The Lovers (4 page)

Viviane nods in understanding.

Maybe even my uncomfortable attraction to Audrey is good for me. It makes me think. She makes me
feel.
For the first time in a long time. For the first time ever, really.

I know what it is in my past that has done this to me. I know my distant parents haven't helped. But it's time for me
to take charge of my life. Isn't that what Terry and I have been talking about for over a year? That I need to get over what's happened to me, the tragedy that is my sterile family life. The real tragedy of what happened when I was fifteen that my parents don't even know about.

Maybe I need a female touch to allow myself to feel. Maybe I need something really different to force me to break beyond those physical and mental boundaries I've erected to protect myself.

And maybe I've imagined all this mutual chemistry, that it's only a sort of immature girl-crush most girls experience in high school or college.

Please don't let it be all my imagination.

God, I can't believe I am even thinking these things. That I want Audrey to touch me, to kiss me, to fuck me in whatever way women do. But God, I do. I
want,
in a way I never have before. And it's scary and exhilarating and I need to go back to bed with my vibrator again.

Instead, I pull in a deep breath, focus on the sound of Viviane humming, carefully dry the pots and pans. Try to act normal.

But all I'm really thinking about is Audrey's tanned skin, her lips, so red and absolutely ripe-looking. And the ache between my thighs pulses like the rhythm of the ocean beyond the front doors, primal and insistent and a part of
life,
moving and breathing on the earth.

The beach is a long sweep of pale sand with a rocky outcropping some distance to the south and another to the north. A few houses are scattered on the edge of the dunes, some small cottages, some enormous places made all of glass, taking advantage of the spectacular view. The old cypress and eucalyptus trees grow in spots almost to the shore, and the sand is dotted with clumps of ice plant. It's low tide and seaweed lies in dark, curling strands at the edge of the water, waiting to be carried back out to float on the sea. I can smell the salt, tangy and fresh and energizing. I can feel the power of the waves as they surge in, then out.

Why does it feel sexual to me?

Everything does.

We sit on colorful Mexican blankets, our legal pads in our laps, discussing our books, making notes, drinking the iced green tea Viviane has brought with her in a pair of huge thermoses. The sun is warm, but not too warm; it feels good on my shoulders, bared by my tank top, and on the tops of my bare feet. Everyone is relaxed, eager. It feels a bit like it does when we do this online, except better, everything clearer
than it is when we're all madly typing to each other, trying to get our thoughts out as fast as our fingers will fly across the keyboard. And it's wonderful to see everyone's expressions as we talk about our ideas, that true reaction you don't get unless the person is sitting right in front of you. Another small epiphany for me.

Audrey is in her bikini, with an oversize, pale blue linen shirt thrown over it. A long, fine silver chain lies over her breastbone, making her look even more delicate. She manages to look incredibly sexy and casually put together at the same time. Some people have that gift. It's not one of mine. I feel sloppy if I'm not careful about how I put myself together, maybe because my hair is so utterly out of control. But today I feel so good I hardly care.

If only Audrey weren't sitting next to me, her bare, tanned skin tempting in my peripheral vision as her loose shirt flaps in the breeze. I am eternally damp, my senses on keen alert, in a constant state of mild arousal that I find difficult to ignore for more than a few minutes at a time. It makes me uncomfortable, but also adds to the energy of the day.

The sun is high in the sky and it's getting to be a bit too hot when Viviane announces it's time to break for lunch. Everyone gets up and brushes the sand from their clothes before starting up the dunes toward the house. Audrey hangs back, standing to look out at the sea.

“Everything okay?” I ask her.

“Perfect.” She turns to smile at me, and I bask in the warmth of that smile.

I am being ridiculous again.

“It's hot, isn't it? We should go for a swim before lunch,” she says, her eyes gleaming like two sky-colored crystals in the sun, challenging me as she slips the big blue shirt from her shoulders.

“I don't have my suit on.”

“So? Swim in your underwear.” She leans in until I can smell the citrus scent of her hair, and says in a low, faux-sexy tone, “You
are
wearing underwear, aren't you, Bettina?”

I laugh, trying to cover how her voice, her silly question, is making me hot all over. “Of course I am.”

“Come on, then.”

Suddenly her hands are tearing my tank top over my head, and desire throbs between my legs, in my breasts. Even worse when she kneels in the sand and unbuttons my cargo shorts, dragging them down my legs, revealing my pale pink cotton panties that match my bra. I am so soaking wet I'm afraid she'll see it, smell my desire. But she just tosses my clothes on the sand and grabs my hand, pulling me with her into the waves.

The water is a shock at first, and I gasp.

“Cold?” Audrey asks.

