by Jae
“Gone?” Oh, right. The hiccups. “I mean, great. I—”
The door swept open, and heels clacked on the tiles.
Regan looked up and was faced with Lindsey’s cool gaze, which seemed to heat up when she took in Regan’s hands on Ky’s chest, Ky’s tousled hair, and the sweater, which had somehow ended up on the floor.
Cheeks burning, Regan slid her hands out from under Ky’s.
“Oh, yeah, nothing going on, right? Just two gal pals hanging out. And to think I almost believed you!” Lindsey whirled around on her heel and stormed out.
“Lindsey!” Ky called after her. “It’s not what you think!”
Regan grimaced. That sounded like a total cliché. Worse, Lindsey wasn’t the only one who’d gotten the wrong idea. Regan’s body seemed to have misinterpreted the situation too.
Ky picked up her sweater and pulled it on as if needing the layer of protection. “I don’t know why I even bother,” she muttered. “I should know by now she won’t believe me.”
Regan turned toward her.
Ky didn’t seem upset or even surprised. Apparently, this kind of accusation wasn’t new to her.
“Is that why she always hated me when you were together?” Regan asked. “Because she thought there was something going on between us?”
“She didn’t hate you.”
“Yeah, right.” Truth be told, Regan hadn’t been a fan of Lindsey either. She had tried to get along with her for Ky’s sake, but deep down, she had always known Lindsey wasn’t right for her.
“She didn’t,” Ky repeated. “She just felt insecure around you.”
Regan snorted. “When did I ever make anyone feel insecure?”
“You didn’t. I did. According to Lindsey, I didn’t pay enough attention to her and was never really in the moment with her.”
Regan hurled an angry stare at the door, where Lindsey had disappeared. “Bullshit. That’s one of my favorite things about you. You’re always fully present.”
Ky dug the toes of her boot into the bathroom tiles and shrugged.
“That wasn’t why you two broke up, was it?”
Another shrug.
Oh shit. What her mother had told her last week came back into focus: You’re keeping each other from having it all. How is a partner going to compete with all the history you two share? Was this what her mom had been trying to tell her? She grasped Ky’s arm to get her to look up. “Was it?”
Ky glanced up, then back down at her boots. “No. Not really. But let’s just say Lindsey’s jealousy of you didn’t help.”
“If I was causing problems in your relationship, why didn’t you tell me? I could have—”
“No!” Ky looked up sharply. “That’s exactly why I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want you to feel bad or…”
“Or?”
“Or stop being you. Being…us.”
Regan slid her fingers down Ky’s arm and captured her hand. “We’ll always be us, Ky.”
Their fingers intertwined in a tangle, and they both looked down at them.
God. It was incredible how good Ky’s strong hand felt wrapped around her own. Regan shook off the thought to focus on what she was going to say. “I want you to be happy.” She held up her free hand because she knew Ky was about to interrupt. “If I…our friendship is keeping you from finding happiness with someone…”
“I know you’re only looking out for me, but I am happy. I don’t want to limit the time we can spend together or change the way we interact just so my girlfriend won’t feel threatened.” Ky looked into her eyes. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be right now.”
Regan blinked against the burning in her eyes. “Ditto.”
A bubble seemed to have formed around them. Regan no longer heard the drip-drip-drip of the tap or smelled the fake lemon scent of the toilet cleaner. All she heard was Ky’s breath and her own heartbeat thrumming in her ears, and all she smelled was Ky’s subtle perfume.
They stood like that for approximately fourteen eternities or maybe only a few seconds.
Finally, Ky cleared her throat. “Well, maybe except in there”—she pointed at the theater—“watching Grace Durand in those sexy scrubs.”
That burst the bubble surrounding them. Regan disentangled her fingers from Ky’s and forced a laugh. “You think women in scrubs are sexy?”
“You think they aren’t? What kind of bisexual are you?” Ky held open the door for her with her arm.
