Girl Crush

by Stephie Walls

  “You seem to be awfully interested in her twin—brother.”

  “Nah, just his ride. Look, tell Trish I’m sorry. And seriously, maybe it’d help her pull the stick out of her ass if she could enjoy my life the way you do. I’m totally down for sharing my comedic escapades with both of you if it will keep the peace.”

  “I’ll talk to her. Just quit being a bitch when you call.”

  “I’ll try. Let me know if I should stop by tomorrow after my date with Roxie to regale the two of you with what I’m sure will be an eventful story. Late-night entertainment…or hell, it could be early evening with my luck. What are your thoughts on just having her come to my place and having a plethora of sex toys out for her perusal?”

  “Goodnight, Gizzy.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Night, V.”

  4

  Roxie Porter. Holy hell, Roxie. Here’s a woman who knew how to show a girl a good time. She wasn’t much of a talker, and while dinner had been slightly awkward and spent primarily in silence, there was something about her that intrigued me. I found myself spending the idle time I had shoveling food in my mouth and taking in her exotic features. I’d been reading a lot online about how to connect with people. I’m not sure it was meant for the dating community, but I was applying the advice just the same, and researchers suggest the finite details—the ones most people miss—are what people value most about themselves. I doubted they were talking about the freckles on her nose or the way she tossed her long, thick, red hair over her shoulder, and I doubted any woman valued her breasts being noted as smaller—but it was sound advice I chose to apply in an unconventional manner.

  Couple that with Ronnie’s recommendation to have a few drinks to loosen me up, and I was fast becoming a veritable cornucopia of stupidity. I was entranced by this woman sitting across from me, and alcohol intensified the stupor. Her lips were pleasantly pouty, and her skin was pristine porcelain with the exception of the sprinkling of freckles on the bridge of her perfect nose. Women paid thousands to have her complexion, but she didn’t seem to notice how stunning she truly was.

  “Do you wear a push-up bra to get cleavage like that?” The question came out of left field, and I might have slurred the word “cleavage,” but she glanced up from her salad with a coquettish grin.

  For the first time all evening, she engaged. “It’s a water bra.” She sipped her wine and raised her brow, likely wondering what my next asinine question would be.

  “Does it feel real?” Probably not what she expected to hear, but I stopped myself from asking her if I could touch them, even though that request remained perched on the end of my tongue, waiting to be released from my intoxicated mouth.

  Sitting there, at the table, in the middle of the restaurant, she cupped both breasts in her hands and gave them a gentle squeeze. While it didn’t turn me on, it intrigued me. I didn’t need a water bra, but I needed to see what one felt like. “Natural as can be. When we leave here, you can see for yourself.” She winked and returned to her salad.

  I choked on my wine at her forwardness, and then it dawned on me…the first thing I’d said to her in fifteen minutes was about her boobs. She couldn’t think anything other than I was coming on to her. My brain currently moved at the speed of mud when it occurred to me that we were on a date, which often led to intimacy…and I’d just acknowledged I’d been staring at her perfect chest.

  The conversation drifted in a sexual direction throughout the remainder of dinner. I couldn’t stop myself. It wasn’t intentional, but somehow, everything out of my mouth came off either raunchy or desperate. This girl likely thought I worked nights on the corner with the way the words flowed. But after shots at the house and three glasses of wine at dinner, there was no filter left, and I simply talked to her the way I would Ronnie—whom I’d known my entire life. But the more I stuck my foot in my mouth, the more she came out of her shell.

  “I haven’t met a woman like you in a long time. Where have you been hiding?”

  “Under a man.” Mentally I slapped myself, but she thought it was a joke.

  “We’ve all been there. When did you realize men just didn’t do it for you?”

  I didn’t know how to answer that question. My ex-husband had lost his appeal years before we divorced, but I hadn’t completely given up until a couple of months ago.

  “When I had to ask him to clean his urine off my walls,” I said the words, and I took another sip of wine, and she promptly spit hers out…all over the table—thank God it was white.

  She started to laugh in disbelief, but when my expression didn’t waver, she stopped. “You’re kidding, right?”

