Page 46 of Windlass

“You do know that I would, don’t you?”

Crickets sang their evening chorus. There were fewer than there used to be. Fewer tree frogs, too. She felt as overheated as the planet. Soon their friends would leave. And then what? If Angie slipped into her bed tonight, she would not be able to stop herself from rolling Angie beneath her.

“I think I found them all,” Angie said, “or at least all the ones over here. You?”

Stevie held four shafts. She had no memory of picking them up.

“Yeah.” Any she missed tonight she’d find later. Angie sauntered toward her through the trees, holding out her clutch of arrows.

“Thanks.” She stuck them into her quiver.

“My pleasure.” Angie hesitated, her eyes as luminous as the dusk. If she kissed her now, Stevie knew, she’d allow it, that full lower lip eager to slip between her teeth. Her own jaw twitched with the effort of restraint. Would their friends really be surprised if she shoved Angie up against a tree?

Surprised or not, they’d have opinions—and then there was her own plan, which involved agonizing restraint. Stevie breezed by Angie, pulse pounding, stopping only long enough to whisper in her ear: “You do know I couldn’t let that happen, don’t you?”

Angie’s mouth opened, her damning lower lip wet and gleaming, but no words came out. Seeing Angie as dumbstruck as Stevie had been emboldened her. She wasn’t alone in this. Maybe she never had been. It was past time she found out.

“Because,” Stevie continued, lips still close enough to brush the shell of Angie’s ear, “I’dfuckyouuntil you forgot your own name, Angela Rhodes. And then I’d do it all over again.”

The others lingered until the sun went down, leaning back in their chairs on the patio and sipping some of the beverages Stormy had brought. Stevie laughed with them, but the relaxation and ease that seemed to fill the others felt foreign, as if she might never feel that way again. She was aware of Angie in every cell: where she sat, how her hands rested on the table, the way her eyes darted periodically to Stevie, half hidden behind her lashes. Was Angie also thinking about how soon their friends would pack up their things and head back to their respective homes, leaving the two of them alone?

Stevie could not walk back into the house as if nothing had happened. Neither could she grab Angie by the belt and thrust her against the kitchen counter, no matter how badly she might want to—or could she? The house was their home, their sanctuary, the place where they both turned when nothing in the world felt right. If she took Angie on their counter, that would be what they both saw each time they went into the kitchen. Which . . . fuck yes . . . but she needed to be sure of Angie first. If things went wrong, the sanctity would be irrevocably shattered, and while Stevie could move out, brokenhearted and adrift, the house was Angie’s. Stevie would not ruin that for her.

Was this why Angie had held back? Was she, too, afraid of ruining the thing they’d built between them? If they were going to play chaste, however, Stevie would have to move out. That option had been messily eviscerated by, “You know I would, don’t you?” She didn’t know what to do, but she knew with awful certainty that in the absence of guidance, her body would win out.

Maybe, her ever-helpful mind supplied, they couldn’t fuck in the house, but there was always the barn.

She watched Morgan for a moment, trying to anticipate what she might say if Stevie explained the situation. Probably something about protecting herself and also Angie, and probably “still, it’s about damn time.” Stormy, though, seemed like she might provide the advice Stevie wanted to hear. Or maybe not. Stevie had never really confided in any of her friends aside from Morgan, a fact which had not been an issue until now, when she needed multiple perspectives. Nor did she wish to involve her friends in potential drama. One of the things she valued about her group was their stability. She also harbored a secret, queasy suspicion that none of them really took her seriously. Yes, she was easygoing. Yes, she joked a lot, maybe too much. That didn’t mean her heart wasn’t also capable of breaking. She didn’t doubt that they’d drop everything for her if she needed them, but if she tried to initiate the more serious discussions she knew took place, would she see a flash of surprise in their eyes? Disbelief? Or worse, condescension?

It was hard to think clearly with Angie this close. She looked at Angie again. Or rather, she looked up and met her eyes since Angie was already looking at her. The willpower it would take to tease Angie, giving her only a little instead of what they both wanted, would be superhuman. But the nagging thought that Angie might lose interest or run, after she had gotten Stevie out of her system, hurt too much. Stevie would have to buck up and harness her resolve.

“I have a few things I need to do in the barn,” Stevie said as their friends departed, and the kid began her walk down the road. Jaq had refused Ivy’s offer of a ride. Stevie wished she could have insisted on it but had no idea how to enforce safety measures with anything other than horses.

“Need help?” asked Angie.

“Mental, yeah. Why?” Stevie asked. “Are you a therapist?”

“No.” Angie took her hair out of its messy bun and let it down, preparing to bundle it up again. “I can’t fix heads, but I can give it.”

Stevie laughed at the joke, even as she felt it like Angie’s lips on her clit.Tease, don’t deliver, she reminded herself.Play the long game.She stopped Angie from putting up her hair again by gently pulling her hands away. She kept hold of them, gauging Angie’s reaction. Angie’s eyes said everything. Stevie tugged her toward the barn. She thought she might have heard Angie swear under her breath.

The horses greeted them with gentle whickers, and the smell of half-chewed hay filled her with its warmth. She didn’t turn on the lights. The wide door at the end of the aisle let in the last lingering daylight, and after that there would be stars and the moon. Silent witnesses. Angie’s warm hand held hers loosely, save for the thumbnail, which she dragged across Stevie’s palm.

Had she told Angie at any point that she was an absolute sucker for anything to do with her hands? She hoped not as that would make her resolve very difficult to maintain, and besides, she wanted Angie to figure that out on her own. But god, she wanted Angie’s mouth on her fingers.Not helpful, she told her imagination.

The post-and-beam construction of the barn had been repaired over the years, but the frame remained intact. Stevie paused, considering one last time if she should duck and run, but running would only lead her right back here. To Angie.

She pulled Angie close, heart pounding as Angie’s lips parted in anticipation. Then she shoved her against the beam just roughly enough to surprise. The crooked smile that bloomed across Angie’s face let her know it had been the right move.

Stevie stepped into Angie’s orbit. That flash of teeth, white in the darkness, lured her in like a beacon. She told herself to wait. If this blew up, she might have only one chance to kiss Angie. Only one first kiss. She could be patient. Maybe.

She trailed her blunt nails down Angie’s bare arms until she got to her fingers. Those she interlaced with her own and flattened against the stall doors to either side, spreading Angie’s arms wide. Three inches separated them. Angie tilted her head back, exposing the graceful column of her neck, pale in the darkness, as well as accentuating her collarbones and the rise of breast beneath. Fuck her for wearing a scoop-neck T-shirt.

She let Angie see her looking. Angie’s grip on her hands tightened. So did several highly sensitive pieces of Stevie’s anatomy, and she could not help noticing Angie’s nipples stiffen beneath her clothing even in the darkness. Angie waited. She‘d handed Stevie the reins and, with them, control.

None of Stevie’s previous lovers had been interested in this kind of play. Stevie had gone along with what they wanted. This, though . . . this felt viscerally real in a way those other encounters had not. Angie’s hips lifted slightly off the beam to arch toward her.

She liked seeing Angie like this. She liked it more than was healthy, and certainly more than her heart could take. When she grinned and leaned away, Angie kicked the beam in frustration.

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