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The tension dropped from Reagan's shoulders as she laughed. "I didn't know I was making it seem that way.
That's not my intention." She dried her hands and returned
to hold both of Libby's hands. “I’m just trying to be empathetic.”
As soon as they touched, Libby relaxed too. "I'm not trying to pretend I know exactly what I'm doing, but technical skill has very little to do with satisfying a partner.”
Reagan smiled. “I’m glad you feel that way. There’s nothing worse than getting all in your head about that.”
“But it is a big next step emotionally. At least for me,” she admitted as her stomach churned. “I don’t want to freak you out by throwing the L word out there, but I know myself enough to know that I personally can’t engage that part of myself without it.” Libby rested her head against Reagan’s shoulder. “And I’m still a little terrified of getting hurt again.
Sometimes I worry I’ll never be able to fully let go.”
Warmth flooded her body as Reagan wrapped her arms around her and held her so tightly it was like nothing in the world could get to her. Libby wanted more than anything to live in this space. In the safety and all-encompassing happiness of being with Reagan.
“Relationships are chaos and risk by definition. I’m sure you know that well. We can never truly know another person’s thoughts and intentions with a hundred percent certainty. When we hand over our heart and say please don’t break it, we do it with no guarantee that the person we’ve entrusted it to won’t be negligent or cruel or grow bored.
Anything that comes with such a loss of control is inherently terrifying. Not to mention it’s hard to hand it over once it’s been mistreated.”
Libby’s closed eyes welled up with tears. “That’s so beautifully put. Maybe you should be a love guru.”
Reagan’s chuckle rumbled in her chest, vibrating against Libby’s body like thunder in a cloudy sky. “Nah, I leave that up to the experts. But I will get you some dinner. There’s a
Thai place on Main Street that’s pretty good. We can get something to eat, walk around, maybe get some ice cream.”
“That sounds really nice,” she agreed before looking up at Reagan’s soft expression. “But I think I want to stay in your sweats as long as humanly possible. How about we make something?”
There was no hiding the dimpled smile that sprouted on Reagan's face. "I thought you didn't really cook."
"I don't. Maybe your kitchen inspired me," she replied, unable to hold her poker face for longer than a few seconds.
"Ha! Yeah right. My tiny kitchenette really makes you want to stretch your Julia Child muscles," she joked.
"Maybe I want to make something for you, okay? Don't be so di cult," she responded, feigning irritation.
"Okay, okay. I won't look a gift horse in the mouth. Let's go see what I have."
A few minutes later, Reagan was in the shower alone and Libby was trying really hard not to picture what she looked like. Showers had been particularly tempting over the last few days, and she had to talk herself out of slipping in behind her every time. Now, as she prepared a frozen pizza in a tiny oven which totally counted as cooking, it was especially hard not to give in to her desires.
Looking for a spatula to rotate the pizza browning on one side, Libby opened a couple of drawers in the makeshift kitchen. She wasn't expecting to find a handful of checks stashed on top.
"What the heck?" Libby picked up the familiar papers.
They were checks she'd issued pursuant to their agreement.
She flipped them over. None of them had been signed.
Confused, Libby grabbed her cell phone and pulled up her business bank account. Ignoring the lower than usual balance, she filtered for certain check numbers. It only took a minute to confirm her suspicions. The checks hadn't been
cashed. The only ones Reagan had deposited were from the very beginning. Libby searched her memory. Based on her guess, she'd stopped getting paid sometime after the gala.
Waiting for the water to finally shut o , Libby paced the small apartment. By the time Reagan emerged from the bathroom, she was nearly ready to pounce.
"Why haven't you cashed these?" She waved the checks in Reagan's face, which was covered in the water droplets dripping from her wet hair.
“Do you think I can get dressed before you interrogate me?" Reagan asked, not appearing particularly bothered by the question.
Libby turned around to let Reagan change from towel to the shorts and t-shirt she'd set out. The tiny bathroom was too small to dress in.
