Girl Love Happens: G&T Lesbian Romance Season One Episodes 3 & 4 Read online

  Table of Contents

  Lesbian on the Brink of Insanity

  Relationship Limbo

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  GIRL LOVE HAPPENS

  G&T Lesbian Romance Season One: Episodes 3 and 4

  by

  T. B. MARKINSON

  Published by T. B. Markinson

  Visit T. B. Markinson’s official website at tbmarkinson.wordpress.com for the latest news, book details, and other information.

  Copyright © T. B. Markinson, 2016

  Cover Design by Erin Dameron-Hill / EDHGraphics

  Edited by Jeri Walker and Kelly Hashway

  e-book formatting by Guido Henkel

  This e-book is copyrighted and licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any forms or by any means without the prior permission of the copyright owner. The moral rights of the author have been asserted.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  Lesbian on the Brink of Insanity

  “Great move, Gemma!” I screamed through cupped hands from where I sat on a metal bench in hopes she’d hear me over the clamor in the indoor pool. The perpetual shouting, splashing, and the ref’s whistle during the intramural inner tube water polo match increased the thrill. If Gemma’s team won today, they’d make the play-offs. There wasn’t a trophy at stake, but Gemma always remained fiercely competitive.

  “Never thought I’d hear anyone say that.” April slid next to me. “That Gemma has great moves.” She nudged my shoulder.

  I stiffened, not that she bothered to notice.

  “Who’s winning?” she asked and then blew on her nails. During breakfast Jenny had said April was meeting her mom for a spa day.

  I refused to comment on her freshly painted fuchsia nails. “We are and it’s almost‌—‌” The cheering from Gemma’s team overpowered my voice. I jumped up and down and clapped like a fool at the Macy’s Day Parade.

  April remained seated but clapped. Or more like she pressed her palms together twice without making any noise. Jenny noticed April’s presence and waved. April shifted on the bench blocking Jenny from her sight. While Gemma helped Jenny out of the pool, I had to resist the urge to wallop the back of April’s head to knock some sense into the bleach-blonde bitch. Would it kill her to try harder? Jenny was a wonderful person and deserved a roommate (and sometimes lover) who wasn’t so catty.

  “We won!” Gemma rushed up and threw her arms around me.

  Jenny attempted to do the same to April but was stopped short with a scowl and protective hands blocking her face.

  “Don’t get me all wet!” April shouted, igniting flames of humiliation in Jenny’s eyes and cheeks.

  The three of us froze, unsure what to say or do to overcome the awkwardness that smashed all traces of jubilation from Jenny’s face.

  “What should we do to celebrate?” I asked with forced excitement, and I turned my back on April’s buzzkill.

  “Milkshakes!” Jenny shouted.

  I marveled over her ability to let April’s behavior slide into oblivion. She probably had to or the emotional roller coaster would kill her.

  “Yes!” Gemma joined her hands as if pleading for me to agree. I was the one with the car, after all.

  “Milkshakes it is.” I threw an arm around Jenny. “Great goal, Jen-Meister!” Gemma joined in, and the three of us hopped up and down as if the team had advanced to the gold-medal round in the Olympics, not a silly collegiate competition.

  April backed away. “Sorry, but I have plans.”

  Gemma and I shared a worried glance. It wasn’t a secret that April was a bitch, but did she have to go above and beyond when it came to Jenny?

  “That’s okay. Next time,” Jenny said. She wrapped her arms around Gemma and me and whisked us towards the locker rooms. Was Jenny finally sick of April’s bitchiness? One could only hope.

  I scouted over my shoulder to witness April’s pinched expression. When our eyes met, she quickly morphed her pained frown into a forced grin. I tried picturing April in twenty years, but couldn’t. She was so plastic it was nearly impossible to see her evolve. She’d always be this way: fake.

