Page 100 of Touch of Class

Gillian sighed. “With Daphne, there’s always a next time.”

“I can’t believe you invited her to family movie night without asking me,” Daphne huffed from her perch atop the kitchen counter.

“And I can’t believe you slept with her and didn’t call me,” Hugh shot back without even turning around from his post at the stove.

“I told you the next afternoon,” she whined. “I was still processing. I would’ve told you eventually.”

“Every time either of us sleeps with someone new, we call or at least text each other right away. I’ve texted you from the other person’s bathroom.”

She chuckled. “Only when they’re bad, or into weird stuff.”

“Like the guy with the fetish for—hey, don’t change the subject. You’ve never played it this close to the vest with me. I get more gossip from Izzy.”

“Izzy’s gossiping about me and Gillian?”

“She doesn’t realize it’s gossip, but she said you two are weird together, and you have all these tense conversations and that Gillian’s very serious about you. Also, she mentioned you held onto each other tightly on the toboggan.”

Daphne suffered a pang of arousal as she remembered Gillian wrapped around her on the sled, and the memories it had sparked about her wrapped around her in bed. Gillian’s body was everything she could want and more, strong, long, sexy.

“See.” Hugh pointed at her with a spatula. “That’s what I’m talking about. You’re daydreaming about this woman.”

“Am not.”

“You are, and there’s nothing wrong with that. She’s fantasy stuff in lesbian circles.”

“You don’t know lesbian fantasies.”

“I saw, like, four episodes of The L-Word, and she could totally be a character in some sapphic ice queen thing.”

Daphne wanted to deny it, but even her avoidance skills weren’t that strong.

“Why are you pretending she hasn’t rocked your world?”

“Because I’m not sure I’m ready to have my world rocked. I just got back to a good place. I’m happy at work and home. Plus, Izzy’s in a good place. I don’t want to mess that up, and Gillian has the power to mess me up. I liked it better when we had good barriers between us to protect me. Like, snooty-office Gillian across the hall was one thing, but sexy Gillian in my space is another, and playful, snow-day Gillian is something else, and family-movie-night Gillian …” She shook her head. “I’m not sure I’m ready to let a woman like her into my real life.”

He killed the burner on the stove and turned to face her fully, his expression softer than before. “She’s already there, Babe. You can try to compartmentalize her or fraction her off into easy-to-digest bites, but you two work together, your friend groups are the same, and now you’re sleeping together. Also, in case you hadn’t noticed, Izzy is low-key obsessed with her.”

Daphne’s stomach tightened. She had noticed. “Which is all the more reason not to invite her into our home life. I don’t know what’s happening between us. I haven’t had a chance to think things through, much less articulate anything to Gillian, and who even knows what she’s thinking or what she wants next?”

“There’s a way to find out. Have you tried talking to her? I mean, isn’t that what your people do? Talk things to death? Overthink? Analyze your emotions into oblivion?”

“That’s a stereotype.”

“She’s a therapist, and you’re a professional cuddler. I think the trope’s well-earned.”

“Maybe,” she admitted grudgingly, and to be fair, she got the sense Gillian might’ve been willing to talk after they’d had sex, but then things went off the rails as they so often did. “I’m not sure we know how to talk to each other without our armor up, and until we figure it out, it’s dangerous for any of us to get too attached. I’m not even sure I can trust her.”

“Her?” Hugh pushed gently. “Are you sure that’s how you want to end that sentence?”

She furrowed her brow and replayed her last comment. “I think so.”

“I think not,” he said. “I’ve met basically every woman you’ve been even remotely interested in, and not one of them struck me as more imminently trustworthy than Gillian. I believe, deep down, you know that, too, or you wouldn’t have slept with her in the first place. She made you feel safe enough to try again, which means you inherently recognize she is trustworthy, which in turn suggests it’s not trusting her that worries you. It’s trusting yourself.”

The assessment hit her so sharply, she hopped off the counter and began to pace. “Are you serious? She’s about to walk through the door to our home because you invited her, and you pick this moment to drop something like that on me?”

He grimaced. “The timing’s not my best, but you have to concede my question is valid.”

“I concede nothing.” She threw her hands in the air. “And I’d like to retrospectively say this is why I didn’t call you right after we slept together. All the questions addling my own brain are enough to contend with. I don’t need you piling on to confusion and insecurity. And if I wanted to be analyzed, I don’t need to take comments from the peanut gallery. I could walk across the hall at work and open literally any door to find someone more qualified.”