Page 3 of Kiss Me Softly

On some level I guess I’d already known that, but I couldn’t say why. But once I knew for sure, I had the strangest urge to lean across the table and kiss her, which was weird. I had a boyfriend. And I was totally straight, right?

Frankie met my eyes, and we just held each other’s gazes for a few long, pregnant moments. Awareness crawled up my spine and I felt a throbbing feeling in my core. For the first time in my life, I wondered if I could be attracted to a woman.

Then I realized that I was already attracted to a woman. Frankie.

And if I was being completely honest with myself, I had to admit that I was way more into her than I was the guy I’d been dating for over a year now. I pushed that thought aside in the box in my mind labeled ‘too confusing to think about right now’ and dropped my eyes back to my notebook.

“Lesbians can’t go to formals?” I asked lightly.

Although now that I thought about it, I didn’t remember seeing any same sex couples at any of the events I’d attended in previous years. I knew there were gay and lesbian students here, and even an affinity group for those who chose to participate, but other than that, I was totally clueless about that segment of the student population.

“I’ve never been one for dressing up,” Frankie finally said. “It’s a waste of money and I feel ridiculous in dresses and fancy shoes.”

She gathered up her books and shoved them into her backpack, suddenly eager to leave. I could tell that I’d upset her, but I didn’t know why.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“I’ve got to get to class. I’ll see you around.”

Frankie

Five years later…

I walked around the crowded convention center, only half paying attention to the tables of vendors lined up in long rows. The annual education conference was one of my favorite events, but my real goal for visiting the vendor exposition was to hunt for good giveaways. Last year I’d scored a handful of chocolate, a nice compact umbrella, a charger for my phone, a water bottle, several stress balls, and an array of other trinkets. Living on a teacher’s salary, I was a pro at looking for freebies.

My eyes caught on a table at the end with a stack of little notebooks and pens. Ooh. I could use a new notebook for my bag. Unlike a lot of people who kept notes and lists on their phones, I preferred to track things in writing. I made a beeline over to the table, not even bothering to see what product or service they were selling before grabbing a notebook and dropping it into my tote bag.

“Kiss?”

I glanced up as someone waved a bowl of Hershey’s kisses in front of me. The person’s voice sounded familiar. I looked up into a pair of sky blue eyes, jolting as I recognized the vendor.

“Aurora? Is that you?”

My old college friend looked different from the last time I saw her. Aurora’s blonde hair was darker now, smoothed back into a low ponytail, and her make-up was much subtler than she used to wear back in college. She was dressed in a black pencil skirt and a conservative white blouse that did nothing to hide her incredible tits. Tits that I’d spent a lot of time dreaming about during my senior year of college despite knowing that she was unavailable. And straight.

Aurora made a squealing noise. “Oh my God, Frankie!”

She rushed out from behind the table, pulling me into a tight hug. Since she was several inches taller than me, it had the effect of smashing my face against her cleavage. Not that I minded. I took a deep breath, smelling vanilla and something floral. It was nice.

Aurora pulled back and gave me a bright smile.

“I haven’t seen you since before graduation,” she reminded me. “What are you doing here?”

Before I could answer she rushed on, “Well, that’s a stupid question. This is an education conference, and you were studying education last time I saw you.”

“Yes, I’m a teacher now.”

I glanced between her and the display behind her, which advertised tools to help kids with learning disabilities. An ID badge around her neck identified her as a marketing manager for the company.

“You’re clearly not a journalist though.”

She shook her head, her expression turning sad for just a second before it cleared.

“No, it was a nice dream, but I needed to actually make money,” she explained. “Plus, as you know, print journalism is dying and now everyone with an iPhone and a laptop is a journalist. Anyway, I’m working for an educational company in St. Louis now, managing their external marketing.”

I had the distinct impression that she was not excited about this change in her career.

“Do you live here in Chicago?” she asked.

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