The sound of a door opening, followed by giggling and a couple of dull thumps, jerks me awake. Great. Savannah’s roommate is back. And she’s not alone. No matter how tired I am, I never sleep deeply in strange surroundings and now my ears are hyper-attuned as I hear footsteps and a muffled whisper.
“Careful. Savannah’s sleeping.”
“Oops,” a very femme, rather tipsy sounding voice replies. “Sorry.”
“Shhh…”
“Sorry…”
Thinking about it, I can’t be positive how Savannah identifies. My gaydar pinged fairly loudly when I first noticed her and when I implied she was into women with my question about her and Jules, she went along. That isn’t proof though and I shouldn’t jump to conclusions. It does seem clear she has a queer roommate, though, and after a night of clubbing that roommate and her friend can only be here for one thing. I only hope they’ll be quiet about it.
“Fuck, Amie. I want you so bad.” The breathy words come from right outside Savannah’s door.
“Shhh. We gotta be quiet.”
Yes, please…
“Oh, yeah. Right. Sorry…”
Whoever Amie’s friend is, she sounds exactly like you’d imagine a Barbie would sound—a Barbie who’s had one too many. My hands curl at my side. A door opens and shuts. At least they’re in their room now. A breath sighs out of me. If Tipsy Barbie has gotten the message, maybe I can get back to—
The thump of two bodies hitting a mattress interrupts that happy thought. A bedframe squeaks and I can make out the unmistakable sound of sloppy kissing.
Shit! What are these walls made out of? Tissue paper?
I grind my teeth as the sloppy kissing gives way to moans. Low moans but with my senses on high alert, they might as well be in bed with us. I lie on my back, as rigid as if I’ve been turned to stone. Part of me wants to bury my head under the pillow, the rest of me is terrified if I move a muscle Savannah will wake up. She’s on the other side of the mattress, facing away from me, her gentle breathing mixed with little sweet kittenish snores.
So she does snore.
So freaking adorable. So bizarre to hear it combined with the sex noises coming through the wall.
God, what am I gonna do? I don’t dare relocate to the couch. Aside from the risk of waking Savannah, what if her roommate—Amie—decides to raid the fridge after their midnight canoodling? And—shit!—that isn’t the worst part.
The worst part is I’m getting turned on.
So wrong. So, so wrong. Perfect strangers are having sex a few feet from me and here I am, an unintentional auditory voyeur—is there a word for that?—getting slick between my legs.
I scrunch my eyes shut and bite down on my lower lip. I could jam my fingers in my ears like a little kid, but I know it won’t help. It’s been months and months since Maggie and I had sex. How long since we had good sex, I can’t even remember. Somehow, our sex life went from being great to virtually nothing, while I made excuses. Now I know the truth. Maggie cheating had thrown buckets of ice water on our relationship, leaving me alone with my vibrator. Not satisfying at all. I’m normally a pretty sexual person, in my own vanilla way. And now…
“Would you like…” Amie’s sultry voice percolates through the thin wall before dropping to a point where I can barely hear it. Then I hear the word “strap.”
Jesus! That knocks all thoughts of Maggie right out of my head.
“Oh yeah,” coos Tipsy Barbie. They’re forgetting to keep their voices down now.
“Where?”
“Y’know where.”
“Yeah, but tell me. Y’know I love to hear you say it.”
A pause. Then…
“My ass.”
My eyes involuntarily snap wide open.
“Spell it out for me, kitten.”
Another pause, but shorter this time.
“I want you to fuck my ass.”
Jesus Christ! Is this real? I mean, outside porn? Yes, I’m not a total stranger to porn, given my long dry spell but I always feel a bit icky afterwards. And now… Real people actually do this?
“Anything for you, kitten.” I hear rustling and the bedframe squeak. More rustling, a giggle and then a gasp that slides into a long, low, obscene moan. My thighs squeeze harder together. What a mistake—
“Oh God, Amie… That feels… that feels…”
Fuck, I don’t want to know how it feels. I want to be struck deaf. I still can’t move but my body is shaking without my consent. All this is happening without my consent.
