Page 88 of Touch of Class

“How so?”

“Because it exhausts me to watch. Even in your vulnerability you’re perfect and earnest, and very … you.”

“Thank you?”

“It wasn’t a compliment.” Daphne paused, and Gillian wondered if she were rethinking the statement. “I mean, I’ll give you points for genuineness, and I never thought I’d say that to you of all people, but doesn’t it get exhausting to have to be so good at everything all the time?”

“Yes,” Gillian admitted.

“But you keep doing it. When we mere mortals have bad days and make mistakes—”

“I have bad days, and I’ve made mistakes.”

“But you bear them with grace and poise and a stiff upper lip, while the rest of us throw fits and wallow and throw things. You get to sit above us, and I hate that. Always have. You make me want to scream, but I know I’ll feel worse about it later to lose my cool in front of such an impenetrable fortress of a woman.”

Gillian grimaced at the characterization. She didn’t feel impenetrable. She felt the heat that she’d noticed earlier spreading in the most disconcerting way. The sight of Daphne unraveling was doing something similar to her own resolve.

“And the thing is, you’re not faking it or summoning some sort of bravado. You’re genuinely fantastic at so many things, and it pisses me right off that kissing is one of them, because I feel like you shouldn’t be. You’re uptight and kind of snobby, which should equate to cold, but then you knocked my socks off, but I think I was holding my own and maybe even leveling the playing field, but then you walked out of here with the perfect friend group, and waited the right amount of days while I’m in a tailspin, and, honestly, tell me, does that feel good?”

“Daphne?” Gillian said softly.

“No, seriously. Does it feel amazing to always be clearheaded and put together? Do you sleep amazingly at night without the replay track that the rest of us live with, constantly playing back every awkward thing we said and did? Like, you probably never waved at someone who was actually waving at someone else. Or maybe you never have the dream about failing a class you didn’t even know you were taking, because you always knew what you were doing. God, have you even ever stubbed your toe, or tripped over—”

“Daphne!” she raised her voice this time and broke through the rising monologue.

“What?”

“Shut up.”

Daphne stared at her, shock plainly playing across her features, but she didn’t argue.

Gillian felt a hint of power rising in her as this woman began to sputter.

“What, why do you … what makes you think—”

Gillian stepped forward and placed a hand squarely in the center of Daphne’s chest, and she froze, midsentence, holding very still except for the dramatic rise and fall of a sharp breath.

Dark eyes lifted to meet her own, full of questions, hesitation, and something more. It was that unspoken something that took hold of Gillian. A need welled up in her, but instead of being cowed by it this time, she allowed the desire to give her strength and a certainty she’d never possessed in Daphne’s presence.

This time she knew. This time she saw her clearly, maybe she saw both of them clearly, and she smiled slightly at the sudden simplicity of it all.

Daphne arched an eyebrow and looked for a second as if she might speak, but she didn’t get the chance before Gillian gave her a gentle shove, and she fell backward onto the bed.

It was a little push, but it felt much bigger. Gillian stood over her, enjoying the view, the pink rising in Daphne’s cheeks, the curves of her prone form, the way her softness contrasted with the sharpness she felt pressing against her insides.

Mostly, she relished being in control again. It was a position she didn’t intend to yield or hurry through. Shedding her jacket slowly, she folded it neatly in half and draped it over the back of the futon. Then, kicking the door shut behind her, she flicked the lock without her eyes ever leaving Daphne’s. They were wide, smoldering, mostly pupil now as they tracked her movements with rapt interest.

Slowly, deliberately, Gillian unbuttoned the cuffs of her white silk blouse, before running one finger along the crook of her own collar until she deftly popped open the top button there as well.

Daphne bit her lower lip and shifted on the bed. “You want any help with that?”

“No,” she said calmly. “I do not require any assistance.”

The corners of Daphne’s mouth quirked up. “Because you’ve always got everything under control?”

“I haven’t had almost anything under control since you arrived, but that’s about to change.”

Daphne’s body shuddered visibly, but her natural obstinance tried to rebound in the form of a half-hearted eye roll. “What makes you think that?”