Page 7 of Say You Want Me
Charlotte caught herself, her throat tightening with a sharp pang of guilt.
She couldn’t compare them. That wasn’t fair.
She was just starved for it, that was all. Months of touch-deprivation made any spark look like a blaze. Basic human mechanics. A classic rebound phenomenon, an easy fix for a starving ego.
It felt good to be wanted. That was the whole truth.
Taylor stepped back out from the hallway, carrying two folded items of clothing.
“I wasn’t sure which you’d prefer,” Taylor said, holding them out. “Yoga pants or sweatpants.”
“The black ones are fine,” Charlotte said, taking the yoga pants. The fabric felt weightless against her palms, carrying the clean scent of lavender laundry soap. “Thank you. You’re very kind.”
“Bathroom is second door on the left down the hall,” Taylor said. “Before you go change, can I get you a drink? I’ve got wine, tea, water, a couple beers?”
“Whatever you’re having is fine with me,” Charlotte said.
She turned and walked down the short hallway into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her until the latch clicked.
Charlotte unbuttoned her wool blazer, slid her arms out of the heavy sleeves, and draped it over the small vanity chair. She unbuckled her belt, stepped out of her damp slacks, and pulled on the black yoga pants. The thin fabric hugged her skin, smoothing over her hips with a supple closeness that felt almost scandalous. She didn’t own a pair of pants like this, not even for around the house, and couldn’t imagine wearing them in public. Turning toward the mirror, she saw how ruthlessly the material outlined every curve from behind.
She didn’t try to pull the dark fabric higher over her waist. Instead, she shifted her weight, taking in the way the thin stretch mapped the curve of her rear and the long, uninterrupted line of her hips.
Taylor wasn’t being polite. A woman like that, young and striking and moving through the world with an effortless grace, didn’t invite a stranger into her home out of charity. Taylor wanted her. The truth hit the back of Charlotte’s ribs with a sharp, quiet thrum of pure satisfaction, spreading outward until her skin tingled beneath her clothes.
Charlotte looked up, meeting her own gaze in the mirror. Her blond hair hung in windblown tangles across her shoulders, wild from the ocean breeze, but her face wasn’t the pale, tired mask that usually greeted her at the end of a long workday. Warm color hummed beneath her skin. Her mouth still felt tender from the press of Taylor’s lips on the beach, the memory surging back with sudden, vivid clarity.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt wanted like this. The last few years with Diane had been careful and polite, filled with touches that gradually hollowed her out. But standing under the bathroom light, the borrowed waistband hugging her hip and the taste of ocean salt lingering on her lips, a sudden, fierce vitality stirred beneath her ribs.
She ran a hand through her hair. The messy, unscripted reflection looking back at her felt far more honest than the curated image she presented to her students every morning.
She wasn’t Professor Reid right now. She was simply an attractive woman. She was desired, and she was going to let herself feel every bit of it without analyzing the consequences.
Enjoying tonight didn’t mean committing to anything. She wasn’t signing a lease. She wasn’t promising a future or inviting chaos into her structured life. It was just a night to enjoy herself.
She was allowed to have one.
She smoothed her hands down her front. She hung up her damp slacks across the shower rail, and left her blazer folded on the edge of the sink, taking one last look in the mirror before opening the door.
6
Taylor sank onto the couch, wine glass cradled against her palm, and listened to the muffled sound of Charlotte’s footsteps behind the bathroom door. She still couldn’t quite believe it. When she’d suggested coming back here, about her couch being more comfortable, she’d braced for a polite decline. Instead Charlotte had agreed. She was down the hall right now, taking off her wet slacks.
Taylor tucked one leg beneath her, testing the pose, then decided it might look too relaxed, too much like she was settling in for a lazy night on the couch watching a movie. She straightened back out, planted both feet on the floor, and draped her arm along the back of the couch, forcing her shoulders to stay loose like a woman who did this all the time.
She took a sip of wine. Charlotte’s glass sat waiting on the coffee table.
Her stomach hadn’t stopped doing this low, pleasant flip since the beach. Taylor didn’t usually get nervous around women. She knew what she wanted, knew how to ask for it. But this wasn’t that kind of nervous. This was bordering on excited curiosity. She wanted to know more about Charlotte.
On the rock, she’d said something about being away from her normal life this weekend. Taylor had let it slide past in the moment, too busy drowning in the low, careful timbre of Charlotte’s voice, but now the question kept surfacing. Away from what, exactly. A house. A job. Some life Taylor couldn’t picture yet, built somewhere far from this cramped apartment with its guitar in the corner and its mismatched mugs in the cabinet.
She swirled the wine, watched it climb the sides of the glass and slide back down before she took another sip.
Honestly, if Charlotte walked out of that bathroom and just wanted to talk, Taylor would take that too. She caught herself grinning at the thought, a little embarrassed by how much she meant it. She wanted to kiss her again, wanted it badly enough that her mouth still remembered the exact give of Charlotte’s lips against hers, but she wanted the rest of it more. That voice. The hesitation before certain words, like Charlotte had no idea how attractive a woman she was.
It was late. Taylor knew that. She had to get her expectations right.
Charlotte would probably finish her wine, glance at the clock, make some graceful excuse about an early morning. And Taylor decided she was fine with that too, already rehearsing the easy smile she’d give her at the door and how she’d ask for her number.
