Page 56 of Windlass

Stevie groaned. “Youarea monster. Do you have another rule, or can we go inside now?”

“I do,” said Angie, “and you’re not going to like it.” She expected Stevie to have a quick comeback, probablythat’s not what she said, but Stevie waited patiently. “Are you ready?”

“Somehow I don’t think so,” said Stevie.

“No kissing on the mouth.”

“Oh, comeon.” Horror flooded Stevie’s face. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“Maybe.”

“You at least have to tell me why,” said Stevie.

“I have to, do I?”

“You do. That’s my last rule.”

“Well,” said Angie, trying not to smile at the despair on Stevie’s face, “one, it’s hot when you’re frustrated.”

“Asshole.”

“You asked me what my rules were with Lana,” said Angie. “That was one of them. That is always one of them.”

Stevie’s eyes flew to Angie’s mouth, and Angie could see the realization and the relief in her face at the knowledge that Angie’s lips were something Lana had rarely touched. Kissing was too intimate, too much like opening herself up fully. A cunt was a cunt; hers had been misused most of her life. Her mouth, though, was still hers.

She looked at Stevie’s lips. They were deceptively perfect, like the rest of her: understated until one looked closely and noted the perfect bow of her upper lip and the subtle fullness of the lower. She knew she would kiss that mouth one day, and when she did, it would be either a promise or goodbye.

“You’re right,” Stevie said. “I hate it. Question.”

“Answer,” said Angie out of habit.

“Sleepovers.”

The answer she’d given most of her previous partners would be no, but Stevie was different. She wanted to wake beside Stevie every morning when the soft, gray light first touched her cheeks. She wanted to stretch and feel Stevie’s body next to hers, warm and languid, and ideally naked. Shewantedto be able to sleep in the comfort of the lies she told herself, believing that one day she might have this for real.

Trying to sound casual, she said, “Well, my mattress might be ruined.”

“That’s true. You really should let it air out for like a year or something. Pretty sure I heard an expert say that once.”

“Well, if anexpertsays so . . .” Angie trailed off, and the smile they exchanged placed another plank over the void in her chest.

“And on the nights I can’t fuck you?”

“You have hands,” said Angie, smirking, “and if you need instructions, I can show you how to use them.”

“Good to know that watching you get off doesn’t count as sex,” said Stevie. Angie shut her eyes against that vivid image.

“Say more about that.” She leaned forward with her elbows on her knees and her hands clasped together, accentuating her cleavage with the motion.

“I’d rather say less.” As Angie had intended, Stevie’s eyes were fixed upon her chest. If Stevie didn’t touch her tits soon, she and they were going to combust.

“But I want you to say more.” She let a bratty whine enter her voice, wondering if that would break Stevie’s annoying, and quite frankly surprising, maturity and end this conversation.

Stevie pushed out of her chair roughly. Angie whimpered with relief when Stevie’s hands wrapped in her hair, tilting her head up. Stevie like this, assertive, confident—she could come from watching. Maybe she could convince Stevie to film it.

“I’ll say more inside,” said Stevie, looking down at her. “Coincidentally—”

“—that’s what she said,” Angie finished.

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