The Shape of You Page 15

  And feel she did.

  She didn’t register right away that the soft pleas, the whispered exclamations of Spencer’s name, actually came from her own lips until her orgasm dropped on her out of nowhere, tightening every muscle and ripping Spencer’s name, loudly, from her throat. Her fingers clenched into fists—one in the sheets, one in Spencer’s hair—and her hips lifted off the bed as the contractions pulsed through her body.

  Spencer held on, kept her mouth pressed tightly to Rebecca’s center, gripped her hips with strong fingers, until Rebecca began to come down. Ever so slowly, her body settled back down to the mattress as her lungs struggled for air and quiet “oh, my Gods” slipped from her mouth.

  Rebecca felt rather than saw Spencer crawl up her body, kiss her forehead, settle next to her.

  “Holy shit,” Rebecca finally muttered, still trying to catch her breath.

  “Yeah? I’ll take that.” Spencer’s head was on her shoulder, and with her fingers, she drew lazy circles on Rebecca’s stomach, and again, Rebecca was surprised by the comfort she felt. By how…normal…it all seemed. How good. She felt her brain drifting, trying to drag her back to the reality of their situation, but she put the brakes on, envisioned herself digging in her heels. Turning her head, she cupped Spencer’s face and kissed her, and that was all it took. She rolled them both until she was on top, until her knee was between Spencer’s. Until she groaned at the wetness that coated it. Until she pressed up and into Spencer’s center, pulling a sexy whimper from her.

  Rebecca wanted to take her time. She really did. She wanted to explore Spencer’s body, to look at it as well as feel it and taste it. But her willpower had apparently been decimated by her orgasm, because she had none. The feel of Spencer’s mouth under hers, of Spencer’s hands on her back, of Spencer’s hips pushing up and into her just a bit…all of it combined to send Rebecca into sensory overload, and she had no other option than to slide her hand down Spencer’s stomach and into the hot, wet folds nestled between her legs. A sound escaped her the second her fingers reached their destination, a sound of disbelief mingled with joy mingled with sensuality. She plunged in, no preamble, no hesitation, and Spencer wrenched her mouth from Rebecca’s so her cry had someplace to go.

  And then they were moving. In rhythm. As one. Eyes locked. Bodies tethered. And when Spencer came, she came hard. Fast. Loud. Her nails dug into Rebecca’s back and Rebecca basked in it, basked in the pain, basked in its source.

  Rebecca collapsed, did her best to keep from laying her full weight on Spencer. They stayed there for a long while, all ragged breathing and pounding hearts, and in time, they calmed. Settled. Rebecca did her best to continue to keep the reality of what they’d done at bay, but she was weak. Spent. Had little strength left. And when she glanced up at Spencer, saw the faraway, contemplative look in her eye, what was left of that strength went away, too.

  “Hey,” she said finally. “It’s okay.”

  Spencer turned to her then, met her gaze. “Is it?” Those blue eyes held a combination of such hope and such sadness, it made Rebecca’s heart crack in her chest just a little.

  Rebecca wanted to say yes, to insist. But she also knew this was something Spencer had to deal with on her own. Instead, she reached a hand up to Spencer’s face, stroked her cheek, stayed quiet.

  “We can’t undo this,” Spencer said, so softly that Rebecca wondered if she was talking to her or to herself.

  “I don’t want to undo it.”

  “We have to live with it now.”

  Rebecca nodded, unsure if a response was expected. Instead, she burrowed in a bit closer, and they stayed that way, quiet, for a long time.

  “I need to go,” Spencer finally said, and her tone was equal parts determination and regret.

  “Okay.” Rebecca moved to let her up, then watched as Spencer dressed, watched as Spencer didn’t look at her. It wasn’t unexpected, if Rebecca was being honest, but it still stung.

  When she was finally dressed, Spencer did look. Her face said so many things to Rebecca in that moment: that she was sated, that she was sad, that she regretted what they’d done, that she didn’t…

  As Spencer turned for the door, Rebecca sat up and spoke. She felt like she had to. Had to say something. Anything. She could only come up with one word, though. “Spencer.”

