“Do you know why they call it the Southern Cross?” she asked, her voice softer than she’d meant it. She didn’t wait for Isla, who was circling the rim of her wineglass, to answer, before she said, “When the early sailors mapped the southern skies, they thought those four stars marked the spot where the heavens had been stitched back together.”
“Is that true?” Isla asked, tilting her head and frowning like she didn’t believe her, which she had every right not to. The story was completely made up.
Tamsyn smiled. “Nope.”
“Did you just make it up?”
Tamsyn shook her head. “Jerry Atkins did,” she said. “He was my very first boyfriend and a very good storyteller. The night he told me about the sailors—mind you, it was a much longer story than I just told—he took me on a picnic and kissed me under the stars.” She paused as the memory arrived with embarrassing clarity. “We were fifteen. He brought supermarket strawberries and a bottle of sparkling grape juice because he couldn’t convince his older brother to get us beer. We went to Cherry Creek Park and after he told me the story, he slipped his hand under my shirt and tried to cup my boob.”
Isla choked on her drink. Then she wiped at her mouth and laughed. “What did you do?”
“I let him,” Tamsyn said. “For approximately seven seconds. It was deeply underwhelming. I remember thinking,is this it?Is this what everyone’s writing songs about?”
“Poor Jerry Atkins.”
“He’s come a long way since then,” Tamsyn said. “He married his college girlfriend, and they’re living in Dallas with two golden retrievers and a shared Facebook account. We don’t have to feel sorry for him anymore.”
“Did anyone eventually make up for it?” Isla asked after a few seconds of silence. “You know, show you what love songs are really all about?”
“Oh yes,” Tamsyn said, nodding. “First year of college. Her name was Becca Wilson, and she absolutely detonated my tiny Canton worldview. She wore combat boots and an army-green parka, and she wrote poems in a pink notebook she carried around. My heart didn’t stand a chance.”
Isla laughed again, and Tamsyn couldn’t help wanting more of that sound. She wanted to keep talking, to keep making Isla laugh. She wanted to stretch this night out forever.
“Well, now I feel a little jealous of Becca,” Isla said, setting her wineglass down without breaking eye contact.
“Don’t be,” Tamsyn replied before Isla’s words had properly sunk in, and when they had, her heart flipped. Was Isla flirting? Was she jealous of Becca because she had wanted to be the one to pop Tamsyn’s lesbian cherry, so to speak? Or was she just being a funny drunk? Though out of the two of them, Isla had drunk considerably less wine. An even more plausible explanation was that Tamsyn had misheard.
But then something touched the inside of her shin. A toe. Isla’s toe. This wasn’t just unexpected; it was seismic.
“You know,” Isla whispered, even though there was no need to whisper. Apart from the distant chirr of crickets, they were the only ones out there. “We can always be friends again tomorrow.”
Tamsyn swallowed so hard she wondered if it was possible to strain her throat muscles.
“Does that mean—” But she didn’t finish.
Because Isla was already standing. She was already closing the gap between them. Her hands came up and cupped Tamsyn’s face. Her thumbs brushed just below her ears. She paused for a second, giving Tamsyn every chance to lean back and end this.
But Tamsyn didn’t.
And then Isla leaned in and kissed her.
Chapter Thirteen
Isla had never expected to push two double beds together wearing nothing at all. The whole sight was deliriously funny, but also somehow extremely sexy. This was the first time she’d seen Tamsyn’s breasts and frankly, she was disappointed she hadn’t before. They were unfairly gorgeous. Bigger than Isla’s and perfectly perky with deep brown nipples that taunted her at every turn. Isla wanted to wrap her mouth around them, flick them with her tongue, and she would’ve, if it weren’t for these beds.
“What the hell are they made of?” Isla said, huffing.
“Solid oak,” Tamsyn replied, equally exasperated. “Now push.”
The frames scraped stubbornly across the floorboards. The wood groaned in protest. But they managed to get them together, and when they did, Tamsyn clicked off the lights and rounded the new king-sized bed so quickly Isla lost her breath when Tamsyn grabbed her hips and yanked her closer. Then again, when their naked bodies pressed together, skin against skin, and once more when their mouths locked.
Isla’s tongue sought out Tamsyn’s in what felt like a rush, as if she couldn’t go a second longer without tasting the wine on her tongue. She slid one hand toward Tamsyn’s collarbone where that crescent moon tattoo rested perfectly in the dip, and the other toward Tamsyn’s ribs where the same type of single-stroke tattoo of a heart sat in the middle of her ribs.
She wanted to ask her when she’d gotten them and why. Isla would never soil her perfect skin with a tattoo, but she respectedother people’s choices. Before she could ask, Tamsyn’s body erupted into a million goosebumps, and she kissed Isla harder, faster.
Fuck.Isla thought. She really wanted Tamsyn. This exact heat. Not the whole sensible, emotionally evolved friendship they were parading around camp. She didn’t want boundaries. She didn’t want good communication. She wanted to drag Tamsyn back into the part of the story where things were reckless, breathless, and ill-advised. The part where she should have kissed her when they met up in the woods all those nights ago.
But then again, that was the wine talking, the adrenaline after winning a challenge, the dopamine that came with a delicious top-class meal. She wasn’t in her right mind. She wasn’t thinking clearly. In fact, her thoughts were as murky as mud.
