Just Physical (27 page)

What was it that Crash had wished for back then? It saddened Jill that she couldn't even guess what it might have been and that she would never know these intimate little details about her—and that no one would ever know things like that about her in return. These were things to share between life partners, not friends with benefits.

“So, what did you wish for?” Shawn asked.

Jill wagged a finger at her. “It won't come true if I tell you.” This time, she was glad she could hide behind the old superstition.

“Spoilsport,” Shawn said but smiled. She, Nikki, and Crash's colleague said good-bye and walked out of the building together.

Jill hung back for a moment and watched Crash pack up her equipment.

“So,” Crash said when she turned and shouldered her duffel bag, “have you made a wish?”

“Not yet.”

“You should.”

Making wishes on a superstition was a stupid thing children did. The logical part of her brain knew that. But she couldn't help it. A dozen different options shot through Jill's mind. They all came back to one. If her MS magically disappeared, she could have the life she wanted without having to struggle for it every day. She would no longer be limited in the roles she could play. She could look into the future without being afraid of what it might bring. And she could allow herself to be with Crash—really be with her, without holding anything back.

She peered at Crash and then mentally shook her head. That kind of wishful thinking didn't work, and she'd never been one to indulge in it. But she could still enjoy Crash's company in the here and now, so she finally nodded. “Yes, I did.”

“Good,” Crash said. “I hope it comes true.”

They walked to the door together.

“I want you to have dinner with me—my treat—as an apology for me being such a bitch on Friday,” Jill said before she could change her mind.

The door, which Crash had just opened, fell closed before her nose as she let go of it. She tilted her head and regarded Jill with wide eyes. “Are you…asking me out?”

“No! No, like I said, it would be an apology dinner, just two friends sharing good food, not a date.”

“Would it really be so bad if it were?” Crash asked quietly.

It would be wonderful.
The thought came unbidden. “No. Any woman would be lucky to date you.”

“I'm not asking out any woman. I'm asking you out.”

“
I
asked
you
out,” Jill reminded. She bit her lip at the Freudian slip. “I mean, I asked you to have dinner with me so I can apologize.”

Crash couldn't quite hide her grin. She pushed the door open with her shoulder and then held it so Jill could pass through too. “You really don't have to apologize again. Once is enough for me.”

“Does that mean you're not accepting my invitation to dinner? That's the wish I made, so you should be required to fulfill it, seeing as you're the one who took my bottle virginity.”

Crash's step faltered. Then she burst out laughing. She turned toward Jill, her blue eyes dancing with mirth. “Bottle virginity?”

“Yes,” Jill said, trying to keep a straight face. “It's in the dictionary. Look it up.”

“Oh, I will. And if it's not in there, you'll owe me dessert too.”

The seductive timbre of her voice sparked a memory of their naked skin sliding against each other. Jill shivered despite the warm temperatures. “No problem. I can provide that too.”

“Then we've got a date.”

This time, Jill decided not to fight over that one word. She would just pretend that it was only a figure of speech, not what Crash—what both of them—really wanted. “So, when would be good for you?”

Crash tugged on her tank top, which still clung to her chest. “How about Saturday? The way I look and smell right now, not even a hot-dog stand will sell me anything. Do you want me to pick you up at, let's say, eight?”

“Saturday at eight sounds good, but parking can be really bad around the restaurant I have in mind. Why don't we meet at my place and then walk over?”

“Sure. Where do you want to go?”

“There's a great Persian place in Glendale, not too far from where I live. Do you like Persian food?”

Crash thought for a moment. “I don't think I ever had it.”

A grin spread over Jill's face. “Oh, so you're going to lose your Persian food virginity to me.”

“Let me guess. That's in the dictionary too?”

“But of course.”

They walked to their cars together, and Jill gave Crash her address. After a quick wave, she climbed into her car, turned the key in the ignition, and put the air-conditioning on high. She sat there, letting the cool air blast her face, and shook her head at herself. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I can't talk right now, Mom,” Crash said. She tried to balance her cell phone between her ear and her shoulder while she perched on the sofa bed and tied her laces. “I'm on my way out the door.”

“Are you going out with someone?” her mother asked predictably.

God, why couldn't her mom be like the mothers of so many other lesbians—ignoring her daughter's love life, in deep denial about her sexual orientation? “No, Mom. Just going out for a bite to eat with a friend.” She bit back the
unfortunately
on the tip of her tongue.

“What are you wearing?” her mother asked.

“I told you it's not a date, so it doesn't matter what I'm wearing,” Crash said. Under no circumstances would she admit that she had dug out her best pair of slacks and the sleeveless white blouse that usually made women's gazes linger on her arms.

A moment of silence filtered through the line; then her mother cleared her throat. “You aren't having dinner with Jill Corrigan, are you?”

What was that tone supposed to mean? “I thought you were a fan of Jill's?”

“I am.”

“Then why do you sound so disapproving now?”

