“Don’t like the weather in Rochester?” she mumbled, pulling the dark green shirt over her head. “Just hang out for a minute. It’ll change.”
The sound of tools against porcelain rang through the upstairs of her little house. She grabbed a Corona from the refrigerator, pushed a wedge of lime into the opening, then plugged it with her thumb and turned it upside down to move the lime down into the beer, just as Mick had taught her. Taking her own Diet Coke from the counter, she headed up to the source of the noise.
“Here you go,” she said, holding the beer out to Mick, who was elbow-deep in the tank of her toilet. “A reward for all your hard work.”
Mick took the bottle, her green eyes crinkling with gratitude.
“There’s nothing better than a beautiful woman bringing me a beer. Life is good.”
After a quick swig, she went right back to work and Kylie pulled herself up onto the vanity to watch. She was always amazed that Mick just knew how to fix things. She just knew, like it was in her blood or something. Kylie was sure she could learn how to fix things, too, but Mick was always offering and it seemed to make her feel good when she could repair something for Kylie. So, more often than not, Kylie took her up on her offers.
Despite the chill in the air, sweat beaded across Mick’s upper lip.
Her red T-shirt was clinging to her and Kylie admired the muscular build of her torso, not for the first time. The veins in her forearms stood out prominently and she exuded pure strength. It was a quality of Mick’s that often sent a bit of an erotic tingle up Kylie’s spine; all that power tended to make her mouth go dry. She took a swig of her pop.
The ends of Mick’s brown hair were also dampened with sweat and Kylie smiled fondly at the sprinkling of gray that was visible. Had they really known each other for over two decades? Were they really old enough to be getting gray hair?
Mick caught her gaze and narrowed her eyes playfully. “What are you grinning at?”
“Your gray.”
“Forty’s just around the corner, babe. For both of us.”
“Hey, I think gray can be sexy.”
“Says the blonde whose gray can barely be seen.”
“That’s because I don’t have any,” Kylie teased.
“Bullshit.”
Kylie laughed. Mick was right. Kylie affectionately referred to her hair stylist as the Hair Goddess. She’d subtly introduced highlighting into Kylie’s regular hair-maintenance routine so the encroaching gray was covered before anybody noticed. Except Mick.
“You know all my secrets. It’s unfair.”
Mick gave a final twist and sat back on her heels. “There. That ought to do it.” She cranked the water back on and waited while the toilet filled. Once full, it stopped and sat silently. She and Kylie looked at each other.
“It’s not running!” Kylie was happy but not surprised.
“No, it’s not.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“Told you I could fix it.” She stood up and brushed her hands on her pants.
Kylie threw her arms around Mick’s neck, standing on her toes to do so. “You’re the best.”
“Don’t let it get around.” Mick hugged her, humming a soft sound of pleasure that buzzed at Kylie’s ear. Kylie began to ease her grip, but Mick held tightly for several more seconds before letting her go.
“You get yourself cleaned up and I’ll go get dinner started,” Kylie ordered. “Okay?”
“Sounds good.”
In the doorway of the bathroom, Kylie turned back. “Hey, Mick?” Mick looked at her expectantly. “Thanks.” Mick’s smile was filled with warmth. “For you? Anything.”
* * *
Later on, their stomachs were full of pork chops, potatoes, and green beans. Mick put a DVD into the player and Kylie brought two mugs of coffee into the living room.
Plopping down on the well-worn couch, she said, “Did you have enough to eat?”
“Good God. If I ate here every night, I’d weigh three hundred pounds.” Mick had taken a quick shower and donned the clean Tshirt and jeans she’d brought in a duffel bag. She still had a few damp tendrils of hair around her ears and it made her seem younger than her thirty-seven years.
“Well, I made an extra pork chop, so I’ll wrap it up for you and you can take it home and eat it tomorrow or take it for lunch next week.”
