For the First Time: Twenty-One Brand New Stories of First Love (27 page)

Kinsey was the kind of pretty that got under her skin. It was as if someone had put the girl next door and a vintage pin-up in a box, shook it, and Kinsey was what had tumbled out, blushing and mussed.

Plus, she was smart, though not in the in-your-face competitive way of Astrid’s classmates. Not that they shouldn’t be proud of their brains—hell, people’s lives would be depending on them not to be dumbasses—but the intensity was sometimes overwhelming and it was nice to leave the academic rivalries on campus.

It was just too bad that after returning the girl’s pants, Astrid should avoid her like the plague. For her own mental health.

She didn’t need to be some straight girl’s story about how she kissed a girl once, and she didn’t want to be an ego boost until a guy came along. Because shit like that had happened too many times before and she was tired of it. No more straight girls, no matter what.

Not even Kinsey Malone, the girl whose name had been spelled out in sparkly pink gel pen on the intercom panel next to 3F. The girl, who by rights, she should’ve wanted to lecture and make rude gestures at for not paying attention when she was opening her car door. But when Astrid had seen her face, mortified and alarmed, she couldn’t yell. And that had been before Kinsey’d invited her up to her fresh-smelling apartment and tended to her wound and offered her pants. They were some freaking comfortable pants. Too bad they’d get all shrunk and stiff in the dryer. And then she’d have to hand them back.

“It’s nothing,” she insisted when Justin raised a smug eyebrow.

“Uh-huh. You keep telling yourself that, Zhao. Nice jeans by the way. Are those new?”

Fuck all.
“No, they’re borrowed.”

There went that eyebrow again and Astrid thought that despite her fondness for Justin, a smack upside the head might do him some good. If she could reach. Too-tall bastard.

“From Trouble?”

“Yes,” she admitted. “Straight girl.”

“Mmm. Those are the worst.”

Justin was sort of teasing, but sort of not. He’d been there through the fallout of Astrid’s first serious college crush. Moira had flirted with Astrid shamelessly, linked arms with her as they walked campus, cuddled into her side during late-night dorm room movie binges, danced with her at parties. Even initiated a make-out session on Astrid’s bed.

The next time they’d hung out together, Moira had started to undress Astrid. When she’d got Astrid’s shirt open, she had stopped, and said the words that would stick with Astrid for the rest of her life:
“I’m sorry. Making out was fun, but you…you have
breasts
and it’s just too…weird.”

Astrid hadn’t been angry—everyone had the right to say no, everyone had the right to change their minds, and Astrid liked to flirt as much as the next person. Maybe more. Some innocent flirtation wouldn’t have bothered her so much but Moira’d made it seem like more than that.

So Astrid had been hurt. Hurt because she’d felt as though she’d been training wheels to prop up Moira’s self-esteem—made her feel desirable and sexy, and was fun to kiss, but when push came to shove, she didn’t want Astrid. Moira wanted a man. Had a boyfriend within a week and never spoke with Astrid again.

Straight girls really were the worst.

She parted ways with Justin at the bike rack: he pedaled toward Brighton and she set off for JP. The ride gave her too much time to try not to think about Kinsey Malone with her red hair, her green eyes, and her super cute vintage-y dress with the tiny floral print. And if Astrid were the kind of girl who wore heels, she’d covet the low blue suede pumps Kinsey had been rocking.

As it was, she wondered what it would be like to slip her hands up from Kinsey’s delicate ankles, over her rounded calves and under her skirt. Maybe make her blush as she demanded Kinsey spread her legs. How far did those freckles go, anyway? All the way? Or would they stop someplace on her thighs? Would there be a dusting of them over her stomach?

And hell if she hadn’t gotten a rush when Kinsey had settled on those speckled knees and looked up at her. She’d looked so sweet and comfortable, like kneeling in front of Astrid was the most natural thing in the world. It made desire flush through Astrid just thinking about it.

All this daydreaming was a waste of energy though because the girl was straight. Astrid was almost positive. But that last two percent was what had her distracted enough that she nearly breezed through an intersection on a red light. At the last second, she pumped the hand brakes hard and managed to not go flying over the handlebars.

