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“Take the woman my dress.” Natalia pointed to the rain-soaked garment hanging behind the closed door in the small room. “Ask her to find something like that,” she explained the obvious through gritted teeth. “And remember, I’m going for elegant. Not mother of the bride.”
The girl nodded emphatically. Tossing the horrendous options over her shoulder before lunging for Natalia’s dress, grubby hands outstretched.
“Gentle with the Balenciaga,” Natalia warned before the girl could grab the dress with her teeth and run back to join her feral pack in the woods.
It took three more attempts, but she finally returned with something suitable. Natalia wouldn’t usually wear such a simple black dress, but the cut was rather elegant upon closer inspection, and the fabric was of acceptable quality. The fact that she had reservations to meet Samantha at eight after not having seen her for two weeks and had no choice but to find something near the salon, or wear her ruined clothes, definitely did not influence her acceptance of the dress.
After slipping the girl a hundred-dollar bill for her trouble, Natalia stepped into the salon’s shower — usually reserved for use after full body treatments — and slipped into a robe so a team could descend upon her and do hair, nails, toes, and makeup all at once.
She emerged from the salon with ten minutes to get to the restaurant and congratulated herself on choosing a place on Miracle Mile only a few doors down. In the lethal stilettos she’d luckily left in the trunk of her car after her last pedicure, Natalia strolled toward the restaurant, grateful that the rain had finally stopped.
Meeting for dinner only hours after Samantha returned from her lecture tour was too soon. Natalia knew it, but it was part of her plan. Samantha was a song stuck in her head, and the only way to shake the intrusive snippets was to listen to the entire thing. All she had to do was have sex with Samantha again. That would cure her and she could go on with her regularly programmed life. She had no time to waste.
It was a solution that appeared to Natalia on a sleepless night last week. Her focus had been compromised, and she vowed to correct it. If indulging one last time is what it took, then so be it.
The restaurant was a bog-standard American place with too much dark wood, not enough light, and a bar that took up half the sprawling space. Even though she preferred establishments that didn’t need to use happy hour specials to lure in bankers and lawyers, the food was adequate and the drinks were strong.
She opted for a spot at the bar so that Samantha wouldn’t mistake their meeting for a date. Despite her constant jokes to the contrary, Natalia was sure that Samantha understood the limitations of their… partnership.
Taking the liberty, Natalia ordered them both Manhattans and a few small plates to share. If Samantha had any lingering doubts that this was not a date, the clear signal that Natalia was not ordering dinner would dispel them.
Natalia was responding to a client’s message when she felt Samantha enter the restaurant. That alone should have clued her into the fact that she’d miscalculated, but she was still secure in her plan when she looked up from her phone. Still convinced that she’d designed the perfect solution.
Striding toward her in a black sweater — with the sleeves pushed up so she wouldn’t miss her tattoos — and jeans, Samantha had also obviously left the hairdresser. Cut super low on the sides, her quaff was more dirty blonde than platinum and combined with new black-rimmed glasses, made her look heart-stoppingly good.
That’s okay. The fact that seeing Samantha caused a thousand volts to run through her was to be expected. It was down to the sexual attraction and time apart. That’s all it was. No reason to read more into it. Definitely no reason to panic or second-guess the plan.
“My God,” Samantha sighed, bright eyes locked on hers as she neared. Natalia considered getting up, but her legs had somehow gone numb. “You look incredible.” Running her palm over the small of Natalia’s back, Samantha enveloped her in warmth and the addictive scent of her cologne before shocking the thoughts out of her head and kissing her.
It wasn’t a kiss on the cheek, or even a chaste peck on the lips appropriate for a public setting. It was the kind of kiss often accompanied by a dramatic dip. A kiss suited for greeting a soldier returning from war, or meeting a long-distance love for the first time.
With one hand on Natalia’s jaw holding her too gently, Samantha kissed her like she was handling something precious. The kiss wasn’t meant to claim or overpower. It did something much worse than that. It gave Natalia the foreign sensation of coming home. Samantha kissed her not to take, but to give — to pour every drop of affection she’d been storing up during their measly thirteen days apart.
“Hi,” Samantha whispered against her lips before plopping down next to her.
The ambient noise came rushing back all at once like the tide leaving miles of beach dry during a hurricane, only to return with punishing intensity later. It was jarring and added to the lump developing in her throat.
“Calamari,” a server said before stretching her hand between them. The sound of the plate hitting the bar top acted like fingers snapping to break hypnosis. Natalia was back in her body. The kiss still lingered on her lips, but she refused to touch them. Refused to show Samantha that she’d guessed her move incorrectly yet again.
“You ordered without me,” Samantha said while picking up her glass, eyes brimming with excitement and happiness like she had no intention of concealing her feelings. “How forward.” She smiled. “I hope you didn’t toast on your own.”
Natalia rolled her eyes because she was still trying to figure out how they’d gone from combustible to heat to… sweet. Natalia wasn’t sweet, and it was insulting for Samantha to think so.
Undeterred, like usual, Samantha held up her glass. Her warm eyes searched Natalia’s, a hint of uncertainty flickering through her playful confidence. She was waiting for Natalia’s reaction, gauging whether she’d crossed some unspoken boundary.
Natalia straightened in her seat, gathering the shattered pieces of her unapproachable facade. “Well, you’re certainly eager this evening,” she said coolly, hoping her tone betrayed nothing of the turmoil within.
“Why don’t you do the honors tonight?” Samantha watched her expectantly.
Natalia reached for her Manhattan, hoping the burn of whiskey would scorch away the lingering ghost of Samantha’s kiss. The one that had felt dangerously close to a promise. A question. “To drinking alcohol and eating food.”
“And here I thought you’d celebrate my academic exploits across many an Ivy League campus.” Samantha laughed, eyes disappearing. “Or maybe toss me a welcome home, babe.”
Glasses clinking, Natalia kept her attention trained on Samantha. Did anything ever faze her? Did she practice cute quips in the shower? An ill-timed image of Samantha with her head tossed back and rinsing shampoo out of her hair crashed into an unprepared Natalia.
“So needy,” Natalia said before taking refuge in her drink.
Samantha took a hearty gulp and set her glass down. She focused on Natalia like she’d set every sense to the task. “Why don’t we stop playing, Natalia?”
