Page 21 of Beneath Her Hands
Rosalind just shook her head. “I don’t know, honestly, but I can’t see myself staying in one place for too long. I guess I’m just too old to change now.” Rosalind noticed how Jane’s face fell, but she caught the expression quickly and turned her lips upward in a smile.
“I understand that. I guess I feel the same way. I’ve always wanted to travel, to see the world, but I think I’m too settled into myself and my family here to really do that, at least as more than just a tourist.”
They stared at each other for a moment. It felt like something grew still, a wedge driven between them. It didn’t quite fit, though. It was as though the wall between them was flimsy at best. It felt wrong, fake, almost like neither of them actually believed the words they were saying. Perhaps they were both just going through the motions here, and whatever spark wasbetween them was destined to fizzle out, no matter what they did.
“That doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy tonight,” Rosalind said and picked up her margarita, raising it in a toast.
“To tonight,” Jane said, though it felt forced. They tapped glasses and sipped their drinks before settling into another uncomfortable silence.
From there, things only seemed to get worse. They placed their orders with the waitress, who seemed excited for them, but Rosalind wasn’t sure if it was professional curtesy in the restaurant world, even now she was still unused to the service expectations of being back home. The guitarist in the corner played a more upbeat song, singing happily in Spanish while they looked at each other, both trying to come up with something to say.
They circled around to talk of work, asking about the patients they’d treated from the cave in, though neither of them was any less informed than the other. Rosalind continued to sip on her margarita, the tequila giving her a warm fuzzy feeling in her head.
“I like this place,” Rosalind said, trying to quell the awkwardness of the situation. “Maria really brought it to life.”
“I agree,” Jane said and averted her eyes. “It had gotten pretty run down under Mario, so really there was nowhere left to go but up.”
“That makes sense, but I remember it from thirty years ago, when Mario was just starting out and trying to make something of it. He did well enough for a while,” Rosalind said and smiled. She locked eyes with Jane and wondered what she was thinking about. Her expression was pensive, almost guarded.
The waitress returned with their plates: Rosalind’s chimichanga buried under a blanket of cheese, Jane’s vegetable fajitas still sizzling excitedly. Steam clouded the air betweenthem. Jane began assembling her fajita with neat, practiced motions, while Rosalind attacked her chimichanga with clumsy urgency. She was aware of every bite, every drip of sour cream, as if Jane might be cataloguing them. The gap between them seemed to grow. Rosalind was so used to the way her mostly male counterparts in the military treated food as just a necessity that watching Jane so delicately eating was surprisingly intimate.
When the check came, they both reached for it at the same time, their hands briefly touched, and Rosalind felt as though she’d been shocked by the brief contact. She had to be imagining it. There was nothing there. She had spent the entire meal with Jane, and they couldn’t seem to do much more than penetrate the surface of their relationship. Once they finished their meal, in a fit of chivalry, Rosalind offered to walk Jane home.
The night air was cool, and Rosalind welcomed the fresh mountain air. As they approached Jane’s apartment building, Rosalind began to struggle with her own emotions. They were overwhelming; it had to be about her family and the pressure, and probably the three margaritas.
“Jane, what are we doing?” Rosalind turned and asked, stopping Jane in her tracks. Jane had enjoyed just as many drinks, so they were both a bit on the buzzy side.
“I don’t understand,” Jane said, her brows furrowing.
“What is this? I know we are attracted to each other, but this whole night has been a surface level, small-talk nightmare, what are we doing?”
“Wow, I didn’t realize I was such awful company,” Jane answered, her eyes sharpening in insult.
“You’re not, but you’re holding back, and so am I, why?”
“I don’t know the answer to that any more than you do,” Jane snapped. They approached the door to Jane’s apartment and Rosalind turned to face her.
“What is blocking us?” Rosalind’s voice caught in her throat. She wasn’t sure what was happening, but she wanted to cry and scream and laugh all at the same time.
“We’re blocking ourselves,” Jane said, her voice barely more than a whisper.
“Then we need to stop,” Rosalind said. She took Jane by the shoulders and pushed her into the door, kissing her hard on lips. She crushed against her and half-expected Jane to shove her away, but she didn’t. Instead, Jane took Rosalind’s face in both hands and kissed her back, crushing their lips together and slipping her tongue between Rosalind’s teeth. Her hands wrapped around the back of Rosalind’s neck and pulled her closer. Rosalind pressed her body against Jane’s and her veins were set on fire as she moaned into Rosalind’s mouth. Breathless, she pulled back and looked at Jane. Her emerald eyes were smoldering with heat and desire, and need pooled deep between Rosalind’s thighs.
“What are we doing?” Rosalind whispered again as she traced her finger lightly across Jane’s lips. She kissed Jane again, softly this time, catching her breath as the scent of Jane’s hair reached her nostrils.
“I have no idea,” Jane answered and opened the door behind her.
10
Jane
Jane stumbled backward as the door opened behind her, Rosalind’s lips pressed hard against her own. Jane probed Rosalind’s lips with her tongue, and dropped her bag onto the floor, kicking the door shut as they both came inside. Rosalind allowed her access, and Jane kissed her hard, plunging her tongue deep into Rosalind’s mouth. Heat flooded through her, and she pressed her hands to Rosalind’s cheeks. The room seemed to spin around her as she gave in to the heat, the desire, the glorious touch of Rosalind’s hands across her back.
Rosalind finally pulled back, though not without effort and asked her again, “Jane, what are we doing?”
Jane stumbled several times, trying to come up with any sort of coherent sentence, but everything seemed to stick to the back of her throat. She forced herself to pull away from Rosalind, and the cold seeped into her skin where Rosalind’s touch faded.
“Would you… Would you like another margarita?” Jane finally said, and Rosalind’s countenance fell. Jane fought againstthe urge to kiss her again. The disappointment in Rosalind’s face burned through Jane.
