Too Close to Touch

by Georgia Beers

  TOO CLOSE TO TOUCH

  by

  Georgia Beers

  © 2006 BY GEORGIA BEERS. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  ISBN 1-933110-47-3

  THIS TRADE PAPERBACK ORIGINAL IS PUBLISHED BY

  BOLD STROKES BOOKS, INC.,

  NEW YORK, USA

  FIRST PRINTING: JULY, 2006

  THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. NAMES, CHARACTERS, PLACES, AND INCIDENTS ARE THE PRODUCT OF THE AUTHOR’S IMAGINATION OR ARE USED FICTITIOUSLY. ANY RESEMBLANCE TO ACTUAL PERSONS, LIVING OR DEAD, BUSINESS ESTABLISHMENTS, EVENTS, OR LOCALES IS ENTIRELY COINCIDENTAL.

  THIS BOOK, OR PARTS THEREOF, MAY NOT BE REPRODUCED IN ANY FORM WITHOUT PERMISSION.

  CREDITS

  EDITORS: JENNIFER KNIGHT AND STACIA SEAMAN

  PRODUCTION DESIGN: STACIA SEAMAN

  COVER DESIGN BY SHERI (GRAPHICARTIST2020@HOTMAIL.COM)

  Acknowledgments

  I am very lucky to have a terrific band of proofreaders/friends.

  My sincere thanks to Stacy Harp, Steff Obkirchner, and Jackie Ciresi.

  Their suggestions, nitpicks, and general opinions continue to help me make my stories into the best they can be, and their warm and loving encouragement keeps me going whenever I falter. I couldn’t ask for better cheerleaders.

  I owe special thanks to my good friends in the medical profession: Amy Ziberna, Nancy Valentage, and Radclyffe, for answering the questions I had regarding medical details I know nothing about.

  Thank you to Jennifer Knight, editor extraordinaire, for her valiant attempts to teach me the ins and outs of point of view, her lessons on smoothing out the flow, and her suggestion that characters nodding seventy-eight times in one book might be construed as overkill. I’m working on them all, Jennifer. I promise.

  Gratitude upon gratitude upon gratitude to Radclyffe and the amazing staff of Bold Strokes Books. I’m a very lucky woman who is honored to be included in a group filled with such talent, determination, and love for the genre.

  My eternal, loving gratefulness to my partner and wife, Bonnie Mowry. She is the most loving, sacrificing, and supportive partner any woman could want and she treats my dream of being a full-time writer as her own, working and forgoing in order to make it happen. It is by no small effort from her that this book is in your hands now.

  Dedication

  To Bonnie

  My heart, my soul, my inspiration . . .

  CHAPTER ONE

  The Black Widow in Rochester, New York, was a pleasant surprise as lesbian bars went, and Gretchen Kaiser was happy to have found the place. It had a classy feel to it that many such establishments lacked, and the crowd seemed a bit more sophisticated than the average bunch of local college-age dykes. The bar itself was made of wood and brass, and the stools were actually not riddled with scratches or falling apart.

  Gretchen suspected that happy hour during the week might feature more than a handful of business suit–clad women, an opportunity she might want to check out once she got settled in. Despite its air of refinement, the Widow still boasted the standard lesbian bar necessities: the pool table in the back, postage stamp–sized dance floor across from the bar, jukebox blaring Melissa Etheridge in the corner. Gretchen felt welcomed, warm, at home.

  She sipped the last of her Dewar’s on the rocks in unhurried relaxation and watched Christy, the pretty bartender, as she took care of a group of four women she obviously knew. It was fairly early on a Saturday night, but the crowd was slowly increasing in size and Gretchen was glad she’d commandeered the corner stool. The view was perfect. She was able to enjoy her drink, appreciate Christy’s need to bend over and retrieve beer from the under-the-counter refrigerators, and take in the lesbians of this new city. Her new city.

  “How you doing on that, hon?” Christy’s auburn hair was pulled back into a ponytail, rebellious wisps wafting around her face. Her complexion was peaches-and-cream smooth, with a sprinkling of freckles that trailed across her nose and surrounded a little diamond stud in her left nostril. She looked pointedly at Gretchen’s near-empty rock glass. “Can I get another for the birthday girl?”

