Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Enjoy this lovely story that will make you fall in love too with Andrea, Sam and also Ruby.

-Lani

Chapter Text

Andrea steps out of the jet squinting even behind her sunglasses. The smell of exhaust and tarmac fill her nostrils and she scrunches her face.

With a sigh, she gathers herself, descends from the plane and heads to follow the airport employee walking her towards customs.

After almost two years in Buenos Aires, she’s back in Metropolis. Home sweet home, or so they say. Hard to subscribe to such a notion when she’s been restlessly searching for one for years.

—

She takes a drag from her cigarette in bed. It’s a nasty habit she’s been meaning to kick, but she thinks that since it’s her first day back in the States, she’ll do better tomorrow. Today’s a wash anyway.

Idly, her mind wanders through her to-do list for the next day when she returns to work; assistants and meetings and mergers all start to roll into one big stream of thoughts. Eventually, though, those thoughts get interrupted by the stirring of someone beside her.

Said someone is a naked woman laying on her side sleeping soundly, cheek pressed against the pillow and her hand tucked beneath it. Blonde hair fan around her like some kind of sick golden halo. The last few hours had been fun, a present she treated herself to after catching this woman’s eye at the bar after dinner.

This woman—Taylor or Trina or whatever—extraordinarily beautiful in her naked glory, looks peaceful. Cute, even. So she thinks she’ll give her another five minutes before she wakes her up and tells her to get going so Andrea can get her rest.

For now, though, she grabs hold of her silk robe and wraps it around her own naked figure before walking towards her balcony that overlooks midtown Metropolis. She takes another drag of her cigarette, the swirl of smoke coming out through her nose.

—

Andrea is the last to enter the conference room because this is her meeting and they will start at her timetable, not theirs. She doesn’t bother scanning the room until she’s seated at the head of the table, her lawyers on one side and her father’s on the other side.

“Thanks for being here,” she says, giving them all a once over as they all stare back at her in obedient wait. When her gaze lands on the handsome woman with the dark brown hair sitting at the far end of the table for her father’s counsel, she does her best not to linger. Instead, she blinks once, twice, and then clears her throat, dragging her attention to the others. “Let’s get started.”

The meeting lasts no more than half an hour, mostly as a formality at this point, as they go over all that she will inherit after her father’s retirement and her acquisitions of his company shares.

She stands and offers her best smile before shaking hands with all of her father’s legal counsel. Her eyes drift to the last woman to walk up to her and flashes her a bright smile. Definitely a change of pace from the plastic or smarmy smirks the male lawyers throw her way.

“Thank you for your time, Miss Rojas.”

“Likewise…” she starts, waiting for the woman to re-introduce herself.

“Arias. Samantha Arias.”

The woman unclasps their hands eventually. Andrea watches as she goes, all long and lean lines, the counsel group making their way to the elevators. Her assistant, Louise, appears at the door, but Andrea doesn’t turn her way until the elevator doors close.

“Miss Sinclair is waiting on Line 1. And your lunch bowl is on your desk,” Louise tells her when she walks back into the office. She acknowledges her assistant with a silent wave before closing the door and situating herself at her desk. The red light of her landline blinks.

“Why do you insist on bothering me during my precious lunch hour,” she says by way of greeting, putting the call on speakerphone just as she opens the packaging of her lunch.

“Because I have to go through your fucking assistant to make it happen, so maybe tone it down.”

She laughs and takes a bite out of her lunch while she listens to her friend fill the silence in her office.

—

The trip to the restaurant bar that night is an unusual choice for her. By and large, the day has gone the way all the others have ever since her return to Metropolis. Yet, the bottles of liquor in the bar cart at the far end of her office leaves something to be desired. (What she won’t admit is the isolation of it, the loneliness. She’s above it, after all.)

She grabs a booth towards the back of the restaurant bar, more than fine to hide in the muted shadows of the place as she waits for the server to appear. Maybe she’ll pick someone up, maybe not. A glance at her wristwatch shows that it’s only a little after 9. Plenty of time to make a decision.

Sure enough after ordering herself a glass of scotch, her eyes drift to scan the room. She catches sight of a couple at the end of the row of tables adorning the long wall, both of them hunched over each other, the glow of the singular candle between them illuminating their faces.

She watches the couple—one clearly on some kind of date—humming into her glass before taking a sip of it, the heat of it gliding down and settling in her belly. So enraptured by whatever is happening at their table that she does not realize or notice someone has crowded her table until they greet her.

“Miss Rojas.”

Her eyes quickly snap to attention to find the lawyer from earlier in her conference room. The blazer sleeves have been pushed up toned forearms and her hair looks to have been carded through all evening. She remembers, and her lips twitch but doesn’t become anything more.

“Miss Arias. What a surprise.”

The smile on the woman’s face is all too apparent. Andrea is pleased by this.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt your night, but I just wanted to say hi.”

“No interruption, don’t worry.” She then leans back, watching. “Would you like to join me? Unless I’m keeping you from anything.”

She shakes her head, her easy smile broadening, her fingers tapping on the edge of her table. “No, no. You’re not keeping me.”

Miss Arias then scoots into the other side of her booth, the two of them now sitting adjacent to one another. The server soon rounds to their table, as if his only shift is to wait on them, and asks what the woman would like to have.

“Order anything, it’s on my tab.”

“That’s not necessary—”

“I insist.”

The woman doesn’t protest any more, perhaps only doing so for politeness. Either way, Andrea prefers that over those who prolong the inevitable in the name of misguided social etiquette.

“Just a gin and tonic.”

“I’ll have another,” she says, gesturing to the tumbler still in her hand. The server nods before scurrying away. “So, Miss Arias, what brings you by?”

“Call me Sam, please. It’s after hours, right?” she says with a slight chuckle. Andrea only arches a brow, leaning forward a little.

“Sam, then.”

“I saw you come in earlier. I was sitting over there—” at that, Sam gestures to the still-packed dining area on the other side of the room. “—for some last minute work event. And I—well, guess I wanted to say it had been nice working with you. However brief it was.”

