drivinghomemidnight

Roxie’s breath hitches, and then her heart rate stutters, and she pulls back, lips smacking away from Velma’s. Her mouth hangs open for several moments before she musters the words, “Why did you do that?”

Velma leans back against the wall again. She thumbs at the corner of her mouth where her lipstick is smudged, and she lifts one shoulder as if this is all par for the course. “Spur of the moment.”

Roxie’s mouth hangs open for several seconds before she blurts, “Are you in love with me or something?”

Velma chuckles. “Relax, it was just a kiss.” She reaches for her cigarette case where it sits on the lid of the piano, then glances at Roxie. “Did you like it?”

“I’m not a lesbian.”

Velma’s eyes twinkle, like that’s funny. “I didn’t say you were a lesbian. I asked if you liked it.”

Roxie licks her lips, and she takes a breath, and the air feels like it doesn’t quite fill her lungs. If she liked it doesn’t seem like a real question, and if a kiss is between two women, is it even a kiss? Is it friendly, or romantic, or some secret other thing?

Velma thumbs out a cigarette and sets the case back down. She reaches for her lighter. The orange of the cigarette filter is bright against her deep red lipstick as her lips close around the tip. She lights the cig and sets the lighter down, then moves her free hand to Roxie’s neckline.

Roxie barely resists the urge to shiver, but she holds still.

Velma traces her fingertip across the lace trim of Roxie’s dress collar, and the touch feels electric, like a live current that could strike at any moment. She takes a drag from her cigarette and exhales. She looks at Roxie, and while she’s leaning back against the wall, they’re almost the same height. “I know you probably feel like you know all about showbusiness already, but I can promise you there’s still a lot you have to learn about this life.”

Roxie’s mouth opens, and she stares at Velma. “What has that got to do with anything?” She curls her fingers into the slippery fabric around Velma’s waist with one hand and grabs Velma’s wrist, the one holding the cigarette, with her other hand. “Give me a drag.”

Velma obeys, and she holds her cigarette to Roxie’s lips and watches through her eyelashes as Roxie takes a deep breath in.

Roxie’s lips tingle as she pulls back from the cig and exhales the smoke from her lungs. Velma’s gaze is on her like a physical touch, like a brand. Roxie presses her thumb over the soft inside of Velma’s wrist and the warm point of her pulse, fluttering like a butterfly under her skin. “You underestimated me once before. Remember? Don’t do it again.”

Velma’s eyes don’t waver. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

And Roxie wants it. She wants to kiss Velma again, with teeth, so she does. She digs her nails into Velma’s waist until Velma hisses into her mouth and curls her fingers in Roxie’s hair and tugs. Her other hand fumbles to put her cigarette out on the piano lid before she reaches for the hem of Roxie’s skirt, sliding her hand up Roxie’s thigh and sending goosebumps up and down her body.

Roxie tightens her grip on Velma’s waist and pulls her closer, and her breath catches, and she presses her mouth to Velma’s ear and breathes, “I hate you,” like she’s reciting a poem she wrote just for her, like it can capture everything else.

I hate you, I hate you. I hate you.

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