Too Close to Touch (21 page)

She was dabbing some Liz Claiborne behind each ear when she heard a quick knock and the side door open. Mick’s voice called out to her.

“I’ll be right down,” she hollered back, giving herself the once-over in the full-length mirror on the back of the door.

I’m nearly forty years old. Why does it matter what I look like
when I’m going out to a bar anymore? Who cares?
She sighed and slid one more button undone before giving up, and heading down the stairs.

The look on Mick’s face made all the fuss worthwhile. “Holy shit.”

Kylie smothered a smile. “What?”

“You look like a million bucks, that’s what. You’re sexy as hell.”

She reached out and poked playfully at Kylie’s belly button.

“Be honest,” Kylie said, her face serious as she held out her arms.

“Do I look like a forty-year-old who’s trying to appear twenty-Þ ve?

Because I hate that.”

Mick’s smile was warm and genuine. “Absolutely not. You look mature and…fucking hot. Is it necessary to show that much cleavage?

Jesus, I’m going to have to beat them off you with a stick tonight, Ky.”

Kylie was relieved. She knew Mick would tell her the truth and not hesitate to send her marching back up the stairs to change. “Well, do me a favor. Don’t beat them
all
away, okay?” She pulled her driver’s

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license out of her wallet and slid it into her pocket. “By the way, you’re looking pretty damn sexy yourself, cowboy. Maybe I’m the one who needs to use the stick.”

Mick wore black, tight-Þ tting jeans that hugged her muscled ass lovingly. Her red T-shirt was also snug, each article of clothing chosen to show off her sculpted body, the result of regular workouts with free weights. She’d gotten a haircut within the last week and it was neat and stylish, a few short strands of gray visible around her ears. Her eyes, as always, were the focal point of her face, the green seemingly more intense this evening.

Scratching the back of her neck, she mumbled a thank-you and asked, “Ready for a night of dancing?”

Pleasantly surprised to see Mick was blushing, Kylie answered,

“You bet,” and tucked her money in her pocket.

They headed out. As Kylie locked her door behind her, she felt good. She was looking forward to spending time with her best friend, dancing her heart out, having a few drinks, and getting her mind off a certain petite brunette with a voice she could feel in the pit of her stomach and a mouth that could kiss her in a way she hadn’t been kissed in years.

Anything else.
Please let me think of anything else tonight. That’s
all I ask…

v

Jori’s studio/apartment was a piece of art in itself, a dichotomy of home and work blended into one interesting space. Nestled above a popular restaurant on East Avenue, it was large and open, divided only by the folding Japanese-style screens placed strategically around the room, separating the two halves. Floor-to-ceiling windows on both the front and the back let in copious amounts of natural light and the high ceilings made the area seem even larger than it was.

Gretchen’s gaze drifted to the large, unmade bed in one corner. It was covered with expensive sheets of deep green satin and a matching down comforter. Off that corner was the only door in the place, leading to the surprisingly large bathroom. The kitchen area lay opposite and consisted of a simple conglomeration of refrigerator, stove, sink and

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a handful of white cupboards all lined up like a chain gang. Jori had placed a small table and four chairs nearby for meals; the table was piled with books and mail.

The other half of the open rectangle consisted of workspace.

One corner had a small stage-like block covered with black fabric and accented by a matching black fabric backdrop. Lights were mounted on various stands, all pointing at the stage. Shelves lined one wall and held books, cameras, lenses, more lights. The opposite wall was the most interesting, and it wasn’t the desk that caught Gretchen’s eye. She had never had a chance to look at the dozens of pictures Jori had mounted on the wall; the two or three times they’d been there, they’d always moved straight to the bed.

This time, she lingered as Jori Þ nished dressing, taking in the art of the woman with whom she’d been having sex. The thing that surprised Gretchen the most about the pictures was that they weren’t Jori’s professional prints. These seemed to be more candid, photos of her friends and family, and for some reason, Gretchen’s heart warmed just a little. She spotted Mick in several, and there was a crowd shot of an outdoor gathering from at least twenty years ago, judging from the clothing worn by the subjects.

