Chapter 8 Greta
Greta
Greta was nestled in her bed reading when her phone buzzed with a notification.
She flipped it over to see a picture of her ex.
Tasha smiled in that way that had once made Greta feel like she was safe, like everything was perfect.
Shoulder-length, golden hair framed a face that would not be amiss on a celebrity.
In the picture, Tash was laughing. They’d had a perfect night at the ballet.
I need to change that contact picture. Seeing her photo felt like cold water over Greta’s mood.
“Are you injured?” Greta answered.
The line was silent a moment too long. “I can’t call an old friend?”
“Friend?” Greta echoed. “Did you misdial?”
“That’s a no then, Greta?” Tash laughed. “Still not ready to put the past behind us?”
For a moment, Greta wanted to say yes. She’d tried that a handful of times after the breakup, but half of those had ended up in awkward morning-afters.
Tasha only called when she was already drinking, when she wanted affection, and although Greta understood …
it also hurt. Whatever Tasha was chasing in her life had meant breaking Greta’s heart, and that wasn’t something she could keep letting herself forget.
“I’m in bed, Tash. If you’re not injured or in some sort of peril, and you don’t seem to be, I don’t have much to say.” Greta closed her eyes against the flicker of a tear that threatened.
“I miss that bed sometimes.”
“You chose to leave it.”
“And you,” Tasha added. “I miss you sometimes.”
“You left me, too,” Greta pointed out acerbically.
“Friends without sex, then?” Tasha suggested. “Could we try that? I don’t want to be your enemy.”
Greta sighed. “You aren’t. I can’t keep letting you in, though, when you’ve had a few drinks and want to get off. I deserve more.”
“I never meant to hurt you,” Tasha whispered.
For a moment, Greta wished she could lie and say that Tasha hadn’t hurt her, that they had been in different places, but she wasn’t sure that lies were useful when they both already knew the truth. “You want to be my friend? Let’s try lunch after the holidays.”
“As friends?”
“Yes, Tasha, as friends who used to be something else but will not ever again.” Greta grimaced. “You only want more when you drink, and I don’t want anything from you. Not now.”
“Are you seeing someone?”
An image of Lee flashed into her memory, but all Greta said was “Not really your business.”
“Fair.”
They said their goodbyes, and Greta dropped her phone to her lap.
Tasha was far more together than when they split, but every few months, she called.
They hadn’t seen each other in months—and hadn’t landed in bed in longer.
Somehow it felt different, using an app to meet strangers and sex with your ex.
One felt like being unable to move forward, and Greta was determined not to do that.
Not again. No matter how lonely she felt.
When her phone buzzed again, Greta assumed it was Tasha a drink later.
So she ignored it to continue reading. The autumn chill outside wasn’t enough to make her crank the heat in her apartment yet, so she had taken to editing in her bed under her thick duvet.
She intended to have her edits mostly finished before she met her author on Monday next week, so she had her assistant print the manuscript, and now she was working on it old-school—pen on paper.
That was how she’d read the first draft, the one she’d preempted.
That made it feel strangely right to work on this draft of the book the same way.
The phone buzzed yet again. This time, when Greta looked at the message and saw it was from Lee, Greta couldn’t stop the wide smile that took over her face. For someone who insisted she didn’t talk, Lee had sent a chatty message.
Lee: One of my friends just came out to me.
Lee: Are you there?
Marie: Was she asking for you to …
Lee: No. She pointedly said she didn’t want to fuck me.
Marie: Foolish woman.
Lee: Yeah?
Marie: Definitely. I want to fuck you.
Greta waited for a reply to her bold statement. Her statement wasn’t exactly a surprise. I’d take the train to DC for just a few hours with her. She’d almost admitted as much in person when they’d been in DC, but it was almost a minute later when the response from Lee came in.
Lee: Favorite sex act?
Marie: Depends on my partner. I’m not shy.
Lee: Meaning?
Marie: What do you want? I’ll probably try it unless it’s degrading or dangerous.
Lee: We’re at a party. Fancy catered mess. Are you wearing panties?
Marie: Did you ask me not to?
Lee: Yes.
Marie: Bare and in a skirt.
Lee: Good girl. Where do you want your reward?
Marie: Dealer’s choice. Will you fuck me in the library? Behind the shed when they could hear us? Or is your hand under the table and between my legs?
Lee: Best puzzle game *ever* right here.
Marie: Ha! Better if it was in person. Naughty board games? I could do that too.
