Sette stood in front of a stereo. The woman had millions of dollars sitting somewhere in her bank accounts – June knew, because Monique had done her usual digging into patrons’ financial backgrounds – but still had a CD stereo. The only other person June knew with a collection was Grace, who was addicted to female singer-songwriters and ’90s dance music.
As if it read her mind, the stereo spat out the awe-inspiring sounds of an early ’90s song. “You’re kidding, right?” June crossed her arms. “The Cranberries?”
Sette turned, mischief tugging at the corners of her mouth. “What can I say? I’m a disgusting byproduct of the ’90s. You should see my Pog collection.”
“Pogs?”
“Pogs, and at one point, I was the class hacky-sack champion. Should’ve played team soccer thanks to those skills, but I picked rowing instead.” She extended her hand to June.
She stared at it, curious. “You want to dance? I didn’t take you for a dancer.”
“Heaven forbid I didn’t find ways to surprise you.”
June tentatively took her hand. “All right. I’ll go to senior prom with you, Dr. Christie.”
She pulled June into her embrace, already swaying her back and forth. If Sette wanted to impress her, she would have to do better than that. June had “dated” ballroom champions before. Besides, “Dreams” wasn’t exactly a slow dance song.
As she wondered if Sette even knew how to foxtrot, she twirled her so fast that the world became too blurry to exist in. June’s sudden, surprised laughter echoed in her head.
Sette may not have been a ballroom champion in her own right, but she knew how to dance. Or at least she was good enough at dancing to make June think she was the best partner she’d had in ages.Who did I even go to the prom with?That felt like so long ago.
They danced for most of the song. When Sette wasn’t trying to dip or twirl her, June was stumbling in her sandals and clinging to her as if she were about to splat across the floor. Was it the laughter shaking her body? Or the two left feet she didn’t know she had? Sette was laughing too, more than June had ever seen before.She should laugh more often. Such a serious woman. Such a sweet, caring, serious woman…
She yanked June back into her arms, holding her tightly, kissing her face all over. When her lips lingered on her throat, she mumbled, “I never want to let you go.”
Perhaps it was the ethereal soft-rock music ringing in her ears. Perhaps it was the heat of her body traveling to hers. Whatever it was, June melted against her, her own lips searching for her ear, her shoulder, anything they could touch in that strange position.
“So don’t let me go,” she whispered, before turning in her arms.
They swayed back and forth to the final notes of the song, Sette’s hands folding on her stomach and chin resting on her shoulder. “I’m glad we’re on the same page.”
The stereo played a different song that June didn’t recognize. As it disappeared into the background, she said, “You’re always a surprise, Sette. I used to think you were some stuffy woman. Now I know you’re just a woman.”
“Just a woman?” Laughter bit her words. “That’s like sayingyou’rejust a woman.”
“Why can’t we just be two women? Why does it have to be more complicated than that?”
Her hands moved up June’s body, grazing her breasts and tickling her cheek. “I’ve had more fun with you in the few weeks I’ve known you than with every other woman in my life put together. To me, you could never be ‘just a girl.’”
June’s cheeks flushed with heat.Why does she always have to be so sincere?Made it harder to do her job. Because at the end of the day, thiswasa job and nothing more.
She frowned at the thought.
“My love,” Sette murmured in her ear. “Do you mind if I call you that?”
Don’t make it complicated, Sette.The words“You shouldn’t”crept to her lips, but June couldn’t bring herself to say them. She didn’t want to… want to… what? Let Sette down because she had many clients who called her that?
She briefly thought of Miquela, who had declared her love for her at the height of pleasure not too long ago. June had barely heard from her since. Something about being detained in Monaco for ongoing business. So she sent her postcards. Postcards! Each one signed “Affectueusement, Miquela.” June’s French was rusty in the world of correspondence, but she was pretty sure that meant some form of love.
I was in the moment with her. I don’t really love her. Not like that.She told herself that one more time before finally responding to Sette. “You can call me whatever you want.”
“Likewise.”
While the stereo continued to play, June took her by the hand and led her to the bedroom. “I want to scream your name a bit. Mind?”
How many times did they have sex over the past several weeks? At least a couple of dozen. So why was the woman turning white at her proposal?
June left the bedroom door open before sitting on the edge of the king-sized bed and beckoning for Sette to come get her.
