Page 27 of Director's Cut

“Thanks.”

I yank myself away, back to regular-people distance apart. But she’s looking at me now, just barely biting her cheek. I can’t tell if she knows I can see it. That small movement emphasizes her cheekbones. Movie star cheekbones. I don’t know how else to put it. My fingers gravitate to my own cheeks. I guess I’ve always figured they were nice. Hollywood looks. That’s what my team says. And then there was some guy on YouTube who once commented that my looks were wasted on a lesbian. Okay, dude.

“You were engaged?” she asks.

I drop my hand from my face. “Yeah. We were together for the last few years of undergrad and all of postgrad. She was an English academic thoroughbred who happened to be superhot, and we were both studying the Beatles. Dated four and a half years, engaged for a little under six months.”

“I’m sorry that—”

I put my hand on her arm. “Please, don’t be. She was a controlling asshole. Like, the kind of person who always had to be smarter than me, doing better work than me, but she also couldn’t date someone dumb, so I was still expected to be, like, publishing papers and applying to conferences and whatever. I came home sobbing after my dissertation got rejected, and she told me a walk might be a good idea, but when I came home she’d packed up all my stuff and moved back in with her parents. She left the engagement ring I got her with a note saying, ‘I think you’re better off in America.’ ”

Maeve’s hand slams down, clutching mine. I think the force launches my stomach into my throat. “Holy shit, Val.”

“It’s…” A lump is forming in my throat. No. What the fuck, I haven’t cried over Emily in years. A year? I guess I cried about Emily with Luna after she ended up crying naked in my living room. “I always tell people I had my Stroke audition before Emily and I broke off the engagement and that that’s why she left. The audition came soon after, thank god, because I needed something good, but she literally left our five-year relationship because my dissertation was denied.”

“That’s awful.” Maeve holds on to me, running her thumb over my knuckles. “If it helps, I had a shitty relationship in college too.”

“Man or woman?” Or nonbinary person. Why didn’t I say that?

She sighs heavily. “Woman.” She shrugs. “You clearly know how it is. I mostly dated girls in high school anyway. The first time I had sex was with a cis guy senior year, but then she came along in college, and it was like a whole new world had opened up to me.” She licks her lips. “But she was so…particular. Constantly criticizing what I did, what I wore, how I acted around people. She was genuinely upset to hear I’d had sex with someone with a penis before her. Around graduation I just woke up and got out.”

“Holy fuck, dude…”

I’ve had a ton of queer friends over the years, so I always knew abuse happened in the queer community, but seeing someone who experienced it. This woman. This soft, wonderful, wickedly smart woman.

She’s still touching my hand.

“But the thing is”—she squeezes her eyes shut—“and I’m not proud of this, you know? But once I got into Berkeley for grad school, I just stopped being with women. I figured I wasn’t queer enough for them. All through my PhD it was just nice man after nice man, and the relationships never got serious enough for me to say I was bi, and all my real focus went into my career.”

Her hand slides off mine, and our bodies retreat back to neutral positions. My skin feels cold without her.

“God, Val, I’m”—she laughs—“I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I still think about the good parts of my relationship with Fiona all the time. How we understood each other without having to say a word, how unabashedly queer we were together, how we’d giggle over celebrity crushes.”

She glances at me, and I swear, she looks at my chest. Or my eyes? Fuck, those are in very different places.

“We—there’s just an understanding. A shared experience. And being with her”—the softest moan escapes her lips, sending a shiver down to my bones—“the sex, Val. I dream about sleeping with a woman again. I— Fuck.”

Hearing her swear, god, I never thought that would be my kryptonite.

She turns to me, full body facing mine. Looks me in the eyes. “I had this date like a month ago. With the job, I have time to go on a date maybe once a year. But you know how sometimes you wake up and you’re inexplicably horny?”

What are we doing? My legs twitch with the urge to open them ever so slightly.

“So I figure this date I’ll let him get lucky. If it’s my rare outing, I’m gonna make it worth it. We go to a bar, down a few, start kissing at the bar, then continue in the Uber on the way back to my place, and I’m just thinking, Yes, this is what I needed. I cannot wait for this. We get in the door, and kissing turns into taking off our clothes, and I stick his hand down my panties.”

She leans in as she speaks. Fuck. This. I am starting to sweat and I really hope she can’t tell.

And she pulls back. Pulls back like a perfect tease, a crooked grin on her face.

“And he has no idea where the clit is. Grown man, doctor, doesn’t know where the clit is. I show him at least three times, and he just gives up in a little huffy fit and reaches for his cock. I made him leave.” She leans in again, not quite as close as before. “But god damn it, Val, I’m still horny, right? Angry and horny.” That crooked smile shifts to just a regular amused grin. She makes eye contact. “So I just…” She pauses, lip back in between her teeth, slowly released. “Think about being with a woman and finish it myself.”

Fuck. We are on Day One of Friendship and Maeve just told me how she masturbates. Which, fine, most people masturbate, but what the fuck am I supposed to do with this information? I mean, I masturbated to her. Did she even mean to tell me all this? What if I admit to what I did?

Still, I’m an actress, right? I smirk. “Sounds very unfortunate. Like you need a much better partner.”

She sighs. “It’s pervasive. I think about it all the time. Being back in a woman’s arms.”

She doesn’t mean to be telling me all this. I can’t keep playing along. This is like she just told me about her abusive relationship, I can’t turn this into flirting. She’s saying serious stuff; the least I can do is respond seriously.

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