She recalls the handshake from this morning. Sam hadn’t said a word during that meeting, simply shuffled papers in her folio as the senior partners spoke on behalf of her father who couldn’t be bothered to attend. She could bring all of this up, the way that they’d spoken very few words with each other, even going so far as asking for the lawyer’s name this morning. How she hardly considered the two meetings that they spent together as really ‘working’ together. If anything, it felt more like two cars stopped at the same red light beside each other.

Still, she glances down at Sam’s hands: long, slender fingers; short but manicured nails; no ring anywhere in sight. She brings her attention back up to Sam’s eyes, open yet cautious. Dark.

This time, she flashes Sam with a smile, tilting her head just so. “The pleasure was all mine.”

—

They reach her penthouse in a dizzying flurry of movements. Hands clamoring to make contact with exposed skin and fingers squeezing and digging into soft flesh. Mouths locked in a display of hunger and dominance, tongues pushing and pulling and wanting and needing.

How this came to be, Andrea can really only guess at this point. She’d had a few drinks, she’ll admit, but her faculties and sensibilities remain intact. Somehow, though, and perhaps due to the mood lighting at the restaurant bar, the sheen of Sam’s eyes as she leaned forward on their table indicated a want in Andrea that she hadn’t expected. She’d returned the gesture, suddenly the twelve inches of distance between them dwindled to ten, then to six, then to two, then to nothing at all. It was remarkably fast, all things considered.

But she can’t think too clearly about those things now, not when Sam’s lips make their way to the column of her neck and Andrea immediately grabs a fistful of dark hair and tugs.

“No marks.”

“No marks,” Sam affirms.

She releases her hold and instead runs her hand up and down Sam’s back until it catches on her pants. She adjusts so her hands begin fiddling with the front button of Sam’s slacks.

With haphazard clothes strewn about and more than false starts while reaching her bedroom, they make it to her bed in only their underwear—black lace for her, navy cotton for Sam.

She settles Sam into bed, straddling her, the dampness of her underwear pressing against Sam’s lean and bare stomach, faint definition of abs when she tenses. Andrea rolls her hips once, twice, and Sam quickly grabs hold of her waist, encourages a third, fourth.

Andrea reaches behind her and unclasps her bra, throws it somewhere to the side, smirks, and dips her head down to reconnect their lips.

—

“Where’d you learn to do that thing with your tongue?” Sam asks, just having caught her breath, her breasts on full display as she leans back on a pillow against the headboard. Andrea reaches over, her fingers gentle as they walk up and down the length of Sam’s front.

“Miramar.”

Sam’s brows furrow in confusion, the lazy bun atop her head now falling down as she turns her head to look at Andrea clearly.

“It’s in Argentina.”

“Is that where you’re from?”

“Mm. It’s where I was just before I came back.”

“You were in Metropolis before?”

“National City, for a time. But yes, Metropolis originally.”

Sam nods, as if to process this information like it’s worth noting at all, and folds both hands on her abdomen. Then she has the audacity to ask, “How does it feel to be back?”

Andrea pauses, not sure what to say. This woman is a stranger to her, regardless of the last few hours they’ve spent intimately acquainting each other’s bodies. Still, not a single person has asked her about her feelings on the matter. A point she ignores.

“Fine. I’ve spent the last two years over there, so it’s going to take some adjusting, but nothing I can’t handle.”

Their pillowtalk tapers out into a lull punctuated by a yawn from her. Sam seems to sense it for what it is and draws the covers off of her body. Meanwhile, Andrea takes a moment to watch as Sam searches for her clothes before rising out of bed to follow her guest to the door, plucking her silk robe from the back of her vanity chair and wrapping it around her nakedness.

“I had a great time,” Sam says as her fingers button her shirt closed. Andrea, for reasons that she cannot fathom at almost 1 am in the morning, reaches out and finishes the remaining button just above Sam’s chest.

She steps back and crosses her arms over her chest. “Good. Me too.”

Then Sam asks, “Would you like to see me again?”

It’s an odd way to put the onus on her. Certainly more than what those who’ve tried in the past have done. Bold, Andrea thinks, even if it has her tilting her head in thought and arching her brow in challenge. “Do I?”

An amused huff escapes out of Sam’s lips, and Andrea is struck with a sudden urge to kiss (but doesn’t because she’s not a teenager). “I mean, I’d like it if you did. But I understand if this is just a one time thing.”

She narrows her eyes, assessing. “Are you on my payroll?”

This time, Sam lets out a chuckle before shaking her head, the corner of her eyes crinkling as she smiles. It’s unnerving. “No, definitely not.”

She hums. “Then, I’ll think about it.”

Sam then takes a receipt from her blazer pocket and a pen before scribbling something down.

“Here’s my number then, just in case you reach a verdict.”

Andrea purses her lips. “Oh, no. Not lawyer humor. I’ll have to seriously reconsider.”

Sam flashes her a smile just as she shrugs her blazer on, good as new. Almost good as new, Andrea spotting the faint lipstick on her collar. She leans forward and kisses Andrea on the mouth, a chaste press of their lips together. Hardly the stuff of dreams and romance movies, but it’s daring in its intent, and soft in its execution.

“Goodnight, Miss Rojas.”

The door shuts with a quiet click and Andrea is left alone with a head full of thoughts and a bed empty save for herself.

—

Andrea does not call or text Sam Arias for three whole weeks.

She considers contacting the woman during all that time, having gone as far as opening her phone and saving the information in her contacts. Something holds her back, though, not quite letting her pull the trigger. Namely, the passing thought of her ex-fiancé appears, and she has to fight hard to shake his ghost off as he lives his best life in Europe with his wife. A woman who succeeded where she couldn’t. It’s been years, she knows, but he’s made a home in her mind despite herself, only able to shoo him away at the bottom of a whiskey bottle. This time, she’d rather save her liver from self-wrought benders.

Eventually, though, the universe makes the choice for her when she spots Sam at the restaurant bar, the same one where they’d met. She should have known, of course, because their circles are small and the list of places to frequent, even smaller.

