to get to know each other before complicating things with sex.Restraint was agonizing. Another in a long series of firsts was Libby’s realization that unsatisfied arousal really did hurt like hell. Things had gotten a little less painful once she started keeping her hands to herself before bed. Reagan was also barred from wearing anything that showed any skin.
Libby felt a little guilty that the sweatpants and baggy long t-shirt made for a sweaty night, but she couldn’t take any chances.
As the sun set on Sunday, the sound of chatter and a faucet downstairs signaled the end of Reagan’s last class, a group of incredibly hyper and rambunctious kids that made Libby question her desire to procreate.
Their leaving was bittersweet. It meant that after dinner, she’d be gone too. Libby’s chest and stomach ached like she’d been filled with bees stinging her everywhere at once.
No part of her wanted to leave, but with the long weekend drawing to a close, she couldn’t find any way to justify her continued presence. Reality wasn’t just knocking; it was kicking down the door.
When the coast was clear, Libby trotted down the steps wearing a rugby shirt and sweats. She’d miss the comfort of Reagan’s clothes, too. And the warmth of her body wrapped around hers. And the earthy scent of wet clay that clung to just about everything in the studio.
“Need a hand with that?” Libby asked as she studied Reagan, who was struggling with a few buckets at once.
Reagan looked up at her. The sight of her big, bright eyes and dimpled smile was a sucker punch to Libby’s heart. How was she going to spend a whole day without her tomorrow?
Get it together. Don’t be pathetic or clingy.
“Help with recycling used clay?” she asked with a skeptical expression before swinging her head around to get
the long side bangs out of her face without using her clay-covered hands.
Libby shrugged. “Why not? I’m sure people in your position have assistants, don’t they?”
“And that’s what you want?” Reagan laughed. “To be my assistant?”
The idea of role playing forced an uncontrollable smirk on her face. “Maybe,” she said, inching closer until all she could see were Reagan’s soft lips. “What would I have to do?”
“Well, you could help me collect these,” she replied, gesturing to the buckets in her hands. “Or,” she dropped the buckets with a loud crash before pulling Libby in and leaving clay handprints around her waist, “you can help me clean up. I’ve got clay everywhere.”
As soon as Reagan pressed her forehead against hers, Libby gripped the back of her neck and pulled her in. It hadn’t been more than a couple of hours since they’d last kissed, but her body already ached for the return of her touch.
"Do you have a hose outside or something?" she asked between hurried kisses.
"I do," Reagan agreed, "but I don't know what the raccoons would think of that."
The image of Reagan's body dripping with water invaded her imagination and set Libby's body on fire. "I wonder if that shower you have upstairs could help on an occasion such as this?" Her hands were already starting to untie Reagan's apron.
Reagan bit Libby's bottom lip as she groaned in pain.
"You have no idea how much I want to take a shower with you," she whispered as if confessing a sin.
Her tone didn’t make it sound like an invitation. “Why does it feel like there's a but in there?"
Reagan sighed. "There's not on my part," she said before leaning back to look Libby in the face while she spoke. "Is there on yours?"
Being slammed with reality doused her flame. In her gut, she knew it was still a little too soon. They'd been wrapped up in the bubble of Reagan's place with no perspective. No distance.
"There's nothing wrong with wanting to wait," Reagan said, dropping her arms from around Libby's waist and cupping her face before bending down to pick up the buckets she'd so hastily discarded. "It's a big deal to take a step like that with. . ." She looked away as if looking for the right words. “With me."
Libby cocked her head to one side. It wasn't the first time Reagan had expressed a kind of hesitation about her readiness for physical intimacy. It was starting to feel like an accusation. Instead of letting herself get wound up, she took a breath. "Why do you say it like that? Did you need to sleep with a woman before you knew you wanted to?" As soon as the words left her lips she knew they were too ha
rsh, but she was starting to get self-conscious about Reagan's concerns.
"You know you're not some kind of extremely early mid-life crisis right?"
Reagan set the buckets on a worktable and went for the sink to wash her hands. "Why is my being understanding making you defensive?"
Crossing her arms over her chest, Libby resisted the urge to snap. "Maybe because it's coming o like you think I don't know what I want. Or like I'm stalling because I don't want to go further than kissing and touching a little side boob."