Page 5 of Haunted Happenstance

“Do you hear that?” Tara asks, pausing as she reaches with a book halfway to a shelf. “It’s almost a vibrating sound.”

“You hear it, too? It’s been driving me crazy! I can’t seem to find where it’s coming from. I’m going to check upstairs; I’ll be right back.”

She nods and I take the wooden stairs two at a time to my room above the shop. The noise is definitely louder up here. Moving closer to the bed, I hasten my pace to my bedside table. There’s only two things it could be—my vibrator or my other vibrator. Quickly retrieving it from the drawer, I power it off and can’t help the giggle that escapes me. This whole time I thought it was some sort ofglitch with the electrical. At least it was only my clit vibrator, I can’t imagine the thumping noise that would accompany the other one that has seventeen settings and gyrates.

“Everything okay up there,” Tara calls.

“Just a rogue vibrator,” I yell back.

“A what?” she laughs. “I need to see this.”

“Nothing to see, I turned it off.” I make my way towards the stairs, but Tara is already at the top. “When the earthquake happened, it must’ve set it off.”

Tara’s eyes twinkle with mischief. “Is this your room? I didn’t realise you lived here when you mentioned your room.”

“This is it.” I turn and gesture with a wide sweep of my arm. “It’s a room with an ensuite, but it’s just me, so I don’t need more than that.”

“It’s stunning.” Tara helps herself exploring the room, brushing her fingertips along my personal collection of books. “Every bookworm’s dream—living in a bookstore.”

“There’s an ex-hockey player who offered me his flat, but I’m happy here. Tristan’s a sweet bloke. He brought his husband, Myles, to the shop a month ago to help me unpack all of my book shipments. I almost took him up on his offer, but once everything was set downstairs, I didn’t want to leave.”

“I can see why.”

I take a seat at the edge of the bed. “So, what brought you to Coal’s?”

“Actually,” she chuckles, sitting next to me, “you. I came for the bookstore opening. I heard you carried a lot of sapphic titles, so I thought I would come. I live in Calgary, so it wasn’t too far of a drive.”

“Are you serious? You came for me?” I clear my throat. “Sorry, that didn’t come out right. What I meant was you’re here for my shop.”

“I am, but also, I would…”

Thank fuck I wasn’t drinking something just now, or I would’ve sputtered it all over both of us. I do my best to sound casual, though I’m sure I’m failing miserably. “You would what?”

“After my break up with Greta, I haven’t really dated anyone. Hell, I haven’t even kissed anyone since her. I’ve been on deadline, and I don’t do casual, and?—”

I snap. Without a second thought, I kiss her.

There’s nothing more awkward than a first kiss. You fumble around, trying to figure out what they like, and in the end, it’ll set the pace for what to expect. The tone of your entire relationship will be driven by that single kiss. This one isn’t anything like I expected. Admittedly, I haven’t kissed a woman in over a year, and my last three serious relationships were with men. Tara is different. There’s nothing to figure out with her, as if we’ve been kissing for years. It’s comfortable, almost rehearsed, as if our muscle memory already existed.

The faint taste of vodka lingers on her lips as they part for me, deepening our kiss. Neither one of us is overpowering the other, it’s an equal balance, something I’m notaccustomed to. Guilt seeps in, replaying her last words in my head. She’s only here for a night—typically my kryptonite—but she doesn’t want a fling.

I pull back, breaking what has to be one of the best kisses of my life. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have?—”

Tara grips the front of my shirt and brings my lips back to hers, muttering against them, “I’ve been wanting to kiss you since the moment I stepped into that bar.”

Stuck at a crossroads, I’m paralysed with fear, unable to make the first move to take things further. Does she want to stay the night? Would she let me touch her? Can we have one night of fun, or will it be too hard to say goodbye tomorrow?

I don’t have to wait long for my answer, her delicate fingers teasing the hem of my shirt. The anticipation is killing me.

Why am I so nervous?

Because she’s Tara Fucking Watson, you twat.

Reading her books for years, I know what this woman is capable of. Granted, her books are fiction, but she’s conjured some of the most delicious scenes. I’m deathly afraid anything in real life won’t suffice. Tara writes fisting, for fuck’s sake. I’ve never had a whole hand in my cunt, and I don’t think a single night with her will prepare me for that experience. Another part of me is on edge, wondering if whoever is pranking us could be watching. I’m all for a bit of exhibitionism, but with consent. And right now, I want Tara all to myself.

Her hand slips under my shirt, and I still. “I thought you said you didn’t want something casual.”

“I did.” She pulls back, lips swollen. “I don’t do this sort of thing, I got caught up in the moment?”

---