  My brow raised, and I shook my head. “Wish I was, but no. And then the douchebag tried to hand me the dirty paper towels—like I was going to touch that.”

  “I had just turned thirty when I admitted I’d been lying to myself. I grew up in a strict Catholic home with no acceptance for anything unbiblical…you know, except judgment. Judgment was perfectly pious. And condemnation was righteous.” She rolled her eyes in disgust.

  I couldn’t imagine. My parents had always loved me, flaws and all. They’d never breathed a word of disappointment in my direction, and I’d given them plenty of cause to do so. “That’s horrible. What happened when you were honest with them?”

  “My mom said she’d always known. I guess she wasn’t quite as narrow-minded as my dad. So it was our ‘little secret.’” The way her features contorted when she used the air quotes made me giggle. “He lied to himself until the day he died. I had a girlfriend for several years, and my dad introduced her to our family as my best friend. To this day, no one in my family says girlfriend. Best friend is the code.” She shrugged with a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “They’re all incredibly supportive—I think it’s a way to keep my dad’s memory alive…in some odd way.”

  Maybe memory lane was the way to keep her talking. She was quite bright, and her body and face came to life when she spoke. Her hands and arms moved with each word, and her expressions exaggerated every sentence.

  “So how bad was your first date?”

  “Lesbian?”

  I nodded.

  “Disaster. It took me a year to stop asking stupid questions and quit acting like I was twelve under the bleachers. Cami Bartlett. If you see her online, run.”

  I giggled—the wine continued to lighten my mood. I was nearing a point where it would turn sloppy if I didn’t slow down.

  “I was naïve, not just to dating women, but online dating wasn’t something I’d ever tried. I didn’t have a clue where to go to meet like-minded females. Anyway, she was cute. A couple years younger than me, but she was nice on the phone.” She took the last swallow from her glass. “We agreed to meet at a coffee shop, but when she showed up, I didn’t have a clue who she was.”

  “Why?” I’d had too much to drink if I couldn’t connect these dots.

  “Well, I’d guess her profile pictures were a decade old, she’d put on a solid seventy-five pounds, and something happened to her right eye, but I couldn’t speculate as to what.”

  “Holy shit, you legit got catfished?”

  “It was awful. But even worse, I had no clue how to deal with it. I didn’t want to be shallow, and let’s be honest, I was wading in a pool I’d never swam in before.”

  “So what’d you do?” This really shouldn’t have been as fascinating as it became.

  “Got lucky. She, however, did not.”

  The confusion must have shown all over my face. Roxie laughed in a way that made me want to be her, not be with her. This girl was cool as hell. In a lot of ways, she reminded me of Ronnie. Gorgeous, could rock kiss-ass heels with jeans and a T-shirt, and look flawless doing it, but it was the confidence that oozed from her that I wanted…coveted.

  “I didn’t have a clue what I was doing. So I let her go down on me. But when it came time to reciprocate…” Her voice trailed off as I assumed she tried to think of a politically correct
way to put it. “Let’s say I told her she needed to close down the fish market before the health inspector did it for her.” Her nose scrunched in disgust.

  I tried not to gag, but the thought mixed with intoxication turned my stomach just a bit.

  “I don’t know about you, but dating women was like starting over at puberty. Awkward, confusing, and I sucked at it. Even kissing was different.”

  I didn’t have the courage to admit to her that I hadn’t had any tongue action on either set of lips, yet. Instead, I nodded like I knew exactly what she meant.

  “What about you? Worst date?” She wasn’t asking about men, but I didn’t really have anything to offer without outing myself, and that hadn’t gone so well with Beck.

  “Shannon Darby.” Technically, Shannon was a dude I’d dated in my early twenties, but if I could keep from using pronouns, this wouldn’t be a lie. “Notoriously would order the most expensive things on the menu but conveniently never had any money when the check came. Wallet was in the car or on the counter. Don’t get me wrong, I have no problem taking turns paying the bill, but Shannon made scamming free shit off me a full-time job. That dragged on far too long before I called it quits.”

