Serious Potential

by Maggie Cummings

  “She would be down with that?”

  “Totally.”

  “How does that work out when you have a girlfriend?” Tracy squinted her eyes in question. “Sorry, that’s none of my business.” She held her hands up as she attempted to explain her curiosity. “I just mean, it must be hard, living with your mom as an adult in a relationship.”

  Betsy let out a small laugh. “It’s fine actually.” She put one finger up. “I should explain—my mother’s house is a two family. I live in the downstairs apartment. So there is privacy. Not that it would matter. My mother is awesome. I mean, she absolutely loved CJ.” She shook the shells in her pocket.

  “Really?” Tracy didn’t even try to hide the shock in her voice.

  “Why do you say it like that?”

  “I’m purely stereotyping.” Tracy shrugged her shoulders playfully. “It’s just the tattoos, the piercings. That whole rocker look—not usually a mother’s dream for her daughter.”

  “My mother is anything but typical,” Betsy responded with a lilt in her voice. “She liked CJ from the very beginning. Tattoos and all.”

  “Was she upset when you guys broke up? Your mother, I mean.”

  Betsy curled her lower lip. “She was okay.” She looked at Tracy, her voice getting serious. “That relationship, the romantic part of it, has really been over for quite some time now,” Betsy admitted sheepishly. “Even my mother knew that.”

  Tracy kicked aside a piece of seaweed as they walked. She tried to hide her smile as she looked at Betsy. “I’m sorry, but I have to ask. How did you end up with a girl like CJ?” She put her hand up and waved off her own comment, but continued to talk. “Again, it’s none of my business, but I just did not peg you for the bad-girl type.”

  Betsy smiled all the way up to her eyes. “It’s all very clichéd,” she said, making fun of herself. “I was in my first year of medical school. She was in the band that played at the local bar. I was stressed out, studying all the time. She was nineteen, fun, and completely carefree.” She paused for a second, fixing her eyes, more blue than green at the moment, right on Tracy. “She is not a bad girl, by the way.”

  “Oh no. I saw her. She’s badass.”

  Betsy rolled her eyes. “And you don’t see the allure in that?” she challenged. “Even after dating Jezebel Stone?”

  Tracy came back quickly. “Jezebel Stone does not have game like that. CJ is the real deal.”

  Betsy puckered her lips. “Mm-hmm. Of course.” She nodded to herself. “That’s why you don’t get it.”

  “Get what?”

  “You are the bad girl.”

  “Get out of here.” Tracy waved her off with her unbandaged hand.

  Betsy stopped short and eyed Tracy head to toe. “Uh-huh. You are.”

  Tracy leaned into Betsy’s space, looked right at her, and touched her forearm, keeping it there as she spoke in a smooth, sexy voice. “Trust me, Jennifer, I am a very, very good girl.”

  She almost kissed her right there on the windswept beach, but Betsy’s body language seemed off so she backed away. Just a little more time, Tracy thought. She smiled to herself, certain the right moment was just ahead of them.

  *

  Later that evening as they walked home from dinner, Betsy couldn’t help but notice that with each step, Tracy’s wrist lightly grazed hers as their arms swayed in unison. With every touch Betsy experienced both disappointment and relief that Tracy didn’t make a move to reach for her hand.

  “Are you tired?” Betsy asked as they entered her house.

  “Not really.”

  “Wine?” She lifted her eyebrows hoping to encourage a yes.

  “Yeah, why not?”

  “Great.” Betsy moved through the kitchen, grabbing a fresh bottle of red and two glasses. “Let’s sit by the fireplace. I hardly ever get to enjoy this.” She smiled, flipping the switch to the gas fireplace and putting her feet up on the coffee table as she stretched out across from Tracy.

  The hours passed and to her surprise Betsy realized they had polished off the bottle. She glanced at her watch, amazed at how quickly the time had slipped by, how effortless being with Tracy felt. This kind of instant connection was new to her. It was honest and warm and lovely and she didn’t want the night to end. But she really didn’t want to think about what that meant, so instead she urged them off the couch and up the stairs.

