by Radclyffe
She arrived at Hope’s door and knocked rapidly, before she could talk herself out of it. When the door opened, Simone was unprepared for the sight of Hope in her nonbarista attire. She was wearing a simple white blouse over a sexy silk camisole, and faded low-rise jeans that didn’t just accentuate Hope’s hips, but sang her body electric.
“Wow,” Simone said spontaneously. “You look…great.”
Hope smiled, glanced down at her outfit and shrugged. “You just haven’t seen me without a paper hat and cappuccino foam stuck in my hair. Come on in.”
Simone felt instantly sheepish. “Thanks.” Suddenly remembering that she had wine, she offered it. “Oh, and here’s the wine.”
Hope pulled the bottle from the bag and examined the label. “Mmm, this will be perfect.”
“Great,” Simone said, trying to focus on not saying anything else stupid. “What are you cooking?”
“Well, I’m trying out a new dish tonight,” Hope said, taking the merlot and beginning to uncork it. “And you’re going to be my guinea pig. If you like it, I’ll propose it to the head chef, and we’ll see what he thinks about adding it to our menu.”
“Well, it smells delicious.”
“Thanks. That’s Gorgonzola Beef Wellington, and I’m making you my famous shallot and bacon polenta…in case the Wellington sucks.” Hope filled a wineglass and handed it to Simone.
“I’m sure it won’t suck.” Simone scanned the roomy studio apartment. It was clear that the kitchen was the focal point, but though the furnishings were simple, there was an easy, artsy feel to the place. She noted the bed in the corner. There was no other. “Your apartment is great. You live here alone?”
Hope took a sip of her newly poured merlot and seemed pleased with it. “Yeah, it’s just me, Eleanor and Bettie.”
Simone bit her lower lip as she looked around. Three women could not sleep comfortably in one queen size-bed—fuck like mad women perhaps, but not sleep. “Are they here?”
“They’re always here,” Hope replied, pointing to a bowl on a bookcase with two goldfish in it. “They’re homebodies. Girls, this is Simone. Simone, this is Eleanor Roosevelt and Bettie Page.”
“That’s a peculiar combination.”
Hope chuckled. “Well, at the risk of sounding crazy, I’ve always had this idea that if Eleanor Roosevelt and Bettie Page had met, and…perhaps been roommates, it would have made for a hilarious sitcom. One is an intellectual civil rights advocate, and the other is a kinky fetish queen with a righteous rack—but which is which?”
Simone found that image so funny, that she laughed until she snorted, most indelicately.
“So come on outside, and I’ll show you where we’ll be dining.” Hope took Simone’s glass, set it down and led her by the hand out onto the fire escape, where she plugged in an extension cord and strings of cobalt patio lights turned on. There, Hope had set up a small table, linen napkins, fancy china and a vase of freshly cut irises, while below in the distance were the sounds of traffic and the city.
Simone covered her mouth as she took it all in and suddenly became emotional—as though everything that had happened not just that day, but since she had moved to the city, was finally brimming to the surface. “This is beautiful,” she said softly. “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”
Hope looked unusually serious. “It’s no trouble. I just wanted there to be something about today that you could feel good about.”
Any reservations that Simone had been harboring were instantly gone, and she stepped forward and kissed Hope deeply.
When they separated, Hope looked pleasantly surprised. “Was that an ‘I find you irresistible’ kiss, or more of a ‘you’re sweet in a nonsexual way’ kiss?”
Instead of replying, Simone took Hope’s face in her hands and tried again, this time in a way that could never be described as “nonsexual.” As Simone’s tongue moved provocatively, she found Hope’s mouth tasted sweetly of red wine. Hope kissed her back and Hope’s hands came to rest tenderly around Simone’s waist as the kiss ended.
“Did that answer your question?” Simone rasped.
The corners of Hope’s mouth rose slightly and she shook her head. “Unfortunately, I’m pretty dense. You may have to show me a few more times before I start to understand.”