  The waiter came back to the table for like the fifth time since we’d finished eating. We’d long since paid the bills—Dutch treat on this outing, which suited me just fine. We’d consumed our food in virtual silence, so when Roxie finally started talking, I hadn’t wanted to interrupt. Looking around, we were one of two couples still seated.

  “You want to get out of here?” Roxie placed her napkin on the table. “There’s a great dance club a couple blocks away if you’re up for it.”

  We both stood, and Roxie took the lead. I couldn’t help but notice her artistically sculpted ass. The jewels on the pockets did nothing but embellish an already fantastic booty. The sparkles held my attention until we were out the door, and she caught me staring.

  Instead of making it awkward, she tossed her head back and laughed before taking my hand to stroll down the sidewalk. She quickly tucked her arm into the crook of mine and admitted, “That totally made my day. Thank you.” With a peck on the cheek, she pointed across the street to a small crowd gathered on a corner. “Over there.”

  “Crème?”

  “Yep. They always have the best cover bands. Typically, classic rock. Busy but low key. Come on. I know the guy at the door.”

  I couldn’t imagine in this Podunk town we’d have a hard time getting in, but sure enough, he was steadily turning people away.

  “Roxie.” His eyes scanned her body looking for more than a greeting. “Hey, babe. Where’ve you been?” Before she could answer, he turned his attention to me. “And who’s your friend?” Then he whistled between his teeth.

  This guy was Justin in a better body, and his clothes weren’t meant for a woman. I could envision him urinating all over my house and telling me he had marked his territory. I gave him a saccharine-sweet smile and waited.

  “This is Giselle.” I stuck out my hand, knowing I’d have to go to the bathroom to wash off the stank once we were inside. “Giselle, this is Luke.” He kissed my knuckles upon introduction, and I had to swallow the bile that rose in my throat.

  “Good to see you, Roxie. Don’t be a stranger.” Without any further conversation, he opened the heavy wooden door for us and disappeared when it closed.

  Roxie looked back at me with a remorseful gleam in her eye. “Sorry. I know. He really is nice, but he comes on a little strong.”

  “No worries.”

  The talking ended there. Roxie could dance, and before long, we were both covered in sweat. I’d never heard the band who’d played all night, or been to the club we’d hung out in for the last four hours, but the longer we stayed, the closer we got. Everything about the way she moved was totally seductress. Something about how her shirt clung to her perky ta-tas in her water bra and her jeans that indicated a lack of panties called to me—and every other person in the room.

  I’d kept the alcohol flowing between the two of us—one: because it was hot as balls in here, but two: because it kept me from getting stiff. Liquid courage. I wasn’t much of a dancer and needed a little help. With each passing song, we began to explore. My hands on her hips, hers on my ass. She’d turn and gyrate in front of me, pressing herself into my hips, and I’d reciprocate. The guys around us ate up the show. I wasn’t sure if I was turned on by the woman who’d caressed my entire body fully clothed or the men watching us. Neither of us minded when they circled us, became part of our unit, got handsy with one or both of us. I didn’t care. It felt good to be touched—by anyone.

  Justin was the closest thing I’d come to a man in weeks, and that had ended miserably. I still hadn’t bought any batteries for BOB, my first date flaked on me and returned to her girlfriend—and right now, I’d take a hand job through my jeans if she could get me off.

  “I can make that happen,” she whispered into my ear from behind me.

  Surely, I hadn’t said that out loud. Seconds later, with a wall of muscular men blocking the rest of the club from view, Roxie situated our bodies to face each other. And with her hands on my hips and her thigh between mine, I started to grind. Her palm found the dip in my lower back, her forehead landed on the slope between my shoulder and neck, and I easily fell into the same hold. But when I glanced over Roxie to the men behind her, I locked stares with someone I recognized. Those pale-green eyes held my attention with an intensity that almost scared me, but I couldn’t chance his missing the ecstasy that brimmed so close to the surface. Collier’s jaw clenched, and even from a few feet away, his agitation showed every time the muscles in his face went tight. I refused to put any thought into his regard for me, and instead, bit down on Roxie’s trapezius, not hard—just enough to quiet the moan escaping as I rode her leg to a jean-clad orgasm. Even when my eyelids became heavy and my movement slowed, he never moved, and I couldn’t tear my stare away from him. People danced around him, but he stood stoically as though entranced by my pleasure. When I’d finally come down from my little high on the dance floor and moved back from Roxie, I caught just the slightest hint of a smile when he tipped his head and left.

