by Jane Hardee
Table of Contents
Synopsis
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Epilogue
About the Author
Books Available From Bold Strokes Books
Synopsis
Michael, an up-and-coming hyperrealist sculptor from Atlanta, Georgia, is about to get her big break. An expert at carving the female form, she owes much of her success to her muse, best friend, Jess. Michael has been in love with Jess for years but treasures their friendship too much to risk it for uncertain romance. Jess, a special education teacher, values Michael’s friendship above everything else in her life. Can one passionate kiss change everything she thought she felt about Michael? Can Michael make the choice between a dear, lifelong friendship and capturing Jessica?
Capturing Jessica
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Capturing Jessica
© 2016 By Jane Hardee. All Rights Reserved.
ISBN 13: 978-1-62639-837-5
This Electronic Book is published by
Bold Strokes Books, Inc.
P.O. Box 249
Valley Falls, New York 12185
First Edition: December 2016
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
Editor: Katia Noyes
Production Design: Stacia Seaman
Cover Design By Jeanine Henning
Acknowledgments
This is my first novel, and I was incredibly overwhelmed by the process of editing. A huge and well-deserved thank you to my editor, Katia Noyes, for her insight, knowledge, patience, kindness and sense of humor. I am forever indebted to her for the resources, knowledge, and time she spent helping me beat this novel into submission. Editing was a strange new world for me, but I had the most capable and understanding tour guide. Thank you for all of your late-night and early-morning emails, all of the links and book suggestions, and of course all of the hahas. I look forward to working with you again.
Thank you to everyone I worked with from Bold Strokes Books during this process—Sandy Lowe, Cindy Cresap, Ruth Sternglantz, and Kim Baldwin. I appreciate your knowledge and assistance.
A special thanks in advance to those who read this story. I have spent countless hours reading and rereading lesbian fiction, and I love to disappear into a place where I have never been with people I have never met. If you are able to escape into the world and characters I have created even for a little while, then I feel like I have been successful.
For Crystal, who bought me my first romance novel.
CHAPTER ONE
Michael threw her arm over her face to block the rays of sunlight streaming through the hotel window and with her other hand fumbled to silence her phone on the nightstand. She guessed it must be nearing noon. The sleeping woman next to her felt warm and soft pressed against her back, but Michael felt trapped. She peeled the woman’s small hand away from her body, threw her legs over the side of the bed, and sat up.
Glancing around the room, Michael wondered about the paint-by-number artwork. Why couldn’t budget hotels get reprints of quality art? It would help draw attention away from their drab carpeting and outdated fixtures. As quietly as she could, Michael reached for her briefs and jeans. Although in light of last night, she felt silly for not wanting to be seen naked.
“That’s not your girlfriend blowing up your phone, is it?” The woman rolled over onto her stomach, giving Michael a great view of her ass. Ally? Yes, that was her name.
“No. No girlfriend,” Michael said, yanking her jeans all the way up her thighs. She grabbed her shirt and walked to the window, wanting to get some space. Pulling the curtain aside, she surveyed the Atlanta skyline and the small parking lot below the second-floor window. The display on her phone read four missed calls and three messages. She wished there was a balcony so she could step outside for some privacy.
“Yes, it’s me again,” she heard Camille’s irritated voice say. Before listening to the rest, Michael pressed the callback button.
“Where the hell have you been?” Camille said. “You better have that sculpture finished by Friday.” About three or four days before one of Michael’s projects was due, Camille turned into a drill sergeant. Michael wasn’t worried. She was fast becoming known as the sculptor to hire in Georgia if you wanted a realistic carving of a strong, gorgeous woman. Michael knew she was talented, but she also knew her success wouldn’t have happened without Camille’s connections and shrewd business sense. Somewhere between Camille bitching about timelines and finishing touches, Michael was relieved to hear Ally get up and go into the bathroom.
“Relax. I’m on it.” Michael didn’t want to sound curt, but Camille knew she always kept on schedule with her work so the guilt trip was unnecessary. With more annoyance, she realized that she hadn’t put on her bra. Staring at the closed bathroom door, she strode to the other side of the bed and pocketed her sports bra. “And when am I late on a project anyway?”
“Never, thanks to me. I’ll be by your loft later this week to check on your progress.”
“Fine.” As she ended the call, Michael felt the back pocket of her jeans for her keys and wallet, anxious to get any awkward good-byes over.
Ally pranced out of the small bathroom wearing a big T-shirt and pulling her long, red curls into a messy bun. “I can tell you’re itching to leave, and I’ve got a flight to catch.” Ally stepped aside to let Michael get to the door. “It was…tons of fun.”
Michael grabbed the door handle.
“You don’t talk much do you, sugar?”
“You’re not the first to notice.” Michael gave her a quick peck on the lips and pulled open the door.
