by Gerri Hill
"Michael--"
"I'll set us up an appointment. We can go to a couple of sessions, just see what we can do to change things. Come on," he pleaded.
"No. We can't change things."
"Yes, we can," he insisted. "We can. If we--"
"Michael, stop it!" she said, grabbing his arm. "Michael, we can't change, because...because I'm a lesbian."
Michael's mouth opened, but no sound came out. He stared at her, questions flooding his eyes. But the silence was too much.
"I'm sorry," she said.
"No. You're just saying that. You're just using that as an excuse. You're no lesbian. My God, we've been living together, we're fucking engaged. Lesbians don't get engaged," he said loudly.
"No. I guess normally they wouldn't get engaged." She swallowed hard. "I take full responsibility, Michael. And all the blame. You have done nothing wrong."
"No! Lesbians don't have sex with men," he yelled. "I just can't believe you think you're gay." He laughed bitterly. "Is that the excuse you came up with to break up with me? That you're gay?" He ran his hands through his hair again. "Jesus, Leslie. How about you want to become a nun or something? I might believe that. But no, you're not fucking gay." He pointed his finger at her. "And don't you dare tell any of our friends that. I won't let you make a joke out of me." He spun away, and she heard him in their bedroom, pulling on jeans and shoes. Soon, the sound of his keys jingling and the front door opening.
And then the slam.
She knew it was coming and she still jumped from the force of it. She took a deep breath, rubbing her face with her hands, trying to get rid of some of the tension. It didn't work.
"That didn't go well," she murmured. But she couldn't blame him. She would be just as shocked if he had announced he was gay.
But surely he could tell. Over the years, couldn't he tell that she wasn't as responsive to him as she should be? He'd slept with plenty of women before her. Surely he knew what it was supposed to be like? Surely he could tell she was faking it.
"Oh, God." She felt like such a fraud. Which she was, of course. And he had every right to hate her. In reality, she'd just wasted nearly four years of his life.
And four years of yours.
No, truth be told, she'd wasted nearly fourteen years of her life, ever since she rejected Carol Ann and all that she stood for. Ever since she tried to hide under the heterosexual cloak and pretend she was perfectly happy. Ever since she ran from what she was and tried to be something she surely was not.
A straight woman.
So, without ceremony, she slipped his ring from her finger, clutching it in her palm for several long seconds before opening her hand, watching the light bounce off the diamond, mocking her. Strangely, just the simple act of removing the ring seemed to free her.
Chapter Thirty-One
"Oh, my," she whispered, lowering her sunglasses to take in the full effect of Casey mowing the lawn in nothing but a sports bra and skimpy shorts. Her body was as tanned and toned as she suspected it would be. And the sight of it caused her libido to stir to life. Oh, my.
She got out of her car, smiling a greeting at an older man sitting on his porch watching Casey. This must be the Mr. Gunter whose lawn needed mowing. She walked up the sidewalk, past the perfectly manicured flowerbeds that were still overflowing with lush flowers even this late in September. The man stood when she reached his porch, holding out his hand in a friendly greeting.
"I'm here for Casey," she explained.
He nodded. "Sit," he said loudly as the buzz of Casey's mower came closer.
She saw her then and Leslie noticed the startled look cross her face. Startled because she was sitting in a chair beside Mr. Gunter, or startled to even see her at all, she wasn't sure which. Leslie smiled, then in an exaggerated show, let her eyes follow the length of Casey's body, past the ridiculously charming bright purple bra, the smooth, tanned stomach, the tiny baggy shorts that hugged her hips, and down the seemingly endless length of legs to a pair of old, ratty, grass-stained shoes. Oh, my. And the blush that covered Casey's face at her appraisal simply added to the allure. Casey held up two fingers and pointed to the yard. Leslie nodded.
"She's just about done," he said.
Leslie leaned closer to him. "You must be Mr. Gunter. I'm Leslie Tucker," she said loudly. "A friend of Casey's."