  “That would be great, Christy. Thanks.” Gretchen smiled at the title.

  She’d arrived over an hour ago and the bar was practically empty, so she’d started up a conversation with Christy. It hadn’t been long before the scotch had loosened her tongue and she was pouring out her story in typical dump-it-on-the-bartender fashion. The fact that the entire day had passed and her father hadn’t called to wish her a happy birthday in her new place was something she was trying hard to forget.

  She felt like a child for even caring. She was well over forty now; birthdays weren’t supposed to matter anymore. Her father apparently agreed.

  Bothered by the sting, she had welcomed the attention from Christy, who promptly did a celebratory shot of tequila with her. Now, Gretchen caught herself wondering if it would be possible to talk Christy into going home with her. Judging by the constant attention Christy paid her even as business picked up, she was pretty sure it would.

  Still smiling, Gretchen scanned the room and realized the group of women down the bar were surreptitiously looking her way. Her heart rate picked up. Being checked out was not an unusual occurrence. Gretchen knew she was an attractive woman and attention wasn’t something she had trouble getting, but it still brought a slight flush to her cheeks.

  Christy stopped near the bunch on her way to fixing Gretchen’s drink. When she returned and set the scotch down, she gestured at the women with her head. “This one’s on them, hon.” Gretchen looked past her toward the group. All four women held up their glasses and toasted, “Happy birthday!” Gretchen saluted in return, her grin splitting her face, and mouthed a thank-you. She shot a knowing look at Christy, who winked at her.

  As two of the women headed for the pool table, the other two sauntered toward Gretchen. One was tall and handsome, a big, muscular woman who carried herself with confidence rather than trying to hide her size.

  The other was a young, feminine blonde who seemed either lost in, or bored with, her surroundings; it was hard to tell.

  The taller woman gestured at the stool next to Gretchen. “Mind if we join you?”

  “Please do,” Gretchen said. “Thanks for the drink.”

  “Hey, it’s your birthday,” the woman replied by way of explanation.

  She held out her hand. “I’m Mick.”

  “Gretchen.” Mick’s hand was thick and strong, her skin unexpectedly soft. Her handshake was firm, but not overpowering.

  “This is Tina.” Mick introduced the blonde, who smiled but didn’t offer her hand. “Did you want to play pool?” Mick inquired.

  “Oh, no. I try not do anything I’m not good at.” Mick smiled knowingly. “Forgive the cliché, but I haven’t seen you around here before.” She took a swig of her beer, the bottle virtually disappearing in her hand.

  Gretchen chuckled. “That’s because I’ve never been here before.”

  “That would explain it.”

  “I’m going to go to the little girls’ room,” Tina chimed in, squeezing Mick’s arm.

  “Okay, babe.” Mick watched her go and Gretchen took the opportunity to take a good look at her new acquaintance.

  Mick had to be close to six feet tall, looked to be in her late thirties, and definitely lifted weights. Gretchen was glad they were sitting or, at five foot four, she would have felt completely insignificant and dwarfed by the sheer presence of this woman. Mick’s hair was chestnut brown, the cut simple, short, and stylish. Three silver hoops of varying sizes adorned her left ear, one dangling the symbol for female.

  Her wardrobe was neat and unpretentious, but not inexpensive. Her jeans seemed tailored for her body, showcasing wel
l-worked muscles and gently cradling her curves. The white T-shirt was saved from being too masculine by the v-neck cut, which showed enough bronzed skin to make Gretchen curious about what lay underneath the fabric. A rainbow tattoo peeked out from under her left sleeve.

  When Mick turned startling green eyes back in her direction, Gretchen almost laughed aloud at her own blatant appraisal and quickly pretended to be studying her drink. Not at all my type, she thought. But certainly not hard on the eyes.

  “So tell me, Gretchen,” Mick said. “Why haven’t you been to the Widow before?”

  “Because I’m the new kid in town.”

