Chapter 20 #2
Christine turned her head slightly, looking up at her. “What are you going to do about the rally?”
Oakland held her gaze, then reached out, gently tucking a loose strand of Christine’s hair behind her ear. Her fingertips lingered momentarily, brushing Christine’s jaw before pulling back.
“I don’t know,” she sighed. “I don’t even know which way is up anymore.”
Christine grinned and pointed toward the ceiling. “That way. Unless you’re in Australia, then you’re screwed.”
“Smartass.”
Christine giggled, but her breath caught when Oakland suddenly lifted her hand to her lips, pressing a soft kiss into her palm. A rush of heat spread through Christine’s chest, her stomach flipping. She glanced down and, yep. Her nips peeked out like freaking headlights.
Oakland saw. Her cheeks flushed instantly, and she looked away fast, like the ceiling suddenly needed inspection.
“I like it when you look,” Christine said, smirking.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Oakland muttered, clearly lying and terrible at it.
Christine tilted her head, grin growing. “You’re cute when you blush.”
Oakland rolled her eyes, grabbing the nearest pillow. “Shut up.”
Christine laughed. “Make me.”
They sat like that, a quiet hum of tension between them, the movie still playing. Christine shifted closer, warmth pooling further from where their skin initially touched. She was starting to become… achey and desperately wanted to close more space between them.
Instead, partially out of curiosity and partially wondering if she had a shot in hell at getting laid ever again, Christine asked, “Have you ever hooked up with anyone?”
Oakland froze. Her hand stilled mid-fidget, pulling at a thread on the hem of her shirt like the question short-circuited her motor functions. “Um.” She cleared her throat. “Define hooked up.”
Christine raised an eyebrow. “C’mon. You know what I mean.”
Oakland’s eyes stayed fixed on that same stray thread. “Not really,” she said softly. Then, even quieter: “Is that… weird? I mean, I know it’s weird. But does that weird you out?”
Christine’s expression softened instantly. She shook her head slowly like she didn’t want to startle the moment. “No. Not at all.”
She hesitated, eyes flicking down to her hands before she looked back up. “If anything, it just makes me want to be really gentle with you. In every way.”
Oakland blinked, then gave a short, incredulous laugh. “God, please don’t. I get myself off all the time. It’s not that special.”
Christine burst out laughing, eyes crinkling. “That’s the most tragically relatable thing I’ve ever heard.”
Oakland shrugged, deadpan. “Even Mormon girls gotta wrestle the devil sometimes.”
Christine wheezed. “Is that what they call it?”
Oakland smirked. “Depends on how guilty you feel after.”
Christine leaned back, still grinning. “Okay, but when’s the last time you did?”
Oakland didn’t even pause. “Uh… the night after I met you.”
A pause.
Oakland blinked as if hearing her own words a second too late. Her eyes widened. “Wait, shit. No. I didn’t mean it like that.”
Christine just stared at her, eyebrows raised.
Oakland’s face went red. “I mean, I wasn’t thinking about you! I mean, not not about you, I just meant… It’s been a while? Or, oh my God, can I die now?”
Christine was already laughing, trying, and failing, to keep a straight face. “You’re adorable when you panic.”
Oakland groaned into her hands. “I’m gonna need you to forget that ever happened.”
“Not a chance,” Christine said, grinning. “But hey, flattered.”
Oakland cut in fast, waving a hand like she was swatting the conversation away. “Okay, shifting gears—I meant to tell you about the unholy lamp I found at a thrift store last week. I think it cursed me and my entire bloodline.”
Christine laughed, acknowledging the change in subject. “That bad?”
Oakland nodded solemnly. “It’s like Liberace and a Victorian séance had a design baby.”
Christine snorted. “Please tell me it has fringe.”
“Oh, it has fringe. And beads. And I can’t stop thinking about it.”
They cracked up, the tension melting as they leaned into each other, laughter chasing the nerves away. Stories spilled out, half-jokes turning into full ones, knees bumping as the room slowly softened around them.
Eventually, the conversation blurred into comfort, the laughter fading into something quieter, something steadier. And still, they stayed close.
* * *
Oakland’s phone alarm shattered the silence, yanking her from an unusually deep sleep. She jolted upright, silencing it with a clumsy swipe before rubbing at the stiff knot in her neck. She glanced down at her phone: 6:01 AM.
She exhaled, finally registering the warmth draped across her lap.
Christine was still fast asleep, her slow breaths tickling Oakland’s bare arm.
The glow of the TV flickered against her face, the Mean Girls DVD menu looping endlessly in the background.
The apartment was freezing. Cold enough that condensation formed on the inside of the windows.
Oakland shivered, goosebumps prickling her skin.
She really needed to harass her landlord about the insulation.
Careful not to wake Christine, Oakland reached for the jersey, slung it over the armrest, and slipped it over her head.
It was too big, swallowing her frame, the sleeves hanging past her wrists.
It smelled like Christine—like her detergent, like the faintest hint of hops, like something that felt inexplicably safe.
She told herself the chill in the air made her put it on, never mind the stack of blankets nearby. She didn’t know why she wanted to wear it. She just… did.
Settling back, she adjusted the pillow beneath her neck, wincing at the dull ache in her shoulders from sleeping upright.
She should move. Should stretch. But she didn’t dare shift too much, not when Christine was still curled beside her, her soft, steady snore breaking the silence of the dimly lit apartment.
Oakland realized that this was the first time she had fallen asleep with someone, wrapped in their warmth instead of her own solitude.
She glanced down at Christine, noticing the slow rise and fall of her breathing and how her lightly freckled nose sometimes scrunched when she exhaled.
Oakland swallowed hard.
That might be the cutest nose in the history of noses.
She barely had time to enjoy the thought before she heard knocking at the front door.
The sudden noise startled her, her pulse jumping. She wasn’t the only one. Christine stirred, groggy and blinking. “Whoa, is it morning?” Her voice was thick with sleep as she rubbed her eyes, squinting at her phone.
“Yeah,” Oakland murmured, brushing a strand of hair from Christine’s face. “You passed out on me at, like, ten.”
Another knock, sharper this time.
Christine groaned, flopping back against the couch. “Tell them to go away.”
Oakland rolled her stiff shoulders before pushing herself off the couch. As she stretched her arms over her head, her spine crackled like popcorn, the weight of sleep still clinging to her limbs. She shuffled toward the door, unlatched the lock, and pulled it open?—
And immediately regretted it.