Soaping herself up, the memory of the kiss drifts by her mind’s eye. However, something’s different this time. If it had been a cloudy, dark image before, it has an entirely different sheen to it now. Wherever Riley touches her in the memory, she feels tiny sparks on her skin. Letting her hands roam over her torso, she realizes that while her nipples had softened from the hot water, they now stand back to attention. Betrayed by her own body, once again.
It’s just not fair what Riley does to her. How dare she unleash her predatory charm like that. Is it a game to her? How many women have fallen for her like this? What if she just gets off on flattering straight women until they get to a point where she can convince them they’re lesbians?
Then Charlotte remembers her conversation with Gabi, and by extension, Lou. There is no way either ofthem would ever put up with a person like that, let alone be friends with them or make them collaborate with Charlotte for their wedding. Hm. Conclusion by deduction would be that all of this is real. And really happening.
Instead of sending her spiraling, this time Charlotte smirks at herself. As she rinses the back of her legs and her thighs, her eyes flick up to the removable shower head. She’s not ready to jump into this new life, far from even, but her skin buzzes knowing that lifting the veil of denial just a little bit has such a huge effect on her. She doesn’t dare imagine what happens when she, one day, lets go completely.
On Monday, she considers texting Riley. But what is there to say? She’ll think about it, she promises herself. She’ll probably text her tomorrow.
On Tuesday, she figures she should ask Riley for advice. But how is she going to initiate a conversation like that? The only reason they’d had such an open conversation last time is because Riley was bold enough to start it. This time, Charlotte knows, the ball is in her court. She’ll text her tomorrow, for sure.
On Wednesday morning she remembers her promise to herself, and sets a deadline: by 8:00 PM she has to text Riley. But what should the tone of the message be?
'Hey, can I talk to you?'No, if Charlotte got a message like that, she would be hyperventilating and rushing to call the person who sent it.
'Wanna hang out?'What is she, a teenager?
'You free Saturday night?'Way too bold, and way too flirty. Riley shouldn’t be getting the impression Charlotte’s ready to jump on her. She needs to be… platonic and concise.
Phone in hand, she sighs, and looks at Shaky.
“You tell me what to say,” she orders him. He calmly nibbles on her phone charger.
On Thursday, after a restless night where she’s written and rewritten the text over a hundred times in her head, she drafts a message in Riley’s thread. Platonic and concise.
‘Hi Riley. I just wanted to check in with you after last week’s conversation. I’ve been thinking about it a lot and currently I’m left with more questions than answers. Would you be willing and available to let me pluck your brain soon?’
Nope, that’s not the one either. Is she in her thirties or her seventies?! Her tongue has been in Riley’s mouth for Christ’s sake, there’s no need to address her like she’s the vice president.
On Friday, she sends her draft anyway. Fuck it.
Not even thirty seconds after having hitsend, the phone rings. Her breath catches and she looks around: what is she supposed to do? Her brain malfunctions, and out of sheer panic she grabs a pen and a notebook. What on earth does she need a pen and a notebook for? And how long should she let the phone ring to not make it seem like she had it in her hand? Actually, screw that, sheliterally just sent a text, of course her phone is still in her hand. She answers it on speaker.
“What’s up, Riley,” she answers coolly, except for her audible voice crack. She tries to hide it by clearing her throat. Unfortunately, Riley’s not deaf.
“Hey Charlotte,” a highly amused voice comes through. “I’ve been waiting for you to reach out. I figured I should just call you back. Way easier, right?”
She’d been waiting? Then why the fuck didn’t she reach out herself? Charlotte knows the answer, but she’s too wound up to give Riley credit for being patient and letting her set her own pace or some bullshit.
“Y-yeah. Yeah sure,” Charlotte says, graceful and eloquent as always. She wants to claw her own throat out.
“And I guess hearing one another’s voice always conveys a message better,” Riley says pointedly, leaving space for Charlotte to do the math.
“Hm. Correct.”
“So that the intention and tone of the message don’t get convoluted,” she presses on.
“What are you trying to say?”
She hears Riley laugh; a warm and yet slightly mocking sound. “Do you always shift into full formal mode when emotions get involved?” she asks. “I couldn’t tell if you were trying to ask me out, or serving me.”
Charlotte growls. “If you keep making fun of me, you bet I’ll be dragging your ass to court soon.”
“Hot,” Riley simply says, and Charlotte repeatedly bangs her forehead on the dull corner of the phone in her hand. “You’re impossible,” she sighs.
“How about I make myself a bit more possible, then,” Riley counters with that endlessly frustrating and stupid attractive air of confidence. “Let me ask you to get lunch together. Tomorrow? How’s that?”
Charlotte sucks in a breath of air. Tomorrow’s Saturday. She’s free tomorrow.