“Do it, Amie. Fuck me! Fuck my—” and a sound like nnngh as I’m pretty sure Amie shoved her friend’s face into the pillow.
“Shhh! Quiet, kitten. Quiet.”
“Nnnghh… Sorry!” Dammit! Amie must’ve let Tipsy Barbie up for air. “Oh God! Oh fuck! Nnnngghh—” as Amie jams her friend’s face into the pillow again. My clit twitches. I start to leak into my panties. Except they aren’t my panties—how mortifying. My short nails dig into my palms as my hands ball into tighter fists and my breath hisses between clenched teeth.
I’m not going to touch myself. No fucking way am I going to touch myself. This is wrong, wrong, so wrong…
“Oh, Amie!” The distinctive sound of flesh slapping flesh comes clearly through the useless tissue-paper wall. Their bed creaks and groans. Being quiet is totally out the window. “Oh fuck! Amie! Harder! Fuck me harder! Oh God! Oh, Amie, I’m gonna fucking cum! Oh fuck, I’m cummming! Amie! Amie! Amieeee!”
My body jerks. I bite down so hard I think I’ll snap a molar. Oh fuck, is right…
The moans and groans hit their crescendo, the bed stops squeaking and things quiet down until all I can hear is deep, rough breathing. Thank God. My head’s swimming. Maybe they’ll pass out now. That certainly sounded intense enough to pass out from.
I glance at Savannah. She’s shifted slightly but her breathing is still deep and regular, still emitting those cute little kitten snores. How has she slept through all this? Is she that deep a sleeper? Is she just used to this?
Good lord, I so don’t want to think of that.
Things are still quiet in the other room, and I do some deep breathing exercises to relax. If they would just stay this way for a little longer, maybe I can get back to sleep.
And then…
“Roll over, baby.” Tipsy Barbie’s sex-roughened voice. “Hands and knees. It’s your turn now.”
Oh fuckety fuck. This is going to be such a long night…
♦ ♦ ♦
How I fell asleep again, I’ll never know but I wake up with soft gray morning light seeping through my closed eyelids and my face in a cloud. A glorious, soft silky cloud that smells wonderful; a warm, heady scent that makes me think of spiced chai but deeper, more subtly sweet, with an undertone that reminds me of light summer rain. A warm supple body is pressed all along my front with the swell of a round butt rubbing against my hips, while my left hand cups a firm mound with a semi-erect peak poking against my palm through a thin layer of soft cotton.
Not wanting to disturb the velvet silence by opening my eyes, I snuggle a little deeper into the delightful form and feel it turn and a hand softly caress my arm. I blink and find myself staring into the most gorgeous eyes ever.
Deep violet eyes.
“Hey, beautiful.” They crinkle at the corners with the teasing smile that parts Savannah’s full, plump lips and her voice is husky with sleep. “You didn’t tell me you were a cuddler.”
Oh SHIT! Reality rocks me like my own personal ten-point earthquake. What happened to staying in my lane!? I’m so far out of my lane, I’m nonconsensually being the big spoon to Savannah’s little spoon!
And I’ve been grinding on her ass! I’ve been groping her boob! Memories of last night—everything from my fight with Maggie to Savannah’s roommate and her friend—flatten me like an overloaded garbage truck. I try to say something but all I can get past the invisible hand crushing my throat is a strangled squeak.
“It’s okay.” Savannah leans her forehead against mine and ghosts a fingertip down my cheek. I notice the light dusting of freckles across her adorable nose and those kissable lips are so close. “To tell you the truth, I think it’s sweet.”
Oh no… I pull away and jam my face into the pillow.
She chuckles. “Sorry. Morning breath, huh?”
Right… Like someone as beautiful and sexy as Savannah could have morning breath. Or that anyone would care if she did. Me, on the other hand… I have morning breath and sleep drool going on and…
Uh oh… I just referred to Savannah as beautiful and sexy, if only in my mind.
So, so not good.
I reply with a noise that sounds too much like erfff. I guess words aren’t quite my thing yet. Then it hits me.