  “Yeah? Where are you from?”

  “Poughkeepsie.”

  “Ah. A big-city girl. And you’ve been in our little city how long?”

  “I just moved in on Wednesday.”

  “Wow. You’re the really new kid. That’s cool.” She took a long pull from her bottle. “Apartment or house?”

  “Apartment for now. We’ll see how it goes.”

  “City or suburbs?”

  “Near Park Avenue.”

  “Ah. That area is always a good choice. Well, I think you’ll like it here. It’s a pretty cool spot.”

  The conversation flowed easily and Gretchen felt immediately comfortable talking to Mick. That was something that didn’t often happen to her when the setting wasn’t work related; she was generally a reserved and private person and didn’t converse effortlessly with strangers unless it had to do with her job.

  When Tina returned from the bathroom, Mick bought them all another drink, waving off Gretchen’s attempts to catch the round. “No way.” She pushed Gretchen’s money back across the bar. To Christy, she said, “The birthday girl isn’t allowed to buy.” Gretchen found the dynamic between Mick and Tina interesting.

  She didn’t think they were partners, but they were definitely there together—maybe just for the night? Tina held possessively to Mick’s arm, her hand, her thigh, as if marking her territory for Gretchen’s benefit. Gretchen merely smiled in amusement and intentionally let her eyes wander over Mick.

  The evening passed loudly. The other two women in the original foursome wandered down after their pool game and were introduced as Lori and Kathy, partners for a hundred years, according to Mick.

  The five women chatted, joked, and drank, keeping Christy busy with orders and flirtatious comments. Knowing she needed to drive herself home, Gretchen consciously slowed her own alcohol consumption after Mick bought her yet another drink. She was having such a good time with these women, these new friends, the last thing she wanted was to allow herself to become too intoxicated. No better way to alienate new acquaintances than to force them to feel responsible for getting you home and pouring you into your bed.

  As if reading her mind, Christy set a glass of water down near Gretchen’s scotch and squeezed her hand. Gretchen made a mental note to double her tip. Her head swimming just slightly, she then directed her attention to Lori, who was asking her a question.

  “So, G. Why here? Why’d you leave Poughkeepsie to come way upstate?”

  “Honestly? I needed to put some distance between me and my family.” It was the truth. Maybe not the whole truth, but Gretchen was nervous about starting her new job on Monday and didn’t want to conduct a postmortem on her reasons for making the change. She was having such fun, so she avoided the subject altogether and put her focus elsewhere.

  Lori gave her an understanding look. “I hear that. Do they have a problem with you being gay?” She was a cute, athletic blonde in capris and a green tank top, and Gretchen was surprised to feel a pull of attraction, despite the fact that Lori’s hand was in the firm grip of her partner’s.

  First the bartender, now the married chick, Gretchen’s inner voice scolded with amusement. Cut it out. Aloud, she replied, “They have a problem with that, among other things.” The tone of her voice must have indicated the subject was closed, because Lori left it alone.

  Midnight came and went and the crowd at the Black Widow began to thin out gradually as lesbians of all sizes, shapes, and colors trickled out into the night like slow-flowing water. Lori and Kathy said their good-byes first.

  “It’s been ages since we’ve been out past ten and we may turn into pumpkins at any minute.” Lori tugged on Kathy’s hand. “Ready, love?” Kathy nodded through a yawn, causing them all to laugh. “I’m sure we’ll see you again, Gretchen.”

  “It was nice meeting you,” Gretchen replied. “Thanks so much for the drinks and the company.”

  “Our pleasure. Happy birthday.”

  “We need to go, too, don’t we?” Tina’s voice had a slightly bored quality to it as she laid her head on Mick’s upper arm in a childlike fashion.

  “I suppose we do,” Mick replied. She held her hand out to Gretchen. “Birthday girl, it was a joy spending the evening with you.” When Gretchen placed her hand in Mick’s, Mick pulled her forward and kissed her cheek sweetly. In her ear, so only Gretchen could hear, she whispered, “I hope to see you again.”

  Gretchen smiled, feeling her cheeks flush pink.

