Connected Hearts - Four Lesbian Romance Stories (3 page)

Amanda glanced at her watch. It was barely eight, so she had more than seven hours before her shift at the juice bar started. “Um, no, but ...”

“But ...?”

What could she say?
No, thanks, I’m not in the habit of letting people make me breakfast when I don’t even know their name?
She sighed. After she had spent the night with this stranger, she couldn’t refuse to have breakfast with her. “All right. Then I’ll have toast if it’s not too much trouble.”

“No trouble at all.” The butch moved smoothly through the spacious kitchen and popped two pieces of bread into the toaster. “Come in and sit down. I don’t bite.”

Amanda flushed. What was she? A fifteen-year-old? Women usually didn’t fluster her like this. She sat at the far side of the breakfast bar, careful not to get in the butch’s way. When the toaster ejected the toast, Amanda jumped and then scolded herself.

The butch placed two perfect, golden-brown pieces of toast in front of Amanda. “Butter?”

“Um, no, thanks.” Amanda wasn’t even sure her stomach could handle the toast.

After one long glance at Amanda, the woman put a kettle of water on the stove.

While they waited for the water to boil, the silence seemed deafening. Amanda fidgeted, but even if she had been in the mood for a chat, she didn’t know what to say.

A few minutes later, the butch set a steaming mug down in front of Amanda.

“Thank you.” Amanda took a careful sniff. The fresh, spicy scent reminded her of her favorite Chinese takeout. “What’s this?”

A smile deepened the laugh lines around the butch’s eyes. She couldn’t be much older than Amanda’s thirty-one, but the lines in her face already showed that she liked to laugh. “Don’t worry. I’m not gonna poison you. It’s fresh ginger tea. My grandfather always made it for me when I felt a bit ... under the weather.”

Under the weather.
Amanda couldn’t help returning the smile. That’s what her grandmother also called it when someone had a hangover. She clutched the mug in both hands and let the warmth soothe her rattled nerves.

The butch took a seat next to Amanda at the breakfast bar and got started on her stack of pancakes. Her knee touched Amanda’s, but she didn’t seem to notice.

Under the pretense of reaching for her toast, Amanda pulled her knee away.

In the silence between them, the crunching of the toast sounded overly loud. Should she say something? But what? As far as she could see, they had nothing in common. Finally, Amanda thought of something. “You’ve got kids?”

The butch swallowed a bite of pancake and looked up. “Oh, you mean because of the toothbrush? Sorry about that. It was the only new one I had. I keep it for when my nieces and nephews stay overnight. I don’t have kids, but I’m a highly sought-after babysitter.”

“Oh.” Somehow, she hadn’t thought of the butch as the motherly type. Amanda rolled her eyes at herself.
Stereotyping much?

“You sound surprised. Butch women can be great with kids too. We also have a fully functional uterus, you know?” She didn’t sound offended, just amused.

Amanda’s cheeks heated. She hid behind the mug of tea. “I know. It’s just ... This ... you ... It just caught me off-guard.” Oh, great. If her acting coach had heard her, he would have lost what little hair he had left. Years of voice training and now one night with this butch made her stammer like a fool. “I don’t usually ... You’re not ... I mean, normally, I go for the more ...”

“Feminine type,” the butch said with a nod. “I know. That’s what you said last night.”

“Oh. I did?”
Was that before or after I examined her tonsils with my tongue?

The butch put down her fork and turned to face Amanda. “You don’t remember a thing about last night, do you?”

Amanda nearly spat ginger tea across the breakfast bar. Her coughing made the hyperactive preschooler start the drumming behind her temples again. Wheezing, she peeked at the butch out of the corner of her eye. What now? Lie through her teeth or come clean? She decided to go with the truth. Sort of. “Everything after the first drink is a bit fuzzy.”

The butch lifted one perfectly arched eyebrow.

Was she tweezing them, or did they naturally grow like that?

“Define ‘a bit fuzzy,’” the woman said.

“Um.” Amanda nibbled on her toast to buy herself some time. Finally, she wiped the crumbs off her chin and turned toward the woman next to her. “I don’t remember a thing.” There. It was out. She gulped down ginger tea as if it were liquor.

“Nothing? Not even ...?”

“What?” Amanda asked when the butch trailed off. “What happened?”

