Page 18 of Life, Love, and Other Messes

I glanced sideways at her.

“Yeah, I’ve read you. You write a good sex scene.”

I leaned my head back against the wall and closed my eyes. “Shit.”

“Come on. You were always going to be a writer. Everybody knew that.”

That made me feel a little better. “So what have you been up to?”

“Twelve years in the army.”

I stared at her. Not only was that surprising, but when she’d moved, a delicate citrus scent had wafted over me. There wasn’t a law against butch lesbians wearing perfume, but it made the nervous twinge come back. “Really? The army?”

“Don’t ask, don’t tell.”

I couldn’t imagine anyone needing to ask. “Since then?”

“I followed a chick to Montana for a while…That was a bad idea. I’ve pretty much been here ever since.”

“It’s not a bad place to be.”

She threw me a tiny smile to tell me I was far more transparent than I knew. “I’ve mostly been doing computer work for the county since then. Did some landscaping on the side for a while, but it was too much to juggle.”

“That’s hard work.”

She shrugged. “Taught me a lot of useless things.”

“Like what?”

“Like their turf looks good, but their beds need mulching and their azaleas are covered in aphid urine.”

“What?”

“The spots?”

“Aphid piss?”

“Uh-huh.”

“That’s really disgusting.”

Silence. My heart had started to pound, and the alcohol only served to magnify my imbalanced feelings. First of all, it always made me nervous and flushed when someone said they’d read my books. It was what I’d always wanted, yes, but it still felt like I was standing naked in front of her. I had the feeling that she rather liked that, and I was right.

“I don’t know if you knew this, but I had a huge crush on you back in school.”

“I did not.”

“Probably shouldn’t have said anything.” She smiled bashfully at her beer bottle. “That was stupid.”

“No, really, it’s okay. I’m flattered.” I squinted past the ducks again, wondering if this evening could possibly become any more awkward. I tipped the last of my wine into my mouth and swallowed carefully, wondering what I was supposed to say next. Here I was, sitting outside on the ground with the world’s butchest substitute bridesmaid, while my mother was surely badmouthing me to anyone who would listen. That idea, as depressing as it seemed twenty minutes prior, struck me funny all at once. That sparked a tiny sense of rowdy, naughty possibility, and once it was there, it became impossible to ignore. There truly was nothing in the world more attractive than a person admitting her illicit crush on you.

“What?”

I jerked out of my own musings and felt my face go hot. “What what?”

“You’re smiling.”

So was Smash-and-Grab, in a yummy, teasing sort of way. I looked away fast. “Never. It’s just your imagination.”