Chapter Twelve
“I don’t know why I let you talk me into this.” Sam took a swig of her beer as she surveyed the room. “I mean, are any of these girls even old enough to drink?”
It was still early for a Saturday night, but Splash was already hopping. Women of all ages filled the dance floor, but the ones Sam noticed most seemed to be coeds from the university down the street. These girls just seemed so young.
“You”—Jordan stabbed at her chest—“are here to have a good time.” He picked up the shot that had been placed in front of him and looked questioningly at the bartender.
“Courtesy of the blond in the corner.” The very young bartender of indeterminate gender pointed a thumb toward a group in the corner. Three ultra-attractive men in sleek black clothing were watching them. The blond seated in the group’s center threw them a little wave.
It figures, Sam thought, rolling her eyes. They’re all men…at ladies’ night.
Jordan just shrugged. He picked up the shot, tipped it at the blond in thanks, and threw it back. “And, apparently, to be my wingwoman.”
Sam looked around the room while Jordan chatted it up with the bartender.
Even though it was ladies’ night, Splash was typically a gay bar, and as such, half the clientele that night still seemed to be gay men.
Sam didn’t mind, seeing she wasn’t looking for anything in the romance department.
She was more than happy to be Jordan’s wingwoman.
Though men seemed to flock to Jordan’s blond-haired, blue-eyed American features and outgoing personality, he wasn’t nearly the player he could have been.
But he knew he’d be a fool to turn down the free drinks that tended to flow his way when they were out and about, so he milked his attractiveness for all it was worth.
“You’re here!” Jordan startled Sam with a screech from the stool beside her. She turned to follow his gaze and noticed a stunning woman with red hair approaching them. When she stopped before them, Jordan jumped down and threw his arms around her. She enthusiastically returned his hug.
Sam used the opportunity to covertly check out the woman.
Jordan had been right. The woman was hot.
She was smaller in stature than Sam, and she was compact and toned.
She had gorgeous auburn hair that fell in waves below her shoulders.
Her skin was clear and flawless with a smattering of freckles across her cheeks.
However, her eyes were by far her most striking feature.
They were an incredible shade of light green with blue accents.
Sam raised her beer and took a sip, primarily to hide her evident appreciation.
“You must be Samantha,” the woman said, turning toward her. Sam detected the trace of an Irish accent and nearly swooned. She was a sucker for accents.
“Sam,” Sam corrected, extending her hand.
“Sam.” The woman’s handshake was firm, but the hand itself was soft and cool.
“Sam, this is Dallis.” Jordan stepped in to make the introduction. “Well, Dr. Dallis Quinn. She’s a new associate professor in comparative lit. We met at a queer faculty mixer.”
“Just call me Dallis, please,” she said with a wide smile. “I don’t think we need to be as formal as doctor now, do we? It’s nice to meet you, Sam. Jordan has told me so much about you.”
“All good, I hope?” Sam smiled back.
“Well, it is Jordan we’re talking about…” Dallis let her voice trail off.
Sam’s mouth fell open. She turned to Jordan and swatted him on the shoulder. He raised his arms in an innocent shrug. “What?” he asked. “I speak only the truth.”
“You’re hopeless. And a terrible friend.” Sam just rolled her eyes and turned back to Dallis. “He is notoriously unreliable, isn’t he?” They shared a smile. “So, what can we get you to drink?”
Dallis squinted to read the label on Sam’s beer. “Oh my God! They have Ommegang here?”
“I was surprised myself, but the beer selection here is actually decent.” She looked down at her beer and was surprised to notice that she had finished it.
“Most beer in America has been shit,” Dallis commented mournfully. “But there are a few brews here and there that I can tolerate.”
“Lesbians do like their beer,” Jordan helpfully pointed out.
He gestured to the bartender, who came over a minute later carrying their round of drinks.
Jordan passed them out, and they made their way over to an unoccupied table away from the bulk of the crowd.
He sat across from Sam, leaving Dallis to occupy the seat to her right.
“Do you ever see any of your students here?” Dallis asked Jordan. Her eyes darted around the room, surveying the younger crowd.
“I have run across a few in the past.” Jordan shrugged. “I typically just try to behave myself in public. But really, you could run into students anywhere. It’s not that big a city.”
“I guess you’re right,” Dallis conceded. She looked around the room again, but this time she seemed more relaxed. Satisfied, she picked up her drink and sipped. “So far, I haven’t seen any of mine, but I feel like it’s only a matter of time.”