  Spencer cleared her throat. “Yeah, we can’t do this again.”

  Rebecca leaned her head to the right, smiled tenderly. “You said that about last time,” she said, her voice soft.

  Spencer’s throat moved as she swallowed. “I know.” The two words were whispered so quietly, Rebecca barely heard them. And then, without warning, Spencer crossed the room, was in Rebecca’s arms, her face burrowed into Rebecca’s neck, her grip tight, like she was afraid if she let go, she’d be swept away. Rebecca did what she’d thought about earlier: wrapped her arms around this beautiful, conflicted woman and held her tight, uncertain what else she could do.

  And then, again without warning, Spencer let go, turned, and left. Rebecca heard the front door close and Spencer’s car start up.

  Rebecca sat, staring at the empty doorway of her bedroom, the alluring scent of sex still hanging in the air, and tried without success to figure out where to go next. And don’t get her started on the wild emotions running through her head right then like a bunch of dogs let off their leashes.

  It was fine.

  She started there.

  Everything was fine. They’d had a little fling, nothing more. No big deal. Happened all the time. It was fun (and could be much more fun), but Spencer was spoken for and Rebecca had to accept that. Consciously shutting down that part of her brain, closing it off from the rest, she did her best to shake it away.

  It was a one-time—okay, two-time—thing and it was done now.

  For sure.

  No more.

  Chapter Fourteen

  By Monday morning, Spencer was very confused. By several things. Her head was a jumble of thoughts, emotions, and feelings, none of which seemed to want to be sorted. They just tumbled together in her head, like a load of wet towels in a dryer, mixing and mingling colors, until they were a blur of spin-art, swirling in her brain, making her slightly nauseous.

  Since the moment she’d left Rebecca’s house, Spencer had waited for the guilt, the horror of her actions, to come crashing down and bury her. What have I done? What was I thinking? That was so unlike me! That was the big one. What she’d done was completely out of character. She was a good girl. She did what she was told. Always had. What in the world had come over her?

  She waited the rest of the day on Saturday, but aside from those three thoughts running on a loop through her head, that was it. She’d waited all day Sunday. She’d gone to Marti’s house Sunday afternoon to watch football and braced herself. Marti had pecked her on the lips, popped open a beer, and sat down with a few work pals she’d invited over. Two guys and a girl, a bowl of salt and vinegar chips, some cheese and crackers, and her Jets on the television.

  Spencer had stood in the kitchen and literally looked around, searching for a tumult of awfulness that never came.

  Marti barely noticed when Spencer muttered something about some work stuff she’d forgotten and left to sleep at her own house. Spencer didn’t want to be around strangers. She didn’t want to be around Marti.

  She was not at all happy about what she’d done. That was certainly not the case. She felt bad about it, guilty, and in fact, she was horrendously disappointed in herself. She’d gone over to Rebecca’s to apologize for letting things progress on Friday, to tell her not to worry, it wouldn’t happen again. And then she’d literally thrown herself at Rebecca. She had made the move! Spencer! The girl who didn’t make the moves anymore. God, she was annoyed with herself. For not having better self-control. For giving in to temptation so quickly. For not feeling horrible, like she should.

  Why don’t I feel horrible?

  That question had plagued her for the remainder o
f Sunday and was there waiting for her bright and early when she opened her eyes on Monday, as if it had camped out in a chair in the corner of the bedroom while she slept.

  And now it was settling in, what had happened on Saturday. What she’d done. Probably because she would see Rebecca tonight.

  God, Rebecca…

  Her brain started to drift as she lay in bed, tossing her flashbacks and images of Saturday at Rebecca’s house. In Rebecca’s arms. Rebecca was an amazing kisser…Spencer had never been kissed like that. So thoroughly, so painstakingly, as if Rebecca’s only care in the world was to make sure Spencer was enjoying the act of kissing. And oh, how she had enjoyed it. Before they’d even come close to traveling beyond the kissing, before any buttons had been unfastened, Spencer was already more turned on, more pleasured than she’d ever been with Marti. Or Chelsea, even. Anybody. She and Rebecca might have butted heads in many other aspects of life, it seemed, but when it came to sex, they excelled.

