by Nell Stark
Sarah watched her go. When the strobe kicked in, Chelsea’s light blue dress shimmered tantalizingly. She’s beautiful, and sexy, and really into you. What the hell is your problem? Ever since Chelsea had pulled her into the corner at Matt’s party, kissed her passionately, and then whispered that she’d reserved them a room at a nearby hotel for after the dance, Sarah had felt queasy. This is ridiculous. Something is seriously wrong with me.
“Hey, dark and broody!” Rory approached her from the dance floor, holding several strands of rainbow beads. “Or should I call you ‘dark and stormy’?” She grinned as she threw one gaudy necklace over Sarah’s head. “Come dance with me, or I’ll tell everyone in this room that you own a pair of pink underwear.”
Sarah couldn’t help but laugh. “That kind of threat makes you irresistible.”
“Damn right.”
Sarah followed Rory into the center of the room and did her best not to flail around too much. She was impressed. Rory had moves. She could do this swirling thing with her hips that was really quite sensual. And now that Sarah thought about it, she was pretty sure that Rory wasn’t wearing a bra.
She lost track of the rhythm when she realized where her thoughts had wandered off to. How could she be thinking about Rory that way, when she was going to make love to her girlfriend later that night?
“I don’t think being slightly tipsy helps me much with my technique,” she said, trying to laugh off her awkwardness.
“Seriously? I only dance under the influence. If I were sober, I’d be a wallflower.”
Sarah raised her eyebrows. This was new information. “Oh yeah? Are there any other strange behaviors I should expect from drunken Rory?”
Rory chose that moment to grab Sarah’s hand, raise it high and twirl herself underneath. When she emerged from the spin, Sarah automatically rested her other palm on Rory’s waist. Soft.
“Chattiness. And flirtiness.” Rory cocked her head slightly. “Are we really going to try to waltz to J.Lo?”
“Of course not. We’re going to polka.”
Rory giggled and moved a little closer. Well, thought Sarah as their bodies touched, this must be what she means by “flirtiness.” But before she could figure out what to do next, Rory was pulling back and she was being embraced from behind.
“Hey, baby.” Chelsea slid around to nestle against Sarah’s chest. She looked over her shoulder at Rory. “Mind if I cut in?”
“’Course not. Go to it.” Rory waved at Sarah and spun on one heel. If she heard Sarah’s “see you,” she gave no indication.
“Miss me?” Chelsea asked, threading her arms around Sarah’s neck.
“Definitely,” Sarah said, trying to ignore the surge of dread that spiraled in her gut.
“How about we dance a few songs and then get out of here?” Chelsea murmured. Her tongue traced the shell of Sarah’s ear. When Sarah shivered, Chelsea sucked on her earlobe. “You like that, hmm?”
Sarah ruthlessly tamped down her rising panic. Stop thinking. Just go with it.
“Yeah,” she said, pulling Chelsea closer. “Feels good.”
*
“Let’s have some champagne,” Chelsea said. She was lounging on their king-sized bed while Sarah hung their coats in the closet.
“Okay.” Sarah picked up the bottle that was resting in the ice bucket and carefully worked it open.
“I love watching you,” Chelsea said. “You are so crazy hot.”
Sarah looked over and smiled, trying hard not to betray any of her inner turmoil. “Thank you for all of this. It’s really romantic.”
“Well, I wanted this to be special—the first time we’re really together.”
Sarah poured the champagne slowly. It frothed, wanting to bubble over the flute rims. Love was supposed to be like that, wasn’t it? A sort of joyful, barely contained madness—a riot of emotion and sensation that would fill her up until she felt as though she might overflow.
She handed over Chelsea’s glass before promptly draining her own.
“Oh, baby. Are you nervous?”
“A little.” Sarah wanted to tell her that she couldn’t go through with this. That it just didn’t feel right. That she needed more time. But Chelsea had set up this entire scenario, and the pressure of it all—the huge bed, the celebratory drink, the fancy clothes—weighed in against honesty.
Chelsea patted the space beside her. “Come here. You don’t need to be, you know. It’s not like either of us is new at this. And you look so damn good tonight. I’m so turned on already.”
