Night Call

by Radclyffe

  “Jerk,” Tristan muttered.

  “I’ll teach him the error of his ways later. So, what’s going on with you?” Quinn slung an arm around Tristan’s shoulders and walked her down the hall away from the surgical waiting room filled with families and visitors huddled in uneasy knots, alternately terrified and anxious. They stopped at the far end of the corridor where a bank of windows overlooked the expressway and the river beyond. “Rick fucked up, but it wasn’t that big of a deal. I’ve never seen you go off like that before.”

  “He’s a pain in the ass. He thinks he’s a goddamned king and treats everyone else like peasants.”

  “Sure he does,” Quinn said easily. “He’s a surgeon, after all.”

  “Bunch of assholes, all of you.”

  “But we’re so good, you have to love us.”

  Tristan laughed despite the press of anger in her chest. She wanted to lash out at someone, for something, even now. She braced both hands on the windowsill, her forehead nearly touching the glass. Outside the sun shone brightly beneath a crystal clear blue sky dabbed with white clouds. It was so beautiful, it was painful. “Sorry. Bad day.”

  “You sick?”

  “No. I’m fine.”

  “Family?” Quinn asked gently.

  Tristan shook her head. “It’s nothing.”

  “Something’s got you twisted around.”

  “Nah. I’m okay.” Tristan lied because she had no explanation that made sense. Even to her. She’d been twisted around for two weeks, ever since the party. She’d made good on her promise to Darla and given her the semipublic thrill she’d wanted, fucking her in the bathroom next to the kitchen while a dozen people talked and laughed a few feet away. She’d even managed to keep her head in the game and not think about Jett while she’d been inside Darla, but she’d lost the battle after that. Darla had wanted to go down on her in the tiny, cramped room, and she’d resisted at first. But making Darla come hadn’t blunted her arousal the way it usually did, and Darla kept teasing her, sucking her tongue while she squeezed her crotch, promising to do all kinds of things to her clit. Finally, when Tristan couldn’t take it anymore, she’d ripped open her fly, shoved her pants halfway down her thighs, and pushed Darla down to her knees. Darla moved in, and she kept her promises. Tristan lasted twenty seconds before she’d flashed on the fierce expression on Jett’s face when she plunged her tongue into Mandy’s mouth, and she exploded into Darla’s, barely managing not to shout, she came so hard. Darla loved it, laughing as they pulled their clothes on. Tristan had been confused and humiliated and embarrassed, even though she was willing to bet Darla wouldn’t care who she was thinking about while she was coming. But Tristan cared. She didn’t think about one woman while she was coming with another, but she couldn’t keep Jett out of her head. And she still couldn’t.

  Morning, noon, and night, waking or sleeping, she kept seeing Jett drag Mandy behind the tree in a move so explosive Tristan was breathless just remembering. She could only imagine how it would feel to have Jett take her that way. She was certain no one ever had, and she wanted it. Wanted Jett to be the one making her explode. God damn it, this didn’t happen to her.

  “Tris.”

  The kindness in Quinn’s voice broke her. She leaned her forehead against the window and closed her eyes. “I’m sort of fucked up over a woman.”

  “Well, that could definitely make it easy to lose your cool.”

  Tristan grimaced. “I’ll say. In more ways than one.”

  “Anything you want to talk about?”

  “Not really.” Tristan spun around and tilted her head back, staring at the ceiling. “I don’t usually get into women enough to get fucked up. Not since I was too young to know better.”

  “But now you have?”

  Tristan shrugged. “Not exactly. I’m not sure what’s going on, really. Nothing, actually.”

  “But you want there to be something.”

  Tristan thought about that, trying to sort through her tangled emotions. She went out with women all the time who were smart and capable and interesting and sexy, all the things she sensed Jett was. But Jett was something else too. She held herself back, away from other people. Tristan had watched Jett talk to Quinn at the party, seen her acknowledge people as she moved through the crowd, had caught glimpses of her chatting with Linda. Despite the interactions, Jett still seemed alone—until she’d kissed Mandy with such force and fury Tristan had felt the passion yards away. She could only imagine what might follow a kiss like that, and that was her problem. Imagining wasn’t enough. She hungered to be the one who held the key to all that restless, seething energy, and the need went beyond simple desire. She wanted to know Jett’s secrets.