Savannah said Hey, beautiful. What the ever-loving fuck? Who says that to somebody they just met? Especially if that somebody is me? Sure, she said I was hot last night but she’s delusional. No, I’m not ugly—there’s parts of me I like, but hot and me don’t belong in the same sentence. Yes, we woke up in the same bed. Yes, I’d cuddled her but I think I can blame Amie and Tipsy Barbie and their escapades for that?
Speaking of Amie and Tipsy Barbie, I hope to hell they’re still asleep and will stay that way until I can get out of here. The last thing I need is to meet them.
But Savannah… We’re in bed together, I think we’ve answered whether she’s queer or not and here I am, sending the most mixed of mixed signals.
Dear God, how has this become my life?
“Did you sleep okay?” A hint of concern colors her voice. Nope, she must not have heard a thing. I do my best to nod convincingly, even though my cheeks are on fire. Thankfully, she can’t see them with me hiding.
“Yeah, fine.” My voice sounds like I’m gargling gravel.
“That’s good. I’m glad.” I feel Savannah sit up, her warmth retreating.
No, I don’t miss it a bit. Not one bit.
Shit…
“Tell you what. Why don’t I make us some coffee and you can take a shower, if you like? It’s right through there.”
With my face still in the pillow, I can’t see where “through there” is, but I’m sure I can figure it out. It’s awesome that Savannah’s bedroom has an attached bath. This way, I won’t have to risk barging into Amie and Tipsy Barbie.
Or Hung-over Barbie, which is probably worse.
“Sounds great,” I mumble. “Thank you.” Calling me “beautiful” and now making me—us—coffee. What’s going on here? This isn’t the end of a date. We haven’t had sex or even kissed. But somehow it feels like we have.
Christ, I’m a hot mess. Beyond a hot mess. Maybe she calls everyone beautiful? Maybe making coffee is just her being polite. Yeah. That would be like her.
I sit up just in time to see her ass, clad in pink-panther booty shorts, sway through the doorway. My tummy swoops at the sight and parts south tingle. No one’s ass should have a legal right to look that good.
And the way she moves… It wasn’t much of a sway—nothing too overt—just the natural grace of a born dancer. Or maybe a woman I’m beginning to think is not of this Earth.
Holy fuck… I really need to get myself under control. A shower sounds like a good start. I swing my feet out of bed and peel off the borrowed T-shirt when I see the clock on her nightstand.
7:22 AM.
Shit! Shock hammers me for the second time in one morning. It’s Thursday. I have an 8:00 AM project review. I hadn’t set an alarm because 1) my phone is dead, and 2) I was having a meltdown over Maggie and completely forgot anyway. That I didn’t sleep later is pure luck. I bolt through the door toward the kitchen where I can hear Savannah busy with the coffee.
As I burst in, she turns, smiles and blinks. That’s when I realize I’m standing here in just panties. Sticky cute panda panties. That are not mine…
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck…
She notices my expression and her smile collapses. “What’s wrong?”
“I forgot,” I stammer, pushing aside the fact I’m essentially naked in front of her. “I have a work meeting. A really important work meeting. It’s at eight.”
“Oh.” Her face registers complete understanding of my panic. “What can I do?”
“Uhhh, um…” My hands wave as if I can fan a coherent sentence out of the air. “Nothing really. Sorry. Really. I’ll just get dressed and grab a Lyft and—”
SHIT! Dead phone! Savannah doesn’t have a phone, so no app, no Lyft, no Uber. Who am I going to call? I swear, my life is about to flash before my eyes—
Savannah’s hands take a firm hold of my shoulders. I hadn’t even noticed her stepping over.
“It’s okay. It’s totally okay.” She sounds like she did last night during my meltdown. God, how bad must I look if she feels the need to do that again? “Where’s your job?”
“Tedros Analytics.” I force the words out. “Corner of 16th and Kansas.”
“Alright. I know where that is.” She lifts her hands from my shoulders. “We’ve got time. There’s the phone if you want to call someone”—she points at the landline in a niche on the kitchen counter. “I’m going to start a shower for you so it warms up. You can just hop in for a minute. Trust me, you’ll feel better.”
