Does She Love You?

by Rachel Spangler

  “What do you mean she wouldn’t let me? Like I’d need her permission to plant some fucking peas in our own hypothetical yard?”

  Annabelle tried not to show her surprise at Davis using the F-word. She didn’t know any women who talked like that, and the men never said it in front of her. She liked the way it sounded—strong, jarring, and more powerful than politeness. “Nic took pride in being a provider, a caretaker. She had people to mow the lawn so I didn’t have to.”

  “I guess that’s nice of her. You just strike me as someone who’d like to grow some tomatoes or something.”

  She smiled in spite of the heavy topic. Davis had noticed something about her that Nic somehow managed to miss for thirteen years. “I actually would like a garden.”

  “Then why not do it?”

  She sighed. “It sounds stupid now, but I thought she wanted to provide for me. I didn’t want to take that away from her, so instead I took those things away from me.”

  “Wow.” Davis, for all her bluster, didn’t seem to know what to say, which only made Annabelle feel worse.

  “It didn’t happen all at once, you know?”

  “You don’t have to explain.”

  “No, I kind of feel like I do, for me.”

  Instead of arguing or trying to change the subject, Davis hunkered down into the corner of the couch, crisscrossed her legs, and rested her hands in her lap the way Annabelle’s students sat when she needed them to pay close attention. Her focus made it easier for Annabelle to continue, knowing she wouldn’t rush to judgment.

  “At first we were both working toward the same things: the house, some money in savings, a family. It wasn’t until Nic’s career took off that we got more focused on the work than what we were working toward. I quit my job to support hers in the hopes it would move us toward a family faster, and she seemed so happy to be able to support me. I thought it was because she loved me and because it proved she could take care of us when we had children. Now I see it was never really about us so much as her. A stay-at-home wife was a status symbol, not much different from the manicured lawn or big house.”

  Davis didn’t rush to correct her or offer quick condolences. She turned pensive. “Do you think she lied about wanting kids to string you along?”

  Annabelle pondered that. “I don’t think she lied purposefully. A baby was always my dream more than hers, but she liked the idea of a picture-perfect family. I think she hung on to the possibility because she wanted to think she gave me everything I wanted, but every time we got close and she had to face the practicalities of what a baby would mean for her life, she’d find an excuse to put me off.”

  “Are you glad now that she did?”

  “You want the truth?”

  “Yes.” Davis answered quickly. “Always.”

  “Even knowing I couldn’t trust her to be a good parent or a good partner, sometimes I still wish we’d had a baby.” She shrugged. “It wouldn’t have changed how we ended. It might have even sped up the process, but I worry I missed my only chance to be a mom.”

  “You won’t try again with someone else?”

  “I can’t imagine dating right now, and even if I met someone tomorrow, it’d take years before I could trust someone enough to share something so important. I’m thirty-three. My window for starting over is shrinking.”

  “Shit, don’t say that. I’m thirty-one and I’m in the same boat trust-wise.”

  “Do you want kids?”

  “I don’t know. I kind of thought I might someday, but now you’ve got me looking at my biological clock.” Davis shifted uncomfortably on the couch. “I’ve been so mad at her for breaking the final strand of faith I had in human nature, but my anger mostly stayed in the present. I hadn’t stopped to think about what she did to my future.”

  “I didn’t mean to upset you again.” She tried to force a smile and nudge them back into lighter topics. “All this because I haven’t had sushi in ten years.”

  “Right,” Davis said resolutely. “She took that away from you, too.”

  Annabelle didn’t want this to turn into a pity party about what Nic had taken from her. She had to move past that stage of grief. “Only because I let her, and I won’t do that ever again.”

  “So, tonight is sushi night?”

  “Yes.” She grabbed the menu, feeling a tingle of excitement. “Only I have no idea what any of these words mean. Why don’t you order your favorites?”

  Davis hesitated. “I don’t want to do that.”

  “Why?”