The butch shook her head. “Nothing.”

Amanda wanted to believe that, but she remembered a pretty hot kiss. Maybe the butch thought nothing of kissing strangers on a regular basis, but in Amanda’s book, that wasn’t “nothing.”

“Honestly. We didn’t sleep together.” The butch looked at her with her brown Teddy bear eyes. Either she was a damn good liar or a better actress than Amanda.

“But you kissed me.”

“No.”

The half-empty mug nearly toppled over as Amanda stabbed her finger at the butch. “Liar. That’s the one thing I remember. You kissed me, and it wasn’t a little peck.”

“No,” the butch said once more. “You kissed me.”

“Why would I do that?” Only after she had said it did Amanda realize how that sounded. Christ. She was acting as if the butch woman was the most repulsive creature on earth, and that certainly wasn’t true. “I mean ...”

“That red-haired guy just wouldn’t leave you alone, no matter how many times you told him to clear out. After you shot him down for the umpteenth time, he slurred, ‘What are you, a lesbian?’ By that time, half of the club was eavesdropping on your conversation.”

Amanda groaned. As much as she appreciated having an attentive audience at work, she normally avoided making a spectacle of herself in her spare time.

“You looked him right in the eye and said, ‘Yes.’” The butch shrugged. “That idiot didn’t believe you, so you set out to convince him.”

Something tickled the edges of Amanda’s memory. Not quite a flashback, but the words rang true. “What did I do?”

“You emptied your drink, turned, and laid the kiss of my life on me.” Grinning, the butch fanned herself with both hands.

“I didn’t.”

“You sure did. And it was very convincing too. After he stopped salivating, the guy finally got lost.”

Amanda covered her burning face with her hands. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry.”

Gentle fingers tried to pull Amanda’s hands down, but she resisted. “You certainly don’t need to apologize. Even three sheets to the wind, you’re a great kisser.”

Still feeling as if her face was glowing ketchup red, Amanda peeked through her fingers. For the first time, she really looked at the butch’s face. Despite the short hair, it wasn’t as androgynous as she had first thought. The square jaw and strong forehead were gentled by luscious lips and long eyelashes that every actress in Hollywood, including Amanda, would kill for. A small scar at the corner of her left eye made her look as if she were constantly winking. Somehow, it seemed to fit her easygoing personality.

The woman gave her an encouraging smile.

Amanda took her hands away from her face and took a deep breath, determined to be an adult about this. “Okay. So I kissed you, and you didn’t suffer too much. That still doesn’t explain how I ended up in your bed.” She tried to keep her voice neutral, without an accusing undertone. The woman next to her didn’t seem like the type who took advantage of a drunken person.

“People were staring at you, so I dragged you out of the bar before you could order another one of those drinks.”

“I wish you’d had that idea before I drank enough to put down a rhino,” Amanda mumbled and rubbed her temples.

An impish grin flashed across the butch’s face. “Sorry.”

“What happened then?”

“I offered to drive you home or call you a taxi, but you refused to tell me where you live. Now I’m not so sure you even remembered your address. So it was either let you wander about the parking lot in the middle of the night or take you home with me.”

That sounded plausible. Amanda wasn’t proud of drinking so much that she lost her memory and all sense of orientation, but at least she hadn’t slept with a complete stranger. “And why didn’t I sleep on the couch?”

“Because that’s where I slept,” the butch said. “My grandfather would turn over in his grave if I let a lady sleep on the couch.”

Amanda sighed. “I didn’t behave like much of a lady last night.”

The butch chuckled. “Um, no, you didn’t. Your wandering hands almost landed us in the ditch twice before we finally made it to my apartment.”

“Excuse me?” Amanda squinted at the woman. She was kidding, right? With her constant wink, Amanda couldn’t tell.

“Nope. You really, really seemed to like my thighs and ... um ... well, a few other body parts.”

Amanda wanted to sink under the breakfast bar and never come out again. Her gaze fell on the butch’s thighs. She normally liked her women not quite so athletic, but she had to admit that this was a fine pair of legs.
Cut it out!
She jerked her gaze upward. What the hell was going on with her? Never, ever in her life would she drink those
Mind Erasers
again. That drink was really messing with her head, even now, on the morning after. “But when we got to your apartment, I behaved myself, right?”