I’m in no shape to argue. Nodding like a robot with a short, I reach for the landline as Savannah jogs back to her room to start the shower. Dialing quickly, I listen to three rings before realizing I’ve called Casey’s cell number and she won’t know to pick up. Slapping the old-school End Call button, I dial her work desk. She answers on the first ring.
“Kaitlin Clark. How may I help you?”
“Casey, it’s me.”
“Erin?” Her voice pitches up in surprise. “What’s this number you’re calling from?”
“Long story.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Are the investors there yet?”
“Not as far as I know.”
“Has Manny been by?”
“I saw him when I got in, but no. What’s going on?”
“I might be a little late. Just a few minutes, I hope. Can you cover for me if I am?”
“Sure. But you’re gonna tell me what this is all about, aren’t you?”
“Yes. Of course. Absolutely. I gotta run. Thanks so much. Love ya. Bye.”
I hang up before I even hear Casey’s reply. Turning, there’s Savannah behind me with a slightly puzzled look on her face.
Oh… right. She just heard me tell Casey Love ya. Bye. That’s probably puzzling, under the circumstances.
“That was… uh, my best friend. We work together.” Crap! Did I just make this weirder? Could it be any weirder with me standing here displaying my tits while Savannah has nothing on but those ridiculously cute booty shorts and a threadbare T-shirt I can see the pebbled texture of her nipples through?
Get a freaking grip, Erin! You’re ten minutes from being fired and you’re staring at her nipples?
I gurgle in frustration and yank my gaze up. Pretending not to notice, Savannah hooks a thumb over her shoulder with a no-worries smile. “Shower’s ready. I’ll get dressed and then we can go.”
“Thank you.” I squeeze her arm as I breeze past her. “Thank you so much.”
♦ ♦ ♦
The shower, all three minutes of it, does me a world of good. I’m not relishing the idea of showing up in yesterday’s clothes—especially not in yesterday’s underwear—but that can’t be helped. It might be gross, but the only other option is going commando and I’m just not up for that. If people notice I haven’t changed, I’ll… I’ll think of something.
Stepping out and drying off, I grimace. What was I thinking might be gross? It’s seriously gross. And people will notice. I’m gonna have to do the walk of shame—without even having done anything shameful—and commando at that.
Fuck my life…
There’s a knock on the bathroom door. “Hey there,” Savannah’s voice filters through. “I don’t mean to presume, but if you’d like to borrow an outfit, I laid one out on the bed. I think it should fit okay, so you’re welcome to it if you want.”
Huh? Now she’s offering me something to wear? Does she even have a work-appropriate outfit? She clearly thinks she does since she knows where I work.
This is verging on freaky.
I poke my head out. Savannah’s gone. On the bed is the promised outfit: a navy-blue pencil skirt with a matching blazer, a white button-down and a clean pair of blue cotton bikini panties—no cutesy animals this time. No bra either—my boobs are no match for hers—but she’s laid out a fitted white tank. With the tank, no bra should be no problem. Even if it turns out to be, I can keep the blazer on.
Dressing in record time, I grab my heels and my dead phone and hurry to the kitchen. I’m not about to ask Savannah why she has office wear when she works as a waitress. Or how she suddenly became my personal savior. Those questions can wait until my life doesn’t seem like one ongoing… I don’t even know what. Like I’m in a snow globe that’s constantly being picked up and shaken.
Snow globes in August. Yeah, right. That makes as much sense as everything else.
“Coffee?” Savannah holds out a steaming mug to me. How had she managed to get dressed and make coffee too? She’s wearing tight faded jeans, boots, and a plaid flannel shirt with a white tank under it like mine.
I mean hers.
God, I’m messed up and Holy Hell she looks good. She’s magical. That’s all it could be—magical.
And I’m crazy. Yep, here I am, standing on my own two hands, going crazy.
“Sure.” Dropping my heels, I slip them on before accepting the cup.
“I’m afraid I’m out of cream, if you take it.”
I do, but shake my head. There’s a limit to how much perfection you can take all at once.