  “You spent years doing what Nic liked, or said she liked. I don’t want you to just start doing what I like because we’re friends. You need to learn what you like.”

  Annabelle thought about her logic. It made sense, but it was also overwhelming, and not just because most of the menu was in Japanese. She’d been with Nic since college. Trying to undo thirteen years of basing her likes and dislikes on someone else’s wouldn’t change easily. Where would she even start?

  “What’s wrong?”

  She looked up from the menu to meet Davis’s beautiful eyes. “It’s so much more than dinner, you know.”

  “Why don’t we just get one of everything?”

  “Can we do that?”

  “Sure, why not? And if you don’t like anything, we’ll try again tomorrow with the Thai, and then the Mediterranean until you find something you love.”

  The allusion to more nights spent together should have bothered her, but instead she found it strangely comforting. “You’d do that for me?”

  “Trust me, eating is never a hardship for me,” Davis said, then caught herself. “Honestly, eating has been a hardship over the past few months. I haven’t had much of an appetite. This is the first time I’ve been excited about a meal since Nic left.”

  “Then maybe we should order everything on the menu.”

  “As long as you promise to take the lead. I don’t want this to become the all-Davis-and-no-Anna show.”

  “Okay, as long you’re honest about what you like, because I’m just getting started and—did you just call me ‘Anna’?”

  Davis blushed. “Sorry. I know not to call you Belle, but shortening your name came naturally. I won’t do it again if—”

  “No, I like it. I used to go by Annie when I was younger.”

  “Do you like Annie better?”

  “Either one is fine.” Davis arched her eyebrows, and Annabelle realized she’d settled for whatever someone else wanted rather than state her own opinion. “Actually, say them again.”

  “Annie or Anna?”

  “I was Annie before Nic, and I don’t think I can or even want to go back, and you’re right, I’ll never be Belle to anyone else. I think I like Anna.”

  Davis grinned. “I like Anna, too. It’s like you’ve put the first part of you first.”

  She wasn’t sure she’d go that far, but she liked the little surge of confidence she felt every time Davis said the name. “Yes. Anna. It’s a start.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Nic slapped on an extra dose of cologne before getting out of the Lexus. She didn’t want to smell of the stale air and old fast-food containers that filled her car. She didn’t have any real desire to be all the way out in Decatur, entering a lesbian dance club at nine o’clock on Thursday night. She’d already put in a twelve-hour day at the office, but if she was going to do this, she intended to do it right.

  The woman at the door didn’t card her. She barely even looked up as Nic pushed through the door. The whole building reverberated from a dance beat, and she waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkened room. She didn’t feel any sort of affinity to this place. She’d never come here with Annabelle or Davis, which is why she’d chosen it tonight. Still, she’d expected a bit of a thrill to be back among other lesbians. Instead of seeking out the press of bodies against her own, she carefully threaded her way between women on the dance floor until she claimed an empty bar stool. The woman next to her was smoking and wave
d her beer wildly as she shouted about some woman who’d stood her up. She hadn’t missed dyke drama. Then again, she’d created enough of her own to last a lifetime.

  No, she wouldn’t wallow. Not tonight. She gave herself an internal pep talk about getting back on the horse and how meeting women was like riding a bike, but even she found her lack of originality disappointing. She caught the eye of a bartender, who headed her way without the enthusiasm she’d once inspired in women.

  That wasn’t true.

  She’d never had women falling into her lap every day, and there was absolutely nothing wrong with the way this woman took her order of a scotch on the rocks. Nothing had changed except Nic’s own outlook on life. She had to stop her downward spiral. Tonight she needed to feel the press of a warm body against her, even if that’s all it ever amounted to.

  In the past she would’ve gone slowly, waited for a woman to come to her. She wasn’t a pressure salesman at work, and she didn’t intend to be one in a bar either, but she had more at stake than ever. She scanned the room, looking for a worthy companion, and thankfully she didn’t have to look far. At the end of the bar, three women occupied a tall table, but only two of them seemed involved in the conversation. The petite brunette with them looked more like a third wheel. She stared at her brightly painted toenails, swirled her red wine idly, and sighed so hard it caused a little wisp of hair to flutter over her forehead. Nic smiled. This woman was cute and alone and clearly bored, making her an easy target.

