I sipped beer. “That’s pretty niche.”
“Perhaps, but I struggle to resist.”
“Well, if you’re worried about me going home with some random dude, just know I didn’t ask Leah to text AJ to fuck with you. I am here on a mission.”
As nervous as this made me, it also emboldened me. I may have still been an amateur in this world, but I couldn’t change who I was. I was always going to be Betty. I’d never come on anything but strong and hadn’t fantasized about her kiss for five years to turn back now.
“Are you sure you’reactuallyNorwegian?” She appraised me after drinking.
“Why would I lie about something so weird?” I giggled. “That’s fucking random.”
“It is, but your people are rarely so forward.”
“And Swedes don’t usually turn me on, but so sue me, you’re hot and I am, too. Is there a problem?”
She chuckled. “You are incredibly fit and I’m pullingwayout of my league right now, darling.”
“I don’t know how to tell you this, Mary, but you’re… kind of a big deal,” I said, voice low.
She blushed.
I swirled the beer in my glass playfully. “Why look a gift horse in the mouth?”
“I… I don’t even know what to say,” Mary said.
“Ta mig hem, then,” I got bold and trotted out my high school Swedish. “And you don’t have to say a damn thing.”
Chapter 9
Take Me Home
MARY
Take me home.
It took me ages to realize that not only had she come onto me in the most direct of ways, but Betty did so in my mother tongue. The degree to which this scratched an itch couldn’t be overstated. It may have been two years since I took a woman home, but I couldn’t ignore the urge.
I pinched myself. Yes, she was fit. Yes, I wanted to fuck her. But if I agreed and committed to it, the fantasy might not match up. I pined for her for five years. I wrote my feelings for her into a song I just playedforher.What if our chemistry fizzled the minute we got naked? Would I feel even more alone?
“You don’t want to finish your beer?” I tried not to let on about my nerves.
“Um… if it’s finally getting you alone versus a beer, I’d need this beer to be lifechanging.”
My eyes lingered, sussing out her review. She didn’t look impressed. To me, it was nothing to write home about while she was enough for an entire album.
“It isn’t, though?” I asked.
“Absolutely not. Even to my uneducated palate. Take me home.”
“Okay,” I said. “Uh… my place isn’t far.”
I grabbed her hand, leaving our beers behind. I barely had time to pull my coat on.
“Don’t you want to say anything to the band?” Betty laughed.
“I’ll text them.”
We passed the line of people taking the stairs, up to The Bookstore, and out to the pavement. Before I so much as texted or hailed a cab, I swept her up in a long kiss. The need for connection overcame me. And though I worried that the kiss which lived rent-free in my mind from years before would never match this moment, the way she pulled me closer allayed those fears.
