The Lonely Hearts Club

by Radclyffe

  “It was great.” Liz chuckled. “Just what I need, a little more competition during my off hours because I don’t get enough during the day.”

  “Didn’t you say you play squash? Now that’s a tough game.”

  “Oh sure. And from the looks of the scrapes on your leg and the gash on Parker’s elbow, you play softball just for the social interaction.”

  Reilly grinned, and although her head might be a little fuzzy, she noticed that Liz had very neatly diverted the subject away from herself. “Playing it safe never gets you anywhere. Nothing to lose, nothing to win.”

  For a second, Liz’s smile faltered and Reilly wondered what it was she had said. She replayed the conversation in her mind, and other than realizing that she very rarely had any kind of conversation with a woman, she couldn’t put her finger on anything amiss. Nevertheless, Liz seemed upset. Reilly slid her hand across the table and rested her fingers on Liz’s. “Are you okay? You’re not still feeling sick, are you?”

  “No,” Liz said quickly. “I feel great. It’s just been a long week. I think I’ll call it a night.”

  Ignoring the surge of disappointment that came out of nowhere, Reilly said, “I’ll walk out with you.”

  “Just give me a minute to make sure Candace has a way home.”

  Reilly signaled good night to Sean, who sat at a nearby table with Drew, and stood as Liz half-crawled over Candace and Parker to squeeze out between their table and the one next to it.

  “All set?” Liz asked.

  “Yes. Candace taken care of?”

  “Parker is giving her a ride.”

  Reilly didn’t comment as she wended her way single-file behind Liz through the boisterous crowd. Once outside, she breathed deeply and tried to decide if her head was clear enough to drive. At just after nine p.m., the sky was dark but the air still warm. A night breeze carried the lingering scent of cut grass and hot earth. The smell of summer always made her think of being a kid, and how damned easy it had all seemed then. Endless summer—if she’d only known it would end someday. But then, life was like that—you couldn’t go back when you were finally smart enough to appreciate what you had.

  “Where did you park?” Reilly asked, pushing aside the familiar melancholy.

  “Around the corner on Lincoln Drive.”

  “I’ll walk you.”

  “You don’t have to,” Liz said. “Isn’t that your car across the street?”

  “Yes, but I’m going to take the train. One beer too many.”

  Liz shook her head. “You most certainly are not. I’ll take you wherever you want to go. Will your car be all right here tonight?”

  “It should be. This is a residential area. But you don’t need to—”

  “And who was it who gave me a ride home not so long ago when I was a little off my game?” Liz grabbed Reilly’s hand. “Don’t argue. We’re practically neighbors, so you know it’s not out of my way.”

  Reilly tensed as Liz’s fingers curled around hers. It was a friendly gesture, nothing more. She tried to remember the last time anyone had touched her and couldn’t.

  Liz looked down at their joined hands and let go. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay, I’m just jumpy.”

  “Come on, my car’s over here,” Liz replied, looking as if she didn’t believe Reilly’s explanation.

  Reilly couldn’t think of a reason to refuse, and she didn’t really want to. She’d enjoyed Liz’s attention while she was playing earlier. Every time she’d looked across the field, their eyes had met. The connection was probably only in her mind, but it felt good in a way she??d forgotten. Her enjoyment in fielding a ball or getting a hit had been heightened because Liz was watching. Foolish, maybe, but pleasurable, just the same.

  “I appreciate it, thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” Liz walked around the driver’s side of her car and regarded Reilly with a smile. “Besides, I owe you for introducing me to the guilty pleasure of softball voyeurism.”

  “Hell, if you think tonight was good, you’ll have to come to the Tournament Ball at the end of the season.”

  Liz quirked an eyebrow. “You mean ball as in dance?”

  Reilly nodded.

  “You’re not kidding?”

  Reilly shook her head.

  “Candace is not going to believe this.”

  *

  “I guess this isn’t your usual Friday night fare,” Parker said, sliding back into the booth next to Candace and placing a martini in front of her.

