Addison
When Sawyer texted that she would pick me up, I found myself standing in front of my closet longer than I wanted to admit after my shower.
I wasn’t exactly the ride-on-the-back-of-a-motorcycle type. At least, I hadn’t thought I was until very recently.
My closet stared back at me with rows of pencil skirts, crisp blouses, and dresses meant for open houses and expensive brunches. They were clothes that worked, clothes that presented well, and made people take me seriously before I even opened my mouth.
Tonight wasn’t about presenting.
I reached for tight black jeans that hugged me the way I liked and paired them with a soft charcoal-gray shirt, tucking it in just enough. I didn’t interrogate the choice or try to explain it to myself. It felt right, and that was enough.
I stepped outside, the air carrying that faint early-fall crispness that made everything feel a little sharper.
Sawyer was waiting out front. When she saw me, her smile broke slow and crooked, and my chest did something stupid in response.
“Hey,” Sawyer said as she took a step closer, her voice warm.
“Hey,” I replied while trying to steady my breathing because somehow I was already a little breathless.
She stepped forward and pulled me into a hug that was warm and solid, I noticed the way she smelled as my cheek brushed her shoulder. It was clean soap with a faint trace of metal with something underneath it that was just her, the kind of scent that stayed with you if you brushed too close.
When she pulled back, she tilted her head toward her bike. “You ever been on a motorcycle?” she asked.
“Once or twice,” I said while trying to sound normal. “It’s been a while.”
Sawyer handed me the helmet without making it a thing. “I’ll take it easy,” she promised, and her tone was steady in a way that made me believe her.
I wrapped my arms around her waist and felt the firmness of her stomach beneath my hands.
Of course he has abs.
I wasn’t supposed to notice that. Except maybe I was? Maybe I always had noticed things like that and just taught myself not to linger.
The ride itself was short and easy with the city sliding past us while the evening air was warm against my skin. I held on a little tighter than necessary and didn’t make myself apologize for it.
We pulled into a small lot beside a cluster of food trucks and a bar with picnic tables strung with lights. People lingered there laughing and leaning into conversations, the kind of place where nights stretched longer than planned. Sawyer nodded toward one of the trucks as she parked the bike.
“I know it doesn’t look fancy,” Sawyer said as she tipped her chin toward the menu board, “but you said tacos were your favorite, and these are the best tacos I’ve ever had.”
I smiled at her and realized I felt lighter than I had all week. “I don’t need fancy,” I told her honestly. “My life is full of fancy, and it’s the last thing I wanted tonight.”
Something in Sawyer’s expression softened, like she liked hearing that. “Good,” she said simply.
We ordered tacos to go and bypassed the crowded tables. I held the warm paper bag on the ride back and caught myself smiling without meaning to, the kind of smile that refused to fade once it showed up.
* * *
When we got off the bike, Sawyer led me to a door beside a small bookshop called Queer Expectations.
“That’s my landlords’ shop,” she said. “Hollis and Soren. Well, they’re more like family, though. They make sure I eat and don’t work myself to death.”
I smiled. “They sound sweet.”
“They are. Hollis bakes, too. She gave me a boysenberry pie today.” Sawyer glanced at me with a smile. “For us.”
“She made it for us?” I asked. “They know about me?”
“Yeah.” Sawyer shrugged like it was no big deal.
We climbed the stairs to her apartment above the shop. Sawyer unlocked the door and let us in.
Her apartment wasn’t what I expected. Not because I had imagined chaos, but because everything felt intentional. It was small, tidy, and warm, with industrial lights hanging above the kitchen island and artwork lining the walls.
Not curated. Just lived in.
Sawyer dropped her keys into a bowl by the door and glanced back at me. “It’s not much,” she said, like she was bracing for judgment. “But it’s home.”
I stepped further inside and smiled because I meant it. “It’s perfect,” I told her.
Sawyer nodded toward the table. “If you want to sit at the table, we can,” she offered before shrugging slightly. “But honestly, I usually eat on the couch.”
“Couch sounds perfect,” I said, surprising myself with how easy it was to mean it.
Sawyer went to the fridge and pulled out two beers before glancing back at me. “Beer now, whiskey later?” she asked.
“Sounds wonderful,” I replied, and my voice came out softer than usual.
“Lime?” Sawyer asked while grabbing a knife.
“Always,” I said with a small smile.
She twisted open two Coronas, added lime wedges, and carried them over. I curled my legs beneath me on the couch without thinking and, for once, didn’t feel the need to apologize for taking up space.