“I don't disapprove of your friendship if it's really just that, but…” Her mother sighed. “I'm a fan of her acting, but I didn't know much about her personal life. After you told me you're…friends with her, I looked her up on Wikipedia.”

Both were silent for several moments.

Laces tied, Crash dropped her foot back to the floor and stared down at it. “You know about the MS.” She made it a statement, not a question.

“Yes. I'm sorry I nudged you to date her. Now I understand why you won't.”

Crash's stomach churned. She flopped down onto the sofa bed and rubbed her eyes with her free hand. “It's not like you think. It's…complicated.”

“You don't need to feel guilty,” her mother said. “You'd be a fool not to consider the long-term consequences of getting involved with her. Do you remember Brett, that quarterback your father coached when you were little?”

Images of the big, burly teenager carrying her around on his shoulders flashed through Crash's mind. She couldn't have been more than six at the time, but she still remembered him. “Yeah. What about him?”

“He'd been offered a full-ride scholarship by several major colleges, but right before he finished high school, he was diagnosed with MS. He had to kiss his scholarship good-bye. By the time he graduated from college, he was in a wheelchair. Now he can't even tie his own shoes.”

Tie his own shoes…
An image of her kneeling to tie Jill's shoelaces shot through Crash's mind. Would that be Jill's future as well? And if it was, would someone be there to tie her laces for her? She wanted to push the thought away, as she had done for weeks, but this time, she didn't allow herself to do that but instead asked herself the question that had been on her mind all along: Could she be the one to be there for Jill? If push came to shove, did she really have what it took to be a long-term caregiver?

“Kristine? Are you still there?” her mother asked when she didn't say anything.

“Uh, yeah. Mom, that was twenty years ago. There was no medication whatsoever to help delay the progression of MS back then. Now there are twelve, and there's a lot of research being done. In five or maybe ten or fifteen years, there could be a cure.”

“Let's hope so,” her mother said. “But until then, I don't want you to live your life waiting for a ‘could be.' It might be selfish, but I'm your mother, and I don't want that for you.”

Crash ducked into the bathroom to comb her hair and spray a bit of perfume on her neck and wrists. “I don't want that either, but…”

“Then why did you just put on perfume, which you rarely ever do?”

Wha…?
Crash glanced at the bathroom mirror as if expecting to see a hidden camera. “How did you…?”

Her mother chuckled, but it sounded a bit sad. “I know you.”

Yeah. She did. And that was why she would find out sooner or later anyway. Crash took a deep breath. “We said it would be just a dinner between friends, but if Jill were open to it, I'd want it to be a date.”

Her mother gasped. “No. Kristine. That's not a good idea. I'm sure Jill is a lovely woman, but getting involved with someone who has MS and could end up in a wheelchair… How would that fit into your life?”

“
She
would fit into my life. Besides, I said date, not get married, Mom.”

“Like I said, I know you. And I know you're loyal to a fault. Once you're in, you're in. You wouldn't break up with her even if you have to spoon-feed her and change her diapers.”

Crash squeezed her eyes shut against the mental image of Jill bedridden or wheelchair-bound.

“You'd have to give up everything that has been important in your life so far—traveling, going out, sports,” her mother said into the silence. “You've always been so active, even as a child. If you get involved with her and her illness progresses, you'll be tied to the house along with her.”

“I know,” Crash croaked out. “Don't you think I did a lot of research and soul-searching about that?”

“Soul-searching… That sounds like you're considering more than just a date.”

Crash sank against the doorjamb. “I don't know, Mom. I'm not sure of much these days. Maybe I'll end up regretting it, but I think I'm going to regret it more if I pushed Jill away just because I'm afraid.” A sigh escaped her. “She's doing enough of that for the both of us.”

“So she doesn't want to date you?”

“At least that's what she says.” Crash glanced at her wristwatch.
Shit.
If she didn't hurry, she'd be late. Not a good way to start their dinner that might or might not be a date. She hurried out of the bathroom and grabbed her car keys and the dark gray blazer with the Chinese collar on the way to the door. “Mom, I really have to go now. Say hi to Dad and the boys for me, if you talk to them. And don't worry so much about me, okay?”

Her mother snorted. “I'm your mother. It's my job to worry.”

Crash didn't know what to say to that. “I'll call you next week. Good night.” After pressing the end-call button, she stood there for a second, letting the entire conversation play back in her mind. She shook herself out of her morose mood.

For now, she would focus on having a nice evening—and maybe a night full of passion—with Jill. She would worry about the rest tomorrow.

It was one minute past eight, and Crash still hadn't arrived. Not that Jill was watching the clock or anything. She peered through the blinds, even knowing that the ivy-covered brick wall surrounding her house would block her view.

“Your date isn't going to stand you up, is she?”

The sudden voice behind her made Jill clutch her chest and whirl around. She'd forgotten that Susana was still there, cleaning the house in preparation of the Fourth of July, even though Jill had told her it wasn't necessary since she wouldn't have anyone over. She had a feeling that her curious housekeeper had stayed longer so she would still be there when Crash arrived, not because of dusty cabinets.