  She let her hand drift up to her face, brushed her own lips with her fingertips, and closed her eyes with a soft exhalation.

  Opened them. She was going to have to face this.

  She took the pillow next to her, held it tightly over her face, and screamed as loudly as she could. Again and again until she was empty of the frustration, the anger, the worry, the guilt.

  Then she called in sick.

  And then she called her sister.

  * * *

  The Hummingbird was a small café not far from the house where Spencer’s parents lived. They met there often for coffee or lunch, and the staff—and many of the customers—knew them and greeted them whenever they arrived. Rather than a flood of working folk, the Hummingbird catered to an older, more laid-back crowd. No hustling, bustling yuppies or business people. The clientele was made up of mostly retired folk, all of whom knew one another and all of whom were there three to four times a week. Maybe more.

  Mary Beth Thompson was the exception. She was not retired and, aside from Spencer, she was probably the youngest human in the place, but everybody still knew her, thanks to past introductions from her parents. Mary Beth was a financial advisor. Her clientele spanned all ages, but Spencer was pretty sure about 70 percent of her retired clients met her through her parents. Folks waved and called out greetings to her, and Mary Beth had to stop and chat three times before she was able to reach the table where Spencer sat, menu in hand, sipping a Diet Coke as she watched her big sister mingle. She looked professional and competent in her navy blue pantsuit, her modest heels clicking across the linoleum of the floor as she finally made her way to the table, her light brown hair pulled back in a twist.

  “Hey,” Mary Beth said in greeting, as she bent to kiss Spencer’s cheek.

  “Hey, M.B.”

  She took a seat across from Spencer, folded her hands on the table, and studied her. Part of the reason Mary Beth Thompson was so good at her job was her uncanny ability to read people. Spencer included. “You okay?” she asked.

  Spencer reached into her bag and pulled out a little black velvet pouch, handed it to her.

  Mary Beth loosened the drawstring and tipped a pair of earrings into the palm of her hand. They were gold and black, dangles, simple, but somehow a bit elegant. “These are beautiful,” she said, then looked back up at Spencer. “And now I know you’ve got something on your mind.”

  “How?”

  “You make jewelry when your head is messy. I’ve met you.”

  Spencer inhaled deeply, then let it out very slowly. With a nod of acknowledgment, she took a sip of her soda and looked around the café. She wanted to talk to Mary Beth about what was on her mind, but she didn’t want to look at her while she did, didn’t want to see the disappointment in her eyes. A hard swallow and a nibble on the inside of her cheek steadied her. “I did something.”

  “Okay.”

  They were interrupted by the waitress. Mary Beth hadn’t even glanced at the menu but ordered anyway. A tuna melt with Swiss cheese and a Diet Coke. Spencer hadn’t been hungry, but her sister’s order suddenly sounded delicious, so she ordered the same.

  “This thing you did,” Mary Beth said once the waitress had left. “Is it bad?”

  Spencer nodded.

  “Are the police looking for you?”

  The twinkle in her eye tugged one corner of Spencer’s mouth up against her will. “No.”

  “All right, well, that’s a relief.”

  Spencer nodded, slowly twirled her straw in the nubbly plastic red tumbler that all cafés and diners seemed to use.

  “Are you going to tell me or should I just start guessing which figurine you broke?” Her tone was kind, gentle. She knew Spencer well, and this was how she’d always gotten her to talk. She’d coax her along, make tiny jokes to bring tiny smiles until Spencer felt comfortable enough to spill whatever secret she’d been holding. This had been Mary Beth’s method since Spencer was five and broke one of her mother’s favorite knickknacks, the pepper half of Winnie the Pooh and Piglet salt and pepper shakers. They’d gone to their mother, hand in hand, and told her what had happened. Well, Mary Beth had told her. Spencer had stood silently as fat, hot tears rolled down her cheeks. “It wasn’t Mom’s Elmer Fudd glass, was it? Please say no. I’m not sure I could protect you if it was.”