Simone looked into Hope’s smoldering blue eyes. “I think that can be arranged.”
Hope’s lips slid seductively along Simone’s exposed neck and collarbone as her hands moved to the small of Simone’s back. “And when you’re done, I’ve got a few things to show you…if you’re interested.”
Simone had not felt desire like this in quite some time, though it was perhaps exacerbated by her already hyperemotional state. She brought her mouth close to Hope’s ear. “I’m interested,” she said softly. “Another panacea perhaps?”
Hope was deeply affected by the quickening of Simone’s breathing. “We can certainly call it that, if you like. Though it may require extensive and repeated doses.”
Simone pulled back slightly to search Hope’s face, and the want and gentleness that she saw soothed her wounded soul. “This treatment, is it habit-forming?”
“God, I hope so.”
“I think I hope so too.”
Hope’s eyebrow arched. “So maybe you should hold off on packing, huh?”
Simone bit the inside of her cheek. “Well, at least until I’ve tasted the Wellington.”
“I had no idea the Wellington would be a deal breaker,” Hope laughed.
“Well,” Simone breathed, in between kisses, “if you can cook and kiss this well, I don’t stand a chance.”
“Mmm, good.”
LOST AND FOUND
Andrea Dale
An all-expenses-paid trip to Hawaii? Sign me up!
So what if I got slammed with a massive last-minute freelance accounting job from a well-paying but notoriously flaky client the day before we left? But, hey—have laptop, will travel. I could make my deadline if I hunkered down in the hotel room.
Except for when I snuck out to take surfing lessons from some sloe-eyed, sultry native pro…
I went from that lovely fantasy on the plane to standing forlornly in the baggage claim area, watching the empty carousel go round and round.
The airline folks wrung their hands. So sorry, they said. Really feel bad about this, they insisted. We’ll do everything in our power to find the suitcase, they promised, but there’s only one flight to this island per day, they apologized, so it may take time….
“Oh, my god, Lara, I’m so sorry!” Jeanne’s eyes were wide with compassion. She hated traveling—which was why she’d asked me to tag along while she gave a workshop at the annual Women’s Proactive Retreat and Conference—and this was a personal nightmare of hers, ranking right up there with being thrown in a Thai prison for accidentally smuggling drugs.
“I’ll be okay,” I said, putting on my gamest smile. “I’ve got a change of underwear and a toothbrush in my carry-on, at least. That’ll get me through.”
I could handle this. I squared my shoulders. I’ve backpacked around Europe for six months, I’ve boated down the Grand Canyon for sixteen days with only what I could carry. I could make do until they found my luggage.
I’d pick up a few essentials at a discount store—they did have Target here, right? Or at least Walmart?—and get by.
Or so I thought.
No, the smaller islands didn’t have discount stores (what was I thinking?). And we were bussed right out to the resort, where my only option was the gift shop—in which the cheapest T-shirt was more than I’d be willing to spend on a new dress.
Let’s not talk about how much the dresses cost.
Not to mention the bathing suits. There was a gorgeous shimmery copper one, sturdy enough for laps in the pool but pretty enough to catch the eye, but it was far, far out of my budget.
The next morning I poked at my travel shirt, which I’d hand-washed the night before. Still damp.
/> About the only positive thing I could grasp on to right now was the fact that the hotel rooms had nice plush complimentary robes. I ordered the cheapest thing I could get by on from room service, wincing at the cost, but I couldn’t go wandering down to the dining room in the robe, you know? Hopefully Jeanne would swing by before lunch and have time to grab something for me.
The accounting books, as usual, had not only been late, but were a mess. I scowled. I couldn’t even escape from them for a swim or a walk to ogle sloe-eyed, sultry natives….
There was a knock at the door. Couldn’t housekeeping see the bloody DO NOT DISTURB Sign? As tempting as it was, I was too polite to shout, “Go away!” so I opened the door.
Well, hello. Apparently my despair had been a call, because a sloe-eyed, sultry native had come to me.
