She's With Me

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She's with Me

About the Author

It's a fact that Izzy likes men. Meeka's rule is never crush on straight friends. But a single fact isn't the whole picture, and sometimes rules get broken. On a night out drinking, the two friends stumble into territory that breaks all the unwritten rules, and Izzy learns that 'likes men' doesn't keep her from enjoying the rush of giving Meeka orders—and Meeka will do anything to keep her attention.

She's With Me

By Vanessa Cardui

Published by Less Than Three Press LLC

All rights reserved.  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the publisher, except for the purpose of reviews.

Edited by Amanda Jean

Cover designed by Natasha Snow

This book is a work of fiction and all names, characters, places, and incidents are fictional or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is coincidental.

First Edition February 2016

Copyright © 2016 by Vanessa Cardui

Printed in the United States of America

Digital ISBN 9781620047101

On the TV screen, giant robots were destroying a poorly CGI'd city. Meeka lay back on the couch, and from the kitchen came the sounds of Izzy pottering around, and the sudden, heavenly smell of cherry pie. Shortly, Izzy came back into the living room with one plate, one fork, and one slice of sweet, flaky, runny goodness. She sat down cross-legged on the chair by Meeka's head and began to eat.

Meeka gave her big puppy-dog eyes. "No pie for me?"

"What's the magic word?" said Izzy.

"Pleeeease?" Meeka did the eyes even bigger and rounder, until Izzy laughed. Then she scooped up a forkful of pie and held it out a couple of inches from Meeka's face.

Meeka wasn't proud, not where pie was concerned. She lifted her head and ate the pie off the end of the fork. "Mmm," she said, and flopped back onto the couch. She felt a little stupid and unaccountably warm, not just from the pie, even if it was fresh out of the oven and delicious. From here she had an excellent view of Izzy's legs. There was a nick in the back of one knee where she'd probably cut herself shaving, and her toenails were painted purple. She was watching the movie, where a scientist was now explaining his plan to destroy the robots. The science was ridiculous, and Izzy's laugh had a snort in it; it dimpled her cheeks and lifted her chin, making an elegant line of her neck.

Another forkful of pie was hovering in front Meeka's face, Izzy holding the fork almost absently, like it was an afterthought to her movie-watching experience. Meeka ate it. Izzy was still facing the movie, but she was watching Meeka from the corner of her eye, and Meeka was sure that Izzy saw her blush and the curl of her toes, even if she didn't say anything.

Meeka tried to watch the movie. That didn't work very well.

If Izzy had been looking at her, Meeka probably would have gotten embarrassed—well, more embarrassed—and stopped. But as it was, she ate and stared at Izzy and tried to pretend she wasn't feeling the way she was feeling. Izzy was her friend, and not into girls as far as Meeka knew, and besides—

"Hey," said Meeka, "where are you going?"

Not like she was complaining, exactly; Izzy's skirt rode low around her hips and she had a very nice ass. There was a swing to it even when she was doing an ordinary thing like walking to the kitchen.

Izzy waved her fork vaguely in Meeka's direction. "I'm getting some more pie. Someone ate all of mine."

"You're weird," Meeka called after her.

Izzy came back with a second slice, sat down on her chair, and everything was right with Meeka's world again. She thought about doing the big eyes and asking for that piece of pie too, but couldn't quite work up the nerve. Izzy started eating.

The giant robots were now rampaging on a beach. One of them picked up a girl wearing a tiny black bikini, who started to squirm and shriek. Izzy would look great in that bikini, but her personality reminded Meeka more of the giant robot.

"I may be weird," said Izzy between bites, "but you're the one who ate all the pie I gave you. You could have gotten your own."

Meeka shrugged. "And get up from the couch? No, thank you." She flipped onto her belly, rested her chin on crossed arms, and grinned up at Izzy. "I've got everything I want right here."

*~*~*

"He's a jerk," said Meeka.

 
Izzy looked up from her phone. She'd kind of been trying to set it on fire with her mind and had forgotten Meeka was there.

