Page 31 of Hers for the Weekend

Tara nodded.

“But here’s the thing, I don’t want to get married again. Ever. I’m not built for it, and if I were, marrying into any family that includes your aunt Cricket would be strictly outside my boundaries.” Holly moved to sit up on her knees, aware her nipples were still pointing directly at Tara, like they were trying to hypnotize her. “I’m not asking you for anything, except your enthusiastic participation in a fling. Unless you wouldn’t be enthusiastic about participating, in which case, we can table the whole discussion.”

Tara sighed and looked up at the ceiling, and then she flopped back onto the bed. It was the least stiff movement Holly had ever seen her make, like all the marionette strings that normally kept her posture upright had been cut.

“I would obviously be enthusiastic. My physical interest in you is not the issue here,” she said finally.

“Tara”—Holly shook her lightly—“we could be having hot gay sex in this bed at this instant. Don’t we owe it to our foremothers, those Daughters of Bilitis who worked so hard to bring us sexual liberation, to be liberated?”

This earned her a grin. “I can’t tell if I’m appalled or impressed that you just used lesbian history to try to get down my pants.”

“Please. Herstory,” Holly joked.

“Touché.” Now Tara was laughing again, but this time, thankfully, not at Holly’s seduction attempts. Progress! “Although that’s a very gender essentialist, second-wave feminist term. But being clever won’t win your argument.”

Holly’s stomach dropped, although she’d been briefly distracted by how hot it was when Tara got precise. If they weren’t going to have sex at all, this whole weekend, she was going to need to sleep on the floor. Or the bathtub, like in “Norwegian Wood.” That song was about lesbians, right? Or maybe in the reindeer enclosure. Somewhere she couldn’t even smell Tara.

“However,” Tara said, a mischievous grin on her face, “if there’s absolutely no possibility that either of us will want anything more out of this, I don’t see why we couldn’t have a fling.”

Holly’s brain took a minute to catch up to what Tara had actually said, and then she wanted to punch the air in victory. Yessssssss. She started to reach out for Tara, who held up a hand.

“We’ll have to have an ironclad agreement.”

“Really? You’re going to lawyer our sexual encounter?” Holly asked, not sure why she was so turned on by this. She raised her right hand. “I solemnly swear not to fall in love with you or expect anything from you at the end of this weekend.”

“And as soon as we leave Carrigan’s, we’re back to being friends, without benefits,” Tara added.

That was the perfect situationship for Holly. A whirlwind romance with a defined end date and no hard feelings so she wouldn’t need to do a runner.

She held out the hand she’d raised. “Shake on it?”

Tara grabbed her hand and pulled her in for a blistering kiss. Their tongues tangled, and Tara’s hands ran up and down Holly’s body, leaving a trail of heat that pooled in her center. Then, suddenly, her hands were gone and Tara’s mouth was saying, “We can’t get started now, though.”

What?!

“Why not?” Holly cried.

“We have to be at breakfast, bright eyed and bushy tailed, in two hours,” Tara said breezily. “Which is not nearly enough time for what I have planned. In the meantime, you need to get some sleep.”

Holly stared at her. “You think we’re going to be able to sleep now?!”

“Oh, no, I won’t, but I don’t need very much sleep to operate. I’m going to shower, and then get ready for the day. But you should sleep.” She hopped out of bed, grabbed the dress she’d ironed the night before, and carried it into the bathroom.

“We could shower together!” Holly called after her.

Tara’s laugh rolled out and around her, surprising her again with its earthiness. She always expected it to dance in the air like icicles tinkling. “Haven’t you ever heard of delayed gratification?”

Holly pouted. “I’ve already delayed my gratification!”

Chapter 11

Tara

There was no way in hell Tara should have agreed to what she just had. If she hadn’t woken up from a deeply illicit dream to find herself groping Holly—and Holly not minding—if she hadn’t been driven to distraction by Holly’s miles-long legs and the curls escaping from her braid, she wouldn’t have agreed to any kind of fling, parameters or no.

As she stood under the scalding water, she wondered if Holly would hear her if she had a quick, tiny orgasm. Probably. It was a very small room.

She needed to clear her head, because she couldn’t spend the entire day obsessing about what would happen when they finally got into bed together that night. She was here to celebrate Miriam and Noelle, and she was not going to make their big day about her. More to the point, it was December 21, which meant it was Miriam’s birthday, and she had some shitty birthdays to make up for.

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