With closer scrutiny, Gretchen picked out Kylie’s mother among the group and realized she was looking at the O’Brien family cookout from nearly two decades before. Smiling, she moved along the wall, and then her breath caught in her throat as she stopped in front of a black and white, eight-by-ten, lovingly framed photograph of Kylie.

It was deÞ nitely candid, a head shot in semi-proÞ le; Kylie seemed unaware she was being photographed at all. She stood outdoors somewhere, her face tilted up toward the sky, exposing her long throat, making her seem impossibly vulnerable. The creamy skin begged for Þ ngertips, and an unseen wind blew her dark blond hair off her face, revealing one adorable ear decorated with a diamond stud that glinted in the sunlight.

Even in a photo without color, it was completely apparent that Kylie had the bluest eyes you could imagine. Her mouth quirked slightly in a smile that seemed to house a secret, like she knew something the rest of the world didn’t and she
might
share, if coaxed in just the right manner…there was something very intimate about the shot and it tugged at Gretchen low in her belly. She found it hard to breathe and

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she was unable to move her feet. She stood imprisoned, and wet her lips as she stared in wonder.

“Gorgeous, isn’t it?” Jori’s voice startled Gretchen, so close to her ear.

“She is…er…it is. Very. When did you take it?”

“Oh, Þ ve or six years ago, I think. A bunch of us went hiking up near Cayuga Lake. It was a beautiful fall day and I sort of stumbled upon Kylie all alone, looking off into the distance. I think she was looking at a hawk or an eagle or something. She was so…breathtaking, I couldn’t
not
take the shot, you know? I’m not even sure she knows I did to this day.”

“Were you…?” Gretchen hesitated, not sure how to pose the question niggling at her. “Did you two…you know…ever have a thing?”

Jori chuckled and a bit of sadness was apparent in its rhythm.

“Me and Kylie? Nah.” She looked down at her feet for several long seconds. “Not that I wouldn’t have wanted to, though, especially back then. But I’m a big girl now, big enough to know that she’s way out of my league.”

Gretchen cocked her head, surprised at the remark. Her face must have said so, because Jori grinned widely.

“Oh, come on, Gretchen. You know it’s true. She’s the kind of woman who deserves
way
better than somebody like me or you, right?”

Jori walked across the room to the little table and picked up her keys, unaware of the pained expression Gretchen knew had parked itself on her face. “Are you ready to go?” she asked without looking back. “I hear dinner calling my name.”

Gretchen blinked several times and gulped down the bitterness rising in her throat. She purposely did not look back up at the photograph.

“Sure. I’m ready.”

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CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The Black Widow was jumping, much to the surprise of many of its patrons. Women’s bars didn’t have much of a reputation in Rochester other than being the businesses most likely to close down within the Þ rst six months. Somehow, the Widow had managed to stay open and keep a crowd for the last Þ ve years, withstanding the changes in the weather as well as the changing landscape of the city. It was located far enough downtown to be considered “in the city,” but not far enough to be considered “in the bad part of town.” The owners had gotten it just right.

The crowd was a mix of ages. It was going on eleven o’clock, so the younger college-age lesbians were beginning to show up. Their appearance was radically different from the older crowd that had appeared earlier—tattoos, piercings, and shaved heads versus jeans, Tshirts, and neat, practical haircuts. The older crowd was playing pool.

The younger crowd was doing shots.

Kylie garnered looks from both crowds. She didn’t really seem to notice, though Mick always did. Mick was also aware of the envious glances she received from the people who didn’t know them personally and assumed Kylie belonged to her. Those were her favorites.

“What do you want to drink?” Mick had to put her mouth very close to Kylie’s ear in order to be heard over the thrumming bass of the dance music. Not that she minded; being so close allowed her to get a satisfying lungful of Kylie’s evocative perfume.

“Vodka tonic,” Kylie responded, glancing around as Mick pushed her way to the bar and put in her order with Christy, the bartender.

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She stiß ed a yawn and chuckled inwardly at herself for being such an old fart.
I go to bed by ten every night. Why should a Saturday be any
different?
The DJ seemed to be playing a nice mix of eighties music, though, so she was pretty secure in the fact that she’d wake up once she got dancing. It was good to be out.