  “Fuck,” Tristan muttered. “I don’t know what I want. You know that old saying ‘be careful what you wish for’?”

  Quinn nodded.

  “I think I should listen to that.”

  “Are you going to?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  *

  Jett cradled the delicate inner workings of the hundred-year-old timepiece in the palm of her hand and studied the mainspring through her loupes. At some point someone had replaced the original mainspring with the current one, which was slightly wider and thicker. As a result, the barrel cap would not seat evenly and the watch could not function properly. Finding the appropriate mainspring might be a challenge, but she was patient.

  She set the watch aside and straightened, grimacing at the cramps in her shoulders and lower back. When she glanced at the wall clock, she realized she’d been working for four hours. Four hours when she’d thought of nothing at all. She closed her eyes and sighed. Two more days until the next rotation would start. A little more than forty-eight hours to fill.

  For the last four days she’d read and worked on her timepieces and taken long walks at night. Sometimes she’d slept. On one late-night stroll in a fine misty rain, with all the houses along her way dark for the night, she’d walked down Tristan’s street, her hands in the pocket of her jeans, her head bare and water streaming down her face. She’d stopped for a few seconds across the street and glanced up. Tristan’s apartment was dark like all the others. When she started to wonder if Tristan was alone, possibly awake like she was, she walked on, faster, until thoughts of Tristan fled.

  When her doorbell buzzed, she almost didn’t recognize the sound. It was the first time anyone had come to her door, at least while she was home. The apartment complex was equipped with an intercom system, and she flipped the switch on the speaker next to her door.

  “Yes?”

  “Jett? It’s Mandy.”

  Mandy. Forty-eight hours to fill and Mandy at her door. Jett glanced around her apartment—at the smooth white paper spread out on the table in the center of the room, covered with tiny watch workings, her screwdrivers and pin pusher and polishing bits arranged in a precise row. Her life was neat and orderly and controlled. Mandy was not. Jett grabbed her keys off the small table by the door and punched the intercom button. “I’ll be right there.”

  When she got downstairs, Jett opened the inside door and stepped into the foyer where Mandy waited by the rows of mailboxes. The overhead light was out and the small space was dense with shadows. “Hi.”

  “Hi.” Mandy smiled and looked her over in a way that told Jett she was thinking of them in bed. “Would you believe I was in the neighborhood?”

  “No.”

  “Okay.” Mandy hooked a finger over the waistband of Jett’s jeans and pulled her close. “Would you believe I’ve been thinking about you and I’m horny?”

  Jett laughed. “Yes.”

  “Do you have any suggestions?” Mandy tugged Jett’s T-shirt from her jeans and slid her hand underneath, swirling her fingertips over Jett’s stomach in slow circles. When Jett’s muscles tightened, she said, “Mmm. Nice.”

  Jett’s clitoris grew stiffer by the second as Mandy toyed with her, but she had a firm rein on her body. Unlike the last time Mandy ha
d taken her by surprise. That time she’d been primed—halfway there from Tristan’s touch. Now she was prepared. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

  “Why not?” Mandy sounded unperturbed. She popped the snap on Jett’s fly with a practiced flick of her wrist and eased the zipper down. “I seem to remember there were a few things I wanted to do we never managed.”

  “We managed fine.” Jett trapped Mandy’s hand flat against her stomach. “Sometimes one night is perfect. Let’s leave it that way.”

  Mandy studied Jett for a long moment. “I’m not looking for a girlfriend.”

  “Neither am I.”

  “Then we’re perfect for one another. You’re great in bed and I like sex.” Mandy kissed her lightly. “You seriously fuck like a dream.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And you don’t quit.” Mandy laughed. “Most girls back off when it gets that intense. You don’t.”