“Great. Thanks.” Mick gestured at the wicker basket filled with dog toys that Kylie hadn’t had the heart to pack away. “You thinking about a puppy yet?”
Kylie sighed. “I don’t know. Not yet. A little more time, I think.”
She had just reached a point where she could enter her house after work and not burst into tears over the painful absence of Rip. She needed a few more weeks before she could entertain the idea of replacing him.
Mick nodded. “Let me know. I’ll help you look.” They hunkered down into the cushions and started the movie, propping their feet on the coffee table as always, enjoying one another’s presence. It was nice to be single but not feel alone, Kylie decided. It was comforting to have a friend like Mick—somebody who knew her well and was low maintenance—to have dinner with or watch a movie with, somebody she could have deep conversations with or sit with in total, easy silence. Not that I wouldn’t enjoy some company in my bed once in a while. She grimaced. She’d been on her own for quite some time now, and she was starting to feel the empty space left in her heart slowly growing. Rip’s loss certainly didn’t help.
Mick interrupted Kylie’s reverie by patting her own thigh without taking her eyes from the movie. Kylie obeyed the wordless command, shifting her body and putting her left foot in Mick’s lap. Her attention never leaving the TV, Mick pulled off Kylie’s sock and began a slow, firm massaging. Her large hands were so strong, her fingers adept at finding just the right places to press and rub, Kylie could barely keep from groaning out loud.
She suspected Mick actually liked massaging her, as she offered the treat quite regularly. Kylie had made a pact with herself, however, never to give voice to just how much she enjoyed it. She and Mick talked about a lot of things, from politics to money to sex, but she refused to let Mick in on the fact that her foot massages were highly erotic. Right now, Kylie could barely keep from squirming, but the fact that she was grinding her behind into the couch cushions was her own business entirely and no more than the by-product of too many nights alone.
Face it, the little voice hissed, you haven’t been laid in almost a year. Any contact will get your juices flowing. Once again, she wished she was the kind of woman who could participate in casual sex—just have sex for the sake of having sex and getting off. It would certainly help scratch the seemingly constant itch she felt lately. If she’d been built that way, she knew for a fact she could take Mick by the hand and lead her to the bedroom. Or hell, jump her right here on the couch.
Mick could do casual sex; she often did, and made sure to fill Kylie in on all the dirty, intimate details the next morning.
But Kylie had never been able to sleep with somebody she wasn’t in love with, and though she loved Mick with all her heart, she didn’t love her like that. She sighed. Which is too bad for both of us.
Mick’s voice interrupted her again and she was surprised to see that the movie had been paused without her noticing. “Did you see the paper this morning?”
Kylie blinked, trying to orient herself and pull away from her previous train of thought. “Um, no. I didn’t have a chance.”
“Home Depot has garbage disposals on sale. Good prices. We should grab one and get it installed for you. Yank out that piece of crap you have now.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Mick hit the play button and the movie started up again. Kylie took a deep breath and flopped onto her side, dropping her other foot into Mick’s lap and wondering what it would take for her to be able to throw caution to the wind and just go get herself laid, mate-for-life tendencies be damned. Seriously, how hard could it be?
Exactl
y half a second later, she was laughing internally at herself, feeling silly for even entertaining such a ridiculous thought.
CHAPTER NINE
"How’d it go?” Kylie’s excitement was genuine and her voice was a welcome melody in Gretchen’s earpiece as she sped south along the New York State Thruway at seventy-five miles an hour, chatting on her cell phone.
“It was fantastic. Sarah really knows her shit. I just hung back and let her do her stuff, answered a few big picture questions here and there.” She smiled at the memory. “Let me tell you something, Kylie. In sales, there’s nothing quite like the feeling of knowing you’ve got the client in the bag.”
“And she bagged him?”
“She totally bagged him.”
“She’s good.” Kylie’s voice was tinted with pride. “Jim always said she’s our best rep. Jason has larger numbers, but Sarah’s got a tougher territory.”
