“Jesus Christ,” Abby grumbled.
Kate, completely knocked out of the brief reverie, hurried to scold them. Abby took up the rear at a distance, returning to hitched shoulders and a cigarette. It took all of Kate’s fortitude to not look back.
They adopted cordiality for the bachelorette’s next twelve hours. Kate played it safe after the hug. She didn’t sit near her, didn’t draw close, talked to everyone in their group except her. But in the calculated space, there were still eyes, partial smiles, a pause in their separate conversations, a glance across the precariously built space that revealed exactly who they still were.
Despite her best intentions, it wasn’t as simple as shaking Abbyoff. She couldn’t chalk up her faults and call it finished. No one could. Even in their large group, everyone near her laughed louder, spoke freer, subconsciously inched closer. Abby wasn’t the center of attention. She was gravity. For all her self-deprecation about lacking ambition or book smarts, she knew the world, knew people, almost always knew what to say to instill ease or inspire a smile. She glided, a stream everyone wished to drink from, despite the occasional flood.
Among the thirsty herds, Abby sought Kate. From the very beginning, from that first run-in, first practice, Abby had chosen her as if unaware or unimpressed by what others jockeyed to offer. Kate, who had spent her childhood ignored and her young adulthood on a pedestal of naïve, virgin perfection, never understood passion before Abby. She didn’t require such devotion, would’ve fallen for her without it like so many others, but Abby gave it anyway.
By dinner, they sat side by side, thighs brushing, shoulders hinting of warmth. Whispered jokes through the overpowering music. An inhale of perfume, of pheromones, of skin. Exactly who they still were.
“You want to play?” Abby asked at the blackjack table. The way she posed the question reminded Kate of the past. Abby never assumed she didn’t want what the rest of them did.
“I don’t know how,” Kate said.
Abby grinned. “I’ll show you.”
She smiled under the guidance, at the cards in her hand, the chips that Abby piled in front of her, the casual instruction, a tickle of breath at her neck. Kate didn’t care about winning or losing. She trembled under Abby’s hand briefly on her shoulder and the murmurs in her ear.
When they crowded around the packed roulette table, Kate didn’t shirk from Abby bumping in behind her. She leaned into the familiar curve of her chest. While their friends jeered and the wheel spun, as drinks magically refilled, poker machines jingling, Abby’s arm discreetly coiled around her waist.
“What do you think?” Abby asked in a gravelly coax that Kate clenched at. “Time for lucky number three?”
“You believe in luck?” Kate raised an eyebrow.
Abby shrugged, pressing tighter into her backside, hand teasing her hip. “I believe in you,” she said before betting a tall stack of chips on Kate’s old jersey number.
She grabbed Abby’s hand as the wheel spun, the ball clipping along as their friends hooted and screeched. Abby didn’t watch the numbers, and when the ball hit the pin, Kate turned to find her eyes already set on her. Their boisterous group erupted, but Abby didn’t flicker, as if she knew fate. Of course, she won. She always won.
Kate bit her lip, dropped her hand, and backed away. Her heart skipped. She knew as Abby gifted Mick her thousands of dollars’ worth of chips that a decision awaited. But she also knew there was no decision at all.
Mick leaned on Abby’s shoulder when they finally returned to the hotel, babbling incoherently. “This is how it should always be. All of us together.”
“We’re just glad you’re happy.” Abby grunted. “Come on, you got to help me out here, idiot. I’ve got half a knee.”
Kate swooped in on Mick’s other side and blushed at Abby’s smile across from her.
“Are you two ever going to stop torturing each other?” Mick hiccupped.
“Probably not,” Kate said. Abby’s eyes shifted downward with her smile.
They dropped Mick onto her bed when they reached the room, Abby removing her shoes, Kate tucking her in while the rest of the party flopped into their beds.
“Night,” Abby said to Kate and dipped out before she could say it back.
Kate furrowed her brow, the decision pulsing inside. She considered her suitcase, her pajamas, and the spot next to a snoring Jill that she should most definitely retire to. She scurried into the hall instead.
“Hey,” Kate called after Abby as the door slammed behind her. “Where do you think you’re going?”
Abby stopped and whipped around, her eyes dark and brooding in a tell that Kate shuddered at. She ventured a few steps toward her. Abby stalked too, slow but certain. “What do you want from me?”
It echoed from the field and their fights. The static hit her neck, buzzed up her chest. And when they came within reach, Kate kissed her. She knew Abby wouldn’t do it first. Even as she devoured her with that gaze, she always retreated before overstepping. Kate knew if she didn’t dive in impulsively, she wouldn’t either. But she needed it. Those lips on hers, not to get Abby back, but to get herself back. The part still with her.
Abby seized her cheeks. Her tongue slipped in without an invitation, without needing one, as they bumped into the wall. It was desperate and long, more suck than sweetness, as if they intended to inhale each other to nothing. Kate moaned and clutched harder, dizzy from everything that was familiar, everything she’d forgotten, and everything that felt new too. She feasted on her mouth, the trace of liquor and cigarettes on her tongue something she hated in all other cases but accepted because her same Abby lived beneath. Her body woke up to it in an instant, never forgetting what this led to.
But then they required air, and in the brief break, Kate remembered Ryan. She stiffened, and when Abby obliviously moved to continue, she put her hands to her chest to hold her back.
“I’m sorry.” Kate gasped. “I’m sorry.”