Still, she is supposed to be on a date with this man sitting across from her. He’s been nice enough, pleasant enough, confident enough. When they started their evening, she imagined that he would go home with her and they would spend an hour or so having fun before she let him go. He would probably ask to see her again and she would give him a non-answer before patting him out of her apartment and going straight to sleep. And that would be that.

Now, though, her focus is watching Sam sit with a couple of people, colleagues presumably, through the mirror behind her date’s head.

She doesn’t recall anything he’s saying to her, but she nods and smiles when she thinks she should. Somehow, this woman has forced her on her back foot, and she’s not sure what to make of that.

“Hey, you wanna get out of here?” he asks, the words passing through the haze of her thoughts.

Her default is to say yes, because that’s what all of these typically amount to, but as she glances up at the mirror behind his head, she’s struck into place when she finds a darkened gaze already looking at her.

She opens her mouth and says, “I had a nice time, but I think this is where it ends for me.”

He’s flabbergasted, to say the least. That’s no longer her problem, though. He urges her to reconsider, but the thought unnerves her and she simply shakes her head and offers him a polite smile. He sighs and leaves, throwing some bills on the table followed by a more forceful throw of his napkin. She is alone again.

When the server comes to collect their empty plates and give her the bill, she chances a glance again at the mirror but finds only Sam’s colleagues at the table.

She grabs her clutch and walks to the door, passing by the bar when she hears, “bad date?”

She spins on her heels and finds Sam leaning against the bar with a glass of her chosen drink by her elbow.

“Boring.”

“I hope he wasn’t a lawyer.”

Andrea laughs then, walking closer until she’s mirroring how Sam’s standing, her own elbow resting on the counter.

“Can I get you a drink?” Sam asks, already signaling for the bartender who promptly stands in waiting.

“I’ll have whatever she’s having,” she points.

“A mojito?” the bartender asks.

She makes a face and turns to Sam. “Why are you drinking that?”

Sam shrugs. “I’m allowed to drink anything I want.”

“For god’s sake, you’re an adult.” The way Sam tips her head back in laughter is truly mesmerizing, but the bartender is still waiting for them, so Andrea returns her attention to him. “Just scotch. Neat. Thanks.”

He leaves them alone so she returns her attention to Sam who’s staring right back at her. “How have you been?”

“Fine. Busy.”

“Is that why you never called?”

It’s her turn to shrug, taking her time to accept the glass. She takes a sip, the heat of the alcohol settling on her tongue, down her throat. “It was the lawyer jokes. Nobody likes them except other lawyers.”

The other woman shakes her head and Andrea is left mesmerized, the dark brown hair falling out of their hold behind Sam’s ear. Andrea has never felt the inkling to brush a woman’s hair behind her ear, and she certainly doesn’t have it now. Instead, she grips her clutch tighter.

“Well, it’s good to see you,” Sam says, straightening herself up, grabbing her glass, and making to leave. Most likely to return to her colleagues at their table. Now, Andrea doesn’t want that at all, but even she recognizes she’s got very little leg to stand on at this moment. She’ll try anyway, because that’s what she knows.

She places a hand on Sam’s forearm, and Sam stops. “Come back to my place.”

“You made it sound like a one-time thing.”

Here, she pauses, uncertainty wrapping her tongue swiftly. Truth be told, it was a one-time thing. That’s always been her plan with everyone. Yet, here she is, impulsive in the changes to her routine.

“If you’re… amenable, we can make it a two-time thing.”

Sam studies her for a moment, that same penetrating gaze processing her words. Then, “Alright. Meet you outside? I’ll just say goodnight to my coworkers.”

She takes a moment to down the rest of her drink, more than happy to let it wash over her before setting the glass back on the bar. She’s just about to take a bill out of her clutch when Sam places a hand atop hers. “I got this.”

Outside, she waits, the unseasonably warm night in Metropolis sticking to her skin. She stands off to the side, away from patrons waiting to get in. Sam emerges from the doors and flashes her a winsome smile. Handsome even now, she thinks. She almost guesses that Sam is going to offer her elbow towards Andrea and she might very well accept, but Sam doesn’t and that’s perhaps for the best.

—

Andrea is barely on all fours, her body practically flattened onto the mattress. Her knees and elbows dig into the mattress, her back arched as she pushes her ass up higher. Sam is behind her with her pert nipples brushing against Andrea’s exposed back. Their hips buck in tandem with her ass nestled into Sam’s front all while Sam plunges two strong fingers into her cunt while her clit brushes against Sam’s palm. It’s exactly what she’s been craving and she can’t deny that she absolutely was not going to get this from her date.

Sam’s warm breath by the sensitive part of her ear makes her tremble, her arms buckle down completely and her face falls into the pillow. She doesn’t want to come from something so small, so she brings a hand up by her head, aimless in its pursuit, until she finds the back of Sam’s head, long hair caught between her fingers. She maneuvers Sam’s head towards her neck, glad that Sam gets the hint by adorning the junction of Andrea’s neck and shoulder with open-mouthed kisses.

She is buzzing with wanton energy and restless determination to come, eager in humping into Sam’s hand. Her hips buck forward while Sam is practically molded behind her, their combined heat causing them to slide against each other. Her senses are overwhelmed by the mingling scent of their sweat and sex, their breathless moans reverberating as they race to their climax, the stickiness that drenches Sam’s fingers as well as her own when she brings her hand down to her clit just under Sam’s palm.

When she comes, it’s with a growling whimper, her body tightening like a taut coil spring. Sam kisses her shoulder as their bodies slow in their movements and Andrea covers Sam’s hand to signal for her to pull out.

Her body collapses on the bed—stained with their exertions and release. Sam is just about to untangle herself when Andrea surprises the both of them by drawing her arm and reaching back to stop Sam from moving. To stay exactly where she is, surrounding Andrea. 

“Good,” she mumbles, her mouth practically covered by the pillow beneath her. She feels the vibration from Sam’s laughter spread on her back. She turns her head so she can catch a glimpse of Sam over her shoulder who’s smirking at her, as if already anticipating her.

