Olive Oil and White Bread (29 page)

Upstairs, the bedroom light shone and Jillian smiled as she saw Angie reading
The Da Vinci Code
in bed.

“Hi,” she said, hoping her smile wasn't too big.

Angie lowered her book. “Hey. I was beginning to wonder if you were ever coming home.” There was no accusation in her tone, no anger. That only made Jillian feel worse.

“I'm sorry.” Unbuttoning her blouse, Jillian stepped into the walkin closet, hung up her work clothes as she took them off. “We got talking and laughing and we just lost track of time.”

“No problem. I wasn't going to start worrying for another hour or two.”

Jillian poked her head around the door to see if Angie was serious. Her smile said she wasn't. Jillian's relief was palpable, especially since she understood exactly what it felt like to sit up at home and not know when your partner will show up.

“How are the girls?”

“They're good.” The thought of telling Angie she had spent most of the evening alone with Lindsey made her feel like she might break out in hives, so she left it at that.

In the bathroom, she washed her face, brushed her teeth, did all her nightly ablutions. Staring at herself in the mirror, she again noticed the crow's feet around her eyes, the smile lines that hugged her mouth like a set of parentheses, a few stray strands of gray hair nicely camouflaged by the lightness of the rest of it.
You're an adult
, she silently told her reflection.
Stop screwing around and act like one
.

In her panties and a tank top, she lifted the covers and crawled into bed next to Angie, who was still reading. She cuddled up, laying her head on Angie's shoulder, draping an arm across Angie's midsection.

“Good book?” she asked.

Angie nodded, kissed Jillian's forehead without taking her eyes from the page she was reading. Her body was warm, her skin soft, and she smelled like her usual exotic scent, which Jillian still adored. And tonight, all those things combined to poke at Jillian until she thought she'd crawl out of her own skin.

With a quick kiss to Angie's cheek, she turned onto her side, facing away, and closed her eyes, praying for sleep to bring her to a new day so she could take a deep breath and start fresh.

Twenty-Seven

It was a Wednesday afternoon a few weeks later. Kids trickled through the halls like the end of a stream, running to meet parents, playing roughly with each other, being just as loud as kids are prone to be. After a few minutes, the halls went quiet. Soon the lights would flicker off as one of the janitors hit the switch. Jillian liked this time of day in the school; the end of the day sometimes felt like relief, like she could take a breath and relax. The parking lot showed only a handful of cars left as she turned the little rod to close the blinds on her windows, preferring to spend the end of her day away from the prying eyes of any passersby who might glance into her classroom. She gathered up supplies and went to work cleaning up paints and washing brushes that had already been washed—poorly—by her students.

When the sounds from the hallway became muffled, Jillian looked up to see Lindsey closing her door. She cut a smile her way as she closed the blinds on the door's window, something Jillian usually did on her way out anyway.

“Hey there.”

“Hi,” Lindsey replied. “Whatcha doin'?” She stood with her back to the door, her hands clasping the doorknob behind her.

There was an audible click. Jillian gave her a quick and what she hoped was a subtle once-over. Sporting her usual ponytail, workout pants, and an emerald green T-shirt, she looked every inch a strong, athletic woman. Jillian, pulling her eyes away and turning back to the sink, said, “I am performing one of the more glamorous tasks of an elementary school art teacher—cleaning paint off of everything in this room. Aren't you impressed?”

“Terribly.” Lindsey's voice was suddenly close.

Closer than Jillian had realized. The sound of the running water had masked her approach from across the room, and now she was standing mere inches away from Jillian's shoulder. Lindsey was only a couple inches taller than Jillian, but at this proximity, their size difference felt enormous.

“Feel free to pitch in,” Jillian said, doing her best to keep the conversation light. Something about Lindsey's demeanor today was different, and Jillian swallowed hard. Suddenly something was lodged in her throat, and she couldn't rid herself of it.

“Love to.” Lindsey sidled up so their shoulders were touching, and Jillian wanted to kick herself for leaving an opening like that. They shouldn't be this close. Not with the confusion Jillian had been feeling. Not with the wide pupils in Lindsey's eyes.

As if reading Jillian's mind, Lindsey spoke. “Is this too close?” Her voice was low with a slight edge to it.

“Depends on who you're asking,” Jillian responded.

“I'm asking you.”

“No.”

Yes!
her brain screamed, even as their hands touched as Lindsey ran some of the paint brushes under the warm water. Jillian tried to pull hers away without being obvious about it. Her heart was hammering in her chest, and something suddenly became frighteningly clear to her.

Lindsey wanted her.

In a big way.

It was so obvious right now, so blatant. Why hadn't she allowed herself to see it and take the proper precautions?

She'd brought it on herself with all her flirting and teasing; she knew that. She should've kept her distance, but she hadn't. Why not? The attention was nice. No, the attention was
awesome
. Jillian couldn't remember the last time Angie had looked at her with the same intensity of attraction that Lindsey did. When was the last time she'd looked at Angie and known—just
known
—that Angie wanted to rip her clothes off right then and there? Sometimes, Lindsey looked at her like that, her eyes heavy-lidded, her expression causing
a twinge low in Jillian's belly, and it was all she could do to tear her gaze away. Jillian had tried not to let it go to her head. And failed miserably.

Her brain tossed her an image of Angie that morning. Beautiful, as always, but preoccupied with work, barely noticing Jillian lounging in bed a bit and hoping to be rejoined. Angie giving her a chaste peck on the cheek as she left for the office.

Why couldn't I just talk to her? Why is it so hard? We've been together for nearly two decades, for Christ's sake. Why can't I open my mouth and just say what's on my mind? Am I afraid of the response I might get?