“She definitely charmed them. It was impressive.”
“And now you’re headed downstate for the weekend?” Gretchen sighed. “Yes, I am.”
“You don’t sound thrilled about it.”
“I’ve just got other things I could be doing, you know? I’ve got boxes to unpack. I’ve got a bathroom to paint. I’ve got groceries to buy.”
“Will you get to see your brother’s family?” Gretchen smiled at Kylie’s ability not only to remember details, but to find the bright spot. “I will. That, I’m looking forward to.”
“See? So, it won’t be a wasted trip.”
“You’re right.”
“I usually am. You should listen to me more often.” Kylie’s tone was light and Gretchen felt herself wanting to stay on the phone with her for the entire ride.
“What’s new? Anything I need to know?”
“Not really. It’s been pretty quiet today.” Gretchen could make out the sound of Kylie shuffling some papers. “Let’s see. Jessica Scott called again. Persistent little bugger, isn’t she? She wanted to congratulate you on turning the budget around or something like that. She’s in your voice-mail. Wheeler wants to meet with you next Wednesday so I put that on your calendar. Jori called late this morning. That’s about it. I handled anything else that cropped up, so you should be all clear for the weekend.”
“What are your plans next week? In the evenings?” It was out of her mouth before Gretchen even realized it.
“The evenings?” Kylie sounded properly confused by the head-spinning change in subject. “What do you mean?” Gretchen chuckled. “I mean, I’d like to take you to dinner. I never thanked you for working late to help me get the budget together and I rarely thank you for doing such a great job and making me look so good. I’d like to take you to dinner. Someplace nice.”
“You don’t have to do that, Gretchen. Really. It’s my job.”
“You don’t want to have dinner with me?” She managed to squeeze a playful note into her reply to mask the seriousness of the question.
Kylie was silent for several seconds before answering quietly, “I’d love to have dinner with you.”
“Tuesday after work?”
“Tuesday would be great.”
“Good.”
They talked business for a few more minutes and though Gretchen didn’t want to hang up, she had no excuse to continue the conversation other than a desire to keep Kylie talking. Ending the call, she snapped her phone shut with a sigh, her thoughts bouncing around her mind like the little silver balls in a pinball machine.
She thought about Kylie, sitting in her cubicle, answering the phone with just the right blend of competence and sugar. The clients loved her. The sales reps loved her. Gretchen had seen her for a short time that morning and found her black slacks and raspberry silk shell quite an eye-catching combination. As she’d briefed Gretchen before the trip, a lock of blond hair had fallen forward and Gretchen had to fight to keep from reaching out and tucking it back behind Kylie’s ear.
Suddenly feeling stifled, she shook the vision from her head as she passed a semi on the thruway and slid the sunroof open to let in some air. Fantasizing was fine; she’d done it ever since she first realized she liked women and wasn’t about to stop now. But thinking beyond the physical was a no-no and she had to consciously turn her thoughts elsewhere. She replayed the list of calls Kylie had recounted. Jori called late this morning.
Jori.
Gretchen growled, annoyed. The subject of Jori had already taken up enough of her thinking time. Jori was fun. They’d been having a terrific time on a very casual level. Jori was worldly, wealthy, sexy, creative…all things that Gretchen found attractive. She’d known within ten minutes of meeting her at the picnic that they’d end up in bed together, and they had—or on Gretchen’s couch, anyway. Jori had been just the right combination of fun and serious, with no pretense whatsoever that their time together was anything more than nonchalant and for-the-moment. It was exactly what Gretchen looked for in her informal pairings and they’d never failed to satisfy her temporary needs. Until Jori.
Gretchen hissed out a frustrated little breath. Jori had done everything right, everything Gretchen had expected and wanted of her.
She was sexy and attractive and a great kisser. Her moves were smooth, not too gentle, not too harsh. They’d battled a bit for control; Jori had even joked about two tops trying to top each other. Gretchen had won the first match, despite Jori’s height and weight advantages. Jori had orgasmed loudly, her fingernails digging into Gretchen’s shoulder.
