Page 76 of The Right Kind of Wrong

Because she wanted to keep chasing this feeling. She wanted to revel in the way Monroe’s eyes were taking her in with such focused precision as Blake licked an errant drop of coffee from the cup’s lid.

Monroe cleared her throat and glanced toward the large front windows, darkened from the impending storm. “We should get going unless we want to be stuck here.”

They were halfway across the parking lot when the sky opened up. Suddenly, it felt like the rain was coming from all directions, pelting their skin.

Blake shrieked and took off toward the truck, Monroe following in her wake.

Their only salvation was that she hadn’t bothered locking it.

She threw open her door and crawled inside, Monroe doing the same in the passenger’s seat.

“Holy shit,” Monroe said, laughing, chest heaving as water droplets clung to her hair and face. “I forgot what these storms were like.”

Blake pushed her own hair back. She was soaked through, too. “I’m usually better than this. I haven’t gotten caught outside in years.”

“This town can really be charming when it wants. Not that I’d ever admit to that,” Monroe added.

They were in their own world. The rain outside made it impossible to see out the windows as thick sheets of water battered the truck’s exterior.

Blake knew the thoughts that she was having were dangerous. But hadn’t she already known that, this morning, when she’d asked Monroe to go to Slider’s?

Hadn’t she known that whenever they sat close together and her stomach fluttered with anticipation?

Hadn’t she already known that, when she’d fantasized about what Monroe’s lips would taste like?

All her life, she’d done what was expected of her. She’d done what her parents and her boyfriend and this town wanted, just so that she could fit some unattainable mold that, she was realizing, had left her in a shape she didn’t quite recognize.

She wanted to feel. And being with Monroe elicited so many fucking emotions. The flicker of anticipation. The surge of possibility. The tightness that settled low in her stomach, begging to be acknowledged.

Blake turned her focus to Monroe, who wasn’t laughing anymore.

Her eyes were trained on Blake.

Even if the rain wasn’t making it impossible to see, their body heat had already fogged up the windows. A sensation like there was nothing else outside of their bubble took hold in Blake.

It made it easier, somehow, for her to press forward, into the middle space that still separated them by at least a foot.

The way that she needed to move her body to reach Monroe wasn’t convenient. There was a giant bag nearest to Blake on the front seat, with a holder filled with drinks on the other side, close to Monroe.

The pastries could be crushed with the density of a black hole for all she cared.

Suddenly, Monroe’s eyes were sharp, and Blake had the intense feeling that she was a mouse being played with by a cat.

She felt a little flushed, thinking about it. Excited by the possibility.

A piece had clicked into place as she considered the sheer allure women held for her.

That desire had never had anywhere to go, so she’d brushed it off. Assumed that everyone thought the way that she did. That women were objectively more beautiful, more interesting, more enticing than men.

Her stare dropped down to Monroe’s chest, her tank top clinging to her curves. There wasn’t a bad spot to fixate on when it came to Monroe’s body, at least as far as Blake was concerned.

Which was crazy to think about. How many times had she appreciated a beautiful woman and not taken the thought further? She’d been married, of course, so that had made it easier.

But looking back, she’d never looked at men the way she’d looked at women. She didn’t notice their features. Or have the desire to be closer to them.

She’d always chalked it up to wanting to be them, not be with them, when she’d gaze at a woman, studying her features or noticing the small things that made her uniquely beautiful.

She was noticing them all about Monroe right now.