Of course she jumped into bed with Ally. It helped keep her thoughts at bay. Damn. Now the memories came back. Vivid images of Jess on the arm of some woman from the night before flashed before her eyes. Who was that butch chick anyway? She looked as if she crawled out of an Abercrombie & Fitch ad, strong men’s cologne and all. Michael had never seen her at Nine’s Bar before, and she was hoping not to bump into her again.
*
Last night had started well at least. Michael’s buddies gathered downtown at Nine’s, just as they did every Friday night.
“And then she pulls me into the stall and sticks her hand down my pants! I know, hard to believe, right?” Morgan’s high ponytail whipped around her head during her animated storytelling. “She only lasted three days before Ted fired her. Said she couldn’t make coffee worth a damn. Now he thinks it’s my job to get his coffee.” She rolled her eyes in annoyance. “What a prick.”
“Wait a minute,” Camille said, arching an eyebrow, “you
get his coffee for him?”
“Hell no, I don’t. It doesn’t say barista on my fucking resume.” Morgan blew out a long whistle, seeming ready to change the topic even though she brought it up.
“I can’t believe you still work for that guy, Morgan,” Jess said.
A tiny crease formed between Jess’s eyebrows, and she caught her bottom lip in her teeth. It was impossible for Michael to catalog all of Jess’s expressions because she was so empathetic. Feelings were as natural as breathing to this woman. Jess thrived on connecting with people, especially through emotion. She had a different expression for every situation. Sometimes Michael lost track of all conversation and watched Jess’s face move and change. She imagined the first viewers of silent films, completely captivated and spellbound, without need for any dialogue or even noticing its absence. As her imagination wandered further, she could see Jess in grainy black-and-white film, with her eyes open wide and lips pursed, as suitors piled gifts in front of her.
When Morgan shrugged, Jess stuck out her tongue in disgust, and this drew Michael’s attention to the curves of her mouth. Her lips sparkled with a kissable shade of light pink gloss. Maybe it’s fruit flavored.
“He’s such a jerk. And that was two,” Jess said, scowling at Morgan. As an elementary school teacher, Jess’s vocabulary consisted of PG-rated language, and she kept tabs on Morgan’s use of curse words. If she got to twenty, Morgan had to pay Jess’s tab. Jess made a face of disapproval at Morgan’s halfhearted apology.
As an excuse to stare at Jess, Michael pulled the permanent marker from her pocket and began a rough sketch of Jess’s profile on a square cocktail napkin. The group was used to Michael’s obsessive sketching of people, and she knew it wouldn’t draw much attention.
“If I want to make partner someday, I have to stick with it. But if he does keep asking me to make his frigging coffee,” Morgan said, staring at Jess, “I may have to put some rat poison in it. Where do you buy that anyway?” Morgan pulled on her ponytail to tighten it closer to her scalp. Michael assumed that for Morgan, being one of the most successful female attorneys in Atlanta and working with a bunch of sexist dickheads was a fair trade. Michael broke eye contact with Jess’s face to look at Morgan’s business suit, a stark contrast to her sporty ponytail. She’d ditched her classy up-do the minute she sat down. Morgan was the last to arrive at nearly ten thirty, having just come from her office. Michael admired Morgan’s drive, but she preferred being in control of her own schedule. Working alone suited her as well.
“I know. I just hate that you have to put up with that.” Jess wouldn’t know about having trouble with coworkers. Everyone loved Jess. Michael made small, quick lines to emphasize the sympathetic furrow in Jess’s brows and the pronounced Cupid’s bow of her upper lip. Michael felt in her element, content to sketch and listen to the others.
“Who is that tall drink of water over there?” Camille popped the olive of her martini in her mouth and pointed toward the bar with her cocktail pick. Pausing, Michael made a show of pretending to stretch her arms and yawn, resting one on the back of the booth behind Jess to look around at the bar.
“Real slick,” Morgan said.
Jess laughed. Michael loved that spontaneous giggle and couldn’t help but respond with a wicked grin. Jess’s eyes sparkled when she saw Michael’s expression, and she laughed some more. Michael loved the way that they didn’t need words to communicate.
Knowing Camille’s interest in more masculine women, Michael wasn’t concerned about impressing anyone with her less-than-subtle move. She liked her women as far on the feminine end of the spectrum as she could get them. Michael’s eyes settled on the woman she hadn’t seen at Nine’s before. The woman’s biceps flexed under her expensive button-down shirt when she pointed to the top-shelf brands behind the bar. Michael took pride in her own well-formed arms and shoulders, the result of countless hours of sculpting and lifting stone, but one look at this chick and she could tell her physique came with a pricey trainer and many curls in front of a mirror.
“Never seen her before.” Uninterested, Michael returned her attention to her sketch. She angled her marker slightly to capture the wisps of hair on Jess’s forehead that had escaped her barrette.
“Is she cute?” Jess craned her neck to look at the woman.
