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“Took me years before I could do that.”
“Took me years to learn how to write a novel quickly.”
Paige grinned. “Guess we all have our talents.”
One of Rhea’s was correctly guessing how her food would taste. As usual, it was delectable at La Mariposa, the hippest, hottest new fusion restaurant in Santa Monica. What Rhea couldn’t foresee, however, was how Paige would feel after drinking a cocktail and stuffing her face with her “guilty pleasure” of the week.
“I have regrets,” she admitted at the end of the dinner when her wife was about to toast to their fourteen years of marriage. “You know what happened the last time we had Taco Bell?”
Rhea put down her glass. “Yeah.”
Paige made such a face that Rhea was also regretful that La Mariposa did not deal in kale smoothies and Imodium.
Chapter 2
Rheadidn’tputatime limit on things or add them to the calendar for future remembrance. Not like Paige, who knew everything in the macro, like her future appointments and when her period was due,andthe micro, like what she was having for breakfast every day of the week and when, much to Rhea’s continuous surprise, they were due to have sex.
That shit was penciled in for their anniversary, but due to Paige’s stomach issues, they put it off another day. As soon as Paige walked through the door Saturday evening, she ripped her gym clothes off and walked by Rhea’s office naked. That summoned the writer on a deadline like a moth to a flame.
By the time Paige stepped out of the shower, Rhea was already half-naked on the bed and ready to go.
“Oh…” Naked and straight from the hands of Michaelangelo himself, Paige stopped short of being within reach. “That’s right. We skipped out last night.”
Tension crept up Rhea’s leg. “I mean… we don’t have to.”
Hair wet and toes soaring through the air, Paige crept onto their king-sized bed and rolled onto her back. “It’s fine. Might as well get it out of the way.”
Rhea must have made aface,because her wife was quick to reassure her that she wanted to have sex, and it was perfectly “fine” for them to jump into it.
To be fair to Rhea… she wanted to. A lot.
Her wife had barely aged a day since they first hooked up, after all. If anything, Paige was the perfect picture of the holy feminine, with the taut muscles and cautious diet befitting the personal trainer of professional athletes and Hollywood stars getting ready for set. Gone were the days when Paige relied on youth and a fast metabolism to keep her “cute,” as she called herself. Now she was the queen of protein shakes, tofu, and fifty squats a day. The YouTube channel she started to keep herself sane during the pandemic had tens of thousands of subscribers, and agents around Hollywood were convinced that she could have had millions by now if she kept at it. Paige not only knew what she was doing, but she washot.So hot that Rhea was sometimes afraid to touch her – she might burn her hand.
But there was one thing that had changed since their twenties. Something that Rhea frequently thought about, for better or worse.
Paige wasn’t as interested in sex as she used to be. Back when they were college kids figuring themselves out, Paige could hardly keep her hands off her girlfriend of the moment, and often playfully bemoaned that she went to sex so quickly that by the time she got to know her new girlfriend, the magic was gone. Which was why she had been so adamant about waiting with Rhea, who may or may not have been ready to goright away. It was worth the wait.Since that first date, it had only been Rhea and Paige – two kids who married a year after that fateful date on the Santa Monica Pier.
They had weathered poorly paying jobs, cranky parents, and the deaths of friends and extended family who had meant a lot to them. Paige was always a source of comfort on the anniversary of Rhea’s mother’s death, and Rhea was there when Paige’s grandmother quickly declined from dementia to death. Rhea had taken a backseat when Paige pumped in hours at the gym to reach her level of professional success; Paige had encouraged her wife to keep going after a hundred agents had rejected her first finished manuscript.She sweetly grilled her clients until someone finally hooked us up with a big five publisher.Well, it was the big four now, but Rhea barely kept up with that.
They had gone from a beat-up studio in Los Angeles to a three-bedroom in Wilshire-Montana. Sometimes, Rhea could still hardly believe it. Their first real windfall, both as a bestselling author and as a heavily sought-after trainer to the stars, had afforded them that “fixer-upper” back before housing prices exploded exponentially. Over the years, they had completely changed the front lawn landscaping, fixed the façade, replaced the roof, and remodeled the bathrooms and kitchens. Using nothing but her gumption and the advance for her second novel, Rhea redid her downstairs office and planted new bushes outside her window that both gave her some privacy and still offered a nice view of their small pool.There’s nothing like looking out my window and seeing my wife in a bikini.During the pandemic, Paige had filmed fitness videos out by the pool when it wasn’t her turn to use the gym in West Hollywood.
Now she comes home to me again.Their schedules were back to their old habits, and Rhea still couldn’t keep her hands off the chiseled body that made her own look so… schlubby.
Yet Paige never said a disparaging word about her wife’s slightly growing midsection, the extra hair on her upper lip, or the sag of the ass Rhea never knew she had. Over the years, Rhea had gone from stylishly boyish to genderless Bohemian, the kind of woman most of the supermarket checkers and restaurant waiters had no idea how to address. Except it was the 2020s, and few assigned genders to people anymore. Something Rhea was still getting used to after spending most of the 2000s asserting her womanhood to anyone who would listen.
So sometimes she was ma’am. Sometimes she was sir. Usually, she was the ambiguously ungendered customer who often came in with the rockin’ hot femme from the YouTube videos.
Rhea was content with that. She loved knowing that out of everyone in SoCal,shewas the one putting her hands all over Paige Powell long after putting a ring on that finger.
Rhea knew everything about her wife’s physiology. Such as how her left nipple was more sensitive than the right, and the exact way she liked to have Rhea’s tongue sweetly circle her clit. Paige always required exactly two fingers to properly orgasm before losing interest. Her relationship with vibrators was cool – she didn’t see much point to them, unlike Rhea, who loved nothing more than her favorite egg-shaped toy on her mound while her hot wife shook in pleasure beneath her. Or above her.
But it had been a few months since they last had sex like that. Honestly, they didn’t have as much sex as they used to at all. Rhea rarely thought about it. Until recently.
Because it had been four months since she was last inside her wife, and she was crazy.
Sometimes, kisses before going to sleep weren’t enough. Rhea craved physical intimacy like her family craved every fried food under the sun.I want to be on top of her, inside her, and squirming beneath her.The funniest thing was that while those desires had not declined over the years, Rhea also noticed that the frequency of her libido had also waned. It had been nice at first – to focus on other aspects of their marriage that weren’t only thesex, sex, seximpetus of their twenties, but Rhea had also noticed that when she eventually turned on, Paige stayed off.
Her work was physically demanding and stressful. She dealt with high-intensity personalities every day. People were constantly judging her physique both at work and online. While Rhea signed publishing deals and did mini-book tours, Paige had brands asking her to sponsor their products. Puma, Adidas, and Reebok had all bid on her likeness. When one contract ended, another magically began. Rhea could scroll through her wife’s YouTube videos and see the change in clothes for herself.