As Regan slipped beneath it, another whiff of that pines-and-Ky scent tickled her nose. “The kind who thinks people are sexiest in their favorite pair of jeans.” She glanced back over her shoulder—and right at Ky’s jeans. Shit. She really should think before opening her mouth.
Luckily, Ky didn’t seem to think anything of it. “You’ve got me there. A worn pair of jeans on a woman…totally hot.”
Regan stared down at her own jeans, which had been washed so often that they were a shade lighter than when she’d first bought them. She doesn’t mean you, doofus. Just women in general. She ducked into the dark theater, where Ky couldn’t see her flush.
When they climbed the steps, the seat in front of theirs was empty.
Regan couldn’t wrestle up any real compassion. Ky was the most loyal, faithful person she knew. Anyone who accused her of cheating didn’t deserve to watch Grace Durand in her sexy scrubs.
Although Regan had to admit that moment in the restroom probably hadn’t looked very platonic. It hadn’t felt very platonic either. She had touched Ky a hundred or probably a thousand times before, giving her a foot or a shoulder massage, touching her arm to make a point, or holding her hand in support. But none of it had felt any different from touching Heather or Eliza or any other friend.
She paused and stared at the screen without actually watching. No. That wasn’t quite true. Her friendship with Ky had always been different—deeper and fiercer in a way she had never been able to put into words. The few times they had argued had hurt much more than an argument with other friends.
Maybe it had been naive to be so sure these dates wouldn’t trigger a reaction. With how intense their friendship was, perhaps some sort of reaction was to be expected.
That didn’t mean it was a romantic or—Regan gulped—a sexual one. It was exactly what she always tried to teach her students: not everything that appeared like a chemical reaction was one, no matter how spectacular it looked.
Ky burst out laughing at something that had happened in the movie.
Regan had completely missed it, but she couldn’t help chuckling along with her in response to Ky’s mirth.
See? She reacted to Ky. Always had. It wasn’t new; it was just this pretending-to-date situation that made it feel that way. Next weekend, they would wrap up this experiment and go back to more predictable reactions.
* * *
“Oh my God!” Regan’s booming laughter filled her small car, making something inside Ky’s chest vibrate. “That scene in the grocery store was the best ever! So hilarious!”
Ky laughed along with her. “I don’t know about best scene ever, but yeah, it was great. I’ll never look at sponge cake the same way again.”
Both burst out laughing again.
“So what was your favorite scene?” Regan asked as she steered the car toward Ky’s apartment building. “Let me guess. The shower scene. Grace Durand with her head flung back, trailing one hand down her belly and—”
“No,” Ky said quickly before Regan’s narration could make her body temperature skyrocket.
That scene had been tastefully done, more hinting at what was happening than showing too many explicit details. But Grace Durand with dark, constantly tousled hair was still messing with her head. Even though her eye color was all wrong—blue instead of Regan’s melted-chocolate brown—she reminded her of Regan a bit too much for Ky’s peace of mind.
“Which one’s your favorite scene, then?” Regan asked.
“The faking-an-orgasm conversation. No, wait. The
Griffith Observatory scene. Or maybe when Grace’s character loses a patient and they kiss. Or…”
Regan chuckled. “So basically the entire movie.”
“Pretty much. I know Grace is happily married to the woman who wrote the script for the movie, but she and Amaya had amazing chemistry.”
“I think they’re friends in real life, and it shows.”
“So are you saying friends can have chemistry, Ms. Chemistry Teacher?” Ky snapped her mouth shut, but the words were already out. What was she doing? Was she flirting with Regan?
“Of course.” The grin Regan flashed back was almost sensual.
A shiver chased through Ky. Don’t read anything into it. Regan was just being Regan. She had always been a flirt. It was merely a bit of good-natured fun to her, but Ky could no longer brush it off with a carefree laugh.
Somewhere between Regan coming up with this harebrained dating idea and now, something had shifted for her. It was as if a protective mask of denial had been pulled from her eyes, and now those rare flashes that she used to get had become a constant awareness of how goddamn attractive her best friend was, especially when she laughed.