  “Do you need any help?” she asked, giving a hesitant nod at Tracy’s injured hand. “With that?”

  Her eyes settled on Tracy’s mouth and she watched as Tracy shook her head, sexy and confident.

  “No.”

  They were standing in the hallway just outside her bedroom. Tracy took a small step toward her, fisting the fabric of her shirt and pulling her closer.

  Their lips were almost touching when Betsy panicked. “Sorry, Tracy,” she said, dropping her gaze.

  “What’s wrong?” Tracy asked, releasing Betsy’s shirt but letting her hand rest on the soft cotton material above her abdomen.

  Betsy shook her head, not quite sure what to say, because the truth of the matter was everything about the entire day had been absolutely perfect. She stumbled, searching for the right words. “I just…I think we shouldn’t.” She flashed her eyes up at Tracy, knowing the desire in them belied her words.

  “Why?” There was no pressure in Tracy’s question, just plain curiosity over Betsy’s objection to a moment they had both seen coming.

  “I like you,” Betsy said apprehensively.

  “I like you too,” Tracy said in response.

  “But…” Betsy stopped, still unsure what to say. She knew the truth. It was ridiculous that she had fallen for Meg’s friend who was in New York visiting. Logically, she knew it made no sense to get involved with someone who couldn’t be anything more than transient. All evening she had tried to convince herself to just do it, be like everyone else and have a fling, as Meg had encouraged her a few months ago. But that wasn’t her. And, truthfully, she found the idea marginally terrifying. Aside from CJ, she had only slept with one other person in her life. But that tryst had occurred when she was on active duty stationed in a war zone overseas, where even her own strict rules went out the window.

  She shook her head, knowing there was no way to explain all of this and not sound like a flake. So she didn’t.

  “We’re both just out of relationships,” Betsy started. “It’s probably not a good idea.”

  Tracy maintained eye contact for a second before shifting her gaze to the floor. She looked disappointed, hurt even, but not mad. Betsy knew Tracy wasn’t convinced of her reasoning. Hell, she barely believed it herself and it had come out of her mouth. But Tracy didn’t argue or try to persuade her. She just bit her bottom lip and nodded, looking resolute. She gave a small smile and kissed Betsy on the cheek, then sauntered down the hall to the guest room.

  Betsy watched her go, her perfect behind in equally perfect jeans. She leaned back into the wall and pressed the bases of both hands against her forehead, wondering if she was making the wrong decision. Letting out a long slow breath, she walked into her bedroom and headed straight for her newly overhauled master bath, praying the fancy detachable showerhead she’d let herself get talked into would live up to its price tag.

  The remainder of the night was spent tossing and turning as she half imagined, half dreamed what might’ve happened if she’d just given in to what she knew she wanted. But that was it—she did want Tracy, and it was both the truth and the problem. She wasn’t looking for a lost weekend, or even some kind of whirlwind romance that lasted for however long Tracy decided to stay in New York. Betsy wanted more. Way more, and it scared the hell out of her.

  *

  The next morning Betsy adjusted her grip on the steering wheel, her eyes focused on the road ahead as they cruised along the open highway. She tried for a subtle glance across the front seat, but Tracy caught her right away.

  “What’s up?” Tracy asked.

  B
etsy worried her lower lip. “Can we talk about last night?”

  “Yeah, of course.” Tracy shifted in the leather seat, angling her body just slightly toward Betsy as they made their way back to New York.

  Betsy hesitated, but forced herself to go on. “I was hoping I could explain a few things.”

  “Bets, you don’t owe me an explanation. It’s okay. We’re cool.”

  Betsy observed what seemed to be a genuine smile spread across Tracy’s chiseled face. Her knuckles whitened around the steering wheel. “I know, but I still feel like I should explain a little,” she said, hoping she wasn’t about to make a fool out of herself.

  Tracy nodded but didn’t say anything, so Betsy continued. “Tracy, it’s not that I’m not ready to be with anyone, or anything like that.” She checked her rearview mirror out of habit. “I was with CJ for a really long time and honestly, from very early on, I think I knew our lives were not headed in the same direction.” She stared straight ahead. “But I stayed in it anyway because…it was easy and comfortable. And of course, I loved her.”