“Ah, well, you tried to undress me, but ... Don’t get me wrong, if we had met under different circumstances, I certainly wouldn’t push you out of bed,” the butch flashed a grin that showed off even, white teeth, “but sleeping with a drunken woman is not my style. I just led you to my bedroom, where you struggled out of your clothes, fell face-first on my bed, and started snoring like a lumberjack.”

Okay, it’s official now. I’ll be the one to die—of embarrassment.
Amanda sent a pleading gaze at the butch. “I’m really sorry.”

“Again, you’ve got nothing to apologize for. Well, the snoring wasn’t half as pleasant as the kissing, but it was kind of cute.” The butch chuckled.

Amanda made a face. “No, really. You went through a lot of trouble to get me out of a bad situation, and all I do when I wake up is treat you as if you did something wrong.”

“It’s okay. I’d freak out too if I woke up in a stranger’s apartment, not knowing what happened.”

For a few minutes, they both sat next to each other without talking, Amanda busy digesting what she’d just found out and the butch eating her pancakes, which had probably gone cold by now.

“So,” the butch said when she carried the dishes to the sink, “anything else you want to know about last night?”

“I’ve got one more question,” Amanda said. “But it’s not about last night.”

“Oh? What is it, then? Come on, out with it.” The butch turned and winked with her right eye, the one that didn’t have the scar. “After doing the tonsil tango with me, there’s no reason to be shy.”

Ignoring her blush, Amanda finally asked, “What’s your name?” She still didn’t know this stranger, but thinking of her just as “the butch” didn’t feel right anymore.

The woman chuckled. She piled the dishes in the sink, wiped her fingers on her jeans, and held out her right hand. “Michelle Osinski. Nice to meet you.”

“Amanda Clark.” She shook Michelle’s hand.
Michelle.
She lifted her brows. For some reason, she had expected a different name.
One more stereotype bites the dust.

“What?” Michelle laughed. “You thought all butches have names like Chris, Mel, or Sam?”

“Um, no. Of course not.” Amanda rubbed her cheeks. They were burning, as were her earlobes.

Michelle patted her arm. “Relax, will you? I’m just teasing.” She put her hands in her jeans pockets.

Amanda couldn’t help watching the muscles play in her arms. Normally, she didn’t like buff women, but on Michelle, it looked natural. She wrenched her gaze away and rubbed her eyes.
I’ll never drink vodka again. Ever.

“Now that you’ve got something in your stomach, I’ll bring you an Aspirin,” Michelle said. “Let’s go into the living room.” She put her hand on the small of Amanda’s back as if she wanted to lead her to the living room.

Her touch made Amanda’s skin heat up. Uncomfortable with her body’s strange reaction, she pulled away. “No, thanks. My headache is a lot better already.”

After studying Amanda more intently than most casting directors, Michelle shook her head and said, “You really don’t like me, do you?”

“W-what?” Amanda stood and white-knuckled the edge of the breakfast bar. “What makes you think that?” Had she really given Michelle that impression? If anything, she was grateful for Michelle’s help. Grateful and mortally embarrassed.

“You keep looking at me like you’re afraid I’m going to try and lure you back into bed and have my way with you.”

“No, that’s not—”

“Listen, I got the message. You don’t go for butch women. And that’s fine with me because I,” Michelle tapped her chest, “promised myself to never, ever get involved with an actress again. Two of my exes are actresses, and no offense, but I could do without the drama.”

Wow.
Amanda sank against the breakfast bar. “Are you always so direct?” In her world full of flatterers, opportunists, and professional pretenders, no one ever came right out and told her what they thought of her. Well, no one but the camel that told her in no uncertain terms that it didn’t like her—by biting her.

“Usually,” Michelle said, shrugging. “It saves time.” With a rueful smile she added, “It also got me slapped a time or two.”

Her expression made Amanda laugh. “Your actress exes?”

“No. Throwing dishes was more their style.”

Oh, yeah.
Amanda had once shared a trailer with a soap opera diva like that. “Is that how you got your scar?” She pointed at the corner of her eye, then jerked her hand away. She normally wasn’t one to ask such personal questions the first time she met someone.
Guess being direct is contagious.

Automatically, Michelle’s finger came up to touch the scar. “Nothing quite as spectacular as what happened with your scar.”