  ***

  The town of Alfrid wasn’t known to many outside the small community. When I’d started considering colleges, the big three: the University of Colorado, Colorado State University, and the University of Denver quickly dominated all conversations with my mother. She treated the decision like all others in my life, as a popularity contest. For weeks she’d say, “So and so’s kid is going to CU,” or “Did you hear that Billy down the street is going to DU?” I hated it.

  When I’d received a college brochure from Hill University in the mail advertising their nursing program, I knew that would be my choice. When my mother screeched, “You can’t go there. No one’s heard of it! It’s imaginary!” I made sure come hell or high water I’d be accepted. I gambled by only applying to Hill, unbeknownst to my mother.

  There was one flaw in my plan. Alfrid, situated on the Elbert River along the Colorado Front Range jammed between Boulder and Fort Collins, didn’t have much to offer besides rundown frat and sorority houses, two pizza shops, Applebee’s, the usual fast food joints, and a strip mall that was so dilapidated it’d be best to board it up and let nature reclaim the space. I was a city girl and Alfrid, in my book, barely qualified as a town. There was one gem, though, an ice cream shop reminiscent of the heyday of soda jerks and bobby soxers. Gemma said visiting was like making a quick trip home.

  For me, it was a wild retro diner with the best milkshakes on the planet. Hands down.

  The three of us squeezed around a table for two, victorious that we’d scored seats at all. Several groups lingered by the door, hoping for a table. Gemma licked a spoon, and a smidgeon of orange Creamsicle shake dribbled onto her chin. I imagined licking it off, starting with her chin and working my way over her naked body. Gemma playfully nudged my foot under the table. Maybe the naughty thought was inordinately transparent on my countenance.

  “Would you like my cherry?” I dangled a juicy orb by its stem in Gemma’s direction.

  She tinged redder than the cherry and shook her head. I sensed she wasn’t embarrassed and couldn’t wait to get her home to find the source of the fire burning inside.

  “I’ll take that.” Jenny plucked it from my fingers.

  Gemma hitched up a shoulder, and I silently fumed. Jenny was the most unobservant person. Not that I wanted her to pick up on the vibe between Gemma and me, but to snatch my cherry? The nerve!

  I dipped my finger into the whipped cream on top of my shake and noticed Gemma eyeing my finger as it entered my mouth. I moaned slightly and repeated the process more slowly. Gemma shifted in her chair, crossing her legs, and I had to resist the impulse to shout, “Fire in the hole!”

  Her eyes boggled when I dangled my last whole cherry in front of my mouth, batting it with my tongue before sucking it in all the way.

  I relished the flavor and had no intention of swallowing anytime soon. Gemma arched an accusatory brow and wore a sexy g
rin that implied, Wait ’til I get you home alone, you saucy little minx. I could barely contain my excitement. I wanted to be ravaged by Gemma and closed my eyes to imagine the scenario.

  “Jenny, when did you know you were a lesbian?” Gemma asked as breezily as someone inquiring about the weather.

  I choked on the cherry.

  Seriously choked.

  Both Gemma and Jenny leapt into action and banged their fists against my back. Panic seized me as my air passage continued to constrict.

  Jenny yanked both of my arms over my head. Gemma continued whacking my back. Wilbur, the ancient owner of The Soda Jerk, shoved his bulk through the line of people at the counter and asked, “Can she breathe?”

  I wanted to shout, “No, dumbass!” but words failed my air-starved body. Instead, I continued to rasp unsuccessfully.

  “Step aside,” said a man who was a shoo-in for Harrison Ford’s younger brother minus the scar on his chin. Before I knew what was happening, he hoisted me out of my seat, wrapped his arms around me, plunged his fists into my belly, and then thrust upward. Half a cherry shot out of my mouth and zipped across the room before plopping down in front of some classmates from my Principles of Nutrition course. Fantastic. News like this would spread like wildfire.

  “Are you okay?” asked the younger version of Harrison. He squatted in front of me, after helping me retake my seat.

  I nodded, trying to block out all the eyeballs on me. A table of sorority girls next to us whispered excitedly behind their hands.

  “Can you breathe?” Harrison asked.