  “Thanks,” Candace said, taking a sip. She’d been pleasantly surprised to find that the bartender did a nice job with the mixed drinks, even though almost everyone was drinking beer. “What do you think I’m usually doing on Friday night?”

  “Dinner, the theater, drinks after at the Chelsea Lounge.”

  Candace smiled at the reference to the city’s newest watering hole, where the in-crowd went to see and be seen. And Parker was right, it was one of her favorite places to end the evening if she hadn’t already found a companion for the night. The mix was refreshingly metro, and she never had any difficulty finding a female partner. She didn’t worry about marital status or even primary sexual identity, because she wasn’t in the market for a relationship. She was pleased that Parker seemed to be on the same wavelength. “Correct on all counts.”

  “So I should consider myself lucky you ended up here,” Parker replied.

  “Are you feeling lucky?” Candace teased.

  “I usually am.”

  Parker pulled on her beer bottle and stretched one toned and slightly dust-smudged arm out along the back of the bench behind Candace’s shoulder, looking nothing like the high powered attorney Candace surmised her to be. What she did look like was a very confident and sexy woman. About Candace’s height, putting her several inches above average, Parker had a rangy build with long lean legs, small breasts, and nicely developed shoulders and arms. Her medium length chestnut hair was in disarray but managed to look stylishly attractive nevertheless. Expensive haircuts would do that for you.

  “I’m surprised you didn’t have a cheering squad tonight,” Candace probed. Interest had been signaled, now it was time to set down the ground rules.

  “I don’t tend to cultivate the kind of relationships that generate fans.”

  “How about a wife who prefers staying home with a good book?”

  “Nope.”

  “No steady girlfriends?”

  “Not a one.”

  Candace laughed. “But a few not so steady ones?”

  Parker grinned. “It’s been my experience that repeat performances usually carry strings, and I’m more of a woodwind type myself.”

  “As in you blow hard and fast and then you’re gone?”

  “Something like that,” Parker acknowledged. “How about yourself?”

  Candace reached under the table and smoothed her palm up and down the inside of Parker’s bare thigh. She let her fingertips stop just beneath the edge of her shorts. “What would you say?”

  “Snare drum,” Parker said immediately, covering Candace’s hand and easing it a little higher until Candace felt the heat pouring from her skin. “A blast beat that takes your breath away.”

  “I’d say we’re well-attuned.” Candace considered sliding her fingers just an inch or so higher and investigating how much hotter, and wetter, Parker was. She hadn’t made a woman come in a public place in a long time.

  “I have very good control,” Parker said, as if reading Candace’s mind. Her voice had dropped what seemed like an octave at the same time as her hand had drifted from the back of the bench to Candace’s shoulder. She stroked Candace’s arm and brushed her lips over the rim of Candace’s ear. “In case you were thinking of taking advantage of me.”

  Candace turned her head just enough to whisper against Parker’s mouth, “I intend to take everything you have to offer.”

  Parker’s thigh twitched beneath Candace’s fingers. “Are you ready to leave?”r />
  “I’ve been ready since the minute I saw you tonight.”

  *

  “Lick me there. That’s right,” the blonde murmured.

  Jae caught the distended clit between her lips and swept her tongue back and forth against the sensitive spot underneath, the spot that made the standing woman bite back a whimper every time she touched it. She thought she heard the staccato click of heels against the marble floor of the casino lounge, but didn’t slow her pace, sensing the orgasm gathering in the hot pulsing flesh against her mouth. The tile was cool beneath her knees and her tuxedo pants were a vise against her throbbing crotch.

  “Ahhh,” the blonde sighed, her thighs trembling. “She has a talented tongue. She’s going to make me come.”

  “I know,” Jae heard someone whisper. Not alone then. Eyes closed, she sucked and teased until the fingers gripping her hair shook violently. Above her, the blonde panted for breath while her hips writhed restlessly. Yes, she would come soon. Very soon.