Then she immediately flipped Gretchen flat onto her back on the floor and plunged her fingers in without preamble. Gretchen had been wet and ready and had come quickly and rather quietly, but was surprised to feel no relief at all.
She had carried it off well and she was sure Jori wasn’t looking deeply enough to suspect anything was wrong. They’d joked and laughed and dressed and Jori had taken off not long afterward, just like a good casual sex partner always does. Baffled by her body’s lack of contentment, Gretchen had gone immediately into the bedroom to try taking care of things herself.
Two climaxes later, nothing had changed. She couldn’t remember the last time an orgasm had left her feeling so utterly frustrated, and she’d spent every free moment of the next two days staring off into space trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with her.
Self-analysis not being one of her favorite pastimes, Gretchen blinked rapidly and shook her head, forcing herself back to the present.
She would wait and call Jori later that night or further on into the weekend. In the meantime, her thoughts had taken another path. On impulse, she picked up the cell and dialed, grinning.
“Good afternoon, Gretchen Kaiser’s office. This is Kylie, may I help you?”
“I forgot to tell you to have a nice weekend.” She could practically hear the smile on Kylie’s face, picture her blue eyes twinkling the way they always seemed to when she was pleasantly surprised. “You’re right. You did forget.”
“Have a nice weekend, Kylie.”
“You, too, Gretchen.”
She flipped the phone shut and hummed happily for the rest of the drive to Poughkeepsie.
* * *
The house hadn’t changed. Gretchen didn’t know why she thought it might. It had only been a couple months since she’d been there. She swung the BMW into the driveway and parked next to her father’s Cadillac. After turning off the ignition, she sat for several long minutes, hating that she was dreading the visit so much.
“Let’s just get it over with,” she muttered as she popped the trunk and exited the car. Retrieving her bag, she inhaled deeply. It was funny how different towns and cities and even states could smell different from one another. Happy as she was finding herself to be in Rochester, she still missed Poughkeepsie.
Gretchen was struck with the same weird feeling each and every time she’d entered her parents’ house since her mother’s death. It felt, quite literally, like a slap. The second she entered the foyer, she was smacked by the absence of Emma K
aiser and physically flinched. It happened every single time, no matter how thoroughly she prepared for it.
Today was no different, and shaking off the discomfort, she set her bag down and called, “Dad?”
Her voice echoed through the quiet house and she cocked her head to listen for signs of life. Despite their lack of closeness, she knew her father well. Walking directly to the basement door, which stood ajar, she pulled it farther open and heard the sound of the television.
“Dad?” she called again.
“Down here.” His tone was deep and gravel-like. Gretchen had no illusions about where she’d acquired her own low voice.
She plodded down the carpeted steps to her father’s haven. He had refinished the area with her mother’s help about twenty years ago.
Emma had decided her husband’s collection was getting out of hand and suggested they create a space just for him. It was his pride and joy. Baseball memorabilia was everywhere, hung on the paneled walls, decorating the corner bar area. He had cards and balls and bats and hats and even seats. A large poker table sat to one side, looking well-worn from seeing its regulars at least once a week.
John Kaiser sat in a big, black leather recliner watching the Yankee game on the big screen TV in front of him, a bottle of Heineken and a bowl of pretzels on the end table to his left. He looked over his shoulder briefly, and his dark eyes softened.
“Hey, sweetheart. Is it that time already?” He glanced at his watch.
Gretchen approached him and kissed him on the cheek, the scent of his Old Spice sending her back to her childhood. “It’s almost five thirty.”
“Guess I lost track of time.” He picked up one of the four remote controls from the end table. “Let me just set this to record the rest of the game.” His eyes were glued to the set and he gestured at it. “Look at this moron.” He shook his head in disgust, punched a few buttons, and turned everything off.
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