Chapter Ten
Nic
I know something is wrong with Kira the second I open the door that evening. She stands out in the hall wearing her firehouse
shirt and a mid-thigh-length skirt, her eyes bloodshot and puffy, mouth tight and drawn in.
“Can I come in?” she asks, and I scramble back to open the door wider, feeling like a jerk for standing there, staring at
her while she sniffles.
“What happened?” I ask. “Are you okay?”
She sets her bag on the countertop and heads into the kitchen, hoisting herself up on one of the stools. With a deep, calming
breath, she runs a hand through her hair and says words that seem to weigh a thousand pounds.
“I didn’t get the promotion. Again.”
Oh no.
My heart sinks, and I stride forward to stand between her legs and pull her into a hug.
“Kira, I’m so sorry. God, that sucks. They are so horrible!”
“My dad was right. I’m never going to get anywhere in this system,” she says with a sniffle, muffled against my shoulder.
“I feel like I’m throwing myself against a sliding glass door, like a stupid, confused bird ready to knock itself out from
sheer stubbornness, and there’s always some buff muscle bro named Jared on the other side, flexing his pecs while he laughs
at my struggle.”
“That’s an extremely specific metaphor. Do I need to hunt down a guy named Jared?”
It’s a bad joke, but I feel her weak laugh vibrate where her chest is pressed to mine. She drops her forehead on my shoulder.
“Is my professor right? Is it pointless for me to stay? Should I even keep trying?”
I tighten my arms around her and run a hand up her spine, relishing the feel of holding someone even as my heart aches for
her and this shitty situation.
“I know what you mean,” I say. “The feeling of being trapped, of struggling for something that might never happen. It really
sucks, and I’m so sorry you’re having to deal with it right now.”
She sniffles and pulls back but keeps her eyes on the ground.
“Thanks. Um. Sorry. For breaking down on you the second you opened the door.” She wipes her eyes and shakes out her hands,
then meets my gaze. “How are you?”
I look down at my red “Baking Is Science for Hungry People” apron loosely tied over my pajamas and covered in flour, and smirk
at the accurate summation of my life. I gesture down at myself.
“You know. A mess. And I got some of my mess on you, whoops.” I reach out to brush away a smudge of flour below her collarbone,
dusting her dark blue SFD shirt. My fingers linger for a moment, suddenly feeling the weight of the job that goes with this
shirt more acutely. It’s so hard, and so important, and she wants so badly to do even more . It’s horrible that she’s being kept down because of bigoted assholes and politics. It makes me feel ridiculous for stewing
in my own bullshit all day.
Something of my thoughts must show on my face, because Kira covers my hand with hers and squeezes.
“Hey. What smells so good in here?”
I smile and look back down at the floor, pleased.
“I’m getting better at pies, I think. I’ve got a bourbon pecan pie in the oven right now. Kind of got a taste for them while
I was out East for grad school. And you’re a bourbon fan, right? Thought we could use a treat tonight. And baking usually
makes me feel better, even when I’m bad at it.”
Her stomach growls audibly, and we both laugh.
“Okay, yes,” she says. “That sounds perfect. Is it pie for dinner, or are we still doing pizza with pie afterward?”
“Best of both worlds. I even got ice cream for the pie, and there’s bourbon left over for drinking.”
A smile stretches her tearstained cheeks, less bright than normal, but honest and real.
“You truly are a queen. I bow before you, my lady,” she says, taking one of my hands and bowing to brush her lips over the
back.
I snort and snatch my hand back, shoving her shoulder toward the couch to cover the flutter low in my stomach. “Go. Sit. Pull
up Hulu. I assume we’re continuing the rewatch of The Bold Type ?”
“Uh, yes, obviously.”
It’s a show we both missed when it was still airing but started watching together soon after the Queer Eye and Cry night. Up until now, we’ve been watching separately in our own apartments, hitting Play together and live-texting
our reactions. It’s been a nice distraction from everything: from Skylar, from Mama Clark’s worried looks over brunch, from
the growing seed of a PhD thesis topic that won’t leave me alone. Watching together, in person, should be an even better distraction.
The pizza arrives, and we sit side by side with our plates on our laps, scarfing and talking and living vicariously through
these TV women our same age, who are way cooler than us. But also, we pick at pieces of my ugly but absolutely delicious pecan
pie and bask in the total hotness and heart-melting sweetness of Kat and Adena. If Aisha Dee walked through the door right
now, I would drop to my knees and beg her to let me go down on her in an instant. True story.
“Hey, what’s on your mind?” Kira asks during the ad break between episodes.
