Falling for Jillian Ashley: A Carlsbad Village Lesbian Romance Page 13

  Don’t start thinking too far ahead, Aims!

  No sooner had that though flitted through her mind when Sally’s phone, which was lying on the table next to Amy’s, chirped. Amy watched as Sally’s eyebrows shot up after reading whatever the notification was.

  “Everything okay?” she asked.

  “Um…yeah,” Sally replied. “It’s a text from Max.” She looked over at Amy. “He’s agreed to meet you.”

  “Oh my god! No fucking way!”

  “Way.”

  “When?” Amy’s heart was thudding, which was really, really weird. The only time she’d been this excited at meeting a man was a few years ago when she had been invited to a meet-and-greet with Elton John who had been in San Diego performing at a benefit for abused women, a benefit Amy had played a role in organizing.

  Sally looked at the message on her phone again.

  “He says if we want to come over today, that’s fine.”

  “OMG!” Amy forgot about her breakfast. The omelet was delicious but food was the last thing on her mind now. “I need to get home and change!”

  Sally chuckled.

  “You look fine!”

  Amy knew she probably seemed silly. This time, she had thought ahead and brought a change of clothes with her on her date with Sally, just in case things ended up back here instead of her own apartment, the items fitting easily in her large Kate Spade tote. But faded denim shorts and a camouflage tank top were not what she wanted to be wearing when she met Jillian Ashley. Well, Max Tremont, who was Jillian Ashley.

  “Please, please, please come with me to my place so I can change!” she pleaded.

  Sally was laughing.

  “Anything for a woman who hinted that she might bake me blueberry muffins one day.”

  ***

  “Holy shit! Is that you and Elton John?”

  Amy poked her head out of her bedroom, where she was deciding what to change into and saw Sally in the living room holding a framed photo.

  “Yeah, it is. I’ll tell you all about that later. Come help me pick something!”

  Amy went back to work, standing in her closet, trying to make a decision.

  Dress? Or skirt? Leggings, maybe? Or skinny jeans?

  Sally joined her in the closet.

  “You know, you really don’t have to stress about this,” she told Amy, wrapping her arms around her from behind. “Max is just…Max.”

  “No, I want to look good,” Amy said, leaning back into Sally, loving how it felt. A thought suddenly occurred to her and she quickly turned around to face her companion. “I just realized you’re in my bedroom!”

  Sally smirked.

  “I am. And your place is super cute, by the way! I like your furniture.”

  “Thanks,” Amy said. “But now I’m torn between getting ready to meet your friend and just having sex with you.”

  Sally pretended to think.

  “Hmm. Sex first and then Max?”

  Tempting, Amy realized.

  “But what if Max changes his mind?” she asked. “No…sex later.” She turned back around to once again survey her hanging clothes.

  “But Amy…” Sally whined.

  Amy giggled. Turning back around, she said, “You’re a tall and demanding thing, aren’t you?”

  “Guilty.”

  A delicious idea started forming in Amy’s mind. She reached up and cupped Sally’s chin.

  “How long do we have until we meet him?” she asked.

  “He just said to come by whenever.”

  Amy bit her bottom lip.

  “Get on my bed. Your pants and underwear off. Wait for me until I choose my outfit.”

  “Ooh!”

  “But one more thing,” Amy said, stopping Sally from leaving the closet. “Edge yourself while you’re waiting. Go.”

  ***

  “Fuck, I am still soaked!” Sally exclaimed, driving her BMW into Oceanside about forty minutes later, wiggling in her seat.

  In the passenger seat, Amy bit her lip remembering…

  After choosing what to wear (dark skinny jeans and a black, grey and white long-sleeved top, with sophisticated heels completing the ensemble) Amy had found a pants-less Sally lying on her bed. Sally’s eyes had been closed, her mouth ajar, her breathing shallow and rapid. The fingers of her right hand had been lightly playing along the edges of her pussy, on full view because her legs had been opened wide, and even from the closet, Amy could tell how wet Sally was.

  Amy had tossed her selected garments onto the chair she used at her make-up table and got in the bed with Sally.