“Don’t be smug.”

“I didn’t even say anything.”

“And yet you’re so fucking loud.”

Sam responds to this by peppering Andrea’s neck and shoulders and cheek with kisses until she moves her body just so for their lips to make contact. As if parched, Andrea lifts her head up enough to get her fill of the woman who has thoroughly fucked her tonight.

Before long, Sam does peel herself away from Andrea’s body, before fully making her way off the bed. Internally, Andrea frowns and adjusts herself so she’s sitting up and leaning on the headboard, her gaze following the woman as she collects their things from the ground.

“You don’t want to make it a three-time thing?”

A huffed chuckle comes out of Sam’s mouth just as she finishes putting her pants back on before searching for her bra.

“Not tonight.” Sam is back in her clothes and she sits on the edge of the bed. “Make use of the number. Unless you’ve thrown it away with all the others.”

Andrea rolls her eyes. “I didn’t. I saved it under Insipid Lawyer.”

It’s easygoing, the laugh that comes out of Sam. Then, before Andrea can further investigate how a woman like that can appear so light, Sam is leaning forward but not all the way. Andrea purses her lips when she sees what Sam is doing, only relenting after a long moment before closing the gap between them. Their kiss this time around is slow, an unhurried pace that Sam sets for them. She wants to take and take and leave nothing behind, but Sam doesn’t feel all too keen to follow her script.

“Goodnight, Miss Rojas.”

“After five orgasms, I think you can call me by my name.” She rummages for a pack of cigarettes from her bedside drawer and a lighter. She’s just lit the end when she catches Sam staring at her. “What?”

“Not really a fan.”

She takes a drag, the smoke resting in her lungs for a long moment before releasing it from the side of her mouth.

“Good thing I didn’t ask.”

“I’ll see myself out,” Sam says, one corner of her lips twitching upward. Andrea notes with some level of surprise that Sam’s hazel eyes have specks of green in them. “Use my number, Andrea .”

Sam says nothing more, drops a small peck on Andrea’s cheek, and leaves.

—

Andrea texts the number a week later. She’s sitting in her office, the rain darkening her view of the city. Her head throbs from lack of food and incompetent employees and she thinks that a few orgasms can fix her.

This is Andrea. Are you free tonight?

Three dots appear at the bottom of the screen. Then,

You work fast

She rolls her eyes but otherwise she types, Is that a yes?

Sure. When?

9. My place.

See you soon

Nothing else comes after that message despite the three dots appearing a few more times.

Later that night, when she opens the door right at 9:03, she’s already in nothing but her negligée and her silk robe. She’s holding onto a glass of wine while the bottle chills in an ice bucket in the kitchen.

She watches the easy smirk Sam gives her as she steps in, dark brown hair tucked behind both ears. A lock comes loose from behind one ear when she leans forward, tilting her head to kiss Andrea before the door even closes. Andrea brings a hand up to Sam’s face when they separate, brushing the dark hair back. 

“You’re late.” 

Sam laughs in response but otherwise ushers the two of them towards the bedroom. 

—

“How’s your hookup buddy?” Veronica asks her while they sit across from each other at brunch.

It has been almost three months since Andrea and Sam began their routine of hookups. three months of every other week meetups at her apartment, usually at the end of an arduous week of work. Andrea’s done away with using the apps and picking up one night stands at the bar, more than sated with Sam’s presence and performance in the bedroom (and her kitchen, and her living room, and her guest suite).

“Don’t call her that. We’re not teenagers.”

Veronica’s sharp brow arches just as she takes a sip of her sangria. Then she opens a new pack of cigarettes and places one precariously between her lips. She flicks the lighter on and lights the end of the cigarette. Andrea refuses with a wordless head shake when Veronica takes it out of her mouth and offers a drag to her. If her friend has anything to say about it, she doesn’t seem all too keen to share her thoughts and opinions on the matter.

“Well, she’s not your girlfriend. You’ve made that pretty clear.”

It’s true, Sam’s not her girlfriend. Despite the consistent presence that Sam has become in Andrea’s life, the two of them hardly ever exchange any real details about each other. Sometimes Sam stays for a time for shallow pillow talk, but she always leaves despite the time. Andrea offered once, to have her stay, but Sam had only kissed her and turned her down.

She’s never offered again.

She hums. “Didn’t think you cared so much about my love life.”

“Please, I’d hardly call what you have a love life. You’re literally just sleeping together. You don’t even know each other.”

She pauses at that. She knows that Sam is a lawyer and definitely not her employee. That she is an excellent lover—one of the best Andrea’s ever had. That she’d recently moved to Metropolis from Chicago for her job at the law firm. That she liked to try out various cocktail specials at bars and restaurants, many that have earned a quirked brow from Andrea. That she hadn’t yet bothered to explore Metropolis, what with her work taking over much of her daily life.

But outside of that, there are few details that Andrea knows about her bed partner. They’ve since divulged passing interests in movies and music, observations about corporate life here and there, but little beyond small talk. If nothing else, at least she thinks that she and Sam are friends, in a way, even if it’s only to spend time once every two weeks to mutually provide each other orgasms.

It doesn’t bother her, of course, because she doesn’t want a relationship. Doesn’t see the need for one when she’s being satisfied in other ways. Relationships aren’t worth it, anyway. After her last long term relationship had exploded in flames, she’s never given the notion a try again. Why go through all that trouble when she’s doing fine for herself these days. 

Yet, loathe as she may be to admit it, the way Veronica chats with her about it has her second guessing herself.

Her phone buzzes with a message from the woman in question.

Raincheck tonight? Something’s come up.

She purses her lips if only to avoid the frown on her face. She types out a quick response, Everything alright?

She may not want a relationship, but she’s not heartless.

Yeah, thanks. It’s just something personal I need to take care of. I’ll text you on Monday?

Sure. Have a good weekend.

“Who was that?” Veronica asks, her reflective sunglasses giving Andrea a distorted reflection of herself.

“Sam.”

