Page 22 of SapphicLover69
Chapter 12
Thinking About Sex
The panelists had interesting things to present; too bad I was distracted by worries over a vengeful, obsessed felon. The occupants spilled out into the crowded lobby, and I wormed my way toward the restroom. With no men in attendance, snaking lines full of women clogged the men’s, women’s, and family doors. I supposed I could wait.
Spotting Tammy and Beth, I squirmed back to them with my shadow clinging to my elbow. “Did you see anything?” I asked.
Tammy screwed up her face in frustration, and Beth reached up to claim her hand. “No. They all seemed riveted by the panelists.”
“Why weren’t you a panelist?” Winter aimed her questioning gaze at Tammy.
“I was one last year,” she explained. “Although I do have to read a ten-minute passage. I’d forgotten about that.” Tammyworked the frayed schedule from her back pocket and unfolded it. “Dang, honey—my reading is in an hour,” she grimaced.
“Perfect!” Beth exclaimed. I had to lean in to hear her whisper. “We need to watch readers attending the conference too.”
“I, for one, wouldn’t miss Tammy’s reading for the world,” I replied with gusto.
“Me either,” seconded Winter. “I wouldn’t even have a published book without Tammy.” She held up her wrist and checked a digital watch that could probably make and receive phone calls and take photos. “What should we do now?”
“Book piracy is this afternoon,” Elaine chimed in as she joined our island in the center of the foyer. Other attendees coming and going streamed around us as if we were a clump of boulders hindering their flow. With a glance about, I easily spotted Q.L. in one of the restroom lines.
“I also don’t want to miss ‘Color Your Novel Inclusive; How to Write POCs in an Organic Way,’” Elaine continued. “I want to have more non-white characters share the spotlight, but I’m afraid if I portray them wrong it will offend someone.”
“That sounds like an important class to attend,” I agreed.
“It’s the slot before the panel on book piracy,” Tammy said, referring to her sheet. “Right now, there’s a reader panel on how to write reviews and ‘Harnessing the Power of Social Media to Sell Books’ in Chin A.”
“We should sit in there then,” Winter suggested, “or take a quick dip in the pool!” She beamed at me with a florescence that I could imagine lighting many a frigid night.
Tammy gave her a sarcastic expression and rolled her eyes. “Pools later. Zero in on stalker now. Social media it is.”
We entered the same room I had given my presentation in yesterday, and I swear I could still feel the sensual vibes reverberating off the walls and ceiling. Two women dressed like marketers in their off-the-rack synthetic blazers, one withher hair in a bun sporting gold-rimmed glasses and the other with a neat, brunette pixie, occupied a table at the front with microphones before them and a large projection screen at their backs. They both smiled nervously. Knowing I didn’t have to talk in front of crowds anymore flooded my heart with relief.
Tammy and Beth grabbed spots in a back corner, Elaine took an aisle seat next to an older woman with whom she immediately launched into a conversation, and Winter and I moved to chairs near the far end of the presenter’s table in the opposite corner from Tammy’s vigilant watch. That way, she would notice if anyone had their gaze too far to the right and was staring at us instead of the presenters.
It was a satisfactory strategy … until I started to wonder.What if people look at us to determine if we’re a hot new item? What if they’re staring, hoping to puzzle out why that little girl with Harry Potter glasses hasn’t left the sexy, erotic storyteller Aspen Wolfe’s side since the moment they were introduced? And why does Aspen keep her there?
Although I didn’t feel the scrutiny of anyone’s gaze, the idea got me thinking—thinking about Winter.What’s her real name? Is it as bland as mine? Does she have another job, and what is it?
“One of the most important tools for authors today is the platform of social media,” the one with the bun began. They probably said their names; I was just too busy musing about Winter to notice.
I like her spunk.The thought appeared in my mind unbidden. No. I needed to listen to … stuff I already knew and couldn’t apply, anyway. Winter was far more interesting.Is she more butch or femme?
She couldn’t measure up to Tammy on the physical side, but she had short hair and overflowed with protectiveness. Her wardrobe screamed nerd, which wasn’t exactly butch or femme.She possessed a sweetness like the first honeysuckle blooms of spring, pointing me toward a more feminine quality.
I guess she’s kind of like me,I decided, somewhere in the middle.In truth, I didn’t know Winter well. A part of me wanted to, though.Why would she put her life on the line for someone she just met? All we have in common is Tammy as a mentor.
“On social media, you control your narrative,” Brunette Pixiecut said. It took all my willpower not to burst into bitter laughter. Instead, I chanced a peek at Winter. A frown wrinkled her lips, and she crossed her arms as if in disapproval.
Then she leaned in toward me and whispered, “I beg to differ.” She didn’t take her eyes off the presenters, and yet I felt like her full attention focused on me. Her shoulder pressed against mine, and she didn’t shift away. The thrill of contact shot through me like a bolt of lightning out of a clear sky. Why did she have such an effect on me?
My ex, Tracy, was about as rough and tumble as they come, and I’d been drawn to some sultry, feminine women in my time. I’d dated a couple of inbetweeners but never had I looked twice at a tiny elf who spent more of her time in a fictional galaxy than ours. Or maybe that was purely my misconception. Simply because one enjoys science fiction doesn’t mean she’s out of touch with reality. I mean, didn’t all those gadgets Gene Roddenberry dreamed up forStar Trekget invented? Cell phones, computer tablets, space shuttles, hyposprays, holographic meetings, and 3D printers, which are kind of like replicators. I guess sci-fi gurus imagine the next generation’s real-life technology. It’s kind of cool if you think about it.
Winter’s face was so expressive—as if a thought didn’t go through her head that wasn’t broadcast to the world. I’d admired her beautiful, guileless eyes; now I noticed her lips. She licked them, probably considering something the presenter had said or maybe merely to moisten them.Is it getting hot in here?
Those lips were so kissable … and her breasts appeared to be exactly the right size for my hands. They didn’t have to be voluminous like Selina Fowlerton’s to be delectable. A lot could be said in the praise of smaller breasts. For one, they stayed perky longer, probably well into a woman’s forties or fifties, without gravity tugging them toward the floor.
I pictured myself caressing them, peering longingly at their milky surface, running my thumb over an erect, pink nipple, taking it in my mouth and … I jerked my head up, realizing I was staring at Winter’s breasts most inappropriately. A swift glance around debunked my irrational fear someone had been watching. So what if I found Winter attractive? I found most women attractive. It was my honed habit to always look for one’s most appealing feature and see only it, to the exclusion of any flaws. With Elaine, it was her smile. With Winter it was …