  “Keep doing what you’re doing,” Amy had instructed. “But don’t you dare touch your clit.”

  Once Sally had nodded her compliance, Amy had shucked off her shorts and panties and then straddled Sally, very carefully positioning her pussy over Sally’s head. Looking down between her legs, Amy had seen Sally’s eyes open wide, taking in the sight of Amy’s sex hovering above her face.

  “Keep edging,” Amy had said. “No clit, understand?”

  “Understood,” Sally had murmured, her eyes not moving from Amy pussy.

  And then Amy had gently lowered her pussy down until Sally could reach it and Amy then submitted herself for a good fifteen minutes or so to Sally’s expert mouth and tongue, orgasming twice on her lover’s face. Afterwards, she had lifted herself off and stood beside the bed, looking down at Sally, the entire lower half of her face glossed with Amy’s arousal. Sally had still been edging herself and her pussy had been so obviously turned-on by that point that it had created a wet spot on Amy’s sheets. Amy had then put her face between Sally’s legs, latched onto her clit with her lips and made her girlfriend come undone in just a few seconds.

  Now, as Sally turned her car onto a residential street in Oceanside, Amy considered how lucky she was. After only two incredible nights of sex together so far, she was learning that her and Sally enjoyed the same sexual predilections: teasing mixed with a bit of bossiness. She didn’t know about Sally, but Amy wasn’t interested in a full-bore domme/submissive lifestyle. Nonetheless, it did turn her on so much when she got to be a little demanding in the bedroom.

  “Okay, we’re here,” Sally announced, yanking Amy out of her reverie. Instantly, Amy’s mind shifted gear from lurid sexual thoughts to realizing that she was moments away from meeting her favorite lesfic author.

  Sally had pulled into the driveway of a really nice-looking house on a quiet, tree-lined street close to the beach. The house was very mid-century modern and seemed to be built almost entirely of windows.

  “Anything I should know?” Amy asked Sally.

  “Yes, come to think of it,” Sally said, turning to her. “Max 101: say nothing but good things about the New York Yankees; say nothing but bad things about the Boston Red Sox.”

  Amy laughed.

  “Oh my god, if men are so easy to manipulate, why do straight women complain about them so much?”

  ***

  “Hi! You must be Amy! Max Tremont.”

  The man who opened the door was one of those older guys who hadn’t let himself go. He was still trim and fit, dressed stylishly in black jeans and a tight-fitting charcoal grey t-shirt which complemented the silver streaks in his black hair.

  “Nice to meet you,” Amy said, feeling stupid at how nervous she sounded.

  “Come on in,” Max invited, stepping aside to let her and Sally enter.

  “Your house is fantastic!” Amy said. Even though she hadn’t seen much of it yet, what she was seeing now showed that Max had good taste in both furnishings and décor. “I love your style!”

  “Thank you,” Max said, guiding them towards a large room with a sunken floor. “I suspect in a previous life I was an interior decorator. Whether I was a gay interior decorator, I do not remember nor do I care. I just hope I was happy.”

  Amy laughed. This guy was super charming but not in a trying-to-get-in-her-pants kind of way, like a lot of “charming” guys she encountered.<
br />
  He offered his guests drinks. From the well-stocked bar Amy saw at the far side of the room, she knew she could probably ask for just about anything, so she told Max to surprise her.

  “Hmm…” Max said, sizing her up. “Okay, I’ve got just the thing.” He turned to Sally. “Your usual?” he asked, and Amy felt a bit jealous that Sally and Max were so close that Sally had a usual at his house. As silly as it was, Amy now wanted a usual here at Max’s.

  “Yes, please,” Sally responded.

  “Wait, what’s your usual?” Amy asked, but Max tsked her.

  “No, no, no, young lady,” he chided. “I don’t want you changing your mind. You asked to be surprised and you shall be surprised.” And off he went to the bar.

  “Oh my god, he’s awesome!” Amy whispered to Sally when they were alone.

  Sally laughed.

  “Told you!” she whispered back. “Well…he is awesome, yes; but he’s also a wise-ass New Yorker who can make you crazy with just how much of a wise-ass he is.”