I open my mouth to speak, then close it again, considering. I’d rather not tell her what was really on my mind two seconds ago, but I know I’ve been quiet overall, mulling in turn over Kira’s work problems and my own professional
issues. I haven’t said this out loud to anyone yet, but I find the words spilling out all the same.
“I just... I’m thinking about going back to grad school again. Getting my doctorate.”
Kira blinks, then puts her plate down. “What, at UW or something?”
I wince. “Um, no. University of Washington doesn’t have any kind of fire dynamics–adjacent doctoral program. Not many places
do. I’d be leaving again.”
I regret bringing it up instantly, because Kira’s face falls in total dejection.
“What? No! You just got here! Got back, I mean. We just met. You can’t leave already.”
She scoots closer and folds her hands in her lap, and I put my pie down, bringing one leg up on the couch to turn toward her.
“I know, I know. I just... I’m not entirely sure that coming back was the right decision, or that I came back for the right
reasons. I really enjoyed my research, and I’ve been picking at a side project that really feels like it could be something.
This job is fun, but the contract is only for a year, and contingent on grant funding, at that. I’m not sure it would feel
like enough going forward, anyway. Coming back to Seattle was always the plan, right from the start, and I’m having a hard time letting
go of that. But I also can’t stay just because...”
I realize my eyes are welling up and pause to collect myself. “I can’t stay if... if what I need to move on with my life
is somewhere else.”
Kira studies her folded hands for a moment, then pauses the show and looks me right in the eye.
“Okay, look, I’m gonna say something, and I want to be clear up front that I haven’t known you that long, and I could be completely
off base. I don’t mean to be a jerk or anything, but...”
She hesitates.
“Are you sure that it’s about the research and your career? Are you sure it’s not just... putting your life on hold again?
Is there something you’re waiting for?”
I nearly laugh. She has no idea how right she is. On all counts. I am waiting for something. Something I’ll probably never have, that’s about to be permanently cut off. Work is the only thing
I can control, and I can make sure that I’m as happy as possible there.
“I’m sorry if I overstepped—” Kira begins, but I shake my head to cut her off.
“No, no, you’re not wrong. I’m in a weird transition phase in my life, and a quick decision isn’t going to do much good. I’m
gonna let things settle for the summer, see what happens with Skylar and Fiji, get through all of that before I make a decision.
I probably let my dad get in my head too much last time we talked, too. He’s good at that.”
Kira is quiet for a moment, a far-off look in her eyes, until she speaks again.
“You know, Skylar recommended another counselor she knows after she saw how much the anniversary of my dad’s death messed
me up every year. It really helped me work through a lot of the complicated shit I was dealing with, both because of his death
and some stuff going on at the fire department. Did Skylar ever tell you how she and I met?”
The instant surge of curiosity catches me off guard, but I’ve been quietly obsessing about this since I found out Kira existed.
Play it cool, self.
“No. I’ve wondered, though. You said you and she went through some hard stuff together?”
“Yeah.” Kira nods, then takes a deep, bracing breath. “We actually met while I was on a fire call. I was responding to a structure
fire, and it turned out to be an arson case. The suspect ended up being someone tied to Skylar. This was her first year as
a fully licensed counselor, and she had just started doing her pro bono work for the city while building up her social media
empire. One of the cases she was overseeing turned into... this. Someone died. Not her fault, of course, but it was...
hard.”
Kira closes her eyes and flops sideways against the back of the sofa. I lay a hand on her knee and squeeze.
“Hey. You don’t have to talk about this. I don’t need details.”
She nods, her lips and brows pinched tight.
“I know. Long story short, I was the one who found... the person. There was a big legal thing, super messy, and Skylar
and I both had to report to the courthouse about a million times. When the case finally closed, Skylar did her thing. She
just looked at me and said, ‘You look like you need a drink.’ She dragged me to the nearest bar, we poured our hearts into
many shots of tequila, and the rest is history. We’ve been tight ever since.”
I give a quiet laugh. “Yeah, that’s pretty much how it works. Skylar doesn’t make friends, she claims people. She’ll probably
have a whole new surrogate family within two weeks of arriving in Fiji.”
If only it were that easy for me. I have to cling tooth and nail to keep the few people I have from slipping away.
“Hey now,” Kira says, bumping her knee against mine. “That’s quitter talk. We still might stop her, you know?”
I shrug. “Maybe. I don’t know. I’m starting to feel like this is all pointless. You know how Skylar is. When she’s set on
something, she’s one hundred percent in. Nothing we’ve done so far has made the slightest bit of difference. Or so it seems.
I haven’t ruled out Schrodinger’s plants yet.”