  Jett had lost it a little bit Saturday night. That hadn’t happened since Gail. Fortunately Mandy had driven to the party Saturday night, because Jett wouldn’t have been able to wait if they’d had to walk all the way to her apartment. She would have pulled Mandy into some dark alley before they’d gone six blocks. She often went months without sex and then spent two or three days doing nothing but exorcising the images of too much human misery with wild, relentless, continuous sex. She’d felt that way Saturday night, and Mandy had been the perfect partner, urging Jett to take her harder, harder, harder until both of them were too exhausted to move. In the morning, Jett had awakened in a tangle of sheets surrounded by the smell of sex and sweat and desperation, and when Mandy wanted more, again, baby, come on, she’d put Mandy off by saying she had to go to work. Then she’d walked Mandy down to her car and avoided promising to call. Because she knew she wasn’t going to.

  “You were amazing,” Jett said, because it was true and she was going to disappoint her.

  “But you’re not going to fuck me again, are you?” Before Jett could answer, Mandy pressed her fingers to Jett’s mouth. “No, don’t answer that. Then you won’t have to take it back when you get hungry again. Because you will. You can’t keep that inside of you forever.” She slid her fingers deeper into Jett’s jeans until she brushed the base of Jett’s clitoris. “Say no now.”

  “No.”

  Mandy laughed easily and removed her hand. “God, I really hope I’m around when you get the urge next time.” She kissed Jett and backed away. “Still remember my number?”

  Jett nodded.

  “Use it when you can’t wait any more. ’Night.”

  “Good night,” Jett said softly as Mandy let herself out. She waited a minute or two for her breathing to settle, wondering why she hadn’t just taken Mandy to bed. Mandy understood her in a lot of ways—and wasn’t frightened or put off by her needs.

  Jett slowly climbed the stairs to her apartment. She returned alone because it wasn’t about what she needed, it was about what she wanted. And she didn’t want Mandy.

  She hadn’t wanted anyone, in any way, for a long time. She stood in her quiet apartment and refused to lie to herself. She had wanted to kiss Tristan. She’d wanted a lot more than that.

  When the phone rang, she almost didn’t answer, thinking it might be Mandy. Then she realized it wouldn’t be. Mandy would wait for her to call, because if Jett gave in and called, Mandy would be calling all the rest of the shots. Jett grabbed the phone on the fifth ring.

  “McNally.”

  “Oh good,” Linda said. “I was afraid for a minute you weren’t there. Mike just went home sick with some kind of stomach bug. Can you take his shif—”

  “I’ll be there. Give me twenty minutes.”

  Jett hung up and hurried to shower. Twelve hours of work ahead. Then there would only be thirty-six until she was up again. As she stepped under the hot spray, she wondered who else might be on call tonight.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The first person Jett saw when she walked into the flight crew lounge was Tristan, leaning against the counter next to the refrigerator, laughing at something Linda had just said. She had a cup of coffee in her hand, and her maroon scrubs signaled she was on call. To a casual observer Tristan probably appeared totally relaxed, but Jett picked up the wariness in her gaze when their eyes met.

  “Hi,” Jett said.

  “How you doing.” Tristan’s eyes drifted down the length of Jett’s body and back again.

  “Hey, Chief,” Linda said. “I’m glad you could come in. Without a pilot we’d all be sitting here listening to Tristan’s bad jokes for hours.”

  “No problem. Anything happening?” Jett walked to the rack against the far wall and grabbed one of the clipboards holding the preflight checklists. She was probably imagining that Tristan watched her as she moved. Probably. She’d worn black cargo pants and a dark gray T-shirt, and the way Tristan looked at her wasn’t all that much different from the way Mandy had earlier—like she was sizing her up for bed. But this time, heat skittered along her skin. Of course, she probably imagined that look too.

  “We were just about to go out on a call to pick up a preemie from Atlantic City Hospital. Necrotizing enterocolitis.” Linda dropped into one of the seventies-style blocky tan vinyl-covered chairs, kicked off her clogs, and curled her legs under her. “The baby’s pretty rocky and they requested a physician on board, which is how we lucked out and got Tristan. Then Mike got sick and we’ve been holding for you.”

  “Let me take a look at the aircraft,” Jett said. “You can put us back on active status now.”

  “Okay.”

  “Mind if I tag along?” Tristan fell into step with Jett as she headed for the stairwell to the roof.