He smiled and nodded, then leaned back in his chair, his eyes following Casey around the yard. At first, she assumed he was enjoying the sight of Casey in near undress--much like she was. But then she realized there was a bit of pride in his eyes, much like a father might watch a daughter. She wondered what their relationship was. Obviously friendly enough for Casey to mow his lawn. Was he a widower?
After two more spins around the yard, Casey killed the mower. She leaned casually on it, watching her.
"To what do I owe the pleasure, Detective Tucker?"
"I thought maybe I could take you to lunch, Detective O'Connor."
"Lunch?" She came closer, her smile widening. She glanced at Mr. Gunter. "What do you think, Ronnie?"
"She's pretty," he said. "I'd take her up on it if I were you."
Casey nodded in agreement. "She is pretty, isn't she? Okay. Lunch."
Leslie wrinkled up her nose. "But you are going to...you know," she said, pointing at her.
"Shower? Yes, I'm going to shower. I'll let Ronnie entertain you." She pushed the mower back across the lawn, then stopped. "And, Ronnie, no secrets," she called over her shoulder. "She doesn't need to know everything."
Leslie laughed. "Oh, I think she opened a can of worms there. Just what secrets do you know?"
He smiled, the skin around his eyes crinkling. "You want some lemonade?"
She looked at the empty glass in his hands and nodded. "Sure, if it's not too much trouble." But before he could get up, the door opened and an older lady came out with two full glasses. Ah, so he wasn't a widower.
"Ruth, this is Leslie. A friend of our Casey's."
Leslie took the offered glass of lemonade, then gently shook the woman's frail hand. "Nice to meet you, Ruth. Thank you for this. I can't believe how hot it still is." She took a sip, her eyes widening. Not just lemonade, but homemade lemonade. "Delicious."
"Oh, I've been making lemonade for years." She smiled sweetly. "Casey enjoys it too." Pulling the housedress away from her chest to fan herself, she pointed back at the door. "I think I'll go back in where it's cooler. Nice to meet you, Leslie."
He leaned closer when the door had closed. "She doesn't come out much anymore," he said quietly with a quick glance at the house. "Last few years, she just wants to stay inside."
Leslie didn't know what to say. "Well, some people can't stand the heat. And I know it's September, but it still feels like August," she said lightly.
"That's not it." He pointed to her flowers. "She used to love her flowers. Love to plant them, love to sit here and watch them." He shook his head. "Not anymore. It's like she's lost interest." He motioned to Casey's house and smiled. "The highlight of her week is when we drag Casey over and Ruth can cook for her."
"Casey hasn't lived here long, has she?"
"No, no. Just this year. I think it was late spring when she moved in." His eyes crinkled again as he smiled. "I was trying to get some bags of mulch out of my car. It was time for the flowers, you know. Anyway, Casey pulls up with her truck all loaded down, sees me struggling with the bag and comes right over, fussing that I was going to rupture something if I wasn't careful." He laughed. "I called her a young know-it-all and told her to mind her own business."
Leslie laughed with him, seeing the genuine affection for Casey in his eyes.
"Oh, she put me in my place. Said it was her business if she was going to have to come over and do CPR all the time just because I was being a stubborn old cuss." He laughed again and slapped his knee. "Oh, she was feisty that day. Then Ruth told me to quit arguing with the neighborhood kids. Casey got a kick out of that, all right." He leaned closer agai
n. "She invites me over for a beer every once in a while. We sit on her deck back there and talk."
"Ruth doesn't mind?"
"No." His eyes looked far away. "She doesn't mind much of anything now."
"I'm sorry."
He shrugged. "Just a part of getting older, I guess." His face brightened as he looked at her. "So, you and Casey are friends?"
"Yes."
"That's good. I was beginning to think she didn't have any."
Leslie frowned. "Really?"
"You're the first one she's had over. Well, except for that cop friend of hers."
"Tori?"
"Tall woman. Hunter, she calls her."
Leslie nodded.
"Yeah. She comes by some. They sit out back and drink beer or wine. Not that I'm spying or anything."
"No."
"And you know, it wasn't until recently that we found out she was...well, you know...that way. A homosexual."
Leslie tried to hide her smile. "I see."