“So, Dallis, what’s your area of study?” Sam leaned toward her, mainly because she was having trouble hearing her over the dance music. She wondered briefly if Dallis would take it as a sign of interest.
At Sam’s question, Dallis’s eyes lit up. “I study emerging feminist literature in Europe, particularly focused on the UK. I’m from Ireland,” Dallis explained helpfully, confirming the accent Sam was drooling over just a little bit. “But I have also been branching out into queer themes lately.”
“I could see a big correlation between the two,” Sam agreed. Dallis tilted her head in curiosity. “Maybe not correlation per se…” Sam backtracked.
“No, no, no,” Dallis interrupted Sam with a shake of her head.
“Say more, please.” Sam was surprised that Dallis looked genuinely interested in what she had to say.
Sam had her own degree in English and graduated with honors, but she worked in marketing now and didn’t get to have many intellectual conversations.
“I’ve just found in my reading that feminist literature typically emerges either from something or gravitates to something. So, the fact that you’re moving from one to the other—it makes sense.” Sam shrugged, looking shyly around.
“That is exactly it!” Dallis exclaimed excitedly. “I mean, aren’t most things a response to something?” Her eyes twinkled. “There is nothing new under the sun.”
“I’ll drink to that.” Sam tipped her bottle.
“Sláinte!” Dallis reached her bottle out and clinked Sam’s gently.
“Sláinte!” Sam echoed.
Jordan held his glass up but frowned when he noticed it was empty.
“Looks like I’m due for a refill.” He shrugged.
“And dancing. Must. Go. Dance. Why don’t the two of you get to know each other?
I’ll see if there is anyone here worth getting to know.
” He winked and then sashayed away. Sam smiled and shook her head fondly at him.
“He’s a wee bit different, isn’t he?” Dallis murmured, watching Jordan reach the edge of the crowded dance floor. The seas parted as if to make way for him. “Have you known him long?”
“Only forever.” Sam smiled. “We went to high school together. A tiny town about an hour south of here.”
“I would have loved to see Jordan in high school. Was he just as extra as he is now?” Dallis asked with affection.
“You have no idea.” Sam chuckled. “The stories I could tell you…”
“Oh, please do.” Dallis’s eyes lit up excitedly. “I could use some ammunition to keep in my back pocket for blackmail.” She winked at Sam.
“I like the way you think.” Sam pointed at her.
“There are an endless number of stories that I keep tucked away just in case I need them. And with Jordan, there are an unlimited number of opportunities to use them.” The two watched silently for a few minutes as Jordan gyrated on the dance floor. He really was something else.
“Jordan told me about your mother,” Dallis said after a while. She gently laid her hand on Sam’s forearm and looked solemnly into her eyes. “I am truly sorry for your loss. It is hard to lose a mother. Mine passed when I was sixteen.”
Sam felt her eyes welling with tears. She seemed to have no control over when the grief struck her. “That’s so young,” she said, shaking her head. “How did you manage?”
“I had my village and my family, which is the size of another village in and of itself.” She shrugged, looking off into the distance. “You know how Irish families are. Well, maybe you don’t. But really, you just move forward. As women, that is always what we do.”
“I guess you’re right,” Sam agreed after a moment.
They sipped their beers for a while, chatting easily.
Their conversation ran the gamut, from feminist literature to Dallis’s village in Ireland, which was just outside of Dublin, to Sam’s work.
Sam couldn’t remember the last time she found a woman so easy to talk to.
Actually, yeah, she could. Alex. But this felt different.
With Alex, Sam had known almost instantly that there was something more than friendship there.
As new as it had been, it was still unmistakable, even if it took them a while to get there.
But Dallis didn’t feel like that. She felt more like a sister or an instant best friend.
She shook her head slightly at the thought and noticed Dallis watching her.
Dallis raised an eyebrow—what was with beautiful women and their ability to raise only one eyebrow?
Sam was tempted to ask her how she did it.
Alex could do it. Dallis could do it. When Sam tried it, she looked like she had a facial tic.
“Girl trouble?” Dallis asked, breaking her from her thoughts.
“Is there any other kind of trouble?” Sam asked, sighing.
“Good point. I’ve had some of that trouble myself lately.” Dallis’s face showed a flicker of pain. “Women,” she muttered, shaking her head.
“There’s a story there, I take it?” Sam asked.