“No. Fine. I mean excellent. This is great.” Taking a sip, it’s hot, wet and bitter. In other words, just what I need under the circumstances.
Keys rattle as I turn to see Savannah taking them off a hook by the front door. “C’mon. Let’s get you to work.”
♦ ♦ ♦
I continue to nurse the coffee as Savannah zips down side streets and around a few inconvenient lights, once even cutting through a parking lot, on the way to my work. She still seems a little more reserved than from when we first woke up—not that she shouldn’t be reserved—but I can’t shake the feeling something’s happening here even if what it is isn’t exactly clear. But I’m so scattered…
“I, ah…” I settle the mug in my lap. “Thank you so much for everything you’ve done—you’re doing—for me. It’s really amazing. I genuinely can’t say that enough.”
Savannah looks at me and her lips bend up on one side. “Thanks but it’s really not a lot. I mean, you kinda got stuck there so of course I wanted to help. You’d do the same thing, right?”
I hide a wince. Would I? Invite a stranger into my home? Loan her an outfit? Make her coffee and drive her to work? I can’t say I would, unless she was special to me.
Am I special to Savannah? There’s been this vibe between us this morning. Unless I’m the only one feeling it? Somehow, I don’t think I’m the only one feeling it. But what do I know?
With a jolt, I wonder when was the last time Maggie did any of those things for me. I can’t recall. In the beginning, yes—we both did. But the last few years? She was always busy. To be fair, I was too. So I didn’t even bother to ask anymore. If I needed something, I got it. If I needed a ride, I arranged one. Last summer when I was afraid I might have appendicitis and went to the ER, I drove myself. It was a Saturday she was working and I wasn’t but I called her and she said she’d come by when she had a break.
She didn’t.
It wasn’t appendicitis, thank God, just super-nasty cramps from something I ate and I was checked out and home before she left the office. She came back late, nodded to me while I lay on the couch, still wrapped around a hot water bottle, and went into the kitchen to get herself dinner. Then she sat on the couch with me while she ate, talked about how stressful her day had been, got up when she finished, absentmindedly kissed the top of my head, took a bath and went to bed.
I stayed on the couch.
How had I not seen then that something was wrong? Very, very wrong. Her cheating didn’t even matter. That was the least of it. The fact is, we didn’t have a relationship to cheat on.
Savannah reaches over and squeezes my leg. “Are you okay?”
I sniff and bat at the tears that are seeping out and hanging on my lashes.
“Yeah. I’m fine. I am. It’s just been… weird.”
She gives my thigh another squeeze and I resist the urge to look at her. She’s too beautiful to look at right now. If I do, I really will cry.
“I just really want you to know I appreciate… all this. I mean… You’re a saint. I mean it.”
I hear her chuckle. “I don’t think the other saints would agree. But thank you.”
“It’s true.”
“I’m glad you think so. That makes me happy.”
We pull up to my building where T&A occupies the fifth floor and she parks in the yellow loading zone.
“We’ve arrived,” she says with that hint of theatricality she clearly gets a kick out of and checks her watch. “You’ve got six minutes. I hope that’s enough.”
“That’s perfect,” I answer, scrubbing my cheeks clean of any trace of tears. “Thank you so much. Again.”
“Got my number?”
Dammit. No, I don’t. I always just enter numbers in my phone and in my rush, I hadn’t thought to write hers down before we left.
“No I don’t, I’m afraid”—reaching for my purse. “Let me find something to write on.”
Savannah takes a sharpie out of the jeep’s center console. Good grief, she’s prepared for everything. “That’s alright. Just give me yours.”
She rolls up her flannel sleeve and, as I recite it, scrawls my number on the inside of her forearm.
“There we go.” She winks. “Can’t lose that!”
I nod and open the door to get out. “Thanks again. See you soon.”
She shoots me that off-kilter smile I’m afraid I’ll miss. “Definitely! Kill it in your meeting.”
“I’ll try.” I dash around the rear of the jeep and wave as she guns it away from the curb. She waves back, and I turn and run for the front door.