Last night was a complete lapse in judgment. She would not—could not—let it happen again.
Her stomach twisted uncomfortably and even though she hated it, there was that soft hum between her legs, that light throb in her clit that told her what she already knew; if the opportunity came, she’d probably sleep with her.
Wantedso badly to sleep with her.
That was why it was so important to fix what she had broken. She just had to. The distance between her and Emily had blurred, but what if she could redraw those lines? What if she could reinforce them?
The alternative was inconceivable, something she did not even want to think about—letting herself feel something again.
Bette just wasn’t sure she could survive that. She squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for those specks of dust to fill up her vision and take over the image of Emily burned in her brain. Emily following her through the crowd. Emily’s surprise when Bette had first kissed her. Emily pushed up against that stone wall, that silky dress hitched to her hips, her panties lying pooled at her feet, the heat of her folds wet against Bette’s mouth…
“UGH!” she moaned, snapping open her eyes to stare out the window.
Outside, the late morning sun stretched over the tiny garden, dappling the soil in soft gold. The rosemary bush was overgrown again, creeping past the stone border Jamie barely ever bothered to clean. A hummingbird hovered near the lavender, wings a blur, dipping its needle-thin beak into the purple flowers. Beyond the garden gate, the neighborhood stretched out, the rooftops of sun-washed houses tucked between the trees?—
The back door swung open so suddenly, that Bette jumped, startled, and snapped her head back to where her cousin Jamie waltzed into the kitchen like he owned the place. Though, technically he did. His red hair was slicked back, the deep copper catching the fluorescent light, and his fair skin was an arrangement of freckles, scattered generously across his nose and cheeks. Today, he wore a blue shirt and matching chinos that paired perfectly with his ocean-blue eyes. Out of all the cousins, Jamie got their grandmother’s Irish skin, the kind that burned faster than it ever tanned, no matter how much sunscreen he slathered on.
“What the hell, Jamie!” she muttered. “You just scared the crap out of me.”
Jamie, completely unbothered, let the screen door bang shut behind him before he crossed to the table in the middle of the kitchen and set a paper bag on the counter. “You’re still here. At home. Which correct me if I’m wrong, is not where you’re supposed to be at this hour.”
She flicked her eyes to the paper bag. The only thing that could make her feel better was a jelly doughnut with extra jelly. But she didn’t dare walk to the table to peek inside. Instead, she turned back to the sink, grabbed a cloth, rinsed it out, and cleaned up where was needed, hoping Jamie—who was surprisingly insightful—wouldn’t notice just how tense she was.
“I took the morning off,” she said quietly, busying herself.
Jamie yanked out a rattan chair, plopped down, and clicked his tongue. “Since when do you take a morning off, Bets? Because last time I checked, you even went to work when your marriage imploded.”
Bette tightened her grip on the cloth. She didn’t need the reminder. The slow-motion train wreck of her divorce was already a permanent stain she couldn’t get rid of no matter how hard she scrubbed. Just like she couldn’t seem to scrub off that faint ring tan.
“I just needed some time,” Bette mumbled, wiping the cloth over the sink faucet. “Is that so hard to believe?”
Behind her, Jamie hummed. A sound she knew well. A tell-tale sign that he didn’t believe a word of what she was saying. Not that it wasn’t true. Just that there was a bit of a bend to the amount of truth. What Bette had actually done was call in sick this morning, instructing Maggie to reschedule all her patients for tomorrow—one of which included Emily Sharp.
“Very…um…interesting,” Jamie added.
Bette glanced over her shoulder, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “What’s so interesting?” she asked, her tone salty and impatient, though her cousin wasn’t bothered. In fact, he lived for this kind of uncomfortable moment.
Jamie leaned back in the chair, tipping it onto two legs. “Well, my dearest Bette, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were avoiding something.”
Bette scoffed, but it sounded unconvincing even to her. “That’s ridiculous. Why would I be avoiding something.”
Jamie nodded. “Right, of course.” Then, without missing a beat, he added, “So, who’d you sleep with last night? Meet anyone special at the ball?” His left eyebrow twisted up and his bottom lip dropped low as if he was ready to suck the information right out of her. “Was it that hot doctor you’ve been treating for that shoulder thing.”
Bette nearly choked on air. Or she did. Her lungs spluttered and the next minute she was coughing, leaning back trying to get all the air she’d lost back into her lungs.
“Hah!” he said, shooting out an accusatory arm. “You did sleep with her. What was her name again?”
Bette said nothing, which of course, was the loudest answer.
“HA!” Jamie exclaimed, kicking his legs out under the table, his shins hitting against the stretcher. The table wobbled, and so too did that brown paper bag. “After months of being a sad little nun, you’ve finally rejoined the land of the living. I amsoproud of you.”
“Notmonths,” Bette said, pulling a face and enunciating the word. Although it was true. Before last night, the last time she’d had any action was months ago. At least seven or eight or maybe even longer. She shuddered at the thought. She and Reba hadn’t exactly been very intimate during the last stretch of their marriage. Probably why Reba’s eyes had roamed. Not that she had any right to do what she did.
“It was a mistake,” Bette added, sitting down across from her cousin, her legs feeling wobbly all of a sudden. “A really stupid mistake. And we didn’t exactly sleep together, it was more of a… a one-sided tongue situation—” She cut herself off before she lost herself in the details of it.
Jamie snorted and leaned forward, reaching for the paper bag. He had on a new charm bracelet, which she only assumed was a gift from his new boyfriend Bette was yet to meet. “It still counts,” he said, pulling out exactly what Bette needed. A jelly-stuffed doughnut. “So why was it a mistake? Why would having hot, emotionally charged quickie sex ever be amistake.”
“Because she’s my patient,” Bette said matter-of-factly, feeling her insides squirm.
