Best Lesbian Romance 2014

Copyright © 2014 by Radclyffe.

All rights reserved. Except for brief passages quoted in newspaper, magazine, radio, television, or online reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or recording, or by information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Published in the United States by Cleis Press, Inc.,

2246 Sixth Street, Berkeley, California 94710.

Cover design: Scott Idleman/Blink

Cover photograph: Mercè Bellera/Getty Images

Text design: Frank Wiedemann

First Edition.

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

E-book ISBN: 978-1-62778-023-0

“Sepia Showers” © Andrea Dale,
Love Burns Bright: A Lifetime of Lesbian Romance,
Cleis Press 2013; “The Pond” © D. Jackson Leigh,
Amor and More: Love Everafter,
Bold Strokes Books 2013; “A Sturbridge Idyll” excerpted from
Morton River Valley
© Lee Lynch, Bold Strokes Books, 2013; “Risking It All” © Lynette Mae,
Wild Girls, Wild Nights,
Cleis Press, 2013; “Palabras” © Anna Meadows,
Love Burns Bright: A Lifetime of Lesbian Romance,
Cleis Press 2013.

CONTENTS

Introduction

The Game of Love
  
•
  
B
RITTNEY
L
OUDIN

The Things You Don't Do
  
•
  
J
ANE
F
LETCHER

Palabras
  
•
  
A
NNA
M
EADOWS

Current
  
•
  
S
ARA
R
AUCH

An Adventure
  
•
  
S
HISUMA

Soft Hands and Hard Hats
  
•
  
JL M
ERROW

Law of the Camazotz
  
•
  
L
ISA
F
IGUEROA

The Pond
  
•
  
D. J
ACKSON
L
EIGH

Aussie Girl
  
•
  
J
ILLIAN
B
OYD

Pink Lady Friends
  
•
  
A
LLISON
W
ONDERLAND

Second Chances
  
•
  
J
ADE
M
ELISANDE

A Sturbridge Idyll
  
•
  
L
EE
L
YNCH

The Call
  
•
  
C
HERYL
D
RAGON

The Fan Club
  
•
  
C
ATHERINE
M
AIORISI

Sepia Showers
  
•
  
A
NDREA
D
ALE

Faith
  
•
  
J
EAN
R
OBERTA

Risking It All
  
•
  
L
YNETTE
M
AE

Fuzzploitation
  
•
  
K
RIS
A
DAMS

Study Group
  
•
  
R
ADCLYFFE

A Boi's Love Song
  
•
  
K
ATHLEEN
T
UDOR

About the Authors

About the Editor

INTRODUCTION

One thing that makes the romance genre so enduring is the endless variation on the classic “love story.” When we begin reading a work of romance, whether it be a short story, a novella or a novel, we already know the ending. Someone will fall in love and hopefully live happily ever after, or at least happily for now. We don't know how they will get there, what challenges they will face or what changes they'll undergo as they cast off old fears, distrust and cynicism to embrace new discoveries and reignited passions. We don't know when they'll finally accept the emotional truth that they've met someone who makes a difference in their life in a way no one else can. We don't know when they'll say the magic words “I love you” and what they'll do after. Every step of a couple's romantic journey is different, in life and in fiction, and the same is true for every story in an anthology about love.

When I put out the call for submissions, I didn't stipulate anything about what constitutes a “romance short story.” Like
the reader who opens to the first page hoping to discover a story that resonates with their experiences, hopes, dreams and fantasies, I want to be surprised and challenged and inspired by the stories I receive, and the selections in this anthology do not disappoint. What always surprises me is how similar themes converge despite the different voices, different styles and different vantage points of the authors writing romance.

In this collection, completely spontaneously, several themes became apparent—the one that struck me most of all was that of possibility. Romance is a unique and fluid and constantly changing experience, never the same for any two people or even for the same people at different times. But one thing is always true—falling in love opens us up to possibilities we never imagined, leaving us with a deeper sense of self and a greater appreciation for life.

For those at the beginning of the journey, the future is an open road, or as in Sara Rauch's “Current,” a swift-moving tide:

          
Clara and I watched the sun descend. It had been a long time since I'd sat like that
—
with everything and nothing to say. As the thick gashes of magenta and orange striped the horizon, Clara became not a stranger, but a promise.

