Girl Crush(6)

“Oh, well…okay then.” Disappointment lined her stunning features.

“Oh, no. I didn’t mean no I couldn’t do dinner. I’m sorry. I’d love to. Can I bring wine?”

She perked up, and that brilliant smile graced her cheeks once again. Her spine grew straight as an arrow, pushing her breasts out. “That would be fantastic. I love to cook. I hope you love to eat.”

“Far too much.” I was that woman who ran to eat. I hated running. Abhorred it. But I liked food far too much to sit idle after stuffing my face. Forty wasn’t the new twenty…not that I was forty yet.

We made plans for Friday night, and when the waitress came, Beck took the check. I watched her as she eyed me, her perfectly stained lips pursed seductively as she glanced at me from beneath heavy lids. I’d given many a man that same glance. Beck wanted me. She had paid the tab and invited me to dinner at her place.

“Thank you for the drinks. I have to admit, this has been fantastic.” It wasn’t a line. I did appreciate the drinks, and Beck was a pretty amazing first girl-girl date. If only men like her had lined my doorstep—well, men of her caliber but still male—I might not be sitting here. Thinking about this weekend, the fact that I’d managed to win over my first female, my seductive side peeked out from behind the curtain. It was Beck’s turn to give my mouth her full attention, and when I swiped my tongue across my lips, I heard her softly purr.

I slid off the seat and waited for her to join me. As she gathered her purse and I took my clutch from the table, one of the men who’d been eyeing us since I walked in approached.

“Ladies, you two looking for company this evening?”

At that moment, I realized just how sleazy members of the opposite sex truly were and was reminded of what brought me to Beck in the first place. She didn’t give me the chance to respond. With poised grace, she turned to the man and responded, “No, thank you. There’s only room for two in this party.”

She took my hand with hers, and together we owned that floor from the table to the exit. I could feel the eyes watching us, the wet dreams formulating, and the cocks hardening as we strutted out the door.

Beck walked me to my car and raised her brows in appreciation. “Nice ride.”

I might have gotten a lady boner watching her salivate—whether it was over me or the Camaro, I wasn’t sure, but it felt like a win either way. The sun had fallen, and the moon welcomed the night. Standing next to my bright-yellow sports car, with my hand still in hers, Beck leaned in and kissed my cheek. Still as a statue, I wasn’t sure how to respond. I’d be lying if I said my date hadn’t warmed my center.

She winked at me and let go of my fingers as she walked away. “Goodnight, Giselle.” Those two words had never been sung in such a beautiful chorus. “Until this weekend…” Her farewell hung in the air, and my fingers touched the spot she’d kissed on my cheekbone.

It wasn’t the flood of sexual endorphins I’d felt when a man turned me on, more like a slumber party with my girlfriends back when we thought pot was cool. My insides were warm, and a smile clung to my lips the entire way home.



*

I knew I would probably get Ronnie in trouble, but Trish would have to get over it. Surely, from one lesbian to another, she could appreciate the newness of the situation.

“Hey, Giselle. Hang on. I’ll get Veronica.” I wondered why Trish answered her phone if she was so put off by people actually calling the person it belonged to, but I kept my mouth shut and waited.

“So, how’d it go? Your lips still wet from your first muff?”

Of course, my friend had to turn this into a locker room chat. “No, heifer. We had drinks. It was nice.”

“Then why do you sound so unsure?”

“She paid the bill.”

“She digs you. And if you let her, I assume you thought she was pretty kinky, too.”

I rolled my eyes. In the last two weeks, my best friend had gone from this well-put-together, gorgeous woman to a horny teenager with a crass mouth. “We’re having dinner on Friday. She’s cooking.”

“Wow.”

Here’s where things got sticky. Since my divorce, I wasn’t interested in relationships. I rarely saw the same guy more than twice, and that only happened if he was really good in bed. I didn’t care what people thought—men had done it for decades, and I was enjoying my sexual freedom as I neared the prime of my life. If that made me a slut, at least I was a well-satiated floozy.

“Oh, stop. I don’t have a clue what I’m doing here. It’s not like things with guys.”

“You might want to figure it out quickly. A woman who bought your drinks and offered to cook your dinner is either a leprechaun or a hag. One doesn’t exist and the other you’ll wish didn’t.”

“Can you stop for a minute and focus?”

“Sure. What are we focusing on? Did she catfish you? She was ugly, wasn’t she? I bet she stole her profile picture off some modeling website. Women do that—”

“Jesus, Ronnie. Shut up. She was gorgeous. And charming. And her boobs were so perky they have to be fake. I meant to ask her about her lipstick. It was the perfect shade and looked like she’d just applied it even after she kissed me.”

“Whoa! What? She kissed you? Was there tongue involved?”