  Another small grin made its way onto Spencer’s face. She couldn’t help it.

  “There’s a smile.” The waitress delivered Mary Beth’s soda and she unwrapped the straw, took a sip. “It’s okay, Spence. Tell me what happened.”

  Spencer swallowed again, knew there was no way her sister could guide her if she didn’t tell her what she’d done. Staring into her soda, she said, very quietly, “I slept with someone.”

  “I’m assuming you’re not talking about Marti,” Mary Beth said, a meager attempt to make her smile that almost worked, but not quite.

  “No.”

  “So, you cheated on your fiancée.”

  Spencer’s eyes snapped to her and widened in slight horror.

  “Spence, we’ve got to call it what it is here. Don’t we?”

  “Yeah. I guess we do.” Spencer dropped her head down, shook it slowly. “I don’t know what to do, Mare.”

  “All right. Let’s look at it logically.” This was exactly why Spencer had called her and not her mother. She needed logic over emotion right now, and she was pretty certain her mother would be mortified by Spencer’s actions. Rightfully so.

  The waitress arrived with their sandwiches and left them to it.

  Mary Beth took a bite, chewed thoughtfully. “You need to answer some questions, I think. Things only you know the answers to.”

  “Like?”

  She repeated the process of biting, chewing, thinking. “I don’t want you to answer them right now. I want you to think about them for a bit.”

  Spencer nodded, chewing a bite of her own sandwich, savoring the blend of the creamy tuna and the sharp tang of the cheese.

  “First question: What caused you to do it? Is there something missing in your relationship with Marti? If so, is it something that can be fixed?”

  Spencer nodded again, happy not to speak as she absorbed the questions.

  “Two: The person you slept with”—she held up a hand—“don’t tell me who it is. I don’t want to know yet. But this person, do you have feelings for her?” She leaned forward a bit and said, with a comically arched brow, “I assume it’s a her?”

  Spencer allowed herself a slight chuckle. “Yes. Still gay.”

  “I figured.” Mary Beth ate the rest of the first half of her sandwich. “Three: Are you still letting what happened with Chelsea dictate the decisions you make today? Because I think you have. For a long time now.”

  Feeling her eyes well up, Spencer shifted her gaze to the window and willed the impending tears away.

  Her sister, maybe sensing that she needed her to keep talking, did. “And finally: How do you feel about all of it? What do you want to do? Do you want to double
down on your future marriage and focus on that? Do you want to end things with Marti and pursue this other girl? Do you want to be on your own?” She studied her for so long that Spencer squirmed slightly in her seat. “I think that last batch…those are the big ones. And any of those choices are okay. You know? They’re all okay.” Her expression softened, and her eyes filled with love for Spencer. “You’re a smart woman, Spencer, and I’m pretty sure you know that you wouldn’t have strayed outside your relationship if something wasn’t missing from it. I think you need to figure out what it is.” Leaving half a sandwich, she slid the plate to the edge of the table, then folded her hands and looked Spencer square in the eye. “I’m not always the biggest Marti fan. You know this. But she deserves better than what you’ve done, so you need to figure it out. You’re a better person than this.”

  She’d allowed a bit of her disappointment to seep in, and while Spencer knew she was right, she still felt ten years old again, like she’d touched Mary Beth’s hairbrush or favorite CD without permission. She would much rather have her sister, her parents, her friends be angry with her than disappointed in her. But she had done this to herself. She could have stopped Rebecca that first time. She could have stopped herself the second time. Sure, Rebecca knew Spencer was taken, but Spencer had flung the door wide open and invited her in. Easy as it would be to push some of the blame onto Rebecca, she knew she couldn’t.

  No, Spencer had done this to herself. And now she had to either fix it or live with it.