“It's freezing!”

“Oh, it's not so bad. Come on, Bettina.”

She drags me in deeper, the water swirling around my stomach.

“I can't!”

“Sure you can. I'll help you.”

She wraps her arms around me, presses belly to belly, and it does warm me, but not only in the way she intended. But do I even know what she intends? I can't figure it out. All I know is that her body is keeping mine warm. That my nipples are hard and aching against hers, my pussy clenching and unclenching. Empty. Hungry.

Audrey pulls me farther into the cold water, and I taste the salt on my tongue as a wave splashes against our shoulders. But she doesn't let me go.

“Better?”

“Yes. Better.” I smile at her.

She smiles back, leans in, touching her lips to mine. And it is more shocking than the cold ocean. Just the merest contact, her soft lips pressed to mine, and oh, God, I think I could almost come just from this. But how is that possible?

She pulls back, and I can barely hear her over the roar of the ocean, the roar of desire in my ears. “You really are beautiful, Bettina.”

She smiles again, sunnily, and releases me. I nearly fall back, into the swirling water, but manage to catch myself. Audrey is laughing as she dives into the water, comes up with her hair streaming, looking like a mermaid. She grins at me, splashes me playfully, and I splash her back, my brain working at a thousand miles an hour, trying to figure it out, trying
not
to figure it out and just enjoy whatever is happening.

I spend far too much time dissecting things. And trying to dissect this, whatever it is, will drive me crazy if I let it.

We swim and splash, diving under the water, coming up salty and sputtering, until I'm shaking, my lips beginning to go numb.

“Okay, now it's cold,” Audrey yells over her shoulder as she moves through the water, back onto the beach.

She sits on the sun-warm sand and wraps her arms around herself, shivering, as she watches me follow after her, the waves dragging at my tired limbs. I collapse on the beach beside her. She lays her arm around my shoulder, pulling me in close to her side.

“Your turn to keep me warm,” she tells me.

And just like that, I am on fire again, my body burning with desire.

“Audrey…”

“Hmm?”

She is pushing her wet hair from her face with her free
hand, but her eyes are steady on mine. She's smiling a little, just a quirk at the corner of her full mouth, her dimple sweet and tempting in her cheek.

I swear I see the same desire in her eyes I feel flooding my system, her features going soft. She leans into me, her smile widening as she tilts her face to mine. And it is one of those magical moments, and I'm sure I'm not imagining things this time. Heat arcs between us, and she is going to kiss me again. But I have to say something this time. I have to ask her. “Audrey—”

“Hey, girls!” Viviane is shouting from the top of the dunes. “Leo's here. Come say hello!”

Audrey jumps to her feet. “We're coming!”

I don't really know what I wanted to say to her, anyway.

Fuck.

I grab my cast-off clothes, pulling them on over my sodden underwear and bra, and we trudge back up the beach.

“You'll love Leo,” Audrey says to me over her shoulder. “He's a doll. I'm so excited!”

Why do I feel as though I suddenly no longer exist for her? That I am merely part of the background? Or am I being overly sensitive? It wouldn't be the first time.

We reach the patio and everyone is there, including Leo Hirogata.

Leo is a few inches taller than I am, slender, with golden skin and pretty, black eyes as dark as his black, spiky hair. He's good-looking, if a bit androgynous. He's wearing a T-shirt with the cast of a popular Japanese comic book I recognize as being one my friend Calvin has shown me. Audrey goes straight to him and throws her arms around him, planting a kiss on his mouth. It's more than a friendly peck; it's several moments before she pulls back, her dazzling smile directed at Leo. My chest knots up.

Don't be ridiculous.

But I
am
being ridiculous. I can't seem to help myself. It's as though our time on the beach never happened. Or maybe what happened means nothing to her. Maybe it only meant something to me because my perceptions of people are so fucked up. Because I'm so fucked up.

Eventually everyone has said hello to Leo, and he sees me standing at the edge of the group.

“Hey, you must be Bettina. We finally meet.”

“Yes, hi, Leo. It's nice to meet you.”

“How's Calvin doing?”

“Calvin? Oh, he's fine. Fine. Just…you know. Doing his comics.”

Why can't I speak like a normal person?

“Awesome. Too bad he isn't part of this group. Man, he'd love it here. I love it here. So glad to get out of the Seattle gray.”

Leo turns to grin broadly at Audrey.

“Well, we're all glad to have you here, Leo,” she says, taking his arm in both her hands, sort of wrapping herself around him. “Why don't I take you up to the house and help you get settled. Do you need something to drink?”

“Yeah, I could use a Coke or something.”

Audrey smiles at him once more, brilliantly. “I'm really glad you made it, Leo. Come on, I want to see your new comics.”

