The Lonely Hearts Club by Radclyffe

adore Andi, but I don’t understand her.”
    “Is your sister a lesbian?”
    “She is. Single, always has been, pretty much.”
    “Occupational, probably.”
    “That’s partly it.” Liz nibbled on her toast and pushed her half-eaten eggs aside. Her stomach had settled but her appetite had fled. “My parents split when we were fourteen, and we did the half a year back and forth thing until we finished high school. I think it turned her off to relationships.”
    “But not you,” Reilly stated, leaning back from her empty plate.
    “I keep trying.” Liz laughed ruefully. “Haven’t done very well so far.”
    “Like I said before,” Reilly murmured, “Julia’s an idiot.”
    “She is, isn’t she?” Liz smiled. “You’re very good for my ego.”
    “Well, you’re good for my game. Only seems fair.”
    “When’s the next one?”
    “Tomorrow afternoon.”
    The air was suddenly filled with questions, and Liz wished desperately for the answers. Had she heard an invitation? Had Reilly really been flirting with her or was the sadness that surfaced when she grew quiet a sign that her heart still belonged elsewhere? Even more importantly, am I only pretending my interest in Reilly is casual? Am I lying to myself the way I lied about what was happening with Julia all these months?
    “Want a cheering squad?” Liz asked before the voices in her head could dissuade her.
    “Yes,” Reilly said immediately.
    “Good.” Liz welcomed the swell of anticipation, something she hadn’t realized she’d been missing for far too long, not caring that all the questions still remained.

Chapter Nine

    Bren settled in front of her computer with a cup of coffee and a raspberry cheese Danish and logged onto Melanie Richards’ author blog for her Saturday morning chat. She sipped and nibbled and scanned the questions from her readers. Smiling, she answered a few of the easy ones.

    What do you wear while you’re writing?
    It depends on what I’m writing. If I’m outlining or editing, I usually choose something old and comfortable, because that’s tough work! But if Jae is going out and there’s the possibility she’ll have an exciting encounter, I might dress up in something slinky.
    Why can’t you write faster?
    Then I wouldn’t have time to talk to you, and I’d miss all this fun!

    Bren enjoyed chatting with her readers online. While the interactions struck her as personal, sometimes almost intimate, she was comfortably shielded by the anonymity not only of her pseudonym, but by the boundaries of virtual reality. When she was writing, when she was chatting with readers about her characters or plots or future plans, she was completely Melanie Richards. She loved being able to release that other part of herself—the bold, daring, sexually adventurous part. As she read the next question, Bren slowly set down her coffee cup. Everything on the screen except that single question faded.

    When is Jae going to admit that she’s waiting for a mistress to show her what she really needs?

    What astounded Bren about the question was that she’d barely known herself what was happening with Jae until the last few months. But someone had understood, someone had read between the lines. Bren wondered what she had revealed in the snippets of story she’d recently posted as teasers. What had this reader sensed about her character that she had only just realized? Had she unwittingly exposed part of herself without realizing it, too? She typed, then deleted, then typed a vague response. She read it, knew it was a cop-out, and deleted it. The blinking cursor mocked her. Her own inner voice taunted her. Are you ready to commit? Are you ready to admit where Jae is going, where you want to take her? Where you want to be?
    Someone had guessed her secret, and her discomfort was matched only by her excitement. Before she could think about it too much, she typed.

    Jae is waiting for the only woman she can trust enough to tell her secrets