For those already on the voyage, love is a source of strength and joy, as Kathleen Tudor writes in “A Boi's Love Song”:

          
You give me the courage to be your strong right arm, the bravery to stand between you and the world, wherever I can, and the heart to be proud of everything that I am. By loving me, you show me how much of me there is to love.

Whatever the path, love is a journey of possibility, passion and promise—enjoy these stories from twenty masters of romance.

Radclyffe

2014

THE GAME OF LOVE

Brittney Loudin

I was in the second semester of my senior year when it happened. If I close my eyes now I can still smell the crisp scent of freshly trimmed grass and the deep musk of hard-earned sweat that never seemed to fade, whether the sport was in season or not. I remember that hot Alabama night so clearly, it replays like a movie in my mind. We were the fashionable subject of gossip, the real talk of the town for months after. Little did I know it would change my life, her life and the perspective of the tiny, rural town forever.

My old teammates and the rest of the student body would tell you differently. Every single one of them would recite his or her own version of the story. Some of their variations would be only partially wrong, simply depicting the major events of the game. Others would narrate complete delusions packed with fabricated details. Regardless of the many different ways the story has been and will be told, only Karen and I know the truth. Only we know what really happened the night a miracle found Southern Crosses High School.

* * *

Coach vehemently kicked at the dirt beneath his sneakers and swore into his clenched fist. He knew better than anyone in that stadium that if he didn't find a perfect replacement and soon, they could kiss the game and their shot at nationals good-bye. It was fourth down and fifteen yards to go until our very own Eagles took the all-state championship. With twenty-one seconds left on the clock, the whole of the spectators were on their feet in the bleachers, gawking with unbelieving eyes as our third wide receiver of the year was hauled off the field by EMTs.

The team had been through hell and back this season but managed to pull off back-to-back wins at the cost of several injured key players. Short four men already and without a quick-footed athlete to run the last play, the team would have no choice but to forfeit.

Standing stationary behind the water cooler, I was the only creature for miles thinking the crazy thought that buzzed between my temples. Any other girl at the school wouldn't have once considered the same solution, but my passion—my passion for the game and my passion for her—ran deeper than all the prejudice the folks in Belmont possessed.

I scanned the corners of the field until my gaze at last landed on the sight I so desperately needed to see, the cheerleaders. In the forefront of the gaggle was the head cheerleader, Karen Peters. I watched as she repeatedly circled the group of glittered-up girls, barking instructions and words of encouragement to those who needed it.

Karen and I had been secretly dating for four months, and as far as I was concerned, she was the sun, the moon, the stars and the very rock of earth beneath my feet. At the young age of seventeen I knew what true love was. I knew what love felt like and looked like because it brought me to my knees every
time I saw my own heart reflected in her eyes.

Everybody and their mother could go on for days talking about young love, summer love and even more so, high school sweethearts, but I was fully convinced that what Karen and I had was a love like no other. We connected so easily I couldn't actually recall the first time we met. As far back as my memory stretched, Karen was always there. Best friends for years until conventionality was no longer enough and we had to privately venture into more intimate regions of our relationship to satiate our needs.

She understood me on levels that my peers and family never did. We often stayed up nights, sharing our secret thoughts and dreams, fantasizing about packing up and moving out to New York together, leaving everything and everyone else behind. Karen told me she desperately wanted to become a world-famous dancer, something she wouldn't dare tell her parents, let alone actually do. I divulged the fact that more than anything I wanted to play football in school and then eventually in the NFL. Though my dream was near to impossible, Karen was always a beacon of endless support.

As a matter of fact, it was on one of those days we were babbling on about our hopes and dreams that I asked Karen to marry me. One late afternoon a few weeks prior to the game, we were lying out in her backyard in our swimsuits, chatting away and sipping down pitcher after pitcher of her mama's sweet iced tea. I lifted up my sunglasses and watched her lie there, sprawled out on an old beach towel, trying to steal a tan from overcast clouds.

“Marry you?” She laughed freely into the breeze. “Baby, in this town?” Her Southern twang rode heavily on the back of her innocent treble voice. “People here wouldn't let you wear your hat backward if you wanted to. You know I would tie the knot with you in a heartbeat, baby, but that'll happen the day you win a football game. I'll tell you that.”