  Gingerly I inhaled.

  “Good. Take it slow.” He patted my knee. His blue flannel shirt made his indigo eyes pop. I wanted to run my fingers through his chestnut hair. God this man was the definition of sexy. The hunk stood.

  Confusion whirled through me. Did my reaction mean I was straight again? Or worse, a fence-sitting bisexual? No, it couldn’t be. I was with Gemma‌—‌that made me a lesbian in my book.

  “Thanks so much!” Gemma pumped his hand up and down.

  “Can we buy you a shake?” Jenny asked, glancing at Wilbur, who bobbed his head in agreement as he hooked his thumbs around his suspenders and tugged them away from his plaid shirt.

  “No need, ladies. Glad to be of service.”

  An employee behind the counter summoned Wilbur and he reluctantly left after giving me one final look-see to ensure I wasn’t going to kick the bucket in his shop.

  My rescuer peered down at me. “You’re in my history class.”

  “I am?” I tried to control my fluttering lashes.

  “U.S. History Since 1865?”

  I nodded, unsure if my voice would hold out after the choking ordeal.

  “You ready for tomorrow’s test?” the dude asked as if he hadn’t just saved my life.

  “I hope so. You?”

  “It’s my least favorite subject.” His forehead crinkled.

  “If you ever need a study buddy, let me know. It’s the least I can do.” I covered my mouth to cough.

  A grin overtook his face and eyes. “I might take you up on that. I’m Erik.” He held out his palm.

  I reached up to reciprocate. “Tegan.”

  Jenny cleared her throat. Erik and I still held the other’s hand. His skin was warm and inviting, the grip strong.

  Inviting? What was wrong with me? I wasn’t attracted to men. Not anymore, or so I thought when I declared my love for Gemma. The girl who was standing right next to me, I chided myself. Now wasn’t the time to ponder my reaction to Erik.

  “I should be going,” Erik said. “Glad you didn’t die.”

  I giggled like a silly thirteen-year-old girl. “All thanks to you.”

  “See ya in class, Tegan.” He emphasized my name.

  When the coast was clear, Jenny started to sing, “Erik and Tegan sitting in a tree…”

  Gemma stiffened. “We should get you home.”

  “I’m fine, besides being utterly humiliated.” I smiled weakly.

  Gemma shuffled her feet before retaking a seat. “Are you sure?” Her tone softened.

  “Yes, please. I’ve made enough of a scene.” I winced and rubbed my neck.

  “Does your throat hurt?” Jenny asked.

  “A little.”

  Gemma leapt into action. “I’ll get you a hot chocolate.”

  I squeezed her hand briefly when she passed.

  Jenny made a few more comments about Erik, but I was able to nip it in the bud before Gemma returned with a hot chocolate overloaded with whipped cream and a cherry on top.

  “Free of charge.” Gemma waved to Wilbur. “Watch out for the cherry‌—‌the silent killer.”

  It was a good sign Gemma cracked a joke, considering the brief appearance of her green-eyed monster. I’ve always marveled over her ability to toss aside irrational thoughts when push came to shove.

  I tossed the cherry into my shake glass and shoved it to the side. Jenny’s drink was nearly gone. Gemma, who usually never left until she finished every drop, didn’t touch her half-full glass. Okay, maybe her jealousy fit wasn’t completely gone.

  “You going to finish that?” Jenny motioned to Gemma’s shake.

  “Nah. Go for it.”

  Jenny didn’t pick up on Gemma’s negative aura, but I sure in hell did. Jealousy, with a dash of anger, was carved into her frown. What happened to the levelheaded Gemma everyone counted on, most of all me?

  I needed to do some damage control with Gemma and stat. I tried to imagine how I’d react if she fluttered her lashes and giggled like a lovesick girl around someone else. I’d probably storm out of the joint. Gemma was cool as a cucumber, emphasis on cool at the moment and not in a good way.