Lee: Coincidentally I’m catching an early train to the city tomorrow. Wanna play a game with me?
Marie: You’ll be in MY city earlier? Name your place. I’m there. Name your game. I’ll consider it.
For a moment, Greta wondered if she’d been too forward.
They’d had an electric connection when they met, and Greta wanted more of that.
That didn’t mean she wanted to swap cute nicknames, but it did mean she was still thinking about Lee—and not just sex.
Conversation and sex with Lee both sounded good.
So did naughty puzzle games.
Or public sex.
Or … a lot of things. The mysterious woman from DC had filled Greta’s fantasies since they met.
There was something intriguing about the woman with the book tattoo and obvious fondness for secrecy, the sense that if they actually talked they’d get along with their clothes on.
Not everyone in DC was in politics, but Greta could see Lee working for an advocacy group, as a progressive lobbyist, or even at a research think tank.
Maybe law? Lee was obviously clever and discreet, and she had the money to pay the Sappho’s Kiss Society membership fees.
That meant she did something that paid well.
As much as Greta didn’t know if she was ready to try actually dating, she admitted that she felt a lot closer to ready when she thought about Lee. Maybe it was time to try again. Maybe she ought to broach the subject with the sexy woman who was commanding and secretive.
Greta’s notifications chimed again as she put aside the manuscript she was reading, drawing her into the present.
Lee: Are you at home?
Marie: In bed reading.
Lee: Something good?
Marie: Hot lesbian romance.
Lee: Oh? Where are your hands? Show me.
Greta paused at that. This had taken a sudden turn, and she wasn’t sure how much she wanted to risk on an app.
How blunt is safe on here? Sure, she paid for privacy, but what if Lee ever found out who she was?
She didn’t seem like she was the sort of person to ruin a woman’s reputation, but people could surprise you.
Tasha was supposed to be forever, had claimed she needed the security of a ring even though Greta wasn’t ready, and then she was the one who panicked and moved out.
Lee: (If this isn’t a thing for you, that’s okay. I have just been thinking about you, too.)
Marie: What were you thinking about?
Lee: A make-believe party where you are riding my face again.
Marie: Please.
Lee: Send me a picture for now.
Marie: Of?
Lee: Something to inspire me.
Greta weighed the thought of it. As long as her face wasn’t in it—or the book she was editing—a picture was harmless. Right? Lee looked almost her same age, and there was nothing improper about two consenting adults exchanging selfies over a secure app designed for sexual connections.
Greta rolled over so her chest was against the mattress, arched her back slightly and tugged her shirt lower. She wanted the camera to capture cleavage but no nipples, and then held her arm out and took several shots. She picked the best one and clicked send. Then she deleted all of them.
Lee: Gorgeous. I love your breasts.
Marie: Thank you. I grew them myself;)
Lee: Shall I worship them tomorrow?
Marie: I do like worship.
Lee: Your body is made for it.
For a moment, neither one replied, then Lee messaged, deleted it, messaged again. The thought of sentences not sent was maddening for Greta. She wasn’t exactly Pandora with a box, but she was immeasurably curious, more so when she knew someone was self-censoring what they said to her.
Marie: What are you not sending?
Lee: I want you to touch yourself for me. I want to see.
Marie: No pictures of that. You have to come here to see that show. But …
Lee: What?
Marie: I touch myself to thoughts of you almost every night lately.
Lee: Now?
Marie: I was reading first.
Lee: Put the book aside, Marie. Whatever you do now, I’ll do tomorrow.
Marie: To me or to yourself?
Again Lee went silent, and Greta knew she was pushing the other woman’s boundaries.
Lee, for whatever reasons, had already admitted to having control issues.
Some women were like that, and typically Greta was fine with it.
She wanted to please Lee, though. That one orgasm she was allowed to give Lee was hot, and Greta had liked that Lee had asked to be denied and teased.
That was the kind of self-awareness that led to explosive sex.
Marie: I want to see you as many times as it takes to be allowed to taste you.
Lee: No promises there.
Marie: Fine. You can distract me some other way. Fancy a walk through the park with me? Sex in the wild?
Lee: Sex in Central Park? Bit risky.
Marie: Not if no one knows.
Greta sent a picture of a toy she’d bought to use with Tasha after the breakup, back when Greta thought they might reunite. The vibe slipped into a pair of panties.
Marie: Unused. My ex wasn’t willing. Are you?
Lee: Maybe. Seems more like a third encounter thing.