Too Close to Touch (2 page)

She felt like a child for even caring. She was well over forty now; birthdays weren’t supposed to matter anymore. Her father apparently agreed.

Bothered by the sting, she had welcomed the attention from Christy, who promptly did a celebratory shot of tequila with her. Now, Gretchen caught herself wondering if it would be possible to talk Christy into going home with her. Judging by the constant attention Christy paid her even as business picked up, she was pretty sure it would.

Still smiling, Gretchen scanned the room and realized the group of women down the bar were surreptitiously looking her way. Her heart rate picked up. Being checked out was not an unusual occurrence. Gretchen knew she was an attractive woman and attention wasn’t something she had trouble getting, but it still brought a slight ß ush to her cheeks.

Christy stopped near the bunch on her way to Þ xing Gretchen’s drink. When she returned and set the scotch down, she gestured at the women with her head. “This one’s on them, hon.”

Gretchen looked past her toward the group. All four women held up their glasses and toasted, “Happy birthday!”

Gretchen saluted in return, her grin splitting her face, and mouthed a thank-you. She shot a knowing look at Christy, who winked at her.

As two of the women headed for the pool table, the other two sauntered toward Gretchen. One was tall and handsome, a big, muscular woman who carried herself with conÞ dence rather than trying to hide her size.

The other was a young, feminine blonde who seemed either lost in, or bored with, her surroundings; it was hard to tell.

The taller woman gestured at the stool next to Gretchen. “Mind if we join you?”

“Please do,” Gretchen said. “Thanks for the drink.”

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“Hey, it’s your birthday,” the woman replied by way of explanation.

She held out her hand. “I’m Mick.”

“Gretchen.” Mick’s hand was thick and strong, her skin unexpectedly soft. Her handshake was Þ rm, but not overpowering.

“This is Tina.” Mick introduced the blonde, who smiled but didn’t offer her hand. “Did you want to play pool?” Mick inquired.

“Oh, no. I try not do anything I’m not good at.”

Mick smiled knowingly. “Forgive the cliché, but I haven’t seen you around here before.” She took a swig of her beer, the bottle virtually disappearing in her hand.

Gretchen chuckled. “That’s because I’ve never been here before.”

“That would explain it.”

“I’m going to go to the little girls’ room,” Tina chimed in, squeezing Mick’s arm.

“Okay, babe.” Mick watched her go and Gretchen took the opportunity to take a good look at her new acquaintance.

Mick had to be close to six feet tall, looked to be in her late thirties, and deÞ nitely lifted weights. Gretchen was glad they were sitting or, at Þ ve foot four, she would have felt completely insigniÞ cant and dwarfed by the sheer presence of this woman. Mick’s hair was chestnut brown, the cut simple, short, and stylish. Three silver hoops of varying sizes adorned her left ear, one dangling the symbol for female.

Her wardrobe was neat and unpretentious, but not inexpensive. Her jeans seemed tailored for her body, showcasing well-worked muscles and gently cradling her curves. The white T-shirt was saved from being too masculine by the v-neck cut, which showed enough bronzed skin to make Gretchen curious about what lay underneath the fabric. A rainbow tattoo peeked out from under her left sleeve.

When Mick turned startling green eyes back in her direction, Gretchen almost laughed aloud at her own blatant appraisal and quickly pretended to be studying her drink.
Not at all my type
, she thought.
But
certainly not hard on the eyes.

“So tell me, Gretchen,” Mick said. “Why haven’t you been to the Widow before?”

“Because I’m the new kid in town.”

“Yeah? Where are you from?”

“Poughkeepsie.”

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GEORGIA BEERS

“Ah. A big-city girl. And you’ve been in our little city how long?”

“I just moved in on Wednesday.”

“Wow. You’re the
really
new kid. That’s cool.” She took a long pull from her bottle. “Apartment or house?”

“Apartment for now. We’ll see how it goes.”

“City or suburbs?”

“Near Park Avenue.”

“Ah. That area is always a good choice. Well, I think you’ll like it here. It’s a pretty cool spot.”