When Sarah obliged by climbing onto the bed, Chelsea pulled her down for a long, wet kiss. Sarah tried to relax into it—to get so caught up in the slow thrust of Chelsea’s tongue against hers that she had no brainpower left for wondering what this would feel like with Rory. That was working pretty well until Chelsea began to unbutton her shirt. Sarah’s stomach flip-flopped even as she got wet.
She stilled Chelsea’s fingers automatically. But when Chelsea’s features dissolved into an expression of hurt and confusion, Sarah realized that she had to pretend. “I want you naked,” she said, toying with the hem of Chelsea’s dress. “Now.”
Chelsea’s eyes got wide and her breathing sped up. “God, I love when you get assertive.” She raised her hips, and Sarah skimmed the dress up her torso and over her head. Beneath, Chelsea wore only a tiny blue thong.
“You’re beautiful,” Sarah whispered. That, at least, was not a lie. Chelsea’s rosy nipples begged to be sucked, and the delicate muscles of her taut stomach trembled beneath Sarah’s right hand.
“Want you so bad—”
Chelsea’s words ended in a cry as Sarah bent down to lick a slow circle around first one nipple, then the other. As she sped up the motion of her tongue, Sarah worked Chelsea’s thong down her legs. When Chelsea kicked off the tiny scrap of material, Sarah slid one thigh between hers and pressed up firmly. Chelsea groaned.
Sarah felt as though she were acting out a love scene on a movie set. She followed her own inner script, raising her head to kiss Chelsea firmly, as she rolled her hips. It was a strange sensation—as though she were at once inside her body and hovering above it.
“Oh, please touch me,” Chelsea begged, her breaths stuttering in her throat. “I’m so hot for you, Sarah.”
Sarah saw herself slip her right hand between their bodies. She felt herself push one finger into Chelsea while bringing her thumb down gently but firmly on her clit. Chelsea’s soft cry seemed to come from miles away.
And then Sarah’s thumb was making tiny circles, and her finger was thrusting slowly in and out, and Chelsea’s body was as tight and arched as a bowstring. “Come for me,” Sarah heard herself say. And Chelsea did, bucking and shuddering beneath her.
Sarah watched herself watch Chelsea in the throes of passion. Aesthetically, the scene was perfect, but it didn’t move her. She felt nothing—nothing except relief.
She left Chelsea’s body as carefully as she had opened the bottle of champagne.
“So good,” Chelsea murmured, her eyelids fluttering. “Mmm, you wiped me out, baby.”
“Just rest for a bit,” Sarah whispered. She turned onto her side and began to lightly rub Chelsea’s stomach. That’s it. Sleep. Sleep, now.
The rhythm of Chelsea’s breathing changed almost immediately, slowing and deepening. Sarah waited for several minutes, just to be certain, before easing off the bed. She poured another flute of champagne and drank it slowly while looking out the window at the lights of Kingston. As the buzz kicked in, she leaned forward to rest her forehead against the cool glass.
When she finally let herself think of Rory, the tears came. They leaked out of the corners of her eyes, tracked down her cheeks, and clung stubbornly to her chin before plunging into the thick carpet. Sarah held her body perfectly still and let them take their course.
Can’t do this anymore, she realized numbly. In place of the panic, there was only a dull fatigue.
When her eyes were dry again, she wrote Che
lsea a brief note on the hotel letterhead. She slipped into her shoes and jacket, then quietly opened the door and stepped out into the brightly lit hallway.
*
Rory glanced at her watch. Three a.m. Her eyes were burning in exhaustion, but she just couldn’t go to bed when Sarah wasn’t there. Looks like I’m pulling an all-nighter, she thought grimly, pressing A to start another game of Halo. Fortunately, massacring aliens almost completely distracted her from thoughts of Sarah and Chelsea making love. Almost.
And then the door opened.
Rory spun around, forgetting to hit the pause button. Sarah stood in the doorway blinking at her. She looked confused and sad, and her eyes were red and swollen. Has she been crying?
“Hey,” Rory said. For a moment, she considered trying to say something funny, but Sarah looked far too raw for humor. It was time to be genuine. “Everything okay? I didn’t expect you home till morning.”