I see Leo blush, color staining his cheeks. His black eyes are sparkling. Audrey will do that to a person. I should know.

“Sure,” he says. “I'll show you what I've been working on the last few weeks.”

Audrey pulls on his arm and they go into the house. I am left feeling oddly lost, and cold and sticky from my swim. I slip out to go back to my cottage and change.

Once my clothes are off, though, and I'm in the shower with the hot water pouring down on my bare skin, I am all a confused mass of lust and hurt.
Need.

I need her. I don't understand. I didn't want this. And as strange as it seems, even to me, I slip my hand between my thighs, over my soaking-wet slit, my hardened clit. Desire builds, higher and higher. I rub harder. But I can't keep the images straight in my head: Audrey, her kissing me, the ocean moving around us, cool and fresh. Her kissing Leo.

Goddamn it!

I turn the shower off, grab a towel and head to my bed, where I don't even bother to really dry off before pulling my vibrator from the nightstand and sitting back against the pillows, my knees bent, my thighs wide. I push the vibe right into my pussy; I am so wet I don't even need any lube. It sinks right in, the buzzing carried through my system, a current of pleasure, hot and electric. I squeeze my eyes shut and see her face, feel her lips.

Audrey.

I see her kissing Leo, see the beauty of his mouth. And suddenly, he's kissing me, too, while Audrey lowers her face between my thighs, her tongue snaking out to lick at my clitoris, to spear into my body.

I am shivering with need, tensed, waiting.

More, as Audrey takes my breasts in her hands, and my own hand reaches up as I take my nipple between my fingers and squeeze. A shock of desire, hot and pulsing.

Audrey.

And Leo's mouth on mine, his tongue hot and pressing into my mouth. Her tongue working between my thighs, so damn good, and the vibrator deep inside me, buzzing against my G-spot. And I am coming, crying out, my hips arching.
Pleasure is hot and sharp in my body, spearing into me over and over.

I pull the vibrator from my sex and turn it off. My legs are shaking. I feel empty.

What is it I want? I don't know. I don't fucking know.

 

That evening we have dinner at a restaurant in the small town of Goleta. The decor is classic Mexican: gaily painted ladder-back chairs with straw seats, red-and-yellow tablecloths, colored lights hanging all around the high ceiling, making small splotches of blue and red and green against the pale adobe walls. The salsa is hot enough to really burn, but fantastic. We order pitchers of margaritas, and even Patrice drinks too much before the food arrives.

Audrey sits between Leo and me, and she is subtly flirting with him, and with me. And with the waiter.

The waiter bothers me the most, for some reason. Maybe because he isn't one of us. Maybe because he is so incredibly good-looking, with his sleek black hair and flashing brown eyes. He's tall and slim, but with broad shoulders, and classic Latino good looks: high cheekbones, a chiseled chin with a dimple in the center, beautiful smooth brown skin. I'd be attracted to him if I weren't so busy resenting him.

I am being completely ridiculous.

I know that, and yet I cannot stop.

The food is some of the best I've had, but I am constantly distracted by what Audrey is doing: the way the fork disappears between her red lips, the graceful gestures she makes with her hands when she's talking. The way her eyes sparkle, the way she pushes her hair behind one ear when she's flirting with Leo or the waiter. Or with Kenneth, Patrice or Viviane. Or me.

I keep reflecting back to that kiss in the ocean, asking myself
what it meant. If anything. And I have to wonder if all of this self-doubt has as much to do with Audrey as it does with just
me.

Terry has talked to me about taking myself too seriously. I was the one who brought it up, initially, as a sort of half joke, but Terry addressed it as though I was being perfectly serious, and I've come to understand that maybe I was.

God, if Audrey could see the shit going on in my head she would definitely tell me to lighten up. And she'd be right.

I decide to lighten up.

I turn back to my nearly empty margarita glass and sip the sweet-bitter liquid through the straw. It's cold on my tongue, sliding down my throat. I'm more than a little buzzed, but so is everyone at the table, except Viviane, who's driving. Audrey is laughing at something Leo has said, leaning into him, shoulder to shoulder. I try to tune in to what they're laughing about, but it's too late; I've missed it. I smile, anyway, as though I get it.

“Has anyone heard from Jack?” Patrice asks, and I see Audrey stop laughing and turn her head, attentive, eager to hear the answer.

“Not yet,” Viviane says. “But you know how he is. He lives life at his own pace. He'll just show up without notice, like he always does.” She pauses to eat a tortilla chip covered in salsa, wipes her mouth carefully with her cloth napkin. “It doesn't matter. I'll be glad to see him, whenever he arrives.”