  As the four women departed, Christy took the empties away and dropped Gretchen’s glass into the sink full of suds beneath the bar.

  “You certainly charmed her,” she said with nonchalance.

  “Who?”

  “Mick.”

  “Oh. I don’t know about that.”

  “I do. I know her pretty well. She was quite taken with you.” Gretchen arched an eyebrow and propped her forearms on the bar, studying Christy with a smirk. “Well. She’s not really my type.”

  “No?”

  “Oh, no. She’s way too butch for me. I’m more partial to…pretty, as opposed to handsome.”

  “Really.”

  Lowering her voice so Christy had to lean close to hear it, she said, “I like curves and long hair and softness more than muscles and power.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “Actually, I prefer to be the muscle and power.”

  “I see.”

  Gretchen drained her water glass and set it down in front of Christy. Christy mirrored Gretchen’s stance on her own side of the bar and they held eye contact for several long seconds.

  “Can I get your number?” Christy finally asked, her voice low.

  “I think that could be arranged.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Kylie O’Brien was nervous and it was pissing her off.

  She’d gotten into work two hours early, just to make sure everything was in order. She’d straightened up her own desk—not that it wasn’t always so impeccably organized she got picked on by her coworkers, but she wanted to be sure to make a good impression on her new boss.

  It was true that Kylie had been working for Emerson, Inc. for more than ten years. It was also true that she was a damn good executive administrative assistant, but none of that would matter if she and the new boss didn’t hit it off. If their styles clashed or if they had trouble communicating, all it would take was a phone call to the powers that be and Kylie could find herself transferred. Or worse: out of a job. The ability to snap your fingers and change the landscape was the only thing Kylie thought might be appealing about being the boss. For the most part, she was happy behind the scenes.

  She missed Jim already. He’d retired only a week ago, but it felt like months. He’d been her boss for nearly seven years, pulling her up with him as he rose through the ranks of the company. She knew him better than he knew himself, and that had always made it easy to be sure things ran smoothly in his office. She kept him on track, gave him the appearance of being organized, though they both knew better, and he was generous in his support of her, both within the company and through personal bonuses. With Jim Sheridan as her superior, she’d never felt taken for granted. She wasn’t looking forward to starting over with somebody she hadn’t even met.

  She gave her cubicle another once-over, then poked her head into the large office opposite her area and gave that a quick look as
well. It was clean and spacious and ready for its new occupant. Satisfied, she headed down the hall toward the ladies’ room to give herself a final once-over. It was still about forty-five minutes before the masses would begin to pour in.

  Kylie wasn’t exactly a morning person; she preferred to work late rather than come in early. She was much more productive when the phones weren’t ringing off the hook and people weren’t demanding her attention every minute. Things tended to really quiet down after five, but she was finding that being in early had the same perks. It was very quiet and she could actually hear herself think.

  She smiled at an unfamiliar man as she passed him in the hall. It seemed like an entirely different group of people came in early. She recognized only a handful of those she’d seen so far. It occurred to her that while she shared her penchant for evening hours with a select handful of Emerson employees, there must be a similar group of “morning people.”

  The cell phone on her hip rang as she pushed open the door to the ladies’ room, the sound annoyingly loud in the quiet hush of the morning. Kylie grabbed it and flipped it open quickly, knowing who it was before she even looked.

  “You’ve got a lot of nerve calling me this early,” she said, hiding a grin. She smiled and nodded at a small brunette who came out of a stall and headed to the sink.

  “Who do you think you’re kidding?” Mick replied. “You’re in early so you can make a good impression on the new boss. Think I don’t know you like the back of my hand?”

  “Damn you.” The smile in Kylie’s voice was clear because Mick was right. She knew Kylie inside and out. She should. They’d been friends since the second grade.

  As Mick said something about the weekend, Kylie leaned back against the counter and tried to be subtle about watching the brunette woman. Her subject was extremely attractive. The woman’s dark hair was a mass of curls that fell down around her shoulders, and her smartly cut black pantsuit made her seem much taller than her petite frame actually was.