His eyes fixed on her. "Are you a homosexual too?"
"Me?" Leslie felt the blush that quickly covered her face. "Well, yes. Yes, I am."
His eyes drifted away again. "You know, as old as I am--pushing eighty--I don't think I ever knew a homosexual before. It was kinda shocking. Casey, I mean. I wasn't quite sure how to take it." He glanced back at her. "She's been more family to us these last six months than our own grandkids have been. She's nothing like all the stories we used to hear in church, you know." He laughed and rubbed his hair. "I expected to see horns growing on top of her head or something. But like I said, she's like family. She's a good person."
"Yes, she is."
"Well, you better go on over there." His eyes twinkled as he stared at her. "I'd surprise her as she got out of the shower, if I were you."
Again, Leslie felt a blush cover her face.
"That's what I used to do to Ruth," he said, laughing again. "Of course, I was sixty years younger."
"Well, actually, we're just friends. We're just getting to know each other," she clarified.
"No. I saw Casey's eyes light up when she saw you. That wasn't no look at a friend."
Leslie couldn't help but smile at him, and she squeezed his shoulder lightly as she stood. "I guess I should go see about that, then." She placed her glass beside his. "Please thank Ruth for the lemonade."
"I will. Come back and visit."
"Thank you."
She walked around to the back of Casey's house and to the deck, pausing to look out at the lake.
He called me a homosexual.
She lowered her head, but couldn't hold her laughter. A week ago she'd have fainted dead away if someone had said that. This week? No, this week she was being encouraged to spy on Casey as she got out of the shower. Encouraged by an eighty-year-old man!
She went inside, not intending to take his advice. Not really. In fact, she wasn't even sure where Casey's bedroom was. She'd only been inside the house once, and that was a quick walk-through as they went to the deck for their talk. Last night, she'd gone straight to the deck, knowing that's where she'd find her. So now, she took the time to glance around, not really surprised at the mix-and-match furniture Casey had put together. The sofa was a solid neutral brown. The chair was a striped brown and maroon. The coffee table was light oak. The end table appeared to be mahogany. And the leather recliner jet black. Not that anything was old or worn. In fact, the recliner looked new. But it appeared to all have been purchased at different times, different seasons, for different homes. And by the prominent position of the recliner facing the TV, she'd assume it was the newest purchase, probably when she bought the house.
She walked through the living room, her hand gliding across the leather as she looked around. She tilted her head, hearing the shower turn off, then whistling. She smiled, picturing a very naked Casey whistling as she dried off.
How cute.
Yes, cute. And no doubt Casey was wondering what she was doing here, barely noon on a Saturday. Lunch had been an excuse. She really just wanted to see her, to talk to her, to be with her. After her talk with Michael, she'd packed enough clothes for a week and gotten a room at the new Dallas Suites on the expressway, but still close to downtown. She'd use the week to find an apartment. As she'd told Michael, that was his place, not hers. She'd rather get something new, something that was only hers. Someplace where she wasn't likely to run into Michael or his friends in the parking lot.
And so today, after she'd looked through the paper for apartments, after three cups of coffee...and after reliving Casey's kisses from last night for probably the hundredth time, she had to see her. So lunch was just an excuse.
"Hey."
Leslie turned slowly, finding Casey standing at the edge of the hallway holding up leather sandals in one hand and Nikes in the other. But Leslie only gave the shoes a cursory glance. Her eyes traveled past her still damp hair, past the white T-shirt that was tucked into khaki shorts, and lingered instead on the long, tanned legs that had held her attention earlier.
"I wasn't sure where you planned to go," Casey said, holding up the shoes.
Leslie looked up and frowned. "What?"
"Lunch?"
She lowered her eyes, embarrassed. "Right. Lunch." She gave a short laugh, then looked up again. "I forgot I was...starving," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper as Casey's eyes bored into hers. She swallowed nervously, then felt her breath catch as Casey let both pairs of shoes drop to the floor.
"I'm starving too," Casey said as she moved closer.
