Girl Crush(37)

“I haven’t heard you guys mention her. Is she new to the twat pack?” His smirk was endearing, but it took me a second to realize he was referring to the brood his sister hung out with.

Avoiding eye contact, and hopefully the conversation as a whole, I stared down at my food. “No. They haven’t met her.”

“Ahh. A new love interest?”

If I hadn’t glanced up at just the right moment, I might have missed the look that washed over his face. I couldn’t quite identify it, but it wasn’t one of happiness—possibly disappointment.

I shrugged. “Not exactly.”

West appeared curious, and I wasn’t able to stop from sharing my dating woes. My friends hadn’t listened, but maybe he was the perfect confidant. He had experience dealing with women wanting women. “We met online several weeks ago, but I haven’t been able to pull the trigger to meet in person.”

“If you’re getting warning signals, then don’t do it. Go with your gut.”

“That’s just it. She’s great. We have a lot in common. We talk about everything under the sun. She’s got a good job.” I stopped to take a sip of my water.

“Is she ugly?”

The mouthful of water came erupting out all over him and his food. Dumbfounded by his question—and even more so by the fact I’d just engulfed him in saliva and my drink—I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

He took a napkin to his face and then blotted off his food, still prepared to eat it. Gross.

“I don’t think she’s ugly. I mean, we haven’t met in person, but her pictures are pretty.”

“Does she have a great personality?”

I knew in guy language that wasn’t a compliment. I dug my phone out of my purse and found a picture of her. He was clearly impressed by the sight.

“Damn. She’s hot. So what’s the problem?”

“Impossibly high standards, I guess.” There was no other way to say it without coming out and telling him I was a poser. That I’d never been into the crave cave. And even after multiple forced attempts, it didn’t appear I swung both ways. But I wasn’t ready to admit defeat to West or my girlfriends…even if they already knew I’d lost the war.

When he dropped me off at my house, he didn’t get out of the car or even turn off the engine. He waited like any friend would do for me to open the door and say goodbye. Once I was out, he waved and took off. I refused to acknowledge the second tinge of interest that had reared its head in one day. West was not a viable option and absolutely one I had to get out of my thoughts.





8





I didn’t know why I had agreed to go. Something warned me off, pushed meeting Heather to the side for weeks. But when she got upset and blamed herself, I couldn’t avoid it any longer. I should have just told her I wasn’t feeling the whole panty prowling, but instead, I’d allowed her to guilt me into getting together. She wanted me to pick her up and to do the formal ring the bell thing. Heather expected to be wooed like a lady, which was fine for someone who wanted to woo, but I’d always been wooed and wasn’t into wooing anyone else—male or female. I’d struggled from the word go with who was the male and who was the female in these relationships, but after tonight, it dawned on me—there wasn’t supposed to be a male. That’s what made it a lesbian couple, and since both of us had been in heterosexual relationships, we both maintained the expectation that the other should be the masculine figure while we maintained the female dynamic.

It was doomed before I ever arrived at her doorstep, but I tried to make the best of it and kept chanting it was one night over in my head like a mantra. Heather was cute as a button and easy on the eyes. I instantly felt at ease around her and convinced myself that now that I had decided against skirts, she’d end up being the one I could fit with. She took my hand when we left her house and held onto it as we parted ways at the front of the Camaro until she couldn’t maintain contact any longer. The way she smiled while holding on warmed my heart. I hadn’t put much effort into my appearance, but she had gone all out. It wasn’t so much what she wore as how she wore it. Every detail had been painstakingly addressed from the color of her nail polish—which I’d bet money was “Bastille My Heart”—to her matching wedges. Even the crystals in her earrings coordinated with the colors in her outfit…along with her handbag, which was a large Coach Poppy.

Everything about her screamed fun and playful, sweet and demure. This was the girl anyone would want to take home to meet their mom, regardless of their gender. We hadn’t had trouble finding conversation since we met online, and tonight was no different. She told me about her job as a pediatric nurse on the way to the restaurant and took every possible opportunity to touch me that presented itself. It wasn’t over the top, or obnoxious, but I was aware of each graze of her hand, every touch of her finger. The attention was nice, but it didn’t get me hot and bothered.

We’d had to park in the back of the lot, but when we got out of the car, she made sure to put her arm around my waist, which accentuated the height difference, and slid her hand into my back pocket. I had no choice but to wrap my arm around her shoulder unless I wanted to look like I had a pole shoved up my ass. And together, we walked in, circling each other. I’d never been overly into public displays of affection, but they hadn’t bothered me, either. This became uncomfortable as the other patrons gave us sneering glances and disapproving looks. One mother went so far as to pull her toddler away from my leg as though she might catch homosexuality.