She wore adorable little black rectangle glasses and a cool white wraparound top that showed just a hint of cleavage, as well as a Women’s Conference badge.
My heart leapt. “They’ve found my luggage?” I leaned out to peer behind her.
“No, I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m Evie, with the conference. Your partner told me about your missing suitcase.”
“Jeanne’s not my partner,” I said, because suddenly that was a much more important fact to clarify than the whereabouts of any silly suitcase. “We’re just good friends.”
“Oh!” said the delectable Evie. “Oh. I’m sorry.”
I laughed. “Really, not a problem. What can I do for you?”
I tried not to think too hard about what I really wanted to do for her. Or to her. Damn, but I didn’t normally fall in lust so…instantaneously.
But she had the cutest dimple, and I just wanted to lick it, for starters.
“I wanted to help you out,” she said. “If you’ll give me your sizes, I’ll ask around and see if any of the other attendees have clothes you could borrow. Or maybe take up a collection so you could buy a few things.” She leaned in conspiratorially; I smelled a fruity sort of perfume or maybe sunscreen. “The prices in the gift shop are just insane.”
Thank god it wasn’t just me.
I backed up to let her in. “I’d feel really weird if people paid for my clothes,” I said. “I’m not even attending the conference.”
She collapsed onto the bed, her skirt riding up to show a yummy expanse of tanned, toned leg. “I see your point,” she said, “but I think it would actually make them feel good. Helping a sista, don’t’cha know.”
I laughed. “True. But I really don’t need a new wardrobe; I just need a few things to get me by until my luggage arrives.”
“I like you,” Evie said, flashing that damn dimple again. “You have a highly developed sense of optimism.”
“If I didn’t laugh, I’d have to cry,” I said. “Why doesn’t this island have a Kmart?”
“Hm,” Evie said. “There is a lone dollar-store-type place two towns over. It’s pretty cheesy, but it might do the trick.”
She’d be able to steal a couple of hours after lunch, and so I worked like a fiend to get as much number-crunching done as I could before then.
That was hard, because my mind kept wandering back to Evie and that dimple and the way she’d said, “I like you,” and even though I had no idea if she liked girls, I was imagining her straddling me, saying, “I like you,” as she dipped down for a kiss, or pinned beneath me, saying, “I like you,” as I feasted on her pert nipples. (Score one for the air-conditioning in my hotel room, which had left me pretty certain she hadn’t been wearing a bra.)
That lack of bra continued to work to my advantage, because journeying two towns away involved driving over some bumpy dirt roads. I watched out of the corner of my eye while keeping up my end of the conversation.
I was thrilled when, in answer to my question, “What do you do for fun?” she said she surfed.
“That’s something I’ve always wanted to try,” I said. “I’ve water-skied…is it very different?”
“There’s more balance needed, but if you have the basic skills, it’s not that hard,” she said. She flashed that dimple again. “If you’re free Sunday afternoon and the conditions are good, I’d be happy to show you the ropes.”
Oh, I’d be free, all right. I’d stay up all Saturday night working if I had to.
Then we got to the dollar store, and all bets were off again. They didn’t have any bathing suits.
I came away with a couple of Hawaiian-print sarong-type skirts and some basic T-shirts in matching colors, which would get me through the rest of my stay. The only beachwear they had were a couple of eensy bikinis, and I’d have had to sew at least three of the bra cups together to cover one of my generous womanly gifts.
I grabbed an extra T-shirt, a hot-pink touristy thing that proclaimed ALOHA! in exuberant, swirly, aqua print. Maybe I could get away with it and a pair of panties for a midnight dip in the ocean when nobody else was around.
On the way back, we stopped at what looked like a ramshackle shack teetering precariously on a cliff, but in fact was a restaurant serving the best fish tacos on the planet. I swear I wanted to be alone with mine.
But I was alone with it—and with Evie—and that was even better.
As she gazed out over the view that I admitted was spectacular, though not as spectacular as she was, I wondered again whether she liked girls.