Back at her apartment, she did the math. If she wanted to be back at Kinsey’s apartment at eight—and she’d be punctual dammit, because that was basic human decency—she’d need to give herself half an hour on the subway so she could get there without being a wrinkled mess, and she needed a couple of hours to get the jeans washed and dried. Which left her four hours to wallow in the soft cotton and mull over the way Kinsey had looked at her. Maybe it was more like ninety-five percent…

Not enough, Zhao. Don’t be an idiot. You can trip a dyke and race her to the floor with total confidence. Why waste your time on a straight girl who brings back all your old insecurities?

She’d drop off Kinsey’s jeans and then head to the speakeasy where she could drown her sorrows in a scotch tasting and sing the straight girl blues. Maybe she’d call Justin to join her pity party.

K
insey’s buzzer made
its strangled, last-legs gurgling at precisely eight o’clock. Not that she’d been watching the numbers tick up on the digital clock on her microwave. Because she hadn’t been. Nope, not at all.

She thought about traipsing down the stairs, collecting her pants and having done with it. But she didn’t…want to? The plus side of having a barely functional intercom was that she wouldn’t have to discuss it. She’d buzz Astrid up and then…nothing. Nothing, because even if what she was feeling was genuine enough to do something about, why would Astrid want to go out with her?

There was nothing extraordinary about her, not in the way there was something special about Astrid anyway. Kinsey knew she was pretty and bright but there was something charismatic about Astrid that made her feel as if she was in the presence of the sun.

Speaking of…the knock at her door meant Astrid had arrived. When Kinsey cracked open the door, there she was, wearing a tweed blazer with—were those suede elbow patches?—and a sweater vest that covered a different shirt and tie than she’d been wearing that morning.

“You changed,” Kinsey blurted, and felt her face flush with embarrassment. Astrid looked down at herself and then back at Kinsey with a grin.

“Well, the whole outfit kind of fell apart without the pants.” She pinched the corner of her lapel where a small fabric bloom was pinned. “What do you think, too much?”

“Not if you’ve got a hot date,” Kinsey replied, turning Astrid’s earlier comment back on her. She immediately regretted it. Hopefully the other girl wouldn’t notice the hint of pique in her voice.

“I don’t, but I was… Never mind.”

A spark of hope lit in Kinsey’s belly, which was roiling with uncertainty and embarrassment. “What?”

Astrid put a hand on her hip, pulling the fabric of her blazer back to reveal more of the sweater vest and the flat front of her olive twill pants. Her forehead wrinkled as if she was thinking about something way too hard and then she looked back up at Kinsey with narrowed eyes. “I was going to go to a speakeasy. You could, uh, come with. If you wanted. Do you like scotch?”

Astrid’s babbling lit the fuse of a glitter bomb inside Kinsey, sending a spray of sparkly pieces through her chest and her brain. Was Astrid asking her out? It was the spangles drifting toward her feet that enabled her to tease instead of scrambling all over herself to say
Yes, please. Anything so I can have more time with you.

“No.” She waited for Astrid’s face to fall before she let a sly smile play over her lips. “I like bourbon.”

The way expressions flickered over Astrid’s face was priceless. Confusion, surprise, and then a broad grin lit up her face. Astrid shook a finger at her. “I see what you did there. So that’s a yes?”

Kinsey shrugged, bewildered by this turn of events, but so pleased she wouldn’t allow herself to get dragged down by insecurity. “Uh, sure. Should I change? I look kind of…shabby next to you.”

If Astrid weren’t so cool, Kinsey would swear she blushed. “Nah, you look great.”

“If you’re sure. I’ll do something about my hair and then we can go?”

“Sounds good. And here.” Astrid handed Kinsey her jeans and as they passed the denim between them, their fingers brushed. Astrid was warm and the fleeting touch made the glitter blow around inside Kinsey’s body. Even though she didn’t want the jeans back, she’d take any excuse to touch Astrid again.

“Thanks.”

Fifteen minutes later, they were on their way, clomping down the front steps of her apartment building and heading toward the Orange Line. It wasn’t many stops until they were climbing out of the T station and into the chic streets of the South End.

Astrid knew where she was going so it wasn’t long until she was holding the door of the overly hip establishment for Kinsey to step through. The lights were low inside, the room filled with leather and dark wood. It was the kind of place Kinsey almost wished smelled like smoke.