“What’d she want?”

This time, she frowns. “Nothing.”

—

Sam makes it up to her just a couple of days later, and with gusto: a mind-numbingly blissful start to her week.

Andrea cancels her Monday afternoon meetings much to the chagrin of her assistant who now has to reschedule those meetings in an already packed schedule. Sam texted her that morning telling her that she had taken the afternoon off, so if Andrea was free, she’d love to meet. Andrea hesitated at first, unknown territory for them in broad daylight, but with her curiosity piqued, she had to see if something would be different today.

She opens the door of her penthouse to Sam who’s dressed down from her usual work attire; she’s in black Chelsea boots, black skinny jeans, and a green pullover sweater.

That’s already new, and Andrea finds that she enjoys the change. For her part, she’d just gotten home and hadn’t had the chance to change out of her sleeveless fuschia dress.

“You look good, Andy.”

How she’s allowed this woman to call her such an infantile nickname is beyond her, but she blames it on the fact that Sam breathed out that name just as she came, Andrea having made a home between her thighs.

“We’re already fucking, you don’t need to butter me up.”

Sam tugs her by the wrist and wraps her in toned arms, the feel of the pullover sweater soft against Andrea’s skin.

“For someone who goes to great lengths to look impeccable, you’re terrible at accepting compliments. I didn’t even give you a good one.”

She sneers at Sam, but the vitriol in it dissolves when Sam kisses her neck, nipping at the same sensitive skin there before her mouth nibbles at her earlobe.

Andrea wraps her arms around Sam, her hands roaming Sam’s back, angling her head away to give Sam more room to lavish her neck.

“What’s got you in a good mood?” she asks.

Sam doesn’t answer immediately, just pulls Andrea closer to her, so Andrea lets her. Their mouths come together in a heated exchange, kissing and nibbling on bottom lips. They don’t make it to her bedroom, settling for the couch nearby with Sam on top of her, a welcomed weight that Andrea had missed over the weekend.

“Just missed you this weekend, that’s all.” Sam finds the zipper of her dress and tug at it to unravel her in only her lace bra. That comment is different, too. New. Her thoughts would have dug into this observation if it weren’t for Sam kissing her and tangling their fingers together just above her head, the words, “Hey, do you want me to fuck you with the harness today?” coming out of her mouth.

Andrea’s tally of Sam’s strangeness increases, but the thought of getting absolutely railed by the woman surrounding her at this moment hazes her brain into nothingness. So she nods, bites her tongue so the yes, please doesn’t slip out.

—

Call her basic if you must, but Andrea enjoys penetration in the missionary position. More specifically, the way her ankles hook onto each other while her legs wrap around Sam’s waist, her hands practically clawing at Sam’s back as Sam thrusts slow and deep into her despite voicing out her desires for morefuckfasterharderplease.

But Sam isn’t one of the best lovers she’s ever had because she listens to Andrea.

Sam changes her pace—finally —this time fast and hard, strong thighs smacking against her pelvis. Andrea accepts it, loves the almost stutter of Sam’s movements when she pulls out halfway before slamming back into her. She kisses Sam then even if her lips refuse to fully close, her moans of ecstasy coming out bigger than the cavern of mouth.

When Andrea comes, her serpentine grip around Sam holds the woman closecloseclose. Sam holds still, peppering Andrea’s face and neck and chest with kisses before she, too, succumbs to the high of their sex and shudders through her own orgasm.

Andrea drops weightlessly down into the bed and Sam’s weight covers her entirely. When Sam attempts to move after a minute of stillness, Andrea stops her, her hand languidly caressing Sam’s sweaty back. “Not yet.”

It should be a cause of alarm for Andrea when Sam complies, those deceptively strong arms wrapping around her from below, her head resting on Andrea’s shoulder. But she snoozes it, basking in the breathlessness of their shared moment, the sunlight bathing her bedroom.

—

Four days later, Sam comes over again. She expected to see Sam two weeks from now, as part of their established routine. Yet here she is opening her front door to the broad-shouldered woman who’s now placing her leather work bag on the floor and handing Andrea the bag of take-out food she’d picked up before shrugging out of her blazer.

Andrea doesn’t even know how the topic of eating dinner at her penthouse came up, but it doesn’t matter now. Not when Sam’s making herself acquainted with her couch and the bag of food while Andrea retrieves plates and cutlery from her kitchen. She then proceeds to collect a bottle of wine from her wine fridge, uncorking it and letting it breathe for a second before pouring generously into both of their glasses.

Side by side on the couch, the pair of them dig into their lamb kebabs and babaganoush.

It’s intimate, familiar. Certainly, it’s more than what they have done in the past. It’s nothing untoward, however, and she allows it to exist in her place. Perhaps it’s simply a carryover from the Monday that Sam has had. Perhaps if the changes become too much for her, she knows she can call it quits with the other woman. Though that thought doesn’t inspire much enthusiasm for her; she’d hate to have to find someone new.

It’s not lost on her, though, that the whole thing feels a bit like an out of body experience because this? This is all new to her, to them. They don’t do this. They’ve never eaten together before. They’ve shared many drinks together, but never food.

Yet. Here they are on her couch eating and drinking together. Almost like a—

“What’s the matter?” Sam asks.

“Hm?” 

Sam finishes chewing and turns to face her better. “You’re frowning.”

Andrea shakes her head, trying to rid herself of her thoughts. “It’s nothing. I was just thinking.”

“Well, after dinner, I’ll make sure you don’t think at all.”

Sure enough, an hour after they’ve eaten and polished off most of the wine, Sam takes her to the bedroom and proceeds to let every thought in Andrea’s mind escape.

—

Andrea decides that the change in their relationship isn’t unwelcomed.

Until, of course, something happens that throws her for a loop.

—

The call comes on a Wednesday afternoon a couple of weeks after.

Sam never calls her, so when she finds her phone buzzing on her desk with Sam’s name, she hesitates to answer.

“Sam?”

“Hey, Andy. Listen, I’m sorry to do this to you, and I know we don’t exactly have the kind of relationship to do this, but I need a favor.”