  She grimaced. Women weren’t targets. Even with something to prove, she wouldn’t let herself become a person who callously used another human being. She knew that’s probably what others thought about her. Belle and Davis, their families and friends likely all believed she’d maliciously played them, but that wasn’t true. She’d made mistakes, serious ones bordering on self-absorption, but she’d never willfully hurt anyone. If anything, she’d gotten in so far over her head by constantly trying not to disappoint—damn it, why did she keep reliving this?

  She wasn’t here to justify or redeem herself. She needed to move forward or prove she could move on if she decided to. Standing up and checking her reflection in the mirror behind the bar, she straightened her shirt, ran her hand through her shaggy hair, then headed toward the brunette before her mind could wander back to subjects she needed to avoid.

  “Hi, I’m Nic.”

  The woman looked her up and down, the corner of her mouth twitching upward, but she couldn’t discern if the move stemmed from amusement or approval. “Hello, Nic. I’m Tyra.”

  “Hi, Tyra, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Is it?”

  “Well, it’s more pleasurable than sitting at the bar by myself all night.”

  “Really? Because sitting here with company isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, either.” She nodded to her friends, who’d yet to acknowledge someone else had joined them.

  “I noticed your rapt expression from across the room and thought that might be the case.”

  “So you decided to swoop in and save me?”

  Nic winced. She might have played the role of hero once upon a time, but these days she was more suitably cast as the villain. Tonight she wasn’t interested in playing either of those parts, and she wouldn’t offer anything she couldn’t honestly give. “If you’re looking for a knight in shining armor, I’ll take my leave now. The only thing I might be able to save you from is drinking alone tonight.”

  Tyra scanned her again, this time meeting her eyes instead of focusing only on her body. Nic waited nervously, a hint of anticipation stirring somewhere deep in the pit of her stomach. She relished the urge to hold her breath while she got sized up. She didn’t feel any spark of heat or rush of excitement, but she did detect a possibility, a challenge, an opportunity to feel something other than dejection. For the first time in months, she actually cared what someone thought of her enough to stand a little straighter and turn on a bit of charm.

  Tyra, for her part, didn’t give in easily. She drew out the moment, allowing Nic to savor a sliver of the hunt she’d once enjoyed. She was far from her old form, but excitement built with each passing second. Finally Tyra nodded, her eyes softening in a way that broadcast her answer even before she said, “All right, Nic. If the first drink is on you. Then you’ve got yourself some company.”

  Relief flooded her, followed quickly by a wash of confidence. She’d done something right. She hadn’t failed. She tried not to get ahead of herself as Tyra said good-bye to her friends and followed her to the bar. It wasn’t as though Tyra had begged her to take her home, but for the first time in months, a woman had responded to her.

  Nic took care of the first round, then the second as they talked about the unbearable Atlanta heat, the awful techno beat in the bar, and their utter boredom with their day jobs. Tyra was average height, average build, generally average looking, and she seemed to be of average intelligence. Nic couldn’t find a single outstanding feature to bolster her attraction, but then again she didn’t find any real turnoffs either. More importantly, Tyra seemed interested. Not too long ago, Nic had thrived on being adored by two amazing women. Now, plain old interest might suffice.

  At no single moment did she think she’d like to sleep with Tyra, but she felt bolstered by the growing awareness that she could. She hadn’t been swept up in emotions. If anything, she had to work to keep her mind away from the vague feeling that she was betraying the memories of two women who’d stirred something genuine in her. When those thoughts arose, she silenced them with a hard swallow of whiskey.

  She had something to prove. She wasn’t washed up, and she didn’t have to be alone. Tyra wasn’t beautiful, but she was real and here, and while she hadn’t thrown herself at Nic yet, when the drinks and the conversation wound down, she agreed to let Nic drive her home.

