Even Lovers Drown

“Honey, we’re home,” Blake sang as she pushed the hotel room door open.

Silence greeted her. She stepped farther into the room, tugging Saylor along by the hand, and looked around. Their comforters were thrown back, the sheets sat on. An abandoned drink sat on the table between the beds. The suitcases were pressed to the edges of beds, on the floor, closed. Sage wasn’t there.

Exactly how they left the room.

“Guess she’s not back yet,” Blake said.

From wherever she decided to disappear to. Blake recalled excited chatter about an old friend, an explanation too quick to comprehend, before Sage left the room in a flurry of movement. She even forgot to demand Davy get off her bed, and he had been on her bed, sprawled out in his boxers just to piss her off.

Despite the apparent magnitude of the meet up, Blake doubted anything earthshattering would come from it. She knew Sage well. Her “old friend” was either an old social worker, that held a special place in her heart, or a woman, who she would date for a month and then succumb to her commitment phobia.

“You’re not the least bit worried?” Saylor asked, slipping her hand from Blake’s and walking to the table between the beds.

Physical connection broken, discontent edged on Blake’s conscious but was dimmed by the continual replay of Saylor’s words in the tattoo parlor. Those words set her mind at ease and excited her heartbeat, had the same affect since they were mumbled in Saylor’s sultry voice. She couldn’t be upset.

Blake flopped onto their bed, careful not to disturb her tattoo, crossing her arms behind her head, and watched Saylor grab her brother’s drink. “Should I be?”

Saylor smiled, her emerald eyes sparkled. Amusement, not reprimand at her nonchalant response. She dropped the can into the wastebasket. It clattered in the otherwise empty container.

“What if she was kidnapped?” Saylor asked.

“Good.”

She laughed. “You don’t mean that.”

“Oh, I do. I really, really do.”

She didn’t. Losing one of her best friends would devastate her. But this was hypothetical, farfetched. She knew where Sage was. Kind of. Enough to keep her from worrying about her whereabouts.

Saylor laughed again, a melodious chime of amusement, and bent over Blake. Her lips pressed against hers. Sweet. Firm. Natural, as if they had been together for years, long enough for casual kisses to be normal.

She kept close when their lips broke apart, let their noses brush and their breathing mix. Laughter lit her eyes, smile lines decorated their corners. So pretty and all for Blake.

“I’m telling her you said that,” Saylor said.

“Tattletale.”

“No, that’s Davy.”

She kissed the tip of Blake’s nose and straightened. The gesture, unprompted, made her falter, again to marvel at the familiarity and ease of Saylor’s affectionate kisses. By the time she pulled herself from her dazed state, Saylor was digging through her duffle bag, too far away to yank onto the bed. So she did the next most pleasing thing she could think of: grab the remote from the bedside table and flip on the television.

Sage always hogged the remote.

“Davy’s not a tattletale. He keeps secrets like his life depends on it,” Blake said, casually flipping channels.

But her attention wasn’t on the television. The redhead rummaging through her duffle was more enticing. She wouldn’t be able to enjoy having hotel room remote privileges. She’d be too busy enjoying her view of Saylor, who wasn’t even naked.

“You break our mother’s window with a Barbie doll and see what he does,” Saylor said and tossed a couple articles of loose clothing on the bed.

No panties lay among the mix.

“Did you try to frame him?”

“No. I blamed his imaginary friend.”

Standing, she tossed a final scrap of clothing onto the bed. Thin, lacey, black, it stood out against the looser articles, the ones that would hang on her body instead of cling.

There were the panties.

“You think I should take a shower now or wait?” Saylor asked, pulling Blake’s attention away from the tiny excuse for undergarments.

“You’re taking another shower?”

“I figured if I take enough, I could ward off dirt longer.”

“I don’t think it works that way.”

“At least I get to enjoy trying.”

