“But he…had an affair, didn’t he?”
She turned her glass on the armrest and seemed to be lost in the way the wine moved inside it.
“Yes, but I wasn’t in love with him like I should’ve been. I didn’t…yearn for him in that way.”
It took Carla a second to understand what she was trying to say. “You two always seemed so happy. So good together. You were so easy around each other.”
“We were. I think that was only because we were such good friends,” she said. “Best friends. And I miss him. I miss his friendship and the comfort of knowing he’s there. He’s a wonderful man, as you know. Very kind and good-natured and all, but there just wasn’t that…”
“Desire.”
“Yes.”
“Was there ever?”
Janice met her gaze. “No. But I didn’t know that then, didn’t understand that what I felt for him wasn’t enough. I loved him and he loved me. I thought it was that simple. I thought that’s how it was.”
“But you knew what desire was. What lust was. Didn’t you?”
“I knew about those things, sure. I just didn’t feel them. So, I thought that stuff must be for the romantics and the poets.” She seemed reflective as she turned her glass. “Maybe that’s why I love literature so much. For the romance of it all. That’s what I really want, but for some reason haven’t ever had.”
“Why do you think that is?” Carla asked softly.
She half shrugged.
“I was different.”
Janice drank, taking two large sips. Was she nervous about the conversation?
Carla could sense her anxiousness, but she couldn’t let it go. She now wanted, more than anything, to know everything. Who was this woman who’d been hiding right underneath her all these years?
“How are you different, Janice?”
“I was different because I didn’t feel those things.”
“Have you ever?”
She visibly swallowed. “Not then, no.”
“But you do now?” The question came out on a whisper and she was so desperate for her response, she thought she might fall off the edge of her seat from the anticipation.
“I—am aware of those feelings now. I know they are possible.”
“How do you know?” Carla finished her wine.
“Because something happened. Something that caused me to take a look at myself.”
Carla could feel her blood pounding in her ears. “What was it?”
She looked into Carla with a heat that pressed into her skin, teasing and caressing it, like the hot hand of a lover.
“What does it matter?”
“It matters,” Carla said. “You matter.”
“More wine?” she asked, suddenly rising from the couch. Her glass was nearly empty, and she was offering to take Carla’s.
Carla hesitated, completely startled but wanting to do anything to keep her talking. She handed her her glass.
“Please.”
Janice started to walk away toward the kitchen.
“Janice?”
“Yes?”
“The wine is…here, remember?” She motioned toward the bottle on the table.
“Oh.” She laughed and returned to her seat. “Maybe I’ve had more than I thought.”
Or maybe it was our topic of discussion.
Janice refilled their glasses and they both sat back and drank.
Carla drank a little more and tried to come up with a way to get her to answer her question, but she was growing more and more tired. The wine was working wonders on her mind and her muscles and she worried she might melt into the couch. She also worried that Janice would be able to tell what she was thinking because she was unabashedly taking her in now, studying every part of her body, openly admiring the lingering athleticism of her physique. For a woman who’d given up gymnastics decades ago, she still looked firm and toned, especially in her arms and shoulders. Carla had always told her how much she admired her throughout the years, even encouraging her to build her body and compete in fitness. But Janice hadn’t been interested, and most of the time she’d tried to downplay her looks. As Carla thought back, she recalled how she’d even blushed at her compliments. Had it been because she really was incredibly modest, or had it been because it had been her who was saying it?
Looking at her in that tank top, it was very obvious that she was embracing her looks now. She looked even more defined than she had been the last time she’d seen her. Maybe she was putting some time in on the weights after all. Whatever the case may be, she looked good. Better than good. She looked ravishing. Carla couldn’t tear her eyes away from her and, thanks to the wine, which had drowned almost all of her inhibitions, she realized she’d never wanted to be a tank top so badly in her life.
Janice was about to take another sip of her wine when she caught Carla looking at her.
“I’m staring,” Carla said suddenly. She hadn’t meant to speak aloud, but she was so hypnotized by her mouth and those tempting lips, she couldn’t help but want to witness the wine staining them red as she drank. “Forgive me,” she said, knowing she sounded crazy. “I need to sleep.” Fatigue flooded her, and all she could think about were the dangerous flash floods that wreaked havoc in Arizona during monsoon season. She felt helpless, like a person who’d been caught in one by surprise. She was being overtaken, soon to be swept away.
Her eyes rolled as she fought to stay awake. “I’m so tired.”
Janice was speaking to her, but she sounded so far away. She tried to reach for her, but her arm felt too heavy to move. Still, she could see her. Each time she was able to focus, she could see her and could even when she eventually closed her eyes for good.
“I see you, Janice,” she said. “I see you.”
Chapter Ten
Janice sat holding her wine, stunned into stillness.
“Carla? Can you hear me?”
She was out, switched off just like a light.
She set her glass on the coffee table and rested her hand on Carla’s leg. The firm warmth of it struck her, like she’d been bitten. She could feel the hot venom rushing through her veins, causing her heart to pound. She shook Carla quickly and called her name again. But there was nothing.
She removed her hand, hoping the heat coursing through her would ease.
It did not.
Too much had transpired. She was reacting to far more than the touch. Carla had been looking at her, staring at her. And it hadn’t been just any kind of look. She’d looked at her like she wanted her. She was sure of it.
It had started with her open admiration of her body, which Janice had noticed but quickly disregarded, convinced she was reading into something innocent because of her own attraction. And because she honestly couldn’t believe that Carla could ever feel that way about her. The idea was too farfetched, and she was content keeping it where it belonged. In her dreams.
But that last look, when Carla was intently watching her drink…as if she yearned to be the wine. That had been unmistakable.
That was desire.
Carla had wanted her, if only for a moment and she’d failed to respond or say anything at all. She’d froze. Like a deer in headlights. She had seen the headlights aimed right for her, but she hadn’t been able to bring herself to move.