The conversation ß owed easily and Gretchen felt immediately comfortable talking to Mick. That was something that didn’t often happen to her when the setting wasn’t work related; she was generally a reserved and private person and didn’t converse effortlessly with strangers unless it had to do with her job.

When Tina returned from the bathroom, Mick bought them all another drink, waving off Gretchen’s attempts to catch the round. “No way.” She pushed Gretchen’s money back across the bar. To Christy, she said, “The birthday girl isn’t allowed to buy.”

Gretchen found the dynamic between Mick and Tina interesting.

She didn’t think they were partners, but they were deÞ nitely there together—maybe just for the night? Tina held possessively to Mick’s arm, her hand, her thigh, as if marking her territory for Gretchen’s beneÞ t. Gretchen merely smiled in amusement and intentionally let her eyes wander over Mick.

The evening passed loudly. The other two women in the original foursome wandered down after their pool game and were introduced as Lori and Kathy, partners for a hundred years, according to Mick.

The Þ ve women chatted, joked, and drank, keeping Christy busy with orders and ß irtatious comments. Knowing she needed to drive herself home, Gretchen consciously slowed her own alcohol consumption after Mick bought her yet another drink. She was having such a good time with these women, these new friends, the last thing she wanted was to allow herself to become too intoxicated. No better way to alienate new acquaintances than to force them to feel responsible for getting you home and pouring you into your bed.

As if reading her mind, Christy set a glass of water down near Gretchen’s scotch and squeezed her hand. Gretchen made a mental note

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TOO CLOSE TO TOUCH

to double her tip. Her head swimming just slightly, she then directed her attention to Lori, who was asking her a question.

“So, G. Why here? Why’d you leave Poughkeepsie to come way upstate?”

“Honestly? I needed to put some distance between me and my family.” It was the truth. Maybe not the whole truth, but Gretchen was nervous about starting her new job on Monday and didn’t want to conduct a postmortem on her reasons for making the change. She was having such fun, so she avoided the subject altogether and put her focus elsewhere.

Lori gave her an understanding look. “I hear that. Do they have a problem with you being gay?” She was a cute, athletic blonde in capris and a green tank top, and Gretchen was surprised to feel a pull of attraction, despite the fact that Lori’s hand was in the Þ rm grip of her partner’s.

First the bartender, now the married chick,
Gretchen’s inner voice scolded with amusement.
Cut it out.
Aloud, she replied, “They have a problem with that, among other things.” The tone of her voice must have indicated the subject was closed, because Lori left it alone.

Midnight came and went and the crowd at the Black Widow began to thin out gradually as lesbians of all sizes, shapes, and colors trickled out into the night like slow-ß owing water. Lori and Kathy said their good-byes Þ rst.

“It’s been ages since we’ve been out past ten and we may turn into pumpkins at any minute.” Lori tugged on Kathy’s hand. “Ready, love?”

Kathy nodded through a yawn, causing them all to laugh. “I’m sure we’ll see you again, Gretchen.”

“It was nice meeting you,” Gretchen replied. “Thanks so much for the drinks and the company.”

“Our pleasure. Happy birthday.”

“We need to go, too, don’t we?” Tina’s voice had a slightly bored quality to it as she laid her head on Mick’s upper arm in a childlike fashion.

“I suppose we do,” Mick replied. She held her hand out to Gretchen. “Birthday girl, it was a joy spending the evening with you.”

When Gretchen placed her hand in Mick’s, Mick pulled her forward and kissed her cheek sweetly. In her ear, so only Gretchen could hear, she whispered, “I hope to see you again.”

• 17 •

GEORGIA BEERS

Gretchen smiled, feeling her cheeks ß ush pink.

As the four women departed, Christy took the empties away and dropped Gretchen’s glass into the sink full of suds beneath the bar.

“You certainly charmed her,” she said with nonchalance.

“Who?”

“Mick.”

“Oh. I don’t know about that.”

“I do. I know her pretty well. She was quite taken with you.”

Gretchen arched an eyebrow and propped her forearms on the bar, studying Christy with a smirk. “Well. She’s not really my type.”

“No?”

“Oh, no. She’s way too butch for me. I’m more partial to…pretty, as opposed to handsome.”