Leslie's throat felt dry, and again she swallowed, her eyes locked on Casey's as she moved in front of her. The tension in the room was electric as they stood a foot apart, watching each other. Leslie saw Casey's pulse beating rapidly in her throat, saw her chest rise and fall, startled that she was the cause of it--just her mere presence, for they had not touched. Her brave words from last night seemed to mock her. I'mnot ready for this. But, oh, yes, she was. It had been too many years of pretending, too many years of forced passion, and too many years of longing for the fiery touch upon her skin that would set her free. Casey's touch would do that, she was certain. Casey's touch would no doubt send her places she'd only dreamed of.
"I lied," she whispered.
Casey seemed to understand exactly what those words meant, and her eyes gentled in response. There was no longer a question in those blue depths, no hesitation, and no veil in place to hide her emotions. Casey's eyes were open, revealing plenty. When Casey's hand lifted, when trembling fingers brushed against her cheek, Leslie knew then and there that this was the woman she'd been waiting for. She just knew. Deep in her heart, deep in her soul. And all it took was this light touch upon her face to know that she was about to be freed from her self-imposed chains.
Casey drew her closer and Leslie's eyes slipped closed, her mouth waiting for Casey to claim her. But she felt Casey hesitate and her eyes flew open again.
"Are you sure you--?"
"Yes. I want to know. I want to know how soft your skin is," she whispered. "I want to know how your breasts feel when I touch them." She licked her lips. "I want to know everything about making love with you."
There was no more discussion, no more hesitation. She slipped into Casey's embrace as if it were the most natural thing in the world, meeting her mouth without the guarded urgency of last night. Her arms moved over Casey's shoulders, pulling them closer just as Casey's arms wound around her back, slipping to her hips. She moaned against her mouth, letting Casey's tongue capture hers, her hips jerking in response, pressing tightly against Casey.
Oh, God. She wanted to rip her clothes off, she wanted to touch flesh. She moaned again as she felt Casey's hand slide up her hips to her waist, slipping under the short blouse she'd worn. She leaned back, her breath coming in quick gasps, her eyes locked on Casey's as her hands moved across her skin.
"I want to touch you," Casey whispered, as if asking permission.
"Yes," she breathed. P
lease.
But her eyes slammed shut when she felt Casey's fingers brush against her breasts, moving over them as if reading Braille, her fingertips lightly touching. Leslie leaned her head back, offering herself to Casey. God. Casey finally took what she offered, cupping her breasts fully, her thumbs rubbing against her taut nipples, making them ache, making them yearn for more.
"Casey, please, I'm going to fall down," she finally said when Casey's mouth found the pulse in her neck and nibbled there. She felt Casey smile against her skin and Leslie pulled her closer, loving the quiet, unhurried passion that simmered between them. "I'm dying to see you naked," she whispered into her ear.
Casey pulled away, her hands releasing her breasts, her eyes still dark with desire. "Bedroom? Is that okay?" Then she hesitated. "I mean--"
"Yes," Leslie said. "I want to make love with you. I want everything, Casey." She was surprised at the quick intake of breath, the quiet moan. Casey appeared to be as nervous as she was. But then Casey smiled, that lazy half-smile that lightened her features.
"Our next meal may be breakfast then."
But her smile faded when Leslie moved closer, her lips lingering. "Teach me how to love you. Show me."
And without another word, Casey took her hand and led her into her bedroom, her bare feet silent on the floor. She stopped, looking at the bed, then back at Leslie.
"I'm nervous," Casey finally confessed.
"Because I've never been with a woman before?"
"What if it's...I mean, what if I don't--"
Leslie silenced her by placing a finger across her lips. "Are you kidding me? I'm about to explode here. I don't think you have to worry about that." She tugged at Casey's T-shirt. "Now please, take this off."
And Casey did, pulling it over her head, leaving her in a tight black sports bra. But before Leslie could touch her, Casey was unbuttoning her blouse, urging it off her shoulders. Casey's head lowered, her lips moving against her skin, her tongue touching the edge of her lace bra. She groaned, her hands slipping behind Casey's neck, pulling her closer, aching to have her mouth on her breasts.