“Here you go, hot stuff.” Mick handed her the drink. “What do you think? Music sounds good. It’s not that rap shit that all sounds the same.”

Kylie nodded, sipping from her glass and sending an appreciative smile back at Christy behind the bar. “Damn, that girl knows how to mix a drink.”

“Only for those of us who are special.” Mick grinned.

“I don’t know how you do this so often,” Kylie commented. “I’m ready to fall asleep.”

“You’re such a lesbian.” Just then, the DJ decided to play “Vogue”

by Madonna, and Mick took Kylie’s drink and set it on a nearby table next to her beer. “Come on,” she ordered. “This’ll wake you up.”

Mick was right. Within an hour, Kylie was dancing her heart out, pleasantly buzzed and on her way to drunk, though thinking about changing to Coke soon. Mick was a fantastic dancer but Kylie was a bit more self-conscious, so she just held onto Mick and let her lead.

Her friend’s strong, solid form was comforting and Kylie gripped her shoulders without hesitation.

They did their own version of dirty dancing, Mick’s thigh tucked between Kylie’s legs, her hand across the small of Kylie’s back where bare skin peeked out under her cropped shirt. Because of the difference in their heights, Mick enveloped Kylie and the picture they made was quite a sexy one. Spectators—both subtle and overt—were abundant.

One song blended into the next until Kylie needed to drink and rest. Laughing, she wiped the sweat from her upper lip and led Mick off the dance ß oor. She picked up her drink from the table where Mick had placed it and took a long swallow. When her eyes drifted to the far end of the bar, her smile faltered and she nearly choked as the mouthful of vodka and tonic water went down the wrong pipe.

Jori was cheerfully chatting with Christy, her arm draped over the shoulders of none other than Gretchen Kaiser. Despite the fact that she was frustrated by their presence, Kylie couldn’t help but let her eyes roam over Gretchen’s form, from the snugly Þ tting jeans to the white,

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short-sleeved button-up top to the mass of hair she itched to dig her Þ ngers into. Gretchen looked absolutely edible.

Damn her.

Slugging back the remainder of her drink, Kylie grabbed Mick’s arm and pulled her toward the dance ß oor.

“Hey, Jori’s here,” Mick commented even as she was being led in the opposite direction.

“Yeah, I know.”

Mick noticed Jori’s date, then looked back at Kylie, apparently taking in the fact that Kylie wasn’t looking toward the bar at all. She followed obediently and did her best to keep Kylie dancing with her back to the rest of the crowd. Kylie knew she was showing stress rather than fun and that she was dancing like she was doing a job rather than enjoying herself. But she had no ability to do anything else. All sense of enjoyment had disappeared.

They danced for nearly a half hour with no conversation—and very little smiling on Kylie’s part—until a familiar voice interrupted their individual thoughts.

“Excuse me, ladies, but can I cut in?” Jori bumped her hip into Kylie’s, taking her place as Mick’s dance partner.

“Sure,” Kylie said, before Mick could protest. “I need another drink anyway.”

She left the two of them boogying to “Brand New Lover” and headed for the bar. She pushed through the crowd and ordered another vodka tonic from Christy. When she reached for her money, Christy waved her off.

“Nope. You’re paid for.” She used her chin to point across the bar.

Gretchen gave a small wave.

Crap.
Kylie held up the glass in silent thanks, then turned her back to the bar, and Gretchen, and downed half the glass’s contents in three swallows, suppressing a shudder as she did so. She was working diligently on the rest of it when that rich, molten voice sounded dangerously close to her ear.

“Work up a thirst on the dance ß oor, did you?”

Chills ran pleasantly up Kylie’s spine and she closed her eyes for the briefest of seconds to revel in the feeling. When Þ nally she turned and met Gretchen’s deep brown gaze, her eyes seemed softer than usual. Kylie couldn’t keep the smile from her face.

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GEORGIA BEERS

“Hi there,” she said.

“Hi yourself,” Gretchen replied, a hint of relief coloring her tone, detectable even over the pounding dance music.