A decent fuck.It’s on the tip of her tongue, but then she remembers the young woman’s offer:I could help you with that.Jean’s scalp tingles. Best to avoid all mention of sex. It might not be the night she’d planned, but Ava’s company appeals more than her empty house. She’s watching Jean, openly hopeful.
‘Fine,’ says Jean. ‘But I’m buying my own. Because this is not a date, or anything like one. And you can stop flirting.’
Ava makes a three-fingered salute. And Jean realises that, while her nails are painted a deep burgundy, they’re clipped short. ‘Scout’s honour.’
‘You were never a Scout.’
‘They let girls join. Especially the tomboys.’ A grin. ‘But no, I wasn’t a Scout.’
They take turns ordering at the bar. Ava darts off to claim a freshly vacated booth. And Jean goes first, staring down the bartender, whose face remains carefully impassive. He’s young, but surely he’s heard stranger things in his line of work. He slides her sparkling water across the countertop. If Jean’s going along with this, whatever it is, she’s keeping her wits sharp.
She weaves between tables and swaps places with Ava, breathing in the spice of cedar undercut with jasmine as she passes. It’s a curious scent for a young woman – masculinity softened by subtle floral notes. Something Jean could imagine inhaling from a lover’s neck as he moves on top of her.
Jean’s hand trembles as she reaches for her drink, condensation blessedly cool beneath her fingertips. It’s been too long since her last hook-up, a dismal fumble with a CFO that left her frustrated and him sated. Instinct tells her that Ava is anything but complacent about a lover’s pleasure, or lack thereof. Then Ava’s sliding back into the booth as if summoned by the thought, carrying a fresh mojito and that same intriguing scent.
‘I hope you don’t mind,’ she says. ‘But I ordered us wings. And fries.’
Jean’s mouth floods at the thought. She swallows. ‘I agreed to one drink, not food.’
‘Do you want me to cancel them?’ Ava shifts, hovering on the edge of her seat. Ready to call Jean’s bluff. ‘I can still catch her.’
At that exact moment Jean’s stomach rumbles. Late home from the office and with a date to prepare for, there had been no time for dinner. Heat floods her cheeks, but her voice remains steady. ‘That won’t be necessary.’
Ava’s too clever to outwardly savour her victory. She nods in acknowledgement, betraying not so much as a flicker of satisfaction. And Jean sees it – how Ava must catch the opposing counsel off guard.
‘Which firm are you with?’
‘I’m not that kind of lawyer, Ms Corporate.’ Ava smirks, as if she can read Jean’s mind. And it’s not a lack of intelligence holding her back. Nor – Jean’s instincts tell her – talent. There’s a sharpness to Ava, a forwardness and charm that can’t be taught. Ambition, then, must be what’s lacking.
‘What kind of lawyer are you?’
Ava scoffs. Then she looks hard at Jean, gaze penetrating. ‘Is thatreallywhat you want to ask me about?’
Jean considers her next words with care. And Ava seems content to let her, watching – always watching – but never pressing. It would be safer to stick to work, certainly. As a senior partner Jean is sure on her feet in legal discussions. Mergers and acquisitions. Advice and crisis management. And she’s well placed to offer a junior colleague pointers. In this conversation, Jean would have the upper hand.
But she can have that conversation at any conference or function, where students and interns buzz around her like mosquitos. And it doesn’t make her blood quicken. Doesn’t leave any part of Jean curious about what’s coming next. She’s on autopilot then, not anticipating her opponent’s next move.
‘No, actually,’ says Jean. ‘It’s not.’
Ava leans forward, an elbow on the table, chin perched against her palm. ‘Go on, then.’
And Jean almost wishes she’d opted for a third martini, for the gin to burn her embarrassment clean away. ‘How do you do it? With women?’ Ava’s eyes pop cartoon wide, and Jean’s tongue trips over her teeth in haste to stop her seizing on this slip. ‘Pick them up. Other… females. Date them. Or whatever it is you do.’
She gulps at the sparkling water, draining half the glass in one go. And it’s as if the bubbles have entered Jean’s bloodstream, fizzing and popping just beneath her skin.
‘Apps mostly. I don’t have time for much else. Too busy with work – you know how that goes. Sometimes my friends set me up.’ A gamine shrug. Then her eyes lock with Jean’s, and there’s no mistaking Ava’s intent. ‘Occasionally, once in a blue moon, I’ll bump into a woman who steals my breath away.’
‘Oh?’
‘Doesn’t happen that often. But when it does…’ Ava trails off, leaving Jean to imagine all kinds of unspoken pleasures.
‘How do you know?’ Jean clears her throat. ‘When it’s like that with a woman?’
Ava frowns, considering. ‘Being near her is just… this intoxicating feeling. Like the first time I ever tasted champagne. And the closer I get to her, the more alive I feel. It’s an ache, only the last thing you want is for it to stop.’
Jean’s heart pounds, so loud in her ears it drowns out the music. She’s still scrambling for something, anything, to say when the server sets two steaming baskets down before them. And Jean has never been so grateful for a heap of wings.
Ever gallant, Ava pushes the basket towards her first. And Jean plucks a wing from the pile, tearing meat from bone. The crunch of the skin, the tenderness of the chicken – it tastes so good that Jean doesn’t care how she looks, reaching for a second even as she chews. There is no elegant way to eat food like this. And it doesn’t matter how Ava sees her. Not one tiny bit. Jean drops the glistening bone down onto her napkin and devours another wing.