She stays silent, wondering if Sam will simply reveal the favor to her.

Instead, it’s more of, “If you can’t, I’ll understand, but I’m not really—I just wasn’t sure who to call and I’m getting desperate.”

“What’s the favor, Sam?”

She thinks she hears a groan from the other end of the line before she hears Sam’s voice. “Can you—can you pick up my daughter from school? I’m stuck in this hearing and can’t leave, but her regular babysitter just got an emergency call and can’t pick her up.”

Andrea’s left ear suddenly hears one long beeping sound just as her heart rate picks up. “You have a daughter?” she asks, her voice coming out in what she knows is her trademark hiss.

“Andy—I, yeah. I do. Her name is Ruby, she’s 10.”

“Is there nobody else?”

Sam sighs from the other end of the line, but Andrea can’t hear anything but the pulse of her heart in her ears.

“No…there’s—please, can you just help me? I’ll explain everything after, but the schools are very strict about late pickups.”

She pauses, considers what she's just been tasked to do. She is the CEO of a Fortune 500 company and her fuck buddy has asked her to pick up her daughter. A daughter that she had no knowledge of despite the almost five months they have spent regularly fucking each other.

“Why me?”

Another sigh comes through. “Because I literally trust nobody else in this city but you. Please, Andy. I’m begging.”

It shouldn’t work, this desperate call, all while using this nickname that she loathes. Even the consideration of this favor. Andrea is not made for children, not made for childcare. Her life has been of an adult for so long, she has no idea how to even process interacting with someone under the age of 25.

Still, she hears faint chatter from Sam’s end of the call, Sam’s voice muffled as she speaks with someone there.

Andrea takes a breath, hating herself a little—for what, she’s not sure of just yet, but the feeling has wedged itself in her mind and she cannot take it away.

Finally, “Send me the address.”

—

Andrea texts the name of the school to her driver, glad for the reprieve of the twenty minute drive as her mind swirls with what it is that she’s even doing. She and Sam have a healthy sexual relationship, but neither of them had ever truly broached each other’s lives beyond small talk. Still, something akin to betrayal lances through her heart. 

She walks up to the front office and gives her name to the middle-aged receptionist. She stands there, tapping her five inch heels as she waits for this woman to confirm that she’s been cleared to pick up this child. Sam must have called the school to let them know.

The receptionist tells her to wait outside the front office while they call for the girl who’s coming from her after school activity session.

Andrea, nervous beyond her imagination, waits impatiently for a child she’s never met before. She’s only seen the one photo Sam sent her via text, a happy brunette girl with one of her top front teeth knocked out.

Finally, a child with a gaudy pink backpack walks up to her, lacking caution for a stranger, looking up at her, wide eyes assessing. Andrea thinks, idly, that this kid might have a future in the boardroom someday. She pushes this wayward thought away and focuses on interacting with the child.

“Are you my mom’s friend?”

She nods, hunched over somewhat to better speak to her. “Yes.”

“What’s your name?”

“Andrea Rojas.”

“I’m Ruby.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Ruby,” she says, wondering if the child even believes it.

“I’ve never met you before.”

“I could say the same about you.”

“And you’re picking me up?”

“I am.”

“Why?”

She bites her lip in thought, determining what’s acceptable to say to a child. “Because your mother and I are friends.”

The girl—Ruby, she reminds herself—seems to accept this response before taking Andrea’s hand in hers. She glances at their now joined hands before looking back at the young girl. The young girl with the same hazel eyes with specks of green and gold.

“Okay. Can we go get McDonald’s on the way home?”

She frowns. “Are you old enough to know your own address?”

Ruby stares blankly at her before she asks, “Have you ever met a kid before?”

Andrea smiles despite herself. In lieu of answering, she simply tightens her grip around Ruby’s hand—it’s small, petite. It’s the first time, she realizes, that she’s ever held a child’s hand. “Come on, let’s get you some McDonald’s. I’ll have you know that if your mother gets upset, it’s not my fault.”

The young girl makes a face at her. “But you’re the adult.”

Her chuckle slips out of her and she shakes her head. “You’d think,” she mutters. She has so many questions, and even more conflicting emotions. For now, however, she focuses on ensuring that Ruby is safe and taken care of. So she settles into this new caretaking role, however brief, for the child in front of her.

Her driver opens the back passenger door for the both of them and they head towards the nearest McDonald’s on the way to Sam’s apartment.

Chapter Text

She’s only been in the apartment for about half an hour, and most of it has been focused on getting Ruby settled to do her homework. A large part of her wants to walk around and investigate; try to absorb this entire life that Sam has that Andrea isn’t privy to. That was their arrangement, of course, and she’d been fine with that. But she can’t help the scratchiness in her chest that she feels when she thinks too long about this.

She tamps down the thought of betrayal once again knowing she holds no rightful position to feel this way. She pushes Sam out of the door after every dalliance, their conversations always shallow and small. Yet it’s the pang of not being told, of being the last to know, that strikes her in her chest. Always scoring last, being last. 

She shakes out of her downward reverie, wanting to focus on watching the young girl. Ruby’s profile is the younger version of Sam, through and through. When the girl looks at her and asks her a spelling question, she finds Sam in the similar hazel eyes, in the cheeks, in the nose. The crooked smile on this kid, toothless as it may be, broadens just like Sam’s. She is truly her mother’s daughter. Andrea doesn’t know what to do with that. 

Before long, Andrea hears the sound of the front door unlocking, but she doesn’t move, knowing that it’s Sam entering her own home.

She glances at Ruby who has stayed in her spot at the dining table with homework sheets splayed in front of her.

Andrea folds her hands in front of her and waits quietly as Sam comes into view.

“Hey,” Sam says, voice soft, and a little breathless. She offers Andrea an apologetic smile just before standing behind Ruby’s chair. “Hi, sweetheart,” she says, leaning down to give her daughter a kiss on the cheek. She straightens back up and looks down at Andrea with an unreadable expression on her face. “Um, how’d it go?”