  “I don’t care! I love him!”

  “Were you worried you’d hate him? Here, let’s sit down.” And Sally led them to an incredibly large leather sofa which Amy figured cost as much as three months of her rent.

  “I don’t know,” Amy confessed once they had sat down. “I mean, I’m still in shock that Jillian Ashley is a man but I wasn’t sure if that shock would become resentment once I actually met the man, you know? But it hasn’t. Which is good. Now I’m just happy to be meeting the person who wrote all those great books.”

  A few minutes later, Max returned with their drinks. Sally’s was in a standard cocktail glass.

  “A cherry Manhattan,” Sally told her after Max handed her the drink.

  Amy’s cocktail was in a margarita glass, though clearly it wasn’t a margarita. It was white, somewhat creamy and had a sugared rim. Eagerly, Amy brought it to her lips and took a sip. Her eyes rolled back in her head.

  “Oh my fucking god!” she exclaimed. “This is soooooo good!” She took another sip and then turned to Sally. “Sweetie, taste this!”

  “Holy fuck!” Sally gasped, staring up at Max. “Babe, what is that?”

  Amy clocked Sally calling Max “babe.” Again, she felt a pang of jealousy but not because she suddenly suspected Sally and Max were lovers. If the past two nights had shown Amy anything, it was that Sally is as lesbian as they come. No, again, as silly as it was, Amy wanted to be close enough friends with Max to call him a pet name.

  This is ridiculous!

  “So, Amy…” Max began, taking a seat in an easy chair which looked like it could belong on a spaceship. “Let’s address the elephant in the room. I hope you’re not pissed at Sally for the role she played in my little deception on your podcast. It was my idea and my idea alone.”

  Amy smiled, impressed. It was big of him to be sure to let her know it had all been his idea.

  “I just hope you’re not pissed at Sally for telling me almost right away,” Amy returned.

  “I am,” Max said. “In fact, I poisoned her drink.”

  And Amy burst out laughing when Sally started to choke after having just taken a sip.

  “Anyway,” Max continued. “I hope you understand my motivations. I’m proud of the Jillian Ashley books, I am; but let’s face it—a straight man putting his name on a lesfic book? What do you think would have happened?”

  That was too easy. Amy knew that if Max had published the first book, The Fordham Fling, using his own name and bio…the lesbians would have closed ranks and made sure he never tried to do something that stupid again.

  “Exactly,” Max said, even though Amy had not spoken a word in response to his question. Her answer must have been written on her face. “The problem was, after all this time, Jillian needed to be seen, and that’s where Sally came in. But it was all my idea, not hers. The only thing I didn’t factor into my calculations was you being so beautiful and this one…” he tilted his head towards Sally “…going nuts for you.”

  Again, Amy burst out laughing when, once more, Sally started choking.

  Chapter 20

  Sally was breathing easier. Things were going well.

  Even though she hadn’t admitted it to Amy, she had been incredibly nervous about her meeting Max, afraid that Amy would just go off on him for dashing her expectations of who Jillian Ashley really was and for his role in putting Sally on camera for the podcast interview. It would have been Amy’s prerogative, Sally supposed, considering…but Sally didn’t want to ambush Max with an angry lesbian. Thus, ever since arriving at his house nearly twenty minutes ago now, Sally had been on tenterhooks, wondering if at any moment Amy would venomously start chastising Max for daring to infiltrate the sacred world of lesfic with his testosterone and testicles and then blaming him for everything from global warming to John F. Kennedy’s assassination.

  Instead, Amy was obviously having a blast here at Max’s house and it was clear Max had charmed the pants off of her. In fact, if Sally hadn’t known just how gay Amy was, she would swear that there was a chance Amy would opt to spend the night here with their host. And not in the spare bedroom either.

  Currently, Amy was laughing at yet another funny story Max was telling about his childhood in the Bronx. It made Sally extremely happy to see the interaction between the two of them. Max was just as important to Sally’s life as Lisa was: an indispensable friend she couldn’t imagine being without. And Amy…

  Well, it was still waaaaaaay too early to consider anything about Amy! she reminded herself. Sally didn’t want to let her mind wander down that rabbit hole. She’d made that mistake before! Finding herself deeply smitten early on with a fabulous and sexy woman only to find out later that either A: said woman was not really so fabulous (although she was still sexy), or B: said woman was not even close to being as deeply smitten yet, which inevitably creates all sorts of awkwardness in a relationship.