  “No. Come on up.”

  Once outside, Jett walked to the waist-high concrete wall on the far side of the aircraft and breathed in the night. The air lay motionless, a heavy blanket of deep August heat beneath thick, unbroken clouds.

  “Feels like a swamp out here,” Tristan said from beside her.

  “Rain’s coming.”

  “You can tell?”

  Jett hunched a shoulder. “You get a feel for it after a while.”

  “No wind.” Tristan braced her arms on the wall and leaned out, craning her neck to see the river and the ribbon of cars that flowed along beside it like pearls on a string. “Funny how everything looks so much more beautiful at night.”

  Not everything, Jett thought to herself, studying Tristan’s profile in the muted moonlight. Her dark hair blended with the sky, the slivers of pale light etching her features against the black backdrop in delicate relief. She was beautiful, hauntingly so. But Jett had seen her in bright sunlight too, and knew the shades of blue that swirled in her eyes. Just remembering, she experienced the same dizzying sensation as flying above crystal-clear water, drowning in the splendor.

  “What are you thinking about?” Tristan murmured, aware that Jett had drifted away.

  “The ocean,” Jett answered as truthfully as she could.

  “No, you weren’t.” Tristan leaned closer. “You were thinking about flying, weren’t you?”

  Tristan was inches away. Jett tried not to look at her mouth, and failed. The last time they’d been this close, they’d nearly kissed. Two weeks and an exhausting night with another woman hadn’t diminished the memory. Or the desire. “How could you tell?”

  “Because you looked happy.” Tristan remained completely still, afraid to break their tenuous connection. She doubted that Jett had any idea how revealing her expression was when she wasn’t carefully guarding her feelings. Right now, her lips were parted slightly, her lids heavy and shuttered. She looked completely desirable and completely unaware of the naked need in her eyes. Tristan sensed that if Jett realized how much she was revealing, she would instantly retreat. Tristan wanted to kiss her and knew that she couldn’t. Because if she kissed her, Jett would know what Tristan had seen in her face. That need was part of Jett’s secret, and one did not steal secrets from a woma
n like Jett. “Am I right?”

  “About what?” Jett asked, sounding confused.

  Tristan laughed. “About flying.”

  “No. Well, partly.” Jett wanted to tell her, because Tristan so carefully hadn’t asked. Unlike the last time they’d been together, when Tristan had pushed and needled her into nearly succumbing to Tristan’s charm and her own hungers, tonight Tristan held back. Waiting, maybe. Waiting for Jett to own what pulsed and breathed between them. Jett never shied away from taking calculated risks when she was flying, but she’d learned her lesson with Gail. She couldn’t trust herself with women. If she’d been thinking, if she’d been in control of herself, she never would have touched her. Next to her, Tristan waited. Maybe, maybe she could risk a little of the truth. “I was thinking that your eyes are the color of the Mediterranean at dawn.”

  “Jesus,” Tristan whispered, completely blindsided. She was instantly, totally, mind-dazzlingly turned on. “This is the first time in a couple of weeks I haven’t felt completely nuts. It would be good if you don’t make me crazy now. Not when we’re standing on a rooftop, and any moment we have to go to work.”

  “Bad week?” Jett eased back, giving herself space. Giving Tristan space. She needed it, and she had a feeling Tristan did too. Desire she understood. Sex she understood. These tentative touches to places far deeper she didn’t, and wasn’t at all sure she wanted to. When she was in control, she was safe.

  “You could say that.”

  “Work?” Jett asked.

  “Partly. The governor’s son is understandably upset about his wife. Unfortunately, he’s also a Class-A asshole.”

  Jett frowned. “He’s still making trouble about the loose tooth in the airway?”

  “Maybe not lawsuit kind of trouble, but he’s been vocal about his unhappiness. She’s out of the ICU but still on a respirator.” Tristan turned her back to the sky and canted her hips against the wall. “The people in risk management don’t think anything is going to come of it, because the media fallout would be bad. The governor isn’t going to want an immediate family member suing one of the state medical school hospitals. But the son has everyone walking on eggshells just the same.”