“Fine.”

Sam appears sheepish, such a departure from the commanding presence of the woman in her bedroom, and it unnerves Andrea to see Sam in this way. Sure, she’d thought of the woman in other ways, but nothing like being a mother . “I hope she didn’t give you trouble.”

“She was fine. She insisted on McDonald’s, so I bought her a Happy Meal. But I supersized everything as a reward.”

Sam's face blanches slightly, an awkward chuckle escaping out of her pouty mouth. “You’re kidding.”

Andrea turns to Ruby who’s now watching the two of them. “Tell your mother I don't lie.”

“Mom, Miss Rojas doesn’t lie.”

She smirks and Ruby beams, apparent pride on her face to have impressed one Miss Rojas.

“Are you…colluding with my daughter?”

“You mean the daughter I’m only finding out about today? Then yes.”

“Andy, please. Can I just—”

Not wanting to listen to Sam, she quickly turns to the child. “Good luck with your homework, Ruby. It was nice to meet you.” She offers her hand to the girl who takes it and gives as good a handshake as a ten year old might possess.

“Goodbye, Miss Rojas. Thanks for my Pokemon toy.”

Andrea stands, shrugs her coat back on, buttoning it up and heading straight to the door, her stiletto heels clacking against the apartment’s wooden floors.

She pulls the door open, but Sam covers her hand on the handle.

“Can we please talk?”

She turns her nose up. “What’s there to talk about? We only have sex with each other and nothing else.”

“Andy, come on. It’s not like that.”

“So we do more than that?”

“Let me explain. Please.”

“This is just more than what I signed up for.” When Sam frowns at that, Andrea follows it with, “I need some time to think, alright? I'll text you when I'm ready.”

Andrea waits expectantly, prepares for Sam to push. But nothing comes. Sam eyes her—studies her, really—before sighing and stepping back and dropping her hand to stuff in her pants pocket. “Okay. I’ll wait.”

Andrea walks out of the apartment and heads straight down the steps of the brownstone. She does not turn around, resists the temptation, knowing that Sam has yet to close her front door; she feels Sam’s eyes on her.

Her driver pulls up right in front of her, rushing to open the door for her. She adjusts herself to get in, placing her sunglasses as she does so, her eyes glazing over with tears that dare not spill; all far away so Sam can’t see.

—

“She has a daughter,” she says on the phone while she eats her lunch during her regular call with Veronica three days after having picked Ruby up from school.

“Who? ”

“Sam.”

Veronica is silent then, whatever she’s rummaging for somehow stopping. “Shit. Really? ”

“Would I lie about something like this?”

She can only imagine how hard Veronica is rolling her eyes at her. “How’d you find out? ”

“She called me to help pick her daughter up from school.”

“What? ”

She takes a sip of her water hoping it was something harder, attempting to gather her thoughts. “Mm. Something about her babysitter having an emergency and the school being strict about pickup times.”

“So you actually went and got the child from school? ”

“What else was I supposed to do? Leave the child in the lurch?”

“No of course not,” Veronica started, her voice coming out slightly garbled, no doubt from having lit a cigarette in her mouth. “I’m just wondering why she called you.”

At this, Andrea sighs. This is perhaps the most mind-boggling part of it all. She and Sam never spoke of anything deeper or important to them or their lives. Everything was surface level, or at least she’d thought, mostly about shared interests in the bedroom. So to have been the most trusted person in Sam’s life…

"She said that she didn’t trust anybody in this city but me.”

The silence stretches on the phone between them. She places her fork down, having lost her appetite as she waits for her friend to say something.

“I just know you’re dying to say something, so out with it.”

“I mean, that’s pretty big, right? ”

Another sigh escapes her lips and she leans back on her desk chair, lunch now fully abandoned. “I don’t know.”

Veronica hums. “Well, what did she say when you talked to her? ”

At that she pauses. “I didn’t. I left as soon as she came home.”

“Now why would you do a thing like that ?”

What she says is, “I just wanted to leave.” What she hides is, For reasons I can’t shake, I felt betrayed. “I just told her I would text her when I was ready.”

“What do you need to be ready for? ”

“This is not part of the arrangement we agreed on, Ronnie. Keep up. If I wanted to fuck someone with strings attached, I would have already done so.” 

Her best friend clicks her tongue, the noise loud enough for Andrea to hear. “Fair enough. What else ?” 

She sighs. “There’s nothing else, alright? We’re supposed to lead separate lives and just have sex. She’s just breached that between us.” 

There’s an enduring silence between them, and Andrea wonders if Veronica has hung up on her. It’s not until she hears muffled shuffling on the other end that informs her that she’s still on the line. 

“Far be it from me to judge when you cut baggage loose, but I’ve known you a long time, so I know there’s more.” 

“You’re irritating,” she huffs, not wanting to express any more of her jumbled thoughts. 

She hears Veronica snort, no doubt shaking her head and Andrea’s heart sinks. “And you’re a stubborn bitch sometimes, you know that?”

—

Their usual Friday night rendezvous comes and goes without a single message exchanged between them. Sam, it seems, is true to her word in giving Andrea time.

That same weekend, Andrea goes to a bar somewhere downtown to try and take her mind off of Sam and her daughter. She secludes herself in a corner booth with a sharply dressed man and his five o’clock shadow. He fits the mold of the men she likes to bed and she’s ready to settle with him for the night until she thinks she catches sight of a familiar figure.

She glances up, craning her head to get a better look. Yet who she finds is some kind of imposter, a nobody. She sighs, leaning back into arms that don’t feel good anymore.

Sam doesn’t have the market cornered for tall handsome women with dark brown hair. She doesn’t. Yet, when Andrea is reminded of the other woman, her thoughts of the man beside her vanishes and she’s left wanting nothing more than to go home and hide under the covers.

“Want to get out of here?” he asks, placing kisses on her neck.

She shakes her head and makes a move out of the booth. “No, I don’t think so. I’m gonna get going, though. I have an early morning.”

Ignoring his outraged calls after her, she rises to her feet and leaves alone.