Which she was no longer doing. “Um, I mean, friendship chemistry. That’s a thing, right?” Regan added. “Of course, it’s totally different from the let’s-heat-up-the-sheets kind of chemistry.”
“Totally.” Earlier, in the restroom, she had thought for a second Regan might be feeling more than friendship chemistry too, but now that she could think more clearly, she realized it had probably all been in her head. She had to accept that they would never heat up the sheets together. No way would she make the same mistake her father had and destroy her life because she was never happy with what she had.
So what if she was attracted to her best friend? Not a big deal. She would ignore it until it faded into the background, the way it had when she’d been a teenager.
She just hoped she would do a better job at hiding her attraction than Grace Durand’s character had in the movie because life wasn’t a romantic flick. With her track record, instead of getting a happily ever after, she’d screw it all up and lose Regan forever.
Not. An. Option. She dug her nails into her palms. Come hell or high water, she would make it through their last date, then go back to being in denial.
She already had a fail-safe plan for date number three: Next weekend, she would take Regan to see her favorite singer in concert. They would drool over Jenna Blake in her tight leather pants together, and any kind of chemistry happening between them would be strictly of the friendship kind.
Chapter 7
Ky’s plan wasn’t as fail-safe as she’d thought.
The next Saturday at the concert, Jenna Blake wasn’t wearing leather pants, at least not on the poster shown on the huge video screen behind the stage, and the only drooling going on happened whenever Ky looked at Regan for any length of time.
Cargo pants weren’t supposed to be sexy, but Regan had paired them with what Ky secretly called her milkmaid top. Its short, puffy sleeves left her arms bare, and its square neckline revealed a tantalizing glimpse of her collarbone and a hint of cleavage. So much for no cleavage-flashing on their third date! Apparently, Regan hadn’t gotten the memo. White laces crisscrossed up her belly, ending just below her breasts. Their ends dangled loose, and Ky caught herself wondering what would happen if she—
Don’t even think about it!
“Aren’t you cold?” Ky asked with another quick glance.
“No, not at all. I’m too excited.” Regan bounced along the rows of seats, her denim jacket casually thrown over her shoulder. “Where exactly are our seats?”
Ky pointed up ahead. “Third row.”
Regan stopped abruptly and gripped Ky’s arm. “You got us third-row seats in the floor section, with a direct view of the stage? Oh my God, Ky! Please tell me you didn’t have to sell a kidney. I would have been fine with nosebleed seats, really.”
“Don’t worry,” Ky said. “No essential organs were harmed in the procurement of the tickets. Lilia got them for me. Her cousin’s queerplatonic partner is friends with Jenna Blake’s wife.”
“Wow. Small world.”
Traffic around the Moda Center had been horrible, so they had arrived later than expected. By the time they took their seats, the huge arena had already filled, and it wasn’t long before the concert started.
The air around them seemed to vibrate with excitement as the lights faded to black. A single beam flared on and danced across the stage until it found a solitary figure, shrouded in artificial fog.
The audience surged to their feet and cheered.
Bass notes and the wild beat of a drum reverberated through Ky’s chest. She owed Lilia big time for these tickets.
The look of awe on Regan’s face was even better than the up-close view of the famous singer. Ky smiled as she watched her out of the corner of her eye. Regan’s almost childlike enthusiasm was one of the things she loved most about her.
“‘Odd One Out,’” Regan shouted to her.
The crowd roared in approval, then fell silent as Jenna Blake’s husky voice filled the arena.
Amazing how such a lithe woman could glide through four octaves without any noticeable effort. The singer roamed the stage, high-fiving fans left and right while she belted out the lyrics. The leather pants and skin-tight tops she’d worn in the past were absent, as were the scantily clad dancers. Instead, she seemed completely at ease in ripped jeans, boots, and a red tank top.