We sat close enough that I could feel her warmth between us. The food was everything she had promised. Spicy, messy, and perfect.
“Oh my God.” I nearly moaned after my first bite. “This is amazing.”
“I told you.” She smiled. “I eat it at least once a week.” She took another bite before adding, “My mom’s side is Korean, and my dad’s is Mexican. His parents lived in Puerto Escondido, so I used to spend a few weeks there every summer. Right on the beach. It was perfect.”
“Used to?” I asked.
She nodded. “They’re both gone now. My abuela died when I was eighteen, and my abuelo passed in my late twenties.”
“I’m sorry.” I rested my hand on her knee.
“Thanks.” She gave me a small shrug.
Silence settled between us, so I reached for something lighter.
“So,” I said, wiping my fingers on a napkin, “what’s your favorite TV show?”
“Buffy the Vampire Slayer,” Sawyer answered instantly, like she had been waiting for someone to ask. “I’ve watched the whole series at least five times.”
I grinned. “I’ve never seen it.” Sawyer made an exaggerated gasp and leaned forward slightly. “You haven’t?”
“It was a little before my time,” I teased while watching her reaction.
She pointed her beer at me like it was a threat. “Unacceptable. We’re fixing that,” she said, and the certainty in her voice made my stomach flip.
Then she leaned back slightly and studied me. “What about you?” she asked. “Favorite show.”
I hesitated before laughing softly because she had caught me. “What I tell people, or what’s true?”
“Both,” Sawyer said, sounding genuinely curious.
“I tell people something polished,” I said, hearing the practiced version of myself even as I spoke. “Like The Crown or Big Little Lies.”
Sawyer nodded once and waited.
“And the truth?” she asked again.
“RuPaul’s Drag Race,” I admitted while watching her face carefully for any hint of judgment.
Sawyer’s eyes lit up immediately. “No way.”
“I’m obsessed,” I said, suddenly a little shy. “Every season.”
“I love Drag Race,” Sawyer said, and the certainty in her voice stopped me.
I stared at her. “Seriously?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” she asked like the idea of not loving it was the strange part.
I laughed and set my taco down before shaking my head. “I guess I still think in stereotypes sometimes,” I admitted, then swallowed when the honesty kept coming. “I’ve spent so long trying to fit into one that I forget how to see past them.”
Sawyer’s expression softened. “Your brother told me about that today.”
“He did?” My chest tightened.
She nodded and reached for another taco. “He said you were good at playing the part, even when it wasn’t what you wanted.”
Emotion caught in my throat. “He said that?”
“He said you did it to make things easier after he came out.”
I tightened my fingers around my beer bottle. “He’s not wrong. I wanted to protect him.”
“You’re a good sister,” Sawyer said, like it was a fact.
“He’s a great brother.”
“You two are close, huh?” she asked.
“Yeah. After he came out, we became our own little team.” I said.
“Your parents sound like—a lot.”
“That’s putting it mildly.” I laughed. “My mom needs everything to look perfect from the outside. A bisexual daughter doesn’t fit into that picture when her oldest child is already trans. One queer kid is more than enough for her.”
Sawyer frowned. “But that isn’t fair to you. Hiding who you are just to keep her happy.”
“No, it isn’t.” I looked down at my bottle. “I did it for so long that I stopped thinking about it. It became muscle memory. But now, I think I want to start doing more things for myself.”
“I like that.” Sawyer raised her beer.
I clinked mine against it, and she smiled. It was quiet for a few minutes as we ate.
“How old are you?” she asked.
I almost laughed. We’d talked about so much, and yet we didn’t know how old each other was?
“Thirty-two.”
“Thirty-eight.” She told me without me having to ask.
I leaned into the moment. “Good. I like older women.” I smirked.
“I like you.” Sawyer said easily.
It made my pulse jump. “I like you too.” I said honestly.
“What about Jason?” she asked.
I made a face. “Trying to exit,” I said. “He’s not bad. Just not right anymore.”
“And now?” Sawyer asked, and her voice was quieter when she said it.
I met her eyes and didn’t look away. “Now I want tacos,” I said before adding, because I couldn’t help it, “and beer, and someone who listens.”
Sawyer’s smile turned soft and real. “I like that answer,” she told me.
“Me too,” I said, feeling it settle somewhere deep in my bones.
It didn’t feel like a first date, at least not in the way I had trained myself to think one was supposed to feel. It felt like something beginning, slow and steady and real.
* * *