if she
even notices.
I let myself relax. My knee touches hers and I can
feel the heat of her skin on mine. The threads of the rent in her
fishnets tickle as I shift against her. She glances up at me.
“This is good,” she says in a low
voice before taking a sip of her cooling coffee. I wait for her to
say something more, but she doesn’t. She continues to
read.
I trace the grain of the tabletop and circle a knot
in the wood. She should be getting to the first encounter now,
where Lucie and I had made love in her tiny studio apartment, on a
bed that creaked and shook with age.
She’d kissed me hard, her tongue in my mouth, her
lips demanding. We’d stripped off each other’s clothes in our
haste, just enough to feel skin on skin. I’d rolled her tight jeans
down over pale hipbones, cupped my hands over the globes of her
buttocks, dipped my hand teasingly between her legs, her dark curls
tickling my fingers.
When she’d had enough of my teasing, Lucie had
pushed up my skirt, pulled down my panties and buried her head
between my thighs, her mouth closing around my bud. What I wouldn’t
give to do the same to Vee.
I shift in my chair and Vee glances up at me, her
lips parted. I can see the tip of her tongue, pink and enticing.
She adjusts her position and I feel her hand slide across my knee.
She goes back to her reading, but her fingers stroke my skin in
slow circles. I try to casually sip my coffee, but I can hardly
manage to swallow a mouthful.
The minutes stretch out, broken only by the sound of
Vee turning the pages of the notebook. Finally, finally she
finished the last page.
“Do you have more?” she asks. She
lays a hand on the black cover.
I manage to answer, though my throat is dry and the
words come out as more of a croak.
“Not here.”
“Could I read more tonight?” Vee’s
hand on my knee stills and I can feel the increase in
pressure.
“I live nearby.” My language
faculty has shrunk to the basics at the thought of taking her back
to my apartment.
“I know.” She grins. “Your address
is on file at work. I walk by there sometimes on my way to the
subway, but I’ve never seen you.”
“I stay in, usually. You should
have buzzed. I’d have let you in.”
“You will tonight.” She meets my
gaze directly, confirming what I had hoped.
I push back from the table and stand. I can’t bear
waiting; the anticipation until now has been agonizing. Vee rises
with me, scooping up the notebook. Our fingers brush as she hands
it to me, and I want to take her hand.
We leave the cafe and she does take my hand as we
stroll down the sidewalk, skirting around the bags of garbage left
out by the restaurant next door. I inadvertently squeeze her hand
as I spot a rat huddled among the bags. Vee laughs.
“Should I save you from the scary
rat?” she teases me.
“Distract me instead,” I suggest.
She tugs me into a darkened doorway so abruptly that I nearly lose
my balance. Her slender body is surprisingly strong. I feel her
warm breath caress my face. We are of a height and her lips hover
inches from mine.
“Better?” she whispers. Her mouth
comes down on mine and her hand slides under my jacket to cup my
breast and I forget everything but her. She pins me against the
wall and the hard corner of the new notebooks in my purse dig into
my ribs. I know what story I will tell on its pages. The story of
Vee.
Heart of
Glass
“Sherry?”
Vee looks at me askance, a brow raised. “Are you
sure you’re the same woman from your notebook?”
I flush. That me, the one she’d read about in the
coffee shop half an hour ago, was many years past.
“I didn’t think punk chicks liked
sherry,” she continues, resting her hand on the back of the leather
chair that faces the small fireplace in my apartment. The blue and
black polish on her fingernails is chipped, her hands reddened from
the chill walk home. Her legs in their raggedy fishnet stockings
have pinkened from their usual pale
even notices.
I let myself relax. My knee touches hers and I can
feel the heat of her skin on mine. The threads of the rent in her
fishnets tickle as I shift against her. She glances up at me.
“This is good,” she says in a low
voice before taking a sip of her cooling coffee. I wait for her to
say something more, but she doesn’t. She continues to
read.
I trace the grain of the tabletop and circle a knot
in the wood. She should be getting to the first encounter now,
where Lucie and I had made love in her tiny studio apartment, on a
bed that creaked and shook with age.
She’d kissed me hard, her tongue in my mouth, her
lips demanding. We’d stripped off each other’s clothes in our
haste, just enough to feel skin on skin. I’d rolled her tight jeans
down over pale hipbones, cupped my hands over the globes of her
buttocks, dipped my hand teasingly between her legs, her dark curls
tickling my fingers.
When she’d had enough of my teasing, Lucie had
pushed up my skirt, pulled down my panties and buried her head
between my thighs, her mouth closing around my bud. What I wouldn’t
give to do the same to Vee.
I shift in my chair and Vee glances up at me, her
lips parted. I can see the tip of her tongue, pink and enticing.
She adjusts her position and I feel her hand slide across my knee.
She goes back to her reading, but her fingers stroke my skin in
slow circles. I try to casually sip my coffee, but I can hardly
manage to swallow a mouthful.
The minutes stretch out, broken only by the sound of
Vee turning the pages of the notebook. Finally, finally she
finished the last page.
“Do you have more?” she asks. She
lays a hand on the black cover.
I manage to answer, though my throat is dry and the
words come out as more of a croak.
“Not here.”
“Could I read more tonight?” Vee’s
hand on my knee stills and I can feel the increase in
pressure.
“I live nearby.” My language
faculty has shrunk to the basics at the thought of taking her back
to my apartment.
“I know.” She grins. “Your address
is on file at work. I walk by there sometimes on my way to the
subway, but I’ve never seen you.”
“I stay in, usually. You should
have buzzed. I’d have let you in.”
“You will tonight.” She meets my
gaze directly, confirming what I had hoped.
I push back from the table and stand. I can’t bear
waiting; the anticipation until now has been agonizing. Vee rises
with me, scooping up the notebook. Our fingers brush as she hands
it to me, and I want to take her hand.
We leave the cafe and she does take my hand as we
stroll down the sidewalk, skirting around the bags of garbage left
out by the restaurant next door. I inadvertently squeeze her hand
as I spot a rat huddled among the bags. Vee laughs.
“Should I save you from the scary
rat?” she teases me.
“Distract me instead,” I suggest.
She tugs me into a darkened doorway so abruptly that I nearly lose
my balance. Her slender body is surprisingly strong. I feel her
warm breath caress my face. We are of a height and her lips hover
inches from mine.
“Better?” she whispers. Her mouth
comes down on mine and her hand slides under my jacket to cup my
breast and I forget everything but her. She pins me against the
wall and the hard corner of the new notebooks in my purse dig into
my ribs. I know what story I will tell on its pages. The story of
Vee.
Heart of
Glass
“Sherry?”
Vee looks at me askance, a brow raised. “Are you
sure you’re the same woman from your notebook?”
I flush. That me, the one she’d read about in the
coffee shop half an hour ago, was many years past.
“I didn’t think punk chicks liked
sherry,” she continues, resting her hand on the back of the leather
chair that faces the small fireplace in my apartment. The blue and
black polish on her fingernails is chipped, her hands reddened from
the chill walk home. Her legs in their raggedy fishnet stockings
have pinkened from their usual pale
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