pressed and rolled between Pearce's legs so hard that her mind filled with the red haze of arousal.

  She had no conscious awareness of sliding her arms around Wynter's waist or of Wynter clasping her hands and tightening the embrace. When Patti proclaimed that the night was made for lovers, Pearce buried her face in the curve of Wynter's neck and breathed her scent, her mouth open against sweat-dampened skin. Moaning softly, she surrendered to sensation, content to have just this small, sweet surcease. But it was Wynter who wanted more.

  At the first touch of Pearce's mouth against her neck, Wynter turned molten inside. Patti roared, the crowd raged, and Wynter soared to a place she'd never been. She arched her back and, without a single thought, pivoted and wrapped her arms around Pearce's neck. She fisted her hands in Pearce's hair and feasted on her mouth as if she'd been starving for years.

  Pearce kissed her back, unable to do anything else. She'd wanted this for weeks. Wynter's mouth was hot, soft, and demanding at the same time. Wynter's tongue raced over the inside of her lips, and her stomach twisted with urgency. When she heard Wynter groan and felt the telltale rocking of Wynter's hips, some part of her mind separated itself from her wildly demanding body. She found herself looking down at them as if from a great distance, saw Wynter carried away on a wave of abandon, and she suddenly knew she had to stop. She had to stop it, because she understood the consequences.

  "Hey," Pearce gasped, turning her head away from the kiss and brushing her lips over Wynter's ear. "I'm losing my grip here."

  "Oh God, me too," Wynter moaned, nipping lightly at Pearce's neck. "I've been wanting to do that since Match Day."

  Pearce fished in her pockets for her keys, and pressed them into Wynter's hand. "Take my car home. I need to take a walk."

  Uncertain, Wynter searched her face. "Why? What is it?"

  "This isn't Match Day anymore." Already slipping into the crowd, Pearce shook her head. "I gotta go, Wynter."

  Wynter leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes. Her body was in turmoil, her mind incapable of rational thought, but somewhere, deep inside, she knew Pearce was right.

  * * *

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Pearce cut across the small lobby, ignoring the curious stares of the staff, and shouldered through the door. She carried her jacket hooked over her shoulder, not slowing for even an extra second to shrug it on. The heat from the simmering crowd and the unrelenting arousal chased her, propelling her as if she were besieged. It was nearly 11:00 p.m., and the biting cold never even registered in her mind as she strode west, forcing her way through the teeming streets. Even now, in the dead of winter, the nightlife pulsed along the twelve-block stretch of South Street extending from Penn's Landing on the Delaware River.

  Boutiques, bars, tattoo parlors, and fast food kiosks jammed every available inch of real estate. Packs of teenagers jostled and preened, taking their first steps in the age-old mating rituals. Curious out-of towners gawked and the locals strolled. And Pearce ran.

  She had only one goal in mind, and that was to put distance between herself and Wynter. She needed some space to resurrect her shattered defenses. She'd known that going out with Wynter tonight was a risk. She'd known for days, weeks in fact, that she'd been pretending.

  Pretending that her attraction was controllable, her desire containable, and most dangerously of all, that Wynter was available. But she hadn't had the strength to walk away, and now she had to run. She wondered how far and how long it would take to run from the memory of Wynter's hungry kisses, the firm hot pressure of her body, the small sounds of pleasure that had cut through her with the deadly precision of surgical steel. Farther than she had yet, she knew that.

  She weaved unseeing through the oncoming Friday night crowds, barely aware of crossing the streets with or without the lights. Her thin shirt stuck to her chest, drenched with the sweat of desire and despair.

  She almost expected it to be blood.

  The University Hospital was thirty blocks west, and she covered the distance in just over thirty minutes, arriving weak-limbed and panting.

  She fumbled for ID in her wallet, although it wasn't necessary. All the guards knew her. If the two at the main entrance were surprised by her appearance, they didn't show it. She went directly to the elevators and rode up to the locker room. It was empty, as it usually was in the middle of the night. The residents were either busy on the floors or operating, and the only OR personnel around were occupied with the nonstop flow of emergency cases. Pearce opened her locker with trembling hands and methodically stripped off her boots and clothes. She pulled on clean, soft scrubs, stepped into her shabby, blood-spattered clogs, and went in search of forgetting.

  Her first stop was the ER, where she perused the whiteboard that covered one wall. It was divided into a series of rows and columns with the cubicle numbers on the left-hand side, followed by the patient name, attending ER physician, and a shorthand chief complaint. She studied the list. Back pain, cough, earache, painful urination, abdominal pain.

  Abdominal pain. Bingo.

  "Hey, Henry," Pearce said when she found the ER attending putting on a cast in the treatment room. "What's the story with the abdominal pain?"

  The heavyset African American didn't even look around as he smoothly rolled the three-inch strip of plaster of paris around the soft padding he had applied to an elderly woman's wrist. "Sixteen-year old basketball player who said he thought he pulled a groin muscle during prac
tice two days ago, but today he lost his appetite and spiked a temp."

  "White count?"

  "22,000."

  "Ouch. X-rays?"

  Henry Watson straightened with a grimace but smiled at the white haired woman in the wheelchair. "All done. How does it feel?"

  "Much better. How long will I have to wear this thing?"

  "That's going to be up to your orthopedic doctor," he said, "but I imagine about six weeks."

  "Oh my. That's going to make it difficult to shovel if it snows again."

  He pressed his lips firmly together, apparently trying not to laugh, and nodded seriously. "You might need help with that." He patted her shoulder and motioned to Pearce to follow him back into the hall. When they moved a few feet down the corridor, he said, "I hope I'm worrying about shoveling when I'm eighty-seven."

  "Yeah. Me too."

  "So what are you doing down here? I called for a surgery consult, but I didn't expect to see you."

  Pearce shrugged. "I happened to be in the neighborhood."

  "Uh-huh. Well, while you're passing through, why don't you go lay your sainted hands on that boy's belly so I can get him out of here.

  We're backed up until next week."

  "I'll take care of it."

  Henry grunted his thanks and walked away, and Pearce went in search of the chart. When she found it, she skimmed it quickly to make sure there wasn't anything else she needed to know and then went to see the patient. She introduced herself to Rodney Owens and explained that she wanted to take a look at his abdomen.

  All one hundred ninety pounds of Rodney Owens turned bright red as he clutched the thin hospital sheet to his chest. "I don't think there's anything wrong with my stomach."

  "Really? Your chart says you came in complaining of abdominal pain."

  "It's not exactly my abdomen. It's more...like...lower."

  "Lower. Lower like in your groin?"

  He nodded vigorously. "Yes. My groin. That's it."

  Pearce leaned her hip against the side of the stretcher and tucked the chart under her arm. "Groin as in the inside of your leg or groin as in your testicles?"