Horrified by the tears that threatened to overtake her, Jillian cleared her throat and turned to Lindsey.

“Look, Lindsey, we need to—” It was all she got out before Lindsey's mouth closed over hers. Paintbrushes and cups clattered into the sink as the water continued to run and a battle waged inside Jillian—a battle between her heart and her body.

Lindsey's kiss was soft, but firm. Gentle, but clear about what she wanted, how she felt. Her wet hands came up and cupped Jillian's face. Jillian's hands were also wet as she grasped Lindsey's forearms, and the whole time, their mouths stayed fused together.

Oh, god, when was the last time she'd been kissed like this? It had been months—
months
—and she couldn't recall this amount of passion, this amount of intensity. A flash of a memory hit her, of her and Angie in bed together during one of the last times, and fighting the urge to grab Angie's head, look her in the eye, and command her to “Kiss me” through clenched teeth.

Lindsey knew how to kiss her. Lindsey kissed her the way she wanted Angie to kiss her. The way Angie
used
to kiss her. And Jillian hadn't felt so attractive, so wanted in a very,
very
long time.

Time seemed to stop. All sound faded away until there was nothing but Lindsey's mouth on hers. Lindsey's hands in her hair. Lindsey's body pinning hers to the sink. Lindsey's tongue pushing against her own. Blood rushed in her ears as Jillian allowed herself to just feel, to lose herself in nothing but sensation, and she kissed back. Hard. Lindsey trailed her fingers along Jillian's neck, down her throat, quickly flicked open three buttons on Jillian's blouse, and cupped her breast, squeezed the nipple through her bra.

Jillian gasped into Lindsey's mouth, but didn't pull away, not even when Lindsey's hand trailed lower. They kept kissing. Even when Lindsey unfastened the fly on the front of Jillian's pants, they kept kissing. And when Lindsey slipped her fingers into the front of Jillian's panties, slicked through the abundant wetness there, and sent Jillian's arousal through the roof, they kept kissing. Jillian didn't pull her mouth away from Lindsey's until she had to—to groan out her orgasm.

They stood together, breathing raggedly, foreheads pressed together as Jillian tried to catch her breath. When she finally pulled herself together, she stepped away, freeing herself from the trap of the sink and of Lindsey's warm body.

Not looking at Lindsey, Jillian fixed her pants, buttoned her shirt, then said in the most matter-of-fact tone she could muster. “This can't happen again.”

“Why not?” Lindsey's voice was almost teasing.

Jillian gave her a look—a raise of her eyebrows, a slight exasperated tilt of her head. “You know why not.”

Lindsey was undeterred. She stepped closer, wrapped a strand of Jillian's hair around her finger. “You feel the same way I do. I know you do.” With her other hand, she caressed the side of Jillian's face, played with her ear.

Jillian's eyes drifted closed. “It's not that simple,” she whispered.

“Sure it is.” Lindsey kissed her again.

A small whimper escaped Jillian's throat, though whether it was a whimper of frustration or surrender, she wasn't sure, and she felt her own body betraying her again, go slack and melt against Lindsey's. It would be so easy to lose herself once more, to just give in, let go, let Lindsey direct this scene, to follow her lead. Lindsey's mouth was so soft, so warm, so wet. And what she was doing with her tongue . . .

Jillian pushed herself free. “No,” she said, and this time her firmness surprised both of them as Lindsey stumbled back a step. “It is
not
that simple. It's not.” She looked around the room, realizing for the first time exactly where they were and how much trouble they could be in if somebody caught them. “Oh, my god. I can't believe this.”

“The door's locked,” Lindsey said as if reading her mind. “Nobody
was going to catch us. Jillian.” Lindsey stepped closer, cupped Jillian's face in her hands. “Look at me.”

Jillian grasped Lindsey's forearms again, a war raging inside her, a battle between wanting to free herself and flee and wanting to lean against this strong, young woman, wanting to give her body to her again, let Lindsey explore her some more with those long fingers, that hot mouth, just
let
her. She'd never felt so completely, utterly uncertain in her entire life, and she wanted to cry from the stress of it all.

“Look at me,” Lindsey said again, her voice steely this time, but gently so. Jillian obeyed. When their eyes met, Lindsey's expression softened. She brushed hair from Jillian's face, kissed her forehead, and gave her a tender smile. “You are so beautiful. Everything's going to be okay.” She brought their lips together a third time, the kiss almost chaste at first, then slowly deepening. Jillian's hands moved to Lindsey's waist, pulling her in as Lindsey stepped closer so the full length of their bodies touched.

Kissing Lindsey made Jillian's brain foggy. She knew this, even with Lindsey's tongue in her mouth; it was true. When Jillian's brain was foggy, she made stupid decisions. This was a solid enough fact, one she was aware of, even as pleasure and desire raced through her bloodstream, like a deadly virus. Using all her strength—and now her limbs had become like jelly—she pushed away from Lindsey one final time, wrenching their mouths apart. She backed several steps away, holding her hands up, palms out like a traffic cop.

“Stop. Just stop. Please.”

Lindsey cocked her head. “Jillian,” she said, using her name as if trying to persuade a small child into doing something naughty.

“No.” Jillian kept her hands up. Uncertain how long she could stave off this woman that she wanted—badly—to give in to, she quickly moved to her desk and gathered up her things. To her credit, Lindsey stayed by the sink, her expression one of sadness and disappointment, but also with a slight tinge of amusement, something Jillian did not want to analyze just then. Jillian looked at her, but was unable to hold her gaze. “I'm sorry,” she said, her voice much steelier than she felt. “This
cannot
happen again.”