  *

  Tyra hooked a finger into one of Nic’s belt loops and tugged her through the door. They’d kissed for several minutes on her front porch, and Nic hadn’t hurried them along. She took intellectual satisfaction in the knowledge of where they were headed, but she felt no sense of urgency. She was content to enjoy the sense of triumph in making it this far until Tyra decided she was ready to go further.

  “Where’s the bedroom?” Nic whispered as she ran her mouth lightly down the curve of Tyra’s neck.

  “This way.” Tyra grasped her shirt collar and walked backward down a hallway, then pushed open a door.

  Nic didn’t look any farther than the bed. She didn’t want to see how the room was decorated or take notice of any photos on the bedside table. She didn’t want to know Tyra in any sense but the Biblical, and if she were completely honest, she didn’t even want that very badly. However, she wasn’t being completely honest. She’d tell herself anything in order to get to the point where her body would shut out her mind completely.

  Thankfully, Tyra sped up the process by pulling her own shirt over her head, then unclasping her bra. She let it dangle from her finger for a second, then dropped it to the floor. The room suddenly felt hotter, and Nic was all too willing to shed her own clothes in order to adjust. She kicked off her shoes first, then set to work unfastening her belt while Tyra stared at her, a flicker of hunger flashing through her dark eyes.

  “Need some help?”

  Nic grinned and pushed the pants to the ground. “No, but I need help with something else.”

  Tyra stepped closer and ran her hand teasingly along the waistband of Nic’s boxers before slipping her hand inside.

  Nic groaned and tried not to let her eyes roll back in her head at the feel of a woman’s touch. Her breathing increased as Tyra cupped her and squeezed lightly. It wouldn’t take much. It had been too long, but she wasn’t so hard up that she’d turn pillow queen on some stranger. Sucking a sharp breath through her clenched teeth, she clutched Tyra’s wrist and extracted her hand. “Easy, baby. That thing’s loaded.”

  Oh, God, who talks like that? Just because she wasn’t genuinely in
terested in Tyra didn’t mean she had to treat their time together like a B-grade porno.

  She tried again. “Tell me what you like.” That approach lacked originality, but at least it wasn’t so cheesy, and she did want to give Tyra what she liked. This whole evening hung on her ability to perform, to please, to live up to her standards, especially since she’d set the bar low. If she couldn’t live up to the demands of a stranger for a few hours, what hope did she have of sustaining any sort of meaningful relationship again? God, why was she thinking about a relationship? She didn’t need that kind of pressure or the reminder of how far she’d fallen. All she needed was to feel good for a few freaking hours. No wonder she couldn’t think of anything original to say. Thankfully, Tyra wasn’t grading her on creativity as she lay down on the bed and beckoned for her to join.

  Nic stripped off her shirt and undershirt, then climbed onto the bed, propping herself over Tyra and lowering her head for a kiss. The position was wonderfully familiar. Memories tried to come rushing back. Images of Annabelle looking up at her lovingly, trustingly, pushed at the back of her eyelids, but she blocked them out, slipping deeper into the physical. The sound of her own pulse mingled with the rasp of the breaths they stole between kisses. Tyra cupped her ass and pulled their bodies firmly together. A flashback of Davis’s form crushing passionately against her own threatened to overtake her, but she held her eyes open, forcing herself to stay present in this moment.

  “Fuck me,” Tyra moaned.

  Nic didn’t usually go for profanity during sex, but here it seemed a raw and brutally accurate description of her intent. She slid inside of Tyra quickly and with enough force to make her intentions clear. Tyra’s fingernails raked across the skin of her back, clawing for more.

  “Oh, God, yes, like that.”

  She felt a power surge that dizzied her mind and sent a shot of excitement right to her clit. This woman wanted her, and she was living up to her requests. Hell, from the way Tyra panted after a few quick thrusts, Nic exceeded her expectations.