  “You can masturbate, if you must,” the blonde gasped, and Jae wasn’t certain to whom she was speaking—her or the unknown observer—but she didn’t care. Permission had been given, and she needed it. Needed it so much. She fumbled with her trousers and finally got the button open. Jae shoved a hand into her gaping fly and gripped her clit, hard and slippery and aching. Groaning, she vibrated it between her fingers and sucked harder. She would come, had to come, because her flesh was burning, bursting, but it wasn’t coming she cared about. She felt her mistress harden even more, filling her mouth, and she devoted herself to only one thing, delivering the pleasure she had been entrusted to give.

  “Oh yes,” the blonde keened, her voice a thin high wail. “Yes. I’m coming.”

  With the cry of pleasure enveloping her, Jae squeezed and twisted until her swollen flesh released her. Drained, she sagged forward, her cheek against the smooth thigh. Warm fingertips briefly caressed her face. Then the blonde shifted and Jae was alone on her knees in the empty stall.

  Bren leaned back from the keyboard, sipped her wine, and slowly reread the passage. The entire time she’d been writing, she’d held the image of the dark-haired woman from the bathroom in her mind. At some point, the Jae she knew almost as well as she knew herself and the flesh and blood rendition she’d seen earlier became one, and the scene unfolded with perfect clarity. The mistress was blond, large breasted and luscious, commanding and so sensuous. Everything Bren was not. But the blonde’s orgasm, her sweet surrender to Jae’s talented mouth, had been Bren’s.

  “Jae,” she whispered. “What are you doing?”

  *

  “Are you working this weekend?” Liz asked as she took the exit from the Vine Street overpass onto Twenty-third Street. As she headed south of Market into a more residential section of Center City, the traffic eased and she glanced at Reilly in the passenger seat. Reilly sprawled, legs apart, head back, forearms resting in the bend of her thighs. She gave the appearance of being utterly relaxed, but Liz felt a thrum of barely suppressed tension vibrate in the air between them.

  “No,” Reilly replied. “I’m back-up call on Sunday, and it’s probably fifty-fifty that I’ll get called in, but I’m not on first call again until Monday. There are five of us, so it works out to about once every four days, considering vacations and things like that.”

  “How about I pick you up in the morning and take you back to your car?”

  Reilly rolled her head to the side and regarded Liz for so long Liz thought she was going to refuse. Then she said, “Only if I buy you breakfast.”

  “The Downtown Diner?” Liz asked.

  “Is there any other place?”

  “Not that I can think of.” Liz hoped her stomach would be settled enough to do the place justice.

  “So we have a deal?” Reilly asked.

  “Deal,” Liz repeated. Not a date, she immediately added silently as Candace’s warning that she should tell Reilly about the baby echoed in her mind. She would tell her, if the right moment came along, but the topic wasn’t something that just popped up in casual conversation. And that’s all that was really happening between them—a few casual meetings. They were neighbors, but she needed to know someone a lot better than that before she confessed her secrets. “Is eight o’clock too early?”

  “I’m a surgeon, remember? That’s lunch.”

  Liz laughed as she turned onto Pine and double-parked in front of the address Reilly gave her. “I keep early hours, too, but Saturday is Saturday. You’re allowed to sleep in.”

  Even with Reilly’s face partially in shadow, Liz could see her expression change. For a brief instant, sadness washed across her features, blunting the sharp clear planes of her face and leaving a shimmering after-image of loss. Liz leaned closer and touched Reilly’s hand. “I wish…”

  Liz hesitated, surprised both by her actions and her uncertain sentiment. What was she doing? Reilly grew very still, her hand slowly closing into a fist beneath Liz’s fingers. Liz fought the urge to wrap both her hands around Reilly’s, as if she could take away the hurt with something as simple as a touch. Foolish, because she should know better than anyone that wasn’t possible.

  “You took such good care of me the other day,” Liz said. “I wish I could somehow return the favor.”