Sarah kicked off her shoes and shrugged out of her jacket. As she was slinging it over the back of her desk chair, she said, “I’m going to break up with her.”
Rory couldn’t move. She’d been wanting to hear those words out of Sarah’s mouth for the past two months, but in this moment, she felt no triumph. Sarah was clearly suffering. She wanted to make it all better, and had no idea how.
“What happened?” was all she could think to ask.
Sarah sat down and rested her elbows on her knees. When she met Rory’s gaze, her face was troubled. “I care about her, you know? I really do. She’s a good person, and she’s fun, and she’s beautiful.”
Rory nodded, but Sarah didn’t speak again for a long time. She seemed to be struggling to find the right words. “But?” Rory prompted gently.
“But I can’t be with her, because I’m not in love with her. And she wants things from me that I can’t…” Sarah trailed off, shaking her head. “I dunno. I think I’m pretty messed up. She’ll be way better off with someone who will really appreciate her.”
Rory wanted to press for more details, but she didn’t think that was wise. If Sarah wanted her to know exactly what had happened between the dance and this moment, she would elaborate. “I don’t think you’re messed up,” she said. “And it sounds to me like you’re not happy with her.”
“You’re right.” Sarah rubbed at her neck. “I want to be, but I’m not.”
Rory fiddled with a loose thread on the inseam of her sweats. Could I make you happy, Sarah? Could you fall in love with me? She glanced up to find Sarah gazing out the darkened window. She looked exhausted and forlorn, and Rory wanted to enfold her in a long hug. But she stayed where she was.
“When are you going to do it?”
“Tomorrow. I left her a note asking her to call me when she got up because I wanted to talk to her over breakfast.”
Rory nodded. She racked her brains for some words of comfort, but nothing came to mind. What did you say when the woman you wanted was tearing herself apart because she didn’t want her girlfriend?
“I should have ended it months ago,” Sarah murmured. She turned back toward Rory. “Do you think I’m a terrible person?”
“What?” Rory had to clutch her beanbag chair to keep from getting to her feet. “Of course not. I think you’re…well, frankly, I think you’re the most remarkable person I’ve ever met.” She bit her lip, wondering if she’d gone too far, but Sarah only laughed hollowly.
“You’re being too nice to me.”
“What have you done that’s so awful?” Rory demanded.
“I’m not in love with Chelsea,” Sarah said. Her voice was growing louder. “But I think she might be in love with me. I should have ended it a long time ago, when I knew I’d never feel that way about her. I’ve been leading her on!”
She got up, then, and began to pace. “You know what? I should never have gotten involved with her in the first place. Maybe I’m just not cut out for relationships. Maybe I don’t deserve one. Or maybe Dar broke me and now I’m incapable.”
Rory couldn’t maintain the distance between them any longer. She rose to her feet, stood in front of Sarah, and put both hands on her shoulders. Sarah was shaking. The muscles beneath Rory’s palms quivered slightly.
“You listen to me,” Rory said fiercely. “You’re not broken. You’re not incapable. You’re not undeserving. You started dating Chelsea because you liked her and were attracted to her. Now you’re realizing that isn’t enough for you.” Rory tightened her grip when Sarah tried to look away. “That sucks, for sure. Breaking up fucking sucks. But I know you, Sarah Storm, and I know you’re not malicious.”
Sarah just stared at her for several seconds, and Rory stared back, her jaw set. You have to believe me. You have to.
Miraculously, a smile played around the corners of Sarah’s mouth. “I’m not allowed to argue, am I?” she asked wryly.
“Hell no.” Rory squeezed once, then forced herself to step away like a normal roommate would. “I don’t know about you,” she said as she turned off the television, “but I’m totally wiped. Bedtime?”
“Yeah.”
Rory grabbed her toothbrush and toothpaste and was heading out the door when Sarah’s hand on her arm stopped her in her tracks.
“Thank you,” Sarah said quietly. “For listening to me and for, y’know, not letting me self-flagellate too much.”
Impulsively, Rory hugged her. It was the right thing to do, after all, and so what if she let her fingers play lightly in the short hairs on the back of Sarah’s neck before pulling away?