  “Sure.”

  “The thing is, this probably sounds crazy to you,” she said, feeling more than a little embarrassed as she continued. “I’m going to be thirty-three in a few months.” She cocked her head to the side. “I feel like I’ve already used up a lot of time on something that wasn’t going anywhere. And I don’t have regrets, that’s not what I’m saying.” She paused momentarily, searching for words that sounded less intense than she knew she was coming off. Finally she gave up. “I don’t really do the casual hookup thing.”

  “All right.”

  “Not because I think there’s anything wrong with it, or anything like that.” She waved her hand and kept talking. “It’s just not me.” She kept her eyes on the road, shrugging her shoulders. “The thing is I have a timeline—for myself. I know it sounds completely uptight. And I guess it is. But there are things I want and, well, maybe because I’ve spent the last few years on something that wasn’t really moving forward, I just feel like right now, I have to stay focused. On my career. On my personal life. So I’m just not going to get involved in something that can’t possibly go anywhere.”

  She looked across the console briefly. “And, Tracy, you live in California.”

  “Okay.”

  Betsy’s voice dropped an octave. “I’m obviously attracted to you,” she said, keeping her eyes glued forward. “I just think that’s not enough. I hope you can understand that.”

  Tracy licked her lips and waited for Betsy to make eye contact. “Understood,” she said with an unbelievably sexy grin.

  “Can we still be friends?”

  “Of course,” Tracy answered, clearly surprised at the question.

  Betsy let out a sigh of relief. “Yeah?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Feeling the weight of a touchy topic off her shoulders, Betsy relaxed into her seat. “So am I still invited to the Yankee game with you next week?” She bit her lip and looked across the car.

  “Do you promise to root for the Angels with me?” Tracy asked in mock challenge, lightening the mood.

  “At Yankee Stadium? Even I know that’s a bad idea.” Betsy chuckled. “I’m afraid you’re on your own there. I may even buy a Yankees cap.”

  “So, it’s gonna be like that, huh?”

  Betsy answered with a huge smile, relieved the conversation had gone so smoothly, even though she knew she’d glossed over their instant and undeniable connection.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Let’s do a happy hour.”

  “What?” Meg was puzzled as she shifted her gaze from the computer to Sasha, who was fingering a long, wavy strand of hair as she leaned against the door frame of Meg’s office.

  “A happy hour,” Sasha repeated. “After work, Friday. You know, drinks, appetizers,” she explained in jest.

  “Where is this coming from?” Meg laced her fingers behind her head and rocked back in her chair.

  “I don’t know.” Sasha grinned. “I think it’d be fun. Everyone here is pretty young. I think people would go.” She turned her attention to Meg’s office mate. “Hey, Carrie, would you come to happy hour on Friday?”

  “Sure,” Carrie responded without looking up from her work.

  Sasha raised her eyebrows at Meg. “See, Carrie would go. I’m sure Scott will come too,” she added.

  “Oh, well, in that case,” Meg answered with a sarcastic lilt.

  “Come on, he’s not that bad. I don’t know why you give him such a hard time.”

  Meg shook her head and acted dramatically disappointed. “It’s a tragedy, this.” She made an overly exaggerated sound of disapproval out of the side of her mouth. “Truly a shame. Bright young woman, with so much promise, falling for the office player.” She fake-frowned and turned to her roommate for support in her playful drama. “Sad, don’t you think, Carrie?”

  Carrie didn’t even turn around. She grabbed a file from her desk and stood up. “It’s not that sad,” she said, sounding a bit like the cat who ate the canary. Meg and Sasha exchanged a blank glance before Carrie grinned at both of them. “He’s got a huge cock,” she stage-whispered, lifting one eyebrow as she passed through the doorway. Halfway down the hall she called over her shoulder, “Sash, shoot me the details for the happy hour.” She strolled away, leaving Meg and Sasha in slack-jawed shock.

  “Holy crap,” Sasha breathed out, still reeling from Carrie’s admission.

