Chapter 1 Greta #3
In her early post-breakup-with-Tash days, Greta had tried several other apps, including the obvious ones like Tinder and Bumble.
Those were a little too far outside her current needs, although she could see why they would likely work for a lot of people.
Lately, she had started using Sappho’s Kiss Society, which catered to her interests more efficiently.
SKS was not just a membership group—complete with meetup events—but an app for queer folks seeking other queers and willing to pay for privacy.
Greta’s profile was pretty sparse. Her profile photo was shadowed, although her full-body photo was clear.
She just wasn’t going to put her face on there too obviously.
Her interests were narrowly drawn: tattooed and athletic lesbians, one night only, no couples, no surprises, no contact afterward. She liked what she liked, especially for one-nighters.
Her profile was under “Marie,” rather than Greta.
That simplified things if she ever ran into someone in public, too.
If they addressed her as Marie, she knew where and why she’d met them.
If they said “Greta” or “Ms. Clayborne,” that meant she knew them from her professional life.
The major upside of the app was the only way to even see paying app users was to buy a rather expensive year’s subscription.
Discretion mattered, and this app catered to those with that need.
All the measures weren’t perfect, but it did lessen the odds of her work life and her intimate life intersecting.
Greta turned on the setting to update her location in hopes of finding an interesting person in her proximity.
Once the app registered that she was in Washington, DC, Greta scrolled through her potential matches until a woman with a lithe swimmer’s body stared up at Greta from the screen.
“Lee” was the name listed—although at this point Greta assumed that most people’s names were as real as the one she gave.
Hookup apps were not designed to tell many truths.
Lee’s photo highlighted an undercut that looked overdue for a trim, tailored trousers, and a button-up Oxford.
In her full-body photo, she had a leather jacket slung over her shoulder, two crooked fingers holding the collar of the jacket.
She smirked at the camera like she had done something wicked a moment ago.
Angular features. Arrogant posture. And active online right now.
That cocky smirk meant it was a safe bet that Greta wouldn’t want to spend time with her socially, but for a fling, Lee was perfect.
Greta clicked on the “create connection” button on the woman’s profile, and then she waited. When her phone buzzed with a notification, she was pleased to see that Lee had reciprocated the connection.
A moment later a message alert buzzed.
Lee: Hey. What’s up?
Marie: In town for the night. Looking for a coffee connection.
Lee: What sort of coffee?
Greta grinned. There was always a chance that someone would misconstrue the message. Words were tricky, even as an editor.
Marie: Depends. At Union Station. Headed to hotel soon. You?
Lee: Are you asking me to come meet you?
Marie: Yes.
Lee: So direct …
Marie: I know what I like.
Lee: Flattery will get me into the taxi.
Marie: Should I stay where I am? Or go to my hotel?
Lee: Preference?
Greta paused. She didn’t want to offend Lee, but she wasn’t particularly interested in small talk. Her desire to get to know the women she bedded was typically nonexistent.
Marie: How recent is your photo?
Lee: Ha! Last month.
The little dots that indicated she was typing appeared then, so Greta waited.
After a moment, a jpeg showed up. Greta enlarged it, and a candid selfie of Lee filled her screen.
She sat in an office cubicle, dressed in a button-up that was rolled to the elbows.
A pair of glasses rested on a stack of papers in front of her.
For a moment, Greta wanted to know what was on the papers, where she was, what she did, but that sort of curiosity led to an awkward degree of intimacy.
Since her fiancée had cheated on her a couple of years ago, Greta didn’t do intimacy.
Ever. She was over Tasha, but that wasn’t the same as being unscarred.
Lee: That’s right now.
Marie: Let’s meet.
Lee: About to leave work. Tell me where you want me.
Between my legs, Greta thought, but she wasn’t ready to be quite that overt. In theory the app was secure, but careers had been ruined often enough for lesser things. So until she knew Lee better, she was going to be a little bit cautious. Instead she sent the address of the hotel she’d booked.
Marie: I’ll be in the lobby. Blue pencil skirt and blazer.
Lee: Show me.
After a surreptitious glance around, Greta extended her arm, leaned forward, and aimed her phone camera at her chest. She wasn’t adding a clear photo of her face, even now. She added the photo to a message and sent it.
Lee: I’ll message when I’m there.
With a hopeful bounce in her step, Greta slipped her phone into her bag and went toward the exit.
The clatter of her footsteps on the tile made more than a few people glance her way.
She had an intentionally sharp staccato walk she’d crafted.
Greta had learned to move at the pace of taller people, and she elevated her height three to four inches with heels.
The combination meant that her approach was often noticeable—and she liked that.
There was something innately satisfying about the interested and hungry gazes on several women’s faces, and she could overlook the businessmen.
They simply weren’t her type. Her type was bold like them, well-dressed like them, but deliciously female.
Like Lee.
Impatience filled her as she stepped outside to grab a cab. Hotel, freshen, meet a gorgeous woman. It was the best sort of evening Greta could imagine. All the release and none of the entanglements.