  “Well,” Reilly said, her voice husky, “you did cheer for me tonight, and I’m pretty sure I got that last hit because you were louder than anyone out there.”

  Liz recognized the evasion, but respected Reilly’s right to her privacy. God knew, she protected her own. “Then I’ll have to do it more often.”

  “That should work.” Reilly turned her hand over and squeezed Liz’s fingers, a fleeting connection that nevertheless felt to Liz like a caress. “See you in the morning.”

  “Good night,” Liz said. She waited in the car and watched as Reilly climbed the stairs to her building, keyed the lock, and finally disappeared inside. Only then did she recognize the odd feeling in the pit of her stomach as disappointment. She had hoped Reilly would ask her in.

  “Crazy, that’s what that kind of thinking is,” Liz muttered as she drove away. “You have got more than enough to handle without complicating it with someone, even a very nice someone like Reilly Danvers.”

  Reilly Danvers. Liz liked the sound of her name. She liked the way she traveled around the bases, sleek and sure. She liked the way she occupied space, as if she owned it. She especially liked the way Reilly had gently held her hair back and wiped her face when she’d been sick. She liked a lot about Reilly Danvers. Enough that it was time to be extra careful.

  Chapter Eight

  Reilly stared at the ceiling, watching dawn chase the night shadows away. Even as the room lightened, unease lay heavily in her chest.

  Saturday is Saturday.

  Liz had made the observation lightly, as if everyone would understand the meaning. Weekends were mini-holidays, after all, two days in which to do something special. Two days to relax and enjoy life. Except that wasn’t true for her. Weekends were no different than any other days of the week. Saturday wasn’t a day to sleep late, make leisurely love, and drink coffee in bed with the newspapers scattered across the covers. Sunday wasn’t a day to take an early morning run, go back to bed after a quick shower, and awaken a woman with soft kisses and murmured promises. Those intimate moments were no longer part of her life.

  She had accepted the emptiness in her life, even welcomed it, because even though she missed Annie, she also took comfort in knowing she could not repeat her past mistakes if she remained alone. She would always miss Annie’s smile, her laughter, and even the anger that so often ended in kisses. But just the same, her thoughts of Annie had faded these past few years—until meeting Liz. Odd, that Liz made her think of Annie. They were nothing alike. If anything, Annie had been more like Liz’s friend Candace. Annie had charged through life, a little wild, a little reckless, wanting to experience everything on the edge. Life with Annie had been a crazy ride filled with d
elirious pleasures and unexpected pain and hidden secrets. Secrets, Reilly had learned, that could kill.

  Reilly threw aside the sheet and sat up on the side of the bed, hating that the memories had come back to haunt her now, when she had finally succeeded in burying them. She couldn’t change the past, couldn’t undo the mistakes she had made, and she still had nowhere to go with her fury. Annie was not here to answer the question that haunted her. Why? Why hadn’t Annie trusted her?

  Annie wasn’t here to answer, but one thing Reilly knew with certainty—she had failed the woman she loved, and she never wanted to be in a position where it could happen again. If that meant being alone forever she didn’t care. Loneliness was a small price to pay for her sins.

  Reilly glanced at her bedside clock, wondering what the hell she was doing. She was supposed to see Liz in just a few hours. Liz was somehow responsible for the past plaguing her so ferociously these last few weeks, and that alone should have been reason enough to avoid her. But it wasn’t. Liz was warm and open and refreshingly direct—exactly the opposite of Annie, and the kind of company Reilly hadn’t realized she craved.

  She grabbed a T-shirt and shorts from a pile on a nearby chair, pulled on socks and her running shoes, and lifted her house key from a hook by the door. A run would clear her head. Having breakfast with a woman she liked wasn’t a crime, not when she knew what she needed to guard against.

  *

  “Sun’s coming up,” Parker murmured, cradling Candace in her arms as she slowly stroked inside her. “I think that’s my cue to leave.”

  “Oh God,” Candace moaned. “If you stop, I’ll kill you.”

  “I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”