“Why don’t you just stand up and point at her, Jess,” Morgan said, poking her in the ribs.
Michael used the hand she had left on the back of the booth to straighten Jess’s head so she could continue to sketch her. “Hold still.”
Almost as if she had heard them, the woman picked up her drink and headed straight for their corner booth.
“Good evenin’, ladies. I’m Dana.”
She spoke with what Michael guessed was an exaggerated Southern drawl and extended her hand to Jess. Now the woman had Michael’s full attention. Camille and Morgan were closest to her. Why the hell would she reach over the table like a dumbass to shake Jess’s hand first? Michael’s arm shot out to push Jess’s chin up slightly as she continued to sketch, but she kept her eyes locked on the newcomer as she attempted to stake her nonexistent claim on Jess.
Jess kept her head in position, but put her hand out to shake Dana’s. “Jess. My pleasure.”
“Hey, Dana,” Morgan interjected as Dana and Jess shook hands, not trying in the slightest to hide her interest. “I’m Morgan. This is Camille, and here’s Van Gogh. Why don’t you join us?” She motioned for Camille to move farther into the booth.
“Thanks, I’d love to.” Her eyes never left Jess, even as she shook hands with Camille and Morgan.
“Haven’t seen you in here before. New to Atlanta?” Morgan asked.
“Just moved from Dallas. Needed a change of scenery, I guess you might say.”
Must be code for I was an asshole to my last girlfriend. Michael tried not to smirk.
“Is our little town suiting you okay so far?” At that moment Michael was grateful for Camille’s sexy voice since it drew Toolbag’s attention away from Jess.
“It’s great. Not that dissimilar from Dallas. A little bit of country in the city.” After a few minutes of exchanging pleasantries, Dana scooted out of the booth. She eyed Jess and drawled, “Would you like to dance, darlin’?”
“I’d love to.”
Dana took Jess’s hand as Morgan stood up to let Jess out of the booth. Jess glanced back at Michael’s sketch, then at Camille and Morgan. “Are you girls coming?”
“I need another drink first.” Morgan plopped back down in the booth, and Dana and Jess headed to the dance floor. The bored look on Camille’s face told Michael she wasn’t too bummed about missing a dance with Ms. Lone Star.
“I don’t like her,” Michael said. She folded the sketch of Jess and put it and the marker in her back pocket.
“Pssh, what’s not to like? She’s gorgeous. And Jess agrees with me.” Morgan gestured over her shoulder toward Dana and Jess dancing together.
Camille looked over at Michael with a knowing glare. Michael glared back, indicating she wanted Camille to keep her lips sealed. Camille was the only person who knew Michael’s true feelings for Jess. She picked up signs everyone else seemed to miss, including any signs Michael tried to conceal.
Camille and Michael had met at one of Michael’s first gallery shows in Atlanta shortly after she graduated from Savannah College of Art and Design. They clicked instantly. They became lovers for about three minutes and then decided they would make better friends. Camille disliked Michael’s inability to be truly intimate. Camille joked that Michael was better with stone women than real ones.
After Morgan headed to the bar to get another drink, Michael thanked Camille for her silence. Camille looked at Michael with sympathetic eyes and stroked her hand. “No need to say another word.”
Michael never had been a big talker. Even as a child she rarely began conversations with classmates and only responded when necessary. She attributed this to the fact that her mother talked all the tim
e, so from a young age she learned that the only time she needed to speak was if it was important.
She resisted the urge to search out Jess and Toolbag on the dance floor for as long as she could, then her eyes darted around until they found the two of them. In Michael’s opinion, they danced a little too closely considering this was a fast song and they had just met. She watched the easy smile that came to Jess’s lips when Dana leaned down to say something close to her ear. Dana put her hands on Jess’s hips and then spun her around. Soon Jess draped her arms loosely around Dana’s neck. Jealousy caused Michael’s face to heat, and she jumped up to follow Morgan to the bar. She needed something stronger than the light beer she had been nursing.
Michael walked to the end of the bar farthest from the dance floor and held up a hand to Robin, the only bartender. “Tequila shot.”
Licking her hand and grabbing the salt shaker, Michael concentrated on the task to avoid searching out Jess again. Her frustration mounted as she thought of Dana’s hands roaming over Jess’s body. She downed the first of what she knew would be a few shots.
As she turned to ask Robin for another, she noticed an attractive petite redhead sitting alone at the end of the bar eyeing her. Her scarlet fingernails played with the label on her beer. When she tilted her head, the light caught on the small stud in her nostril. The pendant around her neck also sparkled and emphasized the deep neckline of her dress. Michael met and held her gaze.
The woman grabbed her drink and sauntered toward Michael through the throng of people.
“Is this seat taken?” She pointed to the unoccupied stool next to Michael.
“It is now,” Michael said, gesturing for her to sit. She took the woman’s cool hand into hers. “Michael.”