  “I had no idea.” Meg blinked hard. “I hope she’s not mad.”

  “Well, she didn’t seem too put out by it,” Sasha added with a shrug. “Anyway, more importantly, back to happy hour. I think Anne, Pat, and Doug would even come by for a little bit,” she said, referring to the firm’s three most senior partners. “We used to do it in London all the time. It was fun. You get to see a whole different side of people.” She let go of the strand of hair she was still playing with. “I’m going to send out an email.” She started to leave but then stopped abruptly and looked right at Meg. “You’re going to come, right?”

  Meg smiled. “Why not?”

  *

  The Sullivan sponsored happy hour was an instant success, and by the third event, Meg had an established routine. Party with the work crew until nine or so, then head uptown with Sasha to meet up with her friends and continue the debauchery.

  Sasha’s friends were super nice even if they were the straightest girls ever. Meg felt a little out of place and she worried Sasha’s friends suspected she was trying to make a play for Sasha. Scott certainly did. He teased Meg about it all the time. One night after too many beers, he even suggested they have a competition to see who could get Sasha first, commenting that with any luck they’d end up in a tie. He finished his pitch with a gross wink as he ogled Meg from head to toe.

  The problem, Meg knew, was Scott was right. She totally had a crush on Sasha. She’d stopped denying it—to herself anyway. The confusion over her feelings wasn’t entirely out of left field, or so she told herself. Sasha egged her on whether she realized it or not. Tonight was a perfect example. After the happy hour, she and Scott tagged along with Sasha to meet up with Jane-Anne and the girls. Throughout the night Sasha’s friends danced and flirted with guys—including Scott—but Sasha gave all her attention to Meg. It was…awesome, confusing, and fun. But it completely messed with her feelings and her ability to control them. And then finally, when she was gearing up to leave around midnight, Sasha pulled her aside, suggesting it might not be safe for her to go home by herself at such a late hour, inviting her instead to crash at her apartment. Meg was more than tempted to accept the offer, but she knew her own motives were suspect. In truth, she had on several occasions traveled home alone much later, and drunker than she was this evening. She didn’t even allow herself to consider it.

  As a consolation prize she let herself splurge on a cab in lieu of the much more economical mass transit option. She arrived at her house a half hour later to find Tracy and
Betsy chatting away on the couch as though it was the middle of the afternoon. When Meg asked them what they’d been up to all night, they looked at each other like neither one of them realized where the time had gone before explaining they’d planned to watch a movie but had gotten caught up talking. Meg nodded, wondering what the fuck was really going on between them. Since their little sojourn to P-town they hung out nonstop. Tracy swore to Meg they were just friends, but the energy between them was palpable. Even now, Meg could feel it through her half-drunk haze. She shook her head at them, grabbing a quick glass of water before making herself scarce.

  Meg was in the middle of brushing her teeth when her phone chimed with a text from Sasha.

  Home okay?

  Yep. You?

  Yes.

  Meg let a few seconds pass, rinsing her mouth out before she typed again.

  Scott with you? She punctuated the question with a wink emoji, two hearts, and a kissy face. Meg was playing it for laughs, but she was only half kidding, knowing Scott would up his game once she was gone.

  Nope. All alone. With her response Sasha added an emoticon of her own—a sad face complete with tears.

  Meg smiled to herself. Too bad, she typed back.

  I invited you, but you turned me down. Three thumbs down in a row followed.

  Funny.

  Sasha’s response was quick. Who’s kidding?

  While they joked around often, this seemed a new level, even for them, and in Meg’s mind it was definitely flirting. She wondered if Sasha realized it. Meg thought briefly about running downstairs and showing the text thread to Tracy and Betsy to get their opinion, but she knew it was pointless. She didn’t need their input to know how she felt about the exchange and she certainly didn’t want to give them the opportunity to deflate her. Meg knew she was probably reading into something that was just silliness on Sasha’s part. She didn’t care. She liked the idea of going to bed with Sasha on her mind after such spirited banter. She decided right there to end on this high note. Good night, Sasha, she typed.