Well, they had both agreed that nothing looked sexier on a woman than her favorite pair of jeans, so maybe Ky’s plan for them to salivate over Jenna Blake was working after all.
“Good evening, Portland,” Jenna shouted when the song ended.
Regan cheered so loudly that Ky winced and plugged the ear closest to her.
For the next song, Jenna sat on a stool at the edge of the stage, dangling one long leg and strumming her guitar as if she were merely playing for a few friends on a lazy summer night. She sang the heartfelt ballad with her eyes closed.
With a glance at the rows behind them, where people were starting to take their seats, Ky and Regan sat down too so they wouldn’t block anyone’s view.
Regan whipped out her cell phone and waved the flashlight above her head. The move made her milkmaid top slide up, revealing a strip of bare skin above the waistband of her pants.
Ky’s mouth went dry. Too bad she’d refused to spend five dollars on a bottle of water at the entrance.
“Come on!” Regan nudged her. “Get your phone out!”
Ky tore her gaze away and pulled the device from her back pocket, adding it to the ocean of lights filling the arena.
All around them, the crowd swayed to the beat of the song, thousands of glowing phones held high above their heads.
Great. Just what she needed—a ridiculously romantic atmosphere.
Regan’s shoulder pressed against hers, and her bare arm rested against Ky’s as they swayed in time to the rhythm.
Every now and then, Ky got a respite since Jenna seamlessly switched between love ballads and faster pop songs.
Regan and the rest of the crowd were spellbound through it all, watching Jenna Blake’s every move. Ky, however, couldn’t take her eyes off Regan. In the glow of dozens of cell phone screens, she was prettier than ever, her expression soft and dreamy. She didn’t always hit the right notes as she sang along, but her enthusiasm was endearing.
Finally, the concert seemed to draw to a close. Jenna handed her guitar to a staff member and walked to the edge of the stage with a cordless microphone. “There’s one song that I’ve never performed on stage. Not because it’s not good. I’m admittedly biased, but I think it might be my best. It’s just too personal. But tonight is special because exactly one year ago today, I got married to the most wonderful woman on the planet, and I feel like shouting from the rooftops how lucky I am to get to share the rest of my life with her.”
An earsp
litting cheer rose from the crowd, and a group of young fans higher up in the arena waved rainbow flags.
Regan pressed her hand to her chest. “Awww, happy anniversary!”
Her booming voice pierced through the chaos and reached Jenna Blake, who flashed her a smile that seemed amazingly shy for such a successful superstar.
“Oh my God!” Regan bounced on her seat. “Did you see that? She smiled at me!”
Ky bit back a grin. Fangirling Regan was cute, reminding her of their teenage years.
With a giddy laugh, Regan threw her arms around Ky in an exuberant hug.
Ky returned the embrace, soaking up Regan’s joy. That and the softness of her body and the amazing way she smelled—no heavy perfume, just Regan. Her eyes fluttered closed.
“Isn’t it incredible?” Regan asked, raising her voice over the cheers from the crowd.
Her breath on Ky’s ear made her shiver. She forced her eyes back open. “Yeah. Incredible.”
A hush fell over the audience as Jenna sang the opening line.
Regan let go and slid around on her seat to face the singer. One hand fluttered up and touched her chest as if she, too, could still feel their embrace imprinted on her skin. Her eyes, however, were intently focused on the stage as she listened.
Jenna sang with the mic in one hand and a single red rose in the other, hitting every note just right. She clearly put her heart and soul into the song. The blend of strength and vulnerability in her voice was mesmerizing.
While Jenna had seemed to make eye contact with every fan in the floor section during the earlier songs, her focus now remained on one person in the first row. She sang only to her.
The emotional intensity sent goose bumps rippling up and down Ky’s body. A deep ache welled up inside of her and lodged in her throat.
Regan reached over and took her hand as if sensing her need for connection. Like last week, in the movie theater restroom, their fingers meshed to a perfect fit.