Anne momentarily stopped breathing.
Slowly, Sadie grazed her fingers against whatever smeared condiment was on Anne’s face. It couldn’t be much, not enough to make this necessary, since Anne couldn’t feel anything except Sadie.
Time didn’t slow down, exactly, even though Anne felt suspended in some dreamscape. It was just that Sadie didn’t need to take nearly that long to touch her, to make Anne’s cheekfeel like the center of the world. But Sadie was. And no possible reason existed for it, except—except—
Then the excruciating brush of light pressure on her face finally lifted, and Sadie’s sauce-stained fingers were suspended right in front of Anne’s face. Like an offering.
Sadie wasn’t pulling back. Why wasn’t she pulling back?
For the rest of her life, Anne was never sure who moved first, whether it was Anne who’d parted her mouth just a bit or Sadie who’d touched her two fingers to Anne’s lower lip, or maybe it had happened at the same time, the two of them falling together into the moment when Sadie’s fingers slipped inside Anne’s mouth, just barely.
Those fingers shocked the tip of Anne’s tongue, tentatively grazing the edge of it.
Sadie made a small noise.
Reeling, Anne had to close her eyes, just for a second. Impulsively, her tongue licked out at the pads of Sadie’s fingers.
Sadie sucked in quick air, then abruptly retracted her hand. Her face was flushed. A visible swallow rolled through her throat.
Faintly, in the distant background, Anne could hear orders up and cash registers ringing, a few customers chatting on the other side of the room. The signs of a normal world. It could be another planet.
They sat without talking. Some god-awful pop song played faintly in the background. Hadn’t there been some point Anne had wanted to prove earlier, in another existence? For the life of her, she couldn’t remember what it was.
Finally, Anne couldn’t stop herself from breaking the silence. “What are you thinking?”
“Earlier, when we were at your house, you said not to tell you what I was thinking. Are you positive you want to hear it now?”
“That’s different. What I meant then was that it was too overwhelming to know you were thinking about me in—that way.” Anne refused to be too specific. “Romantically.”
“You’re a remarkably intelligent woman,” Sadie told her. “So if you’d just take a few seconds to really reflect, I think you’d realize all on your own that Iamthinking about you that way. Romantically. If that’s how we’re putting it.” She moistened her lips, not seeming to notice, and a hypnotized Anne watched the bubblegum pink of Sadie’s tongue move, then hide again. “I don’t think it’s a smart idea to be more specific while we’re in public.”
Anne gripped the seat of the booth, one hand on each side, and felt the hard plastic press into her palms. Dizziness swamped her. This was just the second time she’d ever been truly aroused, and it was happening in the grimy booth of a San Bernardino Burger Bliss with a woman who owned a gingham and leopard print dress. “Again? You’re thinking about me like that again? Like earlier?”
“Oh, sunshine,” Sadie said, and there was so much love in her voice that Anne almost couldn’t stand to listen. “Not ‘again.’ Don’t you understand? I haven’t stopped.”
Chapter 8
They kept heading east, the sun dropping behind them over the city they’d left. Dense suburbia gave way to small brown houses jutting out from the land like hives and the odd casino with flickering signs. On both sides of the freeway, dark mountains loomed, their peaks flecked with snow.
“I’m very attracted to men, you know.” Sadie announced without any preface. She began to remove the only jewelry she was wearing: gold-and-onyx drop earrings in the shape of asymmetrical petals. “Despite my self-imposed celibacy these past few years, I’ve always enjoyed men quite a lot.”
Wonderful. So Sadie was attracted to men. What was Anne supposed to do with that information? Congratulate her? Throw a party?
Anne liked being around men just fine. She enjoyed the rituals that came with male-female interaction, especially the spark of pleasure that ignited whenever a man looked at her with desire or made an admiring comment. But what pleased her—the man, or the proof she was desirable? Not once had that spark set her on fire. She’d never craved touch, never once felt her body hollow out and ache for what it didn’t have.
Not until today.
Sadie carefully deposited her earrings in one cup holder. She seemed to be waiting for a response.
Instead, Anne asked, “Why are you taking off your earrings?”
“Because my earlobes are shrieking for freedom. Don’t change the subject.”
After a moment, Anne went with a noncommittal, “All right. You’re attracted to men.”
“I’ll tally a few representative names. Daniel Craig. Ken Watanabe. Idris Elba. Steve Buscemi—”
“Wait a minute. SteveBuscemi? That weird-looking character actor?”