It was now or never. I refused to run from a challenge. “Thank you,” I said, and then I leaned over and brushed a kiss across her cheek, inhaling that sweet sunscreen scent.
If she didn’t get it, so be it.
She got it. As I drew away, she turned her head. Our lips were inches apart.
“Oh,” she said, curving her mouth in a naughty, dimpled grin. “Do that like you mean it.”
Could anyone refuse an invitation like that? I brushed my fingers along her jaw, urging her closer, watching her until her eyes fluttered shut and our lips met. Then I couldn’t keep my eyes open, either.
She tasted like salsa, hot and spicy. Our tongues met, flirted, succumbed to the age-old dance.
On the table, our fingers twined. A slow, warm glow started in my belly, spreading lower as if I were bathed in sunlight from the inside. My nipples tightened and my groin followed suit, pressure building.
Just from that kiss.
Finally, reluctantly, she pulled away. “Wow,” she said. “I hope that was as amazing for you as it was for me.”
All I could do was nod.
“I wish I could sit here and kiss you for hours,” she went on, “but I’m afraid I’ve got to get back….” Her hand squeezed mine. “Can I see you tonight?”
Again, nodding was my only available option. She’d left me speechless with delight.
I realized, as I tried to focus on work and failed miserably, that I was nervous. Why, I wasn’t entirely sure. She was cute, she was interested in me; what was the problem?
The problem was that I really liked her. I’d never been into flings per se, but there had been times when the planets aligned and I’d had a juicy time with a like-minded girl, no strings attached.
Evie lived in Hawaii (on Oahu, granted), and I was from Chicago. What kind of future could we have?
And why was I thinking about the future anyway?
After the dry air-conditioning in the hotel, the sultry night air was a relief, soft and sweet smelling against my skin. I was to meet Evie in one of the cabanas, far down the beach. The closer cabanas were filled with women who’d spilled out after the conference activities officially ended at ten; I found Evie in a more secluded one, with its own little cove.
She’d laid out leftover hors d’oeuvres from the conference, along with a bottle of wine and a multitude of candles.
I was hungry—to keep the cost down I’d been getting most of my meals out of the vending machines—but at the same time, I didn’t want to eat too much. I nibbled juicy chunks of pineapple and mango, tasted spicy shrimp skewers and let sweet wine and conversation flow.
Fin
ally, though, before I could talk myself out of it, I leaned in and kissed her again.
Her skin was salty and sun warmed even now, this late, and I was shaking right down to my dollar-store panties, a heady combination of nerves and lust.
The nerves mostly faded as the kiss progressed, thanks to her enthusiasm. It’s hard to have self-doubts when someone’s kissing you with so much fervor that you nearly fall off your chair.
When we broke apart, we were both breathless.
“I have something for you,” she said.
“I bet you do,” I murmured.
She laughed. “That’s not what I mean—not right now, anyway. Here.”
She held up a resort-logoed bag. Inside, I found the shimmery copper bathing suit from the hotel gift shop.
“Some of the women heard about your luggage and had already started pooling their money,” she said before I could protest. “Anyway, it’s for tomorrow. For when I give you your surfing lesson.” In the candlelight, I saw the wicked glint in her eye. “Tonight, though, you won’t be needing it. Up for a swim?”
If I’d been thinking more clearly, I would’ve understood that she was suggesting skinny-dipping—which I had no problem with any time—but when she pulled her top over her head, my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth.
Her tanned skin gleamed in the candle flames, and from the lack of lines, I knew she didn’t wear a suit very often even in the daylight.
Stop staring and strip. Stop ogling her teardrop breasts and thinking about how you want to take those fat nipples into your mouth.
I compromised and multitasked: I stripped while fantasizing and catching glances as often as I could.
The water was so calm, so utterly smooth and pristine that I felt a pang of reluctance at disturbing it. But Evie grabbed my hand and urged, “Come on,” and then we were running out together, laughing as the sand shifted beneath our feet and the drag of the water slowed us down.