Unknown - Driven_589066

“This!” Cat shouted, thrusting the paper into her partner’s face.

Taking the glossy, Dylan examined it, impressed with the attention to detail. It was an incredibly lifelike drawing of two figures—herself and Marquis

Jackson, the reigning king of the NBA—pressed chest to chest, belly to belly, melded together all along their lengths. Sweat beaded brightly against their

naked skin; his a deep ebony, hers a beautifully contrasting ivory. Both were naked save for their feet. Marquis was clad in white Nikes with a black

swoosh, and Dylan in the opposite. Artistically, it was breathtaking, and she understood fully why Johnson was salivating over it. If it looked this good as a

simple drawing, Dylan could only imagine what it would look like with live bodies and expert photography.

“You’re not saying anything,” Cat commented in a dangerously low voice. “Why aren’t you saying anything?”

Dylan lowered the mock-up and found herself bathed in pure green fire. She fancied she could feel her insides roasting under the heat of Cat’s glare and

was, quite uncharacteristically, at a complete loss for words.

Cat’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Don’t tell me you don’t see anything wrong with this…this….this…travesty!”

So, this is what being caught between Scylla and Charibdes feels like. Shit.

Cat’s eyes gradually widened at Dylan’s continuing silence, and she peered down at her lover, examining her like some particularly atrocious species of

bug she’d just discovered stuck to the bottom of her shoe. “You don’t see anything wrong with this, do you.” Her voice was deceptively soft, but carried the

thunder of a summer storm in its undertones. “I don’t believe this.”

Coming to her feet, she grabbed for her clothes in a series of jerky motions so unlike her usual smooth grace that Dylan could only stare in stunned

disbelief. Finally, she found her voice and coaxed it out of hiding. “Cat?”

Pulling on her t-shirt, and not realizing it was inside out, Cat pinned her lover with another glare. “No. You just…do whatever it is you feel you have to do. I

know where the door is. I’ll let myself out.”

“But….”

“Goodnight, Coach. I’ll see you at practice tomorrow.”

Everything in Dylan wanted to jump up and prevent Cat from following through on her actions, but her more rational mind told her it would be one of the

larger mistakes in her life to go after Cat now, when she was this angry. At her.

She was totally unaware of crumbling the glossy mock-up in one clenching fist as she watched, helplessly, as Cat stalked from the house, slamming the

door behind her.

Dylan collapsed against the pillows, running her free hand through her hair. “Fuck.”

Cat cried all the way home. She cried once she was inside the door. She cried as she lay across her bed, wishing she could stop crying.

Why should she be mad? Dylan was a grown woman and if she wanted to do pornographic ads that was up to her. She didn’t have anything but a few

nights of …

Of what?

Cat considered it. She had blurted out to Dylan that she loved her. Did she love her or was she just saying that because her mother had pushed the

envelope?

She rolled over on her back, angrily swiping at her cheeks to keep the tears from rolling down her face. String at the ceiling of her bedroom, she considered

it. When she was with Dylan she felt things she had never felt before. And she knew it wasn’t just the physical aspect.

When she was with Dylan she felt ten feet tall. She felt smart, funny, and more mature. Dylan made her stomach flutter, made her heart pound and made

her brain mushy. All the feelings she felt were good. This was the first time she’d ever felt bad when it came to dealing with the tall woman.

Obviously Dylan didn’t feel the same way. She hadn’t responded to Cat’s declaration of love in any way. Now Catherine realized all the older woman had

done that night was get her clamed down before telling her they would talk later and ending the call.

Dylan didn’t love her. That was becoming perfectly clear to the young woman.

If Dylan had felt anything that remotely resembled love she would have agreed not to do the ad simply out of respect for her lover.

If you love someone, you don’t do anything to purposely upset them, do you?

Cat asked herself this question over and over as she finally felt the last traces of Dylan’s touch leave her body and she slipped into an emotionally

exhausted slumber.

Dylan laid across her large bed, naked save for the T-shirt she’d hastily yanked on after Cat had stormed from the house. Ever vigilant to their Mistress’

moods, Siegfried, the chicken, had repaired to the far corner of the house, while Brunhilde laid with her head in Dylan’s lap, looking up at her with eyes

both sorrowful and compassionate. Dylan stroked Brunhilde’s sleek head with an absent hand as she peered at the smoothed-out ad mock-up held in the

other.

As she looked at the ad, the voices of Horace and Cat swirled through her head in an unending loop, only serving to increase the pain in her head and in

her heart.

“Why is it that every time I deal with you I feel like a street corner whore?”

“You don’t really want me to answer that do you.”

“You don’t see anything wrong with this, do you.”

“You be a good little coach and keep me happy, and I’ll stay away from the dyke.”

“No. You just…do whatever it is you feel you have to do.”

“You be a good little coach and keep me happy, and I’ll stay away from the dyke.”

“Goodnight, Coach. I’ll see you at practice tomorrow.”

“You be a good little coach and keep me happy, and I’ll stay away from the dyke.”

“I know where the door is. I’ll let myself out.”

Tossing the glossy away as if it had suddenly grown fangs and was threatening to bite, Dylan cradled her head in both hands, her face set in a hard

grimace, teeth bared, eyes tightly closed. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!!!”

Morning was not kind to the young woman, but as she stood in the blistering hot shower, she came to a serious decision. It was time to walk away from

Dylan Lambert and chalk her time with the woman up to life experience.

She was old enough to know she was young and that most people go through several lovers before they find the ‘right’ one. Apparently Dylan wasn’t the

right one.

Even as her brain processed all this, her heart hurt and she knew it would be a long time before it stopped aching. She had believed that Dylan was the

one.

Dressing in her sweats she packed her bag for practice and fed the dog. He looked up at her with sad brown eyes. He knew something was wrong, but

there was little he could do to help his human.

Cat drove to the arena and dressed with little chatter as the rest of her teammates tried to bring her out of her funk. They knew if she was in a bad mood

she wouldn’t play well and it would aggravate the coach who would work them harder.

Chaney sat down and bumped shoulder with the blonde. “You okay?”

“Yeah I’m fine.”

“You act like someone pissed in you Wheaties.”

“You could say that.”

“Okay look, you know I’m here for you and you can sit up and have a bitchfest of epic proportions, but after practice. Try and cheer up to Coach will kick our

butts.”

“’Kay. Hey Chane?”

“Yeah?”

” Can we go out after practice? I just need someone to talk to.”

“Absolutely.”

“Great. Thanks.”

“No problem shortchange.”

Cat took a deep breath and decided that her teammates shouldn’t pay for her stupid mistake. She plastered a smile on her face and headed out to the