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Rhea sat back in her office chair, fingers steepled before her face as she contemplated the words she had written. Something was off about them. They didn’t quite catch what she had seen the other night on her wife’s face.
“Crap.” She backspaced over the last sentence. “More crap.” She turned it into a tiny song, a new beat every time she tapped the certain key beneath her pinky. “Crap. Crap.Craaap.”
Rhea was already critical of her writing, as evident every time she profusely apologized to her critique partner for what she imparted upon them that month. A part of her figured that saying sorry up front would make up for any shortcomings in her work because there wereplenty.She used too many adverbs. She failed to capture the emotional bond between people, only the aftermath of what they had done to each other. Even her editor, who was usually her biggest cheerleader, gently chastised Rhea for never fleshing out the heart of the character or properly setting up the coming scenes. She liked to get straight to the action, and that included this spicy piece of erotica she attempted to write for her own amusement. Or to publish online under an anonymous pen name if she could get away with it. She’d have to check her publisher’s rights of first refusals again. It might not cover something as scandalous as this.
Skanky. It’s fuckin’ skanky.Could Rhea write that in a book? Or would it kill the mood?
It was nearly noon, anyway, and she had agreed to meet up with Roxy at the corner coffee shop for lunch. Normally, Roxy wasn’t anywhere near this part of Santa Monica during the week but a doctor’s appointment had brought her into Rhea’s sphere that day. Why would she say no to lunch with a friend? Especially with writer’s block kicking her ass?
So she logged out of her computer and turned off the monitor before grabbing her phone and wallet. It was another hot summer day in Southern California, but the Pacific breeze was cool enough to send Rhea out in both a pair of denim shorts and a long-sleeved shirt that kept her warm in the air-conditioned chill of her house. She donned a baseball cap to protect her scalp before heading out in a pair of brand-new Adidas she picked up at an estate sale the weekend before.The things people throw away without ever using them.
She had gone to that estate sale with Roxy, who lived for those things. Hell, Roxy was wearing the Vivienne Westwood blouse she had scored at the same sale when she walked through the coffee shop door and waved to her friend in the corner.
Their lattes matched perfectly with their paninis and the giant piece of coffee cake they decided to split so they wouldn’t “spoil their dinners.” Something said with laughter on their lips as if that was the most stereotypically feminine thing about them.We love our sweets. We don’t wanna get fat.Between the two of them, Rhea was the most masculine-looking one that day. Already, the barista had noted her outfit, her flat chest, and the unwaxed hair on her upper lip and referred to her as “sir.” Never mind Paige always said that her wife stood “like such a woman,” whatever that meant.Apparently, nothing much.At least Roxy had a fresh and girlish pixie cut to go with her flamboyant blouse and nails painted a deep, bold red. When Roxy embraced her more feminine side, it was no contest: she was one of the most gorgeous women to stroll through Santa Monica in wide-legged pants and a purse strap on her arm.
When she went masculine, though… even Paige had commented she might want to wife swap with Jeanette. One day. It was just a joke.Sure, Paige.Maybe a few months ago Rhea would have believed that, but now?
Ha! If only Roxy knew.
“Does your publisher know about this book you’re writing?” Roxy asked between bites of her spinach and mushroom panini. “The one that’s going to light whole shelves on fire when some unsuspecting bookstore employee places it there?”
“It’s not coming along that great. And no. They have no idea. I haven’t brought it up.”
“I don’t suppose this is one of Dr. Seville’s exercises?”
“What? Writing erotica? Maybe. I haven’t looked at it lately. Paige isallover that instead.”
“Jeanette had mentioned something about that.”
Rhea leaned back in her booth, eyebrow arched. “Do I want to know what’s gotten back to you via a game of telephone?”
Roxy grinned through her napkin. She wasn’t wearing lipstick, but even if she was? It would have been impeccable after eating a panini and drinking a latte. Roxy always sprung for the best quality of everything.It’s what you can do when you grow up in a rich family.Rhea had always gotten along well with Roxy, but it was no secret at their school who were the “legacy” girls and who were there on a scholarship. Some girls, like Jocie, made such a scene with their “low class” mannerisms they were eventually expelled. Others, like Rhea, kept their heads down and quietly made friends with other low-key girls like Roxy.Possibly slept with some of them.Roxy hadn’t been her first, but she was the one that made Rhea realize she really,reallyliked girls. Like, a lot.
Best thing about Catholic boarding school.All the girls. All thehornygirls! Rhea still felt like she never took full advantage of anything. Not like Paige, who would have dominated the heat levels at school.
That was something Roxy and Rhea liked to reminisce about when they met up, just the two of them. Their romantic history was so far behind them that either one was likely to forget when it was inevitably brought up again. Jeanette loved teasing them about it. Paige wasn’t interested in the details. Which worked for Rhea, because Roxy wasn’t the only friend she had slept with back in school.Don’t get me started on what Loren did to my very gender identity.Loren was as straight-laced as Roxy on the surface, but once the nuns weren’t looking, Little Miss Valedictorian went through more girls than her current girlfriend Jocie.
I wonder what that’s like… to get with someone you went to school with all those years ago.Rhea only knew what it was like to stay with your college sweetheart.
“I’ve heard some things…” Roxy’s voice brought Rhea back to the present, where indie pop played on the radio and a healthy mix of LA professionals and studying students populated the noisy booths around them. “Namely that Paige has gone straight to Tier Three and wants to tie you up and spank you all night. Girl, get out of my bedroom on a normal Saturday night. You’re givingmywife more ideas.”
Rhea was blushing long before her friend stopped talking. “It’s not like that,” she hissed. “I mean, she’s the one wanting to get tied up.”
“Oh?”
“What?”
Roxy shook her head. “Never mind.”
“No,what?”
“I said never mind.”
Rhea let the silence simmer while hoping her friend would say what was on her mind. When Roxy refused to answer, Rhea had no choice but to continue the conversation where they last left off. “Guess it’s no secret that we landed in the therapist’s office because things have been…” Rhea shook her hand before her face. “Not so exciting in that department. Not for a lack of trying on my part. You know me. You look at me long enough and my nipples are as hard as rocks and my crotch is screaming,Come and get me!”
Roxy laughed hard enough that Rhea had to stew in her own words.I can’t believe I said that.No wonder she was writing a treatise to her sexual fantasies. “Guess you do have one of the higher sex drives among the people I know. Man, I used to be that way. Somewhere between getting married and feeling my estrogen levels plummet, I have to get myself in the mood now. Luckily, Jeanette knows all the right ways to push my buttons, and we keep it interesting. We never do the same scenario twice in a row.”
“I don’t even know what you mean by ‘scenario.’ See, that’s the thing about me. I’m a horny bitch for vanilla ice cream. Sometimes I’m in the mood for some sprinkles or chocolate chips on top, but I’m totally happy going to town on a soft serve from Cream Queen.”
