Radclyffe - Sheltering Dunes

Flynn flushed. She didn’t confide in people easily, but the unexpected tenderness in Mica’s gaze made her want to confess. She almost laughed. How had the tables turned so completely, and when did she start believing absolution might be found on earth? “I’m fine.”

Mica shrugged and stepped back, the sliver of warmth in her eyes chilling. “Suit yourself.”

“Sorry.”

“For what?”

Flynn shoved her hands in her pockets. They walked side by side to the door in silence and the gulf between them widened. Every step made Flynn panic just a little, as if she needed to get back to solid ground before she sank beneath the weight of her own memories. “I’m not usually moody.”

“No?” Mica kept walking and didn’t look at her. “What are you usually?”

“You ask hard questions.”

“You like bullshit better?” Mica slowed on the narrow wooden sidewalk that led from the club to the street. She seemed to be looking around, but the dim, narrow alleyway leading to the street was empty. At the far end, people strolled by on Commercial even though it was close to midnight.

Mica waited, her silence a challenge.

“I don’t know what I am anymore,” Flynn said. “I like my job. Keeps me busy. I don’t think about much of anything else.” Even as she said it, Flynn saw her life for what it was—a highway to nowhere, and she was taking it as fast as she could. She was running away every bit as much as Mica seemed to be. “And no, I can do without the bullshit. I’m sorry I can’t—”

“Look,” Mica said sharply, “forget I asked. Your business.”

Flynn nodded. The walls were up again. Just as well. She needed the walls too. “Have you had anything to eat tonight?”

“I’ve been busy too, you probably noticed.” Mica headed toward the street.

“I noticed.” Flynn caught up to her. “How’s the headache?”

“Can we leave off talking about my head and my stomach and any other part of me,” Mica grumbled. “I took a spill, I didn’t get hit by a subway train. I’ve had worse injuries dropping my bike.”

“Harley?” Flynn pointed to Mica’s T-shirt.

Mica grinned, pure pleasure lighting up her face. “Yeah. A sweet little classic Softail.”

“So why were you on a bicycle this morning?”

“I sold it.”

Flynn heard the message in Mica’s clipped words. An off-limits topic—at least for right now. “Look, I could use something to eat. Want to stop at the Post Office and grab a sandwich?”

“No.”

“My treat.”

Mica stopped in the middle of the street across from Town Hall. “Message time, Flynn. I asked you to walk me home, and if you get lucky, maybe I’ll ask you up to my room. But if I do, it’ll be on my terms because I want to get laid, not because I owe you anything.”

“Mica,” Flynn said quietly, “you don’t owe me anything and you never will. If I offer something, it’s because I want to do it. Maybe because I’m hungry, maybe because I’d like your company.”

“Yeah, sure. Why would you like my company?” Mica ran her hand over her chest, slowly tracing the outline of her breast until her fingers trailed down her belly and angled across her crotch. “This kind of company, I get that. But like I said, that’s not for sale.”

Flynn blew out a breath. “Okay. We have a little problem here.”

“No, we don’t. See you around.”

Mica moved so fast she was halfway up the block before Flynn got her ass in gear and jogged after her. When she caught up, she said, “I don’t pay girls for sex, cash or otherwise. I don’t take girls out to dinner and expect them to sleep with me afterward. I don’t even expect a good-night kiss after taking a girl to a really good movie.”

“Then you’re a loser,” Mica muttered.

“Yeah,” Flynn sighed. “That might be why I never get laid.”

Mica laughed. “You are some kind of weird chick.”

“I think you told me that already.”

“So you’re not looking to get laid?” Mica cut Flynn a disbelieving look.

“No, I’m not.”

“So what do you really want?”

There it was, the question she’d been trying to answer ever since she’d left the seminary. What did she really want? Some things she knew for certain. She needed to feel useful. She needed to know that her life meant something. The best, the finest way she knew of doing that, was to make someone else’s life a little better. She’d grown up believing from as far back as she could remember that the way for her to serve was to minister—to provide a safe place to speak, to listen without prejudice, to guide without judgment—that had been her goal. She had never felt the need to convert others. She believed people came to God in their own way, in their own time. Her mission was to help, and if she was truly lucky, to heal. In the months since she’d left the seminary, she’d cared for the body instead of the soul. She should have felt more satisfied. She should have felt if not peace, at least solace. But she didn’t.

They’d slowed until they were barely moving. People streamed around them, laughing, talking, making plans, living. Irrepressible humanity. Flynn tried to remember the last time she’d felt like she was living, and she remembered Allie in her arms. She took a deep breath.

“I’d like some company,” Flynn said. “I don’t feel like being alone right now.”

“Wow, your lines really do need a little work. That doesn’t exactly make me want to let you jump my bones.”

Flynn laughed. “I was thinking we’d have a late dinner and then I’d walk you home. Like we agreed.”

Mica chewed her lip, glanced behind them, and lifted her shoulder. “Sure. Why not?”

Why not? Strangely lighthearted, Flynn decided not every question needed an answer.

*

Allie leaned against the corner of Vorelli’s restaurant, shielded by passersby, and watched Flynn and Mica carry on a conversation in the middle of the street as if nothing else was going on around them. Flynn had a way of doing that—zeroing in on you until you felt like the entire world disappeared and all that mattered was what was happening in that instant between the two of you. Allie couldn’t remember the last time she’d been to church, but she remembered what it felt like to confide in Flynn, to expose herself. To let herself be comforted. She’d felt safe. Flynn must have been an amazing priest.

Flynn had given her shelter. No one had ever made her feel quite that safe, not personally, not in her heart—except Ash. Allie could easily have given her heart to Flynn if Ash hadn’t already owned her, body and soul. Still, a little bit of her heart tugged every time she saw Flynn. She didn’t want to sleep with her, she didn’t want to claim even a little bit of Flynn’s heart, but she wanted to see her happy. She loved Flynn like she loved Bri—like she loved few people—all the way deep down inside.

Every time she saw Flynn, she wondered what could have possibly made Flynn give up being what she must have been so good at. That was a question she was going to get answered one day soon. But right now, she wondered what the hell Flynn was doing. They bumped into each other regularly on shift and off, and she’d never seen Flynn pick up anyone before. She’d had to make the moves the few times they’d gone out. And now Flynn was getting all tangled up with exactly the wrong kind of girl.

Even if she hadn’t known Mica was hiding something, she wouldn’t have wanted Flynn to hook up with her. Girls like that played girls like Flynn—teasing them, stringing them along, using them. That little dark-haired cutie was a hardcore badass, and if she wasn’t in trouble with the law already, she was headed that way. She would probably use anybody and anything to get what she needed. And Flynn was such a goddamn sucker. So sweet. So kind.