“You’re going to be okay,” Rory said firmly. “Tomorrow, the next day, and every day after that.” She fought back the sudden urge to cup Sarah’s face, and lightly punched her upper arm instead. “I promise.”
Chapter Thirteen
Sarah pulled up the collar of her coat and bent her head into the chill morning wind. Grains of snow blew down off the tree branches, dusting her head and stinging her cheeks.
The problem, she reflected as she trudged on toward Roger Williams, was that there wasn’t a “good” way to break up with someone. Over the phone was tacky, e-mail even tackier. Leaving a text message was cowardly. Voicemail was insulting. But if you decided to do it face-to-face, where were you supposed to go?
Now that she thought about it, choosing a dining hall was pretty lame. And despite the fact that she’d woken up hours ago, thinking about this very scenario, she still had no idea what to say. Her stomach roiled. Will she ever forgive me? God, I don’t want to hurt her.
Sarah paused in front of the double doors and kicked at a loose ball of ice on the sidewalk. There was still time to bow out—to go back to her room and write that e-mail, or even take out her phone right now and send a text.
I owe her so much more than that, Sarah told herself firmly. She deserves some kind of explanation. If I even have one.
She took a deep breath of frigid air, welcoming the sharp stab of pain in her lungs, and threw open the doors. As soon as she stepped inside, Chelsea hugged her fiercely.
“Are you okay, baby? What happened last night?”
Sarah’s heart lurched in her chest, her arms going automatically around Chelsea’s waist. Oh God. Can I really do this?
“I am so ashamed that I fell asleep on you,” Chelsea said as she combed her fingers through Sarah’s hair, brushing off the snowflakes. “Didn’t wake up until the morning, and you were gone…”
“I’m sorry I left,” Sarah said. “I—I couldn’t sleep.”
“Oh no,” Chelsea said, looking suddenly anxious. “Was I snoring?”
Sarah managed to crack a smile. “No, nothing like that.” She gestured toward a table in the corner. “Want to sit down?”
“Aren’t you hungry?”
“Oh yeah.” Sarah followed Chelsea obediently through the cafeteria line. Her stomach was pitching and rolling worse than ever, so she settled on a banana and a cup of much-needed coffee. As they made their way toward a small table in the far corner of the hall, Sarah wish
ed the floor would just open up and swallow her. I don’t want to do this. But I have to, dammit. I have to. Keeping up this charade wasn’t fair—to either of them.
“So what happened? Why did you have to leave?” Chelsea leaned forward and lowered her voice. “I woke up wanting to go down on you.”
Sarah swallowed hard. Her body reacted to Chelsea’s words, even as her brain shied away from the idea. Why couldn’t she be one of those people who enjoyed casual sex? Why couldn’t she stop overanalyzing? Hell…why can’t I just be in love with her?
Chelsea was regarding her expectantly, waiting for an answer. Sarah licked dry lips. This was it. She had to do it. Right. Now.
“Chelsea,” she said, her voice cracking on the second syllable. “I don’t really know how to…the thing is…” She trailed off, looking away for a moment, then back again. “Please believe me, I don’t want to hurt you,” she finally blurted. “But I can’t do this anymore.”
“What?”
Shock and pain infused that one, tremulous word. Sarah felt her heart constrict in sympathy and empathy. Goddammit. I’m making her feel the way Dar made me feel.
“You’re so beautiful,” she said, desperate to prove to Chelsea that this really, truly wasn’t about her. “And you’re sexy and fun…smart and talented…God, Chelsea, you’re amazing.” Chelsea’s eyes were brimming over with tears, and Sarah clutched at her napkin as though it were a lifeline, or an anchor. “Please, you have to believe me.”
“Then why are you—” Chelsea stumbled over the words. “You’re breaking up with me?”
“I want to be in love with you,” Sarah said, staring hard into Chelsea’s bright blue eyes, willing her to hear the truth. “I should be. But I’m…I’m not.”
Chelsea’s mouth trembled, and two tears streaked down her face like falling stars. She took a deep, shuddering breath. “I knew it.”
Sarah blinked in confusion. “Knew it? I—”
“It’s Rory, isn’t it?” Chelsea’s voice was harsh. “You’re in love with Rory.”