After making their way through clusters of club chairs and low tables, they found a couple of empty seats at the bar. When they’d slid onto the leather stools, Astrid pulled her wallet from her back pocket and slipped a coin out. Burnished gold and thick, it looked as if it could’ve been fished out of an undersea wreck.

It drew the attention of a bartender who came over, inspected it, and then slung a towel over his shoulder. “Two?”

“No, just one,” Astrid said. “My friend here will have The Cure.”

Without waiting for her to agree, the bartender turned and started fussing with bottles and glasses, the busy work of a gin-slinger.

Kinsey should’ve been annoyed Astrid ordered for her, but she liked it. The same way she’d liked it when Astrid held the door for her. It felt caring and attentive. Chivalrous. She’d bet a month’s rent the drink would have bourbon.

Besides, Astrid was eyeing her sheepishly. “Sorry. I should’ve asked. But I think you’ll like this. And if you don’t, we’ll get you something else.”

Kinsey liked too the way she said “we,” and shrugged with a smile so Astrid would know she wasn’t mad. “I’ll give it a try.”

When the drink came, she was proved right. It smelled of citrus and when she took a sip, it was so strong it nearly knocked her off her stool. The base liquor was bourbon and it was amazing.

“What do you, have the entire bar menu memorized?”

Astrid laughed and sipped at one of the sample glasses that had been set in front of her. “Nah. But I’ve got friends who drink bourbon. That’s their favorite.”

“You come here a lot though?”

“How could you tell?”

“I don’t know, maybe the fancy-ass gold coin you set on the counter that’s getting us treated like royalty had something to do with it?”

Astrid scoffed but was clearly pleased. “It’s not magic, it’s for the scotch club. They do flights every Thursday. I come when I can.”

Over Astrid’s flight and another cocktail for Kinsey, they talked. About med school, about how Kinsey had stumbled into her job and whether she intended to make it a career.

“I don’t think so, but I don’t know for sure. It’s challenging so I don’t get bored and I feel like I’m helping people in a circuitous way. So, that’s nice. But it’s not something I’m passionate about. Not something that feeds my soul. Does medicine make you feel that way?”

“Not yet. I’m hoping it will but right now it’s a lot of busting my ass in school.”

When they’d finished their drinks, they took a meandering walk in the swank neighborhood. They walked so close their hands would brush and while they’d pull back and make awkward apologies, it always happened again. When they ducked into an alleyway to avoid a raucous group of undergrads, it didn’t seem strange that they stayed.

Nor did it seem odd when Astrid pushed a stray strand of Kinsey’s hair behind her ear and leaned in like she might kiss her. It only got weird when Astrid pulled away a split second before impact and shook her head, cursing under her breath. The other girl turned to head back to the street, but Kinsey grabbed her hand and tugged her further into the dark, narrow space between the buildings.

She didn’t let go because she wanted to make it clear to Astrid that her would-be advances weren’t unwelcome. Not at all. So she waited for Astrid to meet her eyes and then spoke, her words weighted with encouragement.

“I hope you realize I wouldn’t do anything I didn’t really want to do.”

“No,” Astrid said, her dark eyes somehow growing more intense than Kinsey had thought possible. “I don’t think you would.”

Kinsey’s back hit the brick wall behind her as Astrid put hands to her shoulders and pushed. The brick scratched at the back of her arms and her shoulder blades through her dress. It didn’t scare her but made her feel…alive. Excited.

And when Astrid
asked
if she could kiss her, Kinsey didn’t reply, but leaned forward to give her answer.
Yes, please.

It was strange at first, to kiss someone her height. Kinsey was so used to kissing guys who were taller than she was, often by a lot. But kissing Astrid… Their mouths met without either of them having to crane their necks or crouch down, but with only a tip of their heads.

The scotch on Astrid’s breath was smoky; smooth and arresting all at once. As they kissed, Astrid pushed against her and Kinsey realized that though they stood eye-to-eye, chest-to-chest, there was something about Astrid that made her feel small and delicate, a sensation that had always thrilled her.

If it wasn’t that she towered over Kinsey, it must’ve been what Astrid was made of: thicker, firmer, weightier stuff. Kinsey fumbled, not sure where to put her hands. Which was dumb because she’d made out with a dozen people and she’d never had this problem before.