  All Sally would commit to now was that it was wonderful to see that Amy got along with one of her best friends.

  “So, guess what?” Sally interjected when there was a lull in the conversation between Amy and Max. “My Mom now thinks I’m a bestselling writer of lesbian romances.”

  Max laughed.

  “The great Dr. Lassiter got wind of it?” he asked. “How did you explain that?” He looked at Amy. “Her mother hates me, by the way.”

  Amy turned to Sally, an expression of surprise on her face.

  “She does?”

  “She doesn’t hate you,” Sally insisted. “She just doesn’t understand our friendship. If you really want to know the truth, I think she has a crush on you and is annoyed that you’ve never asked her out.”

  That made Max laugh even harder.

  “I would marry your mother just for the sake of becoming your stepfather and then having the power to ground you whenever I wanted.”

  “Oh my god, shut up!” Sally retorted, laughing. “Anyway, have you gotten more requests for interviews?”

  “Are you kidding?” Max asked, getting up to make Amy another one of those amazing white cocktails. Amy snuggled back against Sally on the sofa while she waited. “The floodgates have opened, my dear!” From behind his bar, while he concocted Amy’s drink, he explained that thanks to Sally being on Lesbeing—the Podcast, every lesbian with a webcam and just a handful of Twitter followers had been emailing “Jillian,” asking for the privilege of her presence on their podcasts, panel discussions, you name it.

  “You, young lady,” he said to Sally, reapproaching with Amy’s drink, Amy eagerly reaching out for it and taking it from him, “are in high demand. Well, I’m in high demand but your face and that wonderfully awkward-somewhat-geeky manner you have is also in high demand.”

  Still snuggled against her, Amy giggled after taking a long sip from her drink.

  “Awkward-somewhat-geeky!” she exclaimed with another giggle. “That’s totally you!”

  Sally was certain Amy was getting drunk. Over Amy’s
head, she mouthed No more drinks for her! to Max. He acknowledged with a bemused expression and a slight nod.

  “Anyway,” Max went on, taking his seat in his Saarinen-designed easy chair that Sally knew he was so fond of, crossing one leg over the other, “I’ll be sure to turn them all down when I get around to it.”

  “Wait! No!” This came from Amy, who sat up now. “You can’t.”

  Max cocked an eyebrow.

  “And why not?

  Sally was wondering the same thing, surprised at Amy’s comment. Even though Amy had agreed to keep the truth about Jillian Ashley’s real identity under wraps, Sally figured that was as far as Amy was willing to go to perpetuate the deception.

  Amy turned to face Sally.

  “I’m not saying you have to keep this up forever and ever, but you do need to keep it up for a little while at least. It meant so much to a lot of women seeing you on my podcast—actually seeing you!”

  Amy then turned back to Max.

  “Max, I don’t think you fully understand what you’ve done.”

  “Meaning?” he prodded.

  “Meaning that for you, the Jillian Ashley books are simply a way to express your creativity and earn some money doing it. Which is fine. But do you ever spend any time online in lesfic chat groups on Facebook or on Goodreads?”

  Max shrugged.

  “Here and there,” he said. “Now and again.”

  Suddenly, Sally knew where Amy was going with this because she spent time on lesfic chat groups on Facebook, Goodreads and other sites—a lot more than here and there or now and again. She thought back to that email message Amy had shown her earlier this morning.

  She sat forward now, taking Amy’s hand, conveying to her that she was united with her on this.

  “I don’t know how you did it,” Amy went on, “but you’ve created a series of lesfic books which have become super important to the community. I know because they’re super important to me! But forget about me. Since Tuesday, when we did the interview, I have been getting bombarded with messages from women who are so happy because they felt like they had finally gotten to meet Jillian! Like they had finally gotten to meet an old friend! You can’t just put Jillian back into hiding now!”