She laughs but quickly turns serious. “Hey, I mean it, though, about you going off to school again. Please don’t leave me
here with a bunch of firehouse dudes and a giant Skylar-shaped hole in my life unless you’re really sure it’s what you want
to do. I don’t want to lose two friends at once unless you’re, like... following your dreams and shit.”
“I’ll keep your plight in mind,” I say with a small smile, then raise an eyebrow. “Have you ever dated a firehouse dude?”
“Ew, no ,” she says, looking scandalized. “Dating within the firehouse is a terrible idea, but also, scheduling would be a nightmare.
Besides, most firemen are a little too beefy for me. My taste in men tends toward the stringy nerd type.”
“Fair,” I say, then gather our pie plates and take them to the kitchen. “I’m glad you and Skylar had each other through all
of that stuff, you know. It sounds so hard.”
I can’t see Kira’s expression, but her voice is soft when she replies. “And I’m glad you came back to town so I could have
a friend to go through all this with.”
I look back at her from the kitchen and let myself enjoy the sight of her for a moment, the golden light of my excessive candles
catching on her cheekbones, her full lips, her deep brown eyes that always look just a little sad. More than a little, right
now.
Time to fix that.
“Okay, come on, we need a good cuddle,” I say with authority. “Put Kat and Adena back on the TV and get comfy.”
She obeys, hitting Play on the next episode and slouching down so only the very top of her head pokes over the top of the
couch.
“You know there are characters other than Kat and Adena in this show, right?” she says, muffled.
“Yes, there’s also all the other queer woman that get to make out with Kat, and I’m disgustingly jealous of them all. I’m
in actual love with her. Don’t judge me.”
With everything put away, I refresh our drinks and bring the bottle back to the couch. We’re both in need of some serious
comfort. Kira holds an arm up as I approach, and I slide under it, snuggling in close to her side and throwing one leg over
her knee. She accepts her refilled drink, clinks the rim against my glass, and takes a long sip as the plot of the episode
begins to unfold. We watch episode after episode, and eventually switch from The Bold Type and bourbon to mugs of tea and a random string of queer films from Netflix’s LGBTQ+ section. Most of them are varying degrees
of terrible, but we finally settle on one at random and sink deeper and deeper into our embrace. God, she smells so good.
That LUSH shower gel is her scent, as far as I’m concerned. It makes her skin soft too, which I thoroughly enjoy as I run a hand up and down her arm.
She tightens her hold on me, bringing me closer and brushing her lips over my hair.
Something in my chest pulls tight. This is so nice, exactly what I needed tonight, when I’ve been feeling so untethered. It’s a miracle what some basic human contact can
do.
Then a sex scene starts up in the movie, and I realize what trouble I’m in.
Yeah, it’s been way too long since I’ve gotten laid for me to be this close to someone while a very hot, very long sex scene between two gorgeous women unfolds on my TV screen. Kira and I are so close that I both hear and feel her breath
growing shallow, the restless shift of her hips underneath me. Dangerous.
So. Very. Dangerous.
I’m half in her lap already; the slightest shift would let me straddle her right leg and get some pressure right where I need
it. I’m breathing faster now too, imagining it, how it would feel, what she would do, what she would look like as she came.
She’s beautiful under normal, everyday circumstances; with my name on her lips and her taste on my tongue, she would be a
goddess.
My hips twitch helplessly forward at the thought, the slow burn low in my belly driving my body to seek its pleasure, though
I try to stop it. This isn’t what this night is supposed to be. She isn’t Skylar. She’s my friend.
She’s running her fingers along the waistband of my shorts.
The slight ticklish feeling sends a wave of shivers up my back and a pulse of heat to my center. I can see it happening in
slow motion, where this is going, what’s about to happen—but will it sabotage my chances with Skylar? Do I want this bad enough
to risk it?
(Do I even care?)
The back of my shirt rides up slightly. Kira flattens her hand on the small of my back, exerting just the slightest guiding
pressure.
I shift so my knee is on the couch between her legs, putting me in the perfect position to press myself down on her long,
bare thigh. I groan faintly with relief, then with the torturous need for more as my knee slides far enough forward to push
Kira’s skirt up and feel the wet heat of her center.
I can sense it, the way this situation is ready to catch fire, to become a wild blaze before we have a second more to think
about it. I have to check, before we’re in too deep. I have to make sure this won’t ruin everything. I fight to think clearly
through the haze of lust and force myself to speak.
“We’re clear about our goal here, right? Operation Flying Fox?”
“Yeah, of course,” she says, grinding her thigh up between my legs. My eyes flutter shut, and I groan, shifting my hips to
rub in slow circles against her.
“And you want this?” I ask through panting breaths.
“Fuck yes, I do,” she says without hesitation.
That’s all I need.
I let myself fall forward, crashing my mouth to hers.