  Jenny cocked her head. “Why’d you ask that question earlier, Gemma?” Jenny fished the cherry out of my shake glass. Seriously, the woman had no clue.

  Gemma cocked her head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t remember the question after Tegan’s near-death experience.” Her attempt to laugh sounded more like a cat hacking up a hairball.

  I suspected Gemma hadn’t forgotten the question at all, but didn’t want to send me over the edge again. Hopefully that was another positive sign that she still cared for me. Or she was utterly humiliated to have me, the closeted one, as her girlfriend.

  “When I knew I liked girls,” Jenny refreshed her memory.

  Gemma blushed, further transforming her face into an embarrassed eggplant. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business. I shouldn’t have asked.”

  Jenny waved the thought away. “I don’t mind.”

  Gemma relaxed. Jenny glanced in my direction and then Gemma’s, and it was like I could see her mentally connecting the dots: Gemma’s question, my nearly choking to death, and Gemma’s brief fit of jealousy. Maybe Jenny wasn’t as dumb as I’d thought. And did my eyes rat me out whenever I peeked in Gemma’s direction?

  This was bad. So very bad.

  “In answer to your question, eleventh grade,” Jenny said.

  Gemma nodded in agreement.

  “You too.” Jenny stated without an ounce of uncertainty.

  Gemma nodded again. I half expected Jenny to demand when I knew, but she didn’t. Neither gazed in my direction.

  And that irked me.

  Good grief, Tegan. Make up your neurotic mind.

  A few minutes ago I’d almost died when Gemma waded into the lesbian danger zone for the second time this weekend, and now I was peeved that the two dykes out of the closet were ignoring me, the hidden one.

  And then there was the Erik factor. I found him attractive. My mind wandered back to the confusion zone, pondering if I was lesbian, bisexual, experimenting like April‌—‌that thought made me almost puke in my mouth.

  What would Gemma think? God, I didn’t want to hurt her. I’d promised I wasn’t like Kate, who’d tossed Gemma aside for the high school quarterback. I wasn’t, was I? Finding Erik attractive didn
’t convert me into a backstabbing bitch, right? And it didn’t mean I was questioning. Curious, maybe. Shit that didn’t sound better. What was wrong with me?

  Gemma and Jenny were silently studying me.

  “I’m sorry. Did you say something?” I asked.

  They both shook solemn heads.

  “Then why are you staring at me like that?”

  “Making sure you’re okay,” Gemma said.

  “I’m fine, okay? I’m not a wild creature on exhibit at a zoo, so stop staring.”

  Hurt etched onto both of their faces. Why was I being such a jerk?

  “I’m sorry. Maybe I should go home.”

  Jenny helped me stand and Gemma wrapped a coat around me. “Want me to drive?” Jenny asked.

  I nodded. They were being so kind and protective. I so didn’t deserve it.

  The ten-minute ride home was silent. We said good-bye to Jenny in the lobby, and Gemma insisted that we take the elevator instead of trekking up five flights.

  Once inside our room, she asked, “Would you like some tea or coffee?”

  It was the first time she had offered to make me coffee with her illegal hotplate. It wasn’t like she had offered me her kidney, but it kinda felt like it. She was being magnanimous, and I was being a shithead. A spoiled brat.

  What was wrong with me? I wasn’t taking it to April’s extreme, but that didn’t make it better or make it right. I sat on my bed.

  “Gemma, I’m really sorry.”

  She quirked a curious ginger eyebrow. I loved it when she did that.

  “Please don’t be angry with me.” I didn’t say anything about Erik, the knight who had swooped in and saved my life. That was probably why I was drawn to him‌—‌not sexually, per se, but as a rescuer. Yeah, that was it. Was this an example of Florence Nightingale Syndrome? Falling for a caregiver? Gemma would know. Not that I would ask.

  “Angry with you? For choking on a cherry?”

  This made me howl with laughter. “Choking on a cherry!” I continued laughing. “In a way, you’re right on the money. Such public declarations encouraged by Jenny did pop my lesbian cherry so to speak.”