  He was forgotten as quickly as he passed through the door. I was on cloud nine with my first lesbian orgasm and couldn’t wait to tell Ronnie. But it didn’t take long for my warmth to turn into discomfort. The dampness left my bikini biscuit longing for air. I needed a breather before I got a yeast infection from an orgasm paired with incredibly tight jeans. I didn’t know what protocol was under these circumstances, but somehow, I determined five minutes was an appropriate amount of time to continue dancing before excusing myself and calling it a night. The orgasm had been so long in coming it zapped what little energy I’d had remaining. Now I just wanted to be naked in my bed…alone.

  Roxie and I said goodbye in the club. She left ahead of me while I went to make one final stop in the ladies’ room to empty my bladder before driving home. I wasn’t terribly steady on my feet but hadn’t realized it until I didn’t have her body in front of me to hold me up. Roxie had already gone out the door when I finished in the restroom. I decided to walk back toward my car before making a decision about my ability to drive, but it wasn’t looking good. Trish was going to flip shit if I called Ronnie to come pick me up at two in the morning—drunk. I didn’t even want to think about how bad work would be in seven hours. My boss would be in court, and I would be alone and hungover, trying to stay awake to appear peppy for anyone who might wander in.

  The moment I stumbled out the door, Luke caught me by the elbow. Just as I spun on my heel, I landed in none other than Collier’s arms who broke my pending fall.

  “Whoa. You okay?”

  I didn’t know which guy had asked. I was too busy trying to keep my balance to pay attention to who spoke. Once back on unsteady footing, I righted myself and attempted to straighten my spine. I looked toward the sidewalk, ready to cuss the step I hadn’t seen, but the grou
nd was smooth. I’d tripped over my own feet, which answered the question about whether I needed to be behind the wheel.

  “Hey, Luke. I’m going to take Giselle home. I’ll catch you later.”

  I stared up at him. He suddenly seemed much taller and dwarfed me in size when he wrapped his meaty arm around me to help me to my car. Wait, no…his car. “I need to take my car. I have to get to work in the morning.” The words were way more slurred than I expected them to be.

  “There’s no way in hell you’re driving anywhere.” He continued in the opposite direction of my Camaro, and I wasn’t in a position to argue.

  My escort said nothing further. Even when we reached his shiny, red Porsche, he just opened the door, helped me in, and then pulled the seatbelt across my waist and buckled it. With me safely inside, he closed the door and rounded the car. He didn’t ask for my address, and I didn’t offer. Instead, I sat back and enjoyed the smooth ride, and hoped at some point, he’d let me behind the wheel. Clearly not tonight, but one day. I rolled the window down, hoping the fresh air would sober me up a tad. I wasn’t knee-walking drunk, but I was close. With my eyes closed, the breeze cooled my warm cheeks and aired out my overheated body. Slowly, I began to come down from my orgasm-induced high.

  When the car stopped, and I heard him pull the emergency brake, I chanced peering through a slit in my heavy eyelids, only to find us in front of his house.

  “What are we doing here?” I didn’t have the energy to put up much of a fight and wasn’t positive my feet would carry me to the door.

  “You couldn’t drive. You’ll need a ride in the morning. I wasn’t interested in gallivanting all over town. You can borrow some of my sister’s pajamas and sleep in one of the guest rooms. I’ll drop you off at your car in the morning.” His mouth hung open as though he was about to say something else but stopped himself.

  I wanted to be irritated, but I wasn’t in the frame of mind to form any sort of cohesive argument, and he didn’t have to do anything. He could have left me at the bar to wrap my Camaro around a tree. I opted to pout as he got out of the vehicle and came around to my door, repeating the steps in reverse order he’d completed to get me in here. Except, when I stood and nearly fell, his thick arms swooped under my legs and behind my back to carry me inside.