The image prompted by Saylor’s choice of wording distracted Blake, stole away her ability to speak and think. Hot water, it had to be hot water, misted the hotel bathroom. The gentle thrums of water against tile created a calming lullaby. And Saylor relaxed beneath the stream, her stressed muscles loosening, water dripping down her naked body. Her hands on her scalp, tangled in bright red hair, working in shampoo. Slip farther down to massage breasts with soap and even farther down, between legs, to tease herself.

Calmly—she hoped she appeared calm—she looked away from the spot her eyes had settled on, the area between Saylor’s legs that remained clothed and untouched, in desperate attempt to clear her head. The cartoons dancing around the television screen would help contain her overactive libido.

“Take a shower before you sleep,” Blake said.

“You don’t mind wet pillows?”

Were those pillows Saylor’s breasts?

She began rapidly flicking through the channels. Cartoons weren’t going to work.

“Why would I mind wet pillows?”

“I don’t know.” A pause. The rustle of fabric. “I just don’t want to make you mad.”

She didn’t want to make her mad. She thought something so simple, wet pillows created by soaking red hair, would upset her. To Saylor, her fear wasn’t irrational. Because it had been confirmed in a prior experience.

Because of Katie.

The anxiety-tinged voice of her lover was that woman’s fault. Saylor hadn’t told her, not in so many words, but Blake knew and she wished she would talk to her, tell her those fears, tell her what happened. So they could work past Saylor’s problems. Together. As a strong, stable unit. Saylor needed that, added support on top of what she received from her family.

“I wouldn’t get mad over wet pillows. I doubt you could get mad if you.” she looked at Saylor, away from the mind-clearing television, and faltered. Saylor, her lovely, beautiful Saylor, stood next to the bed in a maroon bra and matching set of panties, her shirt discarded somewhere on the floor and her sweatpants halfway down her thighs. “Tried,” she finished in a distracted mumble. She pushed herself to a seated position. “What are you doing?”

Her eyes traveled Saylor on their own accord. She couldn’t control her roving gaze, didn’t think she would if she could. She blamed the trail of freckles guiding her eyes. Dotting the top curves of delicious breasts and collarbone, scattered over the expanse of her tight stomach and fit arms, seeming to add an outline to her curves, those little dots were at fault.

“Changing,” Saylor said and let her pants fall to the floor.

The sweatpants were kicked away, pushed somewhere in the room. Their short voyage wasn’t of Blake’s concerns. She wouldn’t drag her eyes away from the enchanting, panty-clad body in front of her.

“Do you need help?” Blake asked.

Better lines were stored in her arsenal but they refused to appear, the building heat between her legs drowning her.

Desire danced in Blake’s eyes, so apparent Saylor couldn’t mistake it for anything else, so strong it spurred a surge of desire to her core. Excitement over what was to come sent her heartbeat into a rapid tempo. And her skin tingled under the appreciative gaze.

Katie never stared at her like that.

The streak of panic she once felt, the initial response to sleeping next a woman she cared for, died under her smoldering heat. She didn’t need to worry about wet pillows.

“I could use an extra set of hands,” Saylor said.

Blake scrambled across the bed, the enthusiasm of a puppy greeting her owner in her movements. Hardly the reaction Saylor expected from the experienced rock star. A well-placed line, self-assured actions, maybe a hint of cocky attitude, not puppy-like enthusiasm.

Did Saylor do that to her? Made her forget all her silly tricks meant for easy groupies? She knew she was one of the few people to see Blake drop her rock star persona, but this was different, new, invigorating. She took off her clothing and Blake’s mind became putty. The revelation raised her self-esteem considerably.

Blake’s hands were on the waistband of her maroon panties the moment she was within touching distance, prepared to pull them down and help in ridding Saylor of the clothing she hadn’t been planning on taking off.

Not yet.

Before the thin article of clothing could be pushed away, Saylor rested her hands on Blake’s, stopping her excited actions. Blue eyes shot up to hers, her hands froze, remorse snuffed her excited expression. Questions ran rampant in her eyes but none passed her lips.

And Saylor responded by placing her own hands on Blake’s belt.

“Let’s get you out of these first.”