“Really.”

Lowering her voice so Christy had to lean close to hear it, she said, “I like curves and long hair and softness more than muscles and power.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Actually,
I
prefer to be the muscle and power.”

“I see.”

Gretchen drained her water glass and set it down in front of Christy. Christy mirrored Gretchen’s stance on her own side of the bar and they held eye contact for several long seconds.

“Can I get your number?” Christy Þ nally asked, her voice low.

“I think that could be arranged.”

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CHAPTER TWO

Kylie O’Brien was nervous and it was pissing her off.

She’d gotten into work two hours early, just to make sure everything was in order. She’d straightened up her own desk—not that it wasn’t always so impeccably organized she got picked on by her coworkers, but she wanted to be sure to make a good impression on her new boss.

It was true that Kylie had been working for Emerson, Inc. for more than ten years. It was also true that she was a damn good executive administrative assistant, but none of that would matter if she and the new boss didn’t hit it off. If their styles clashed or if they had trouble communicating, all it would take was a phone call to the powers that be and Kylie could Þ nd herself transferred. Or worse: out of a job. The ability to snap your Þ ngers and change the landscape was the only thing Kylie thought might be appealing about being the boss. For the most part, she was happy behind the scenes.

She missed Jim already. He’d retired only a week ago, but it felt like months. He’d been her boss for nearly seven years, pulling her up with him as he rose through the ranks of the company. She knew him better than he knew himself, and that had always made it easy to be sure things ran smoothly in his ofÞ ce. She kept him on track, gave him the appearance of being organized, though they both knew better, and he was generous in his support of her, both within the company and through personal bonuses. With Jim Sheridan as her superior, she’d never felt taken for granted. She wasn’t looking forward to starting over with somebody she hadn’t even met.

• 19 •

GEORGIA BEERS

She gave her cubicle another once-over, then poked her head into the large ofÞ ce opposite her area and gave that a quick look as well. It was clean and spacious and ready for its new occupant. SatisÞ ed, she headed down the hall toward the ladies’ room to give herself a Þ nal once-over. It was still about forty-Þ ve minutes before the masses would begin to pour in.

Kylie wasn’t exactly a morning person; she preferred to work late rather than come in early. She was much more productive when the phones weren’t ringing off the hook and people weren’t demanding her attention every minute. Things tended to really quiet down after Þ ve, but she was Þ nding that being in early had the same perks. It was very quiet and she could actually hear herself think.

She smiled at an unfamiliar man as she passed him in the hall. It seemed like an entirely different group of people came in early. She recognized only a handful of those she’d seen so far. It occurred to her that while she shared her penchant for evening hours with a select handful of Emerson employees, there must be a similar group of

“morning people.”

The cell phone on her hip rang as she pushed open the door to the ladies’ room, the sound annoyingly loud in the quiet hush of the morning. Kylie grabbed it and ß ipped it open quickly, knowing who it was before she even looked.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve calling me this early,” she said, hiding a grin. She smiled and nodded at a small brunette who came out of a stall and headed to the sink.

“Who do you think you’re kidding?” Mick replied. “You’re in early so you can make a good impression on the new boss. Think I don’t know you like the back of my hand?”

“Damn you.” The smile in Kylie’s voice was clear because Mick was right. She knew Kylie inside and out. She should. They’d been friends since the second grade.

As Mick said something about the weekend, Kylie leaned back against the counter and tried to be subtle about watching the brunette woman. Her subject was extremely attractive. The woman’s dark hair was a mass of curls that fell down around her shoulders, and her smartly cut black pantsuit made her seem much taller than her petite frame actually was.

Pulling her eyes away proved to be difÞ cult, but Kylie managed to

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turn aside before she could be caught staring. “The weekend… yes. How was it?” she asked Mick, trying to focus on the topic of conversation.

“The usual.”

“Let me guess. You went out Saturday night, you took some babe home, ditched her by Sunday afternoon, and went to the gym. How’d I do?”

Mick chuckled. “Not bad. Not bad at all. But I only went to the gym because you were being too good to do something with me on Sunday.”