—

She texts Sam the following Friday inviting her to lunch. She’s surprised to find Sam agreeing, offering up the same Mediterranean restaurant they once bought take-out from as neutral ground.

To say she's nervous is a truth Andrea is not willing to acknowledge. Regardless, she sits in her chair with the napkin over her lap and her fingers fiddling with the stem of her wine glass.

Right at their agreed time, Sam walks in, scrunched blazer sleeves pushed up to her elbows. Her hair is in its classic middle part, and Andrea shoves down the fact that she’s missed seeing her. The way her smart outfits fit her form so well, accentuating her height, her leanness. How Sam is effortlessly beautiful in simple shades, in light makeup. 

“Hi,” Sam says, a tentative smile on her face. “How are you?”

She tilts her head, giving an uncharacteristic shrug of her shoulders. “Fine. Busy. How’ve you been?”

It’s perhaps busier than Andrea preferred, but she appreciates it so as to drown out the awkward silence that now settles between them.

“Good. Well, for the most part.”

“Oh?”

Sam leans back in her chair, elbows resting on the armrest of her seat. “Sure. Didn’t think I was ever going to hear from you again.”

“I told you I’d reach out when I was ready.”

“And you’re ready now? You had to take a week to get ready?”

She bristles at that, but tries to maintain her composure. “What was I supposed to think, Sam? You’re a mother.”

“What does that have to do with anything? I fucked you just fine before you knew.”

She scowls at the woman across from her. “I signed up for consensual sex with no strings, not babysitting.”

It’s Sam’s turn to glare at her, leaning forward, her eyes darkening in anger. “If I had any other option, I would have taken it. Do you think I would have called you without warning like that if I did?”

“What, so the thing you said about being the only person you trust, was that a lie?”

Sam rolls her eyes. “God, of course not! Which means that I really had no options if the most trusted person in my life is someone who knows nothing about me except for how long I can last in bed.”

She’s just about to respond when a server appears and asks for their orders. She prattles off an order and Sam does the same, thankful for the mild reprieve. She’s not even sure why she’s fighting Sam for any of it. They don’t owe each other anything, she knows, but for one reason or another she feels like she has to push Sam just so the other woman pushes back.

“Look, I’m sorry I blindsided you. I know we’re not—” Sam pauses, gesturing between them, “—I know that’s not what you signed up for. And I know I owe you for bailing me out. But what I’m not gonna do is feel bad about or apologize for not telling you about her.”

Andrea takes Sam’s words in, processes them, before sighing to accept the truth. Sam’s right and whatever other feelings Andrea feels about the whole thing is hers to contend with alone. 

Their food comes and somehow it’s like they’re returning to the corners of their boxing ring, cleaning up and regrouping.

She stabs at her chicken just as Sam bites into her pita bread, the two of them sitting in stilted silence.

She takes a deep breath and takes a sip of her iced tea hoping that it helps to clear her mind just as it clears the dryness in her throat.

“So tell me now.”

Sam’s head shoots up at that. It seems that she’s not the only one surprised at her words. “What?”

“About her. Tell me about Ruby.”

Sam furrows her brows. “Seriously?”

She sighs and rubs a spot on her temple. A large voice in her head booms in telling her to pull back, pull away, to abort this reckless mission. Yet, I don’t want to lose Sam…as a bed partner, she reasons with herself. Because that’s all there is to it, right? 

“You’ll find I’m the farthest thing from motherly, but she’s clearly an important part of your life. And I want to keep having our consensual sex with no strings. So if this is something to adjust to just so I can keep what I want, then so be it.”

Sam laughs then, her head tipped back even as she shakes her head. “First of all, you sound like a robot. This isn’t a business deal, Andy. I’m literally your fuck buddy. Second of all, you do realize that this is technically a string. And a pretty big one at that.”

Andrea throws Sam a pointed look. “It doesn’t have to be. My asking about your daughter doesn’t have to mean anything more than just making small talk, Sam. It’s like when I tell you how much I abhor your choice of drinks.”

“It’s not even remotely the sa—”

“Sam,” she interrupts, leans forward. “I know she exists; fine. That cat’s out of the bag. The question is, are you going to stop coming over when I text?”

Sam purses her lips, those hazel eyes darkening slightly as she shakes her head. “No.” 

“Then that settles that.”

—

They’re in Andrea’s apartment just after lunch doling out half-assed excuses to return to work. They barely make it through her door before she’s pushing Sam’s shoulders down until the woman is kneeling in front of her. She gasps when Sam laps up her pent-up frustration from the past week with the flat of her tongue and two fingers dipping unceremoniously into her cunt.

They go again twice more, this time in bed, her appetite for Sam somehow having grown after her first orgasm. She almost requests the use of her favorite cock and harness, but she stops herself, enjoying too much the feel of Sam inside of her—two, then three fingers deep.

When they finish, they’re a tangled mess of sweaty skin, tired limbs, and heaving chests. She is brimming with satisfaction.

“Fuck,” she breathes out. “We had sex two weeks ago.”

“And we’re having sex now, what’s your point?” Sam asks, an arrogant smirk plastered on her face, one Andrea is more than keen to wipe off her smug face.

“You can leave.”

“Oh, Andy.” Sam turns to her side, pushing herself on her elbow and giving Andrea a kiss that starts from her shoulder, to her neck, to her jaw, until those lips that carry the scent of Andrea’s come kiss her soundly on the mouth. “You can’t fool me.”

—

They return to their arrangement. For the most part.

Somehow she’s become even more insatiable with her time and desire for Sam, their biweekly meetups quickly transitions to every week instead. 

Every Friday, Sam is hers for the taking.

Every Friday, Sam gives and gives and gives. 

For her part, Sam rarely makes a comment about anything, following through as she’s done since Andrea learned about Ruby’s existence. Though there are times, perhaps due to exhaustion or to the veil of the night, something slips through about Ruby, about glimpses into Sam’s life. It should anger Andrea, the way Sam’s carelessly sharing details Andrea doesn’t want. Yet something