Page 92 of Touch of Class

Nineteen

Gillian awoke slowly, incompletely. Her eyes struggling to function ahead of her brain. The room was completely black, no lights, no window, no clock. The complete visual deprivation should’ve been unsettling, but before she had a chance to form any sense of disorientation, she became aware of a warm body curled along her side.

Daphne.

Everything came rushing back. She replayed the events of the night in fast-forward, as the sensations of the present moment soaked through her. Daphne’s head was on her chest, one of her legs thrown over one of Gillian’s. She tightened her arm around her on pure instinct. This warmth curled cozily into the crook of her arm was much more than physical. There was a deeper level of soothing that shouldn’t have been possible. Neither should the restfulness working through her. She must have slept deeply, and for some time, but how?

Certainly, the sex had saturated her system, but more than that was the comfort that came after. Daphne had crawled up beside her and curled around her. She’d kissed her bare shoulder and pulled up a down comforter over them both. Then she’d snuggled in, the human embodiment of comfort and quiet closeness, as if that were the most natural thing in the world for them. Honestly, that peaceful presence had been more of a shock to her system than the sex.

Gillian had been aware for some time that this could completely unsettle her physically, but she had not expected, nor even thought herself capable of, the peace she’d experienced in the afterglow. Or maybe she hadn’t thought herself capable of accepting it, because here in the silent stillness of a space cultivated for comfort, it was clear Daphne had been prepared to offer it since the moment she’d arrived.

“Are you awake?” Daphne whispered.

She nodded and pulled her a little closer on pure instinct. “What time is it?”

“No idea,” Daphne admitted.

Gillian couldn’t make out all her features, but she relished the wisp of unruly curls against her cheek, the brush of lips to her chest, the curve of a breast against her side. She’d fought so hard not to look too closely at Daphne’s body, but now that it was pressed against her, she couldn’t imagine finding the strength to pull away. “I forgot what this felt like.”

“What?”

“Lying with someone wrapped around you. Quiet, still, spent, with nowhere to go and no rush to get there.”

“I do that every day,” Daphne said. “Aside from the ‘spent’ part. That’s new with you.”

“Very new,” Gillian admitted, then tried to flip through her internal calendar. “I can’t remember the last time. Is that horrible? It must’ve been … years.”

“Since you were with someone like this?”

Gillian nodded. She wasn’t sure she’d even been with anyone quite like this, but certainly it had been years since she’d gotten close enough to share both the physical high and emotional release she’d surrendered to tonight. For some reason, she felt the need to defend that fact. “I’ve been busy.”

“Too busy to get busy?” Daphne laughed.

Gillian smiled into the darkness. “Maybe not too busy for sex, but it’s so rarely just sex … unless, of course, you’re Robin or Sawyer.”

“Who among us is?” Daphne said lightly. “Though it must’ve caught up with even them at some point.”

Gillian grimaced, remembering the morning it had. “I guess that’s kind of my point. There are so many other things to consider than the physicality of attraction. There are big emotions, obviously, but also little risks and inconveniences, time and energy, dating apps, coffee dates that feel like eternity. Guessing games, mind games, expectations, and explanations. I could go on ten dates without ever experiencing a single spark worth pursuing. Ten wasted evenings I could’ve been doing something meaningful.”

“And by meaningful, you mean work-related?”

Had she? It didn’t take her long to fully consider the question. “Probably most of the meaning in my life is work-related, at least tangentially. I like what I do. I like the people I do it with, and the hours I spend here almost always leave me feeling proud or productive.”

“Unlike the hours you spend in the dating pool, which may or may not.”

“Exactly. The return on investment is just better at the office.”

Daphne laughed, the sound filling the small room. “I think you may be the first lesbian in history to describe dating in terms of an ROI analysis.”

Gillian sighed. “I hear it, I do. I’m not some soulless, emotionless—”

“I would never imply—”

“You have, and I get it,” Gillian said quickly. “I know I’ve hidden behind my blank-slate training with you, but it’s not because I felt nothing. It’s because I felt so many things, and after the last few years, it has felt increasingly imperative for me to keep a clear and level head when that happens.”

“You’ve alluded to the last few years a couple times. I’m not sure I understand because from the outside I see no signs of carnage. You have a successful business that appears to be thriving. Your friends are amazing and happy. You seem healthy and put together. What great tragedy has befallen you in that time frame?”

“No great tragedy,” she said immediately, but then had a hard time figuring out how to follow up or explain more. “There wasn’t any single event that broke me. More like a chain of … I don’t know … one thing after another of things that shook me, that made me question, that got under my skin and built on each other and rattled me like … a series of provocations.”