"I mean, really, what, can he tie knots with his tongue?" Meeka went on. "Has he got a dick like a porn star on Viagra? What's he got that makes it worth putting up with this shit?"

"You don't understand about men," said Izzy.

"Damn right," said Meeka.

The phone was still stubbornly not on fire, so Izzy slid it back into her pocket. Meeka was a good friend to come here just to listen to Izzy bitch, but Izzy still suddenly had nothing to do with her evening but piss it away in a bar with mismatched barstools and patrons who were actually drinking Pabst Blue Ribbon. She was horny and furious in about equal measure. The douchebag with the thick glasses leering at them from the next table was really not helping.

"Hey, Meeka," said Izzy, "undo your jacket."

"Huh?" But Meeka's fingers had automatically gone for the top button before she said it. If only Jake were more like that, ha.

"Just... indulge me, all right?"

Meeka shrugged, an impressive sight even with the jacket closed. Izzy liked men, herself—except for when she'd rather take a meat cleaver to the entire gender—but Meeka's breasts didn't let a little thing like sexual orientation stop them. They were a force of nature. Izzy could practically measure the rise in the douchebag's temperature for every inch of ribbed red sweater that Meeka exposed.

Meeka was blushing, too, and absently biting her lip the way she did when she was nervous or concentrating on something, but she didn't seem to notice the douchebag's scrutiny. She looked at Izzy, sidelong, like she was... waiting for something?

Izzy nodded, and Meeka lowered her eyes, went as red as her sweater, and grinned, dimples breaking out in both cheeks.

"Take the jacket off," said Izzy, "slowly." She had to suppress the urge to start squirming on her own barstool. It was frustration at the cancellation of tonight's plans, it must be, but the way Meeka did just as she was told was a rush like... well, like sex. Which made no sense because they hadn't touched or anything, and yeah, Meeka looked great in that sweater, but Izzy had seen her in it a dozen times and it hadn't made her feel like this before. Girls didn't really do it for her.

But the way conversation stopped two tables away as Meeka peeled out of the jacket was definitely doing something for Izzy.

Meeka wasn't looking at Izzy now, or anywhere but the scratched surface of the bar, but her smile hadn't entirely faded, and her toes were doing a little tap dance in the air.
It was super cute, and Izzy didn't know what to do about that, so she tried to break the spell by saying, "Hey.  Are you with me?"

Meeka gave a shaky little laugh and looked up. "Sorry."

"Did you know every guy in here is staring at you?" said Izzy.

Meeka shrugged. Izzy was pretty sure she heard shattering glass from the other end of the bar. "Yeah, it happens," said Meeka.

Since Meeka had no interest in men as such— "Does it bother you?" said Izzy, suddenly contrite.

"Well..." Meeka's toes did the shuffle again. "Sometimes? I mean, it can feel a little, um, not-safe." Then she turned the full force of her big brown eyes and dimpled smile on Izzy. "But I'm with you, right?"

"Right," Izzy agreed. A smile started to spread on her own face. It felt... predatory. She directed it around at the gaping bar patrons, her reservations forgotten for the moment, an incredible feeling of power in their place.
She's with me.

"Here, you haven't touched your... thing." Izzy slid the pastel confection in the Martini glass towards Meeka. "Drink up."

Izzy rested her chin in her hand and waited until Meeka had tilted the glass up and taken a mouthful, but not swallowed. "Good girl," she said.

Meeka sputtered. The drink dribbled down her front. Next time Izzy would get her to wear a white T-shirt. "My God, Izzy."

"What?" said Izzy innocently.

Meeka looked down, gnawing at her lower lip like she was about to bite through it, wiggling her butt on her barstool in a way that was likely to give someone a heart attack. She didn't say anything.

"Sorry." Izzy flashed a not-sorry smile that was wasted on Meeka, who still wasn't looking at it. "Go ahead and finish your drink. I won't interrupt you this time."

Meeka's hand was shaking when she lifted her glass. She threw her head back and chugged rather than sipped; it would have been a waste of a whatever-it-was-tini if that weren't a contradiction in terms. She set the empty glass down, face and neck flushed, eyes shining, lips wet and stretched out in a cockeyed grin. Izzy felt the room lurch and sway like she was the one who'd had more to drink, more quickly than she was used to. "Look at me," said Izzy, and Meeka's chin came up, with no hesitation this time, just a dreamy intensity. "Shoes off." And they hit the floor, one after another. Meeka's stockinged toes wiggled. "Hands in your lap. Back straight. Spread your knees, just a little... there."

Meeka wasn't flashing the whole bar the way she was sitting—although Izzy was forced to consider the possibility that she would, just as promptly, if Izzy told her to right now. Then Izzy had to have a steadying sip of her screwdriver. It wasn't as steadying as she'd hoped, and she passed the glass over to Meeka. "Finish this for me too. I don't think I need it. You can take one hand out of your lap," she added as Meeka started to bend toward the glass with a look of bright inquiry. That bend showed off a lovely little bit of cleavage and Izzy could see a slice of pale thigh inside Meeka's skirt. Not that she was looking or anything.

Izzy watched Meeka drink until she was licking the last drops from the rim of the glass and swaying slightly on her bar stool. Well, Jake wasn't going to come by for a night of quick and dirty sex and takeout pizza, and it looked like there wasn't going to be an evening of hanging out with Meeka and bitching about boys and movies either. But
something
had happened, even if Izzy couldn't say quite what it was. "C'mon," she said, sliding down from her own barstool. "Let's get you home."

"'Kay," said Meeka. She had to steady herself with one hand on the bar, and it took her longer to get back into her shoes than it really should have. Meeka stiffened at first when Izzy started to help her into her jacket, but then snuggled up close enough that it was hard to get the jacket on. Izzy didn't mind. Meeka was soft all over and smelled like orange juice, vodka, and some sort of herbal shampoo.

Meeka leaned heavily on Izzy for the whole three-block walk back to her apartment. Izzy put an arm around her waist to help hold her up. It felt nice.

"Well, here you are," said Izzy when they got to the door of Meeka's building.

"Keys're in my front pocket," Meeka mumbled without making any move to retrieve them.
If that was an invitation, Izzy didn't have to be asked twice. She reached over with the hand that wasn't holding Meeka up, and rummaged in her pocket while Meeka clutched tighter and muffled her giggles in Izzy's shoulder. Apparently she was ticklish.

Izzy got Meeka in the building, up the stairs, and into her apartment without incident. Her roommate was out, which was good because Izzy didn't feel like explaining. Not that Meeka coming home a bit tipsy on a Friday evening after going out with a friend needed explaining. Did it?

She steered Meeka into her bedroom, where she toed off her shoes and climbed into bed. Izzy tucked up the covers around her chin. Meeka yawned and said, "G'night," and Izzy stifled a crazy urge to kiss her on the forehead.

Setting the keys down softly on Meeka's bureau, Izzy let herself out into the hallway, illuminated by the faint spill of a nightlight in the bathroom. Meeka probably wouldn't be getting up and her roommate probably wouldn't be getting back for another few minutes. And if they did, there wasn't anything strange about Izzy using the bathroom.

She locked the door and leaned back against it for good measure, fumbling with her button and zipper and yanking her pants down around her knees, followed by her underpants, which were a sticky mess. It smelled like Meeka's shampoo in here too, and Izzy closed her eyes and remembered the nervous wiggle of Meeka's butt on the barstool, the lust-dark, envious eyes of the douchebag at the next table. She drove two fingers into her cunt, slick, warm, and effortless, then out again to grind against her clit, and she heard Meeka's shoes hitting the floor, saw her toes dancing in the air, the way she'd smiled and said, "I'm with you, right?" Izzy slid to the floor, shoved the back of her other hand against her mouth to muffle the sounds she was making, and came until she was sore and breathless. Against her calf, where her front pants pocket had ended up, she felt her phone start to vibrate. She sat on the bathroom floor in a daze and ignored it.