Page 57 of Vengefully Matched

Priscilla’s eyes widened. “You don’t have to answer this, honey, and I’m certain I shouldn’t ask it,” she began. “But I am going to anyway, because I have had many alcohols, I have very little self-control, and frankly, I like talking to you. About everything. Anything.”

Agatha shook her head. “I haven’t,” she said softly. “I haven’t fucked a woman before.”

The server chose that precise moment to drop off several plates of food, and Agatha had never stared so hard at a well-dressed and -prepared endive.

“You’re picking a smashing one to start with,” said the server, winking, and Agatha’s mouth dropped open, a little horrified, eyes darting from the server to Priscilla and back.

“What?” The woman shrugged, adjusting her bow tie and pulling a few napkins out of her apron to set on the table next to their plates. “I call it like I see it, and you two make a fine couple. Good for the both of you, really.”

“We’re…” Agatha almost said they weren’t a couple, they were just friends, they were coworkers, but then she remembered the ruse, and also, she didn’t want to sit across from Priscilla, wanting her like this, and deny her anything—not her first name, not even a label. “We’re new,” she said, smiling shyly, and trying not to think of how honest it felt, how nice it was when Prissy threaded her fingers between hers.

The server smiled and headed back for the bar.

Priscilla turned back to her as though the conversation had never paused. “Not once? Not even before the horrid wanker?” Her voice was demanding, riddled with need.

“No. My college roommate and I would do this thing where we got drunk, and there was grinding and heavy kissing. A few times we watched porn and, you know, masturbated in the same room, or next to each other on the couch.”

“That’s not nothing,” said Priscilla, eyebrows arching. “That’s actually very gay, which it seems like you know now.”

“I mean, at the time I thought that was typical roommate behavior. I thought maybe all close friends did that.”

“You thought all close friends dry humped their friends, and stuck tongues down their throats?”

“Well, when you put it that way.”

“It doesn’t matter how you put it: it’s pretty fucking gay.”

“Well.” Agatha gestured at herself. “Here I am, pretty fucking gay, I guess. I just thought maybe it was a little too late to be honest about it for a while. And then I decided, fuck it, I get this one beautiful life, and I don’t want to waste it letting other people tell me what I am and what I am not.”

Prissy smiled. “I misjudged you too. I’m sorry for that. I thought you were a boring, stodgy straight.” She paused. “But you should know that you’d be just as queer if you’d never laid a single finger on another woman. You are who you are, regardless of your experiences.”

“Now you know the truth.” She took a dramatic drink, setting the glass down and reaching for one of the plates. The drinking was making things a bit fuzzy, and the fuzzier they got, the more convinced she was that it would be a fantastic idea to scoot closer to Priscilla, to see what it might feel like to touch her—well, more than she had before.

“And what is the truth?” Prissy trailed a lazy finger up Agatha’s arm.

“The truth is, I’m a boring, stodgy bisexual.”

Priscilla laughed, the sound of it pealing loudly, and then smiled.

“You could never be boring or stodgy. Truly.”

“Wait until you hear my hopes and dreams.” Agatha sighed. Too many of them involved color-coded planners and pens for her to be a woman of mystery and intrigue.

Priscilla laughed, and the sound was so charming. “Tell me.”

“Tell you what?” Agatha leaned in toward her voice, and the smell of her, that hint of citrus.

“Your hopes and dreams?” Prissy’s smile was special. Secret. Agatha got the feeling that she could tell this woman anything, anything at all, and she would hold it close to her heart. She would treasure it.

“Which ones?”

“Hmm.” She paused. “How about this. What’s your dream vacation?”

“A cozy cabin in the woods. Not the primitive kind, mind you: I want water and electricity, but also a roaring fire. Total hygge and total pampering. A huge bathtub, jetted, preferably. A fireplace. A mantel.” The wine made her bold. “A luxurious rug to fuck on in front of said mantel.” Goddess, she would give anything to have Priscilla Hart sprawled out on a soft sheepskin rug in front of a warm fire, maybe after a long, cold hike.

Priscilla grinned. “Glamping. Your dream is sexy glamping.”

“Why, is that awful? I worry that it’s awful.” Agatha paused. “I just feel like doing it in front of a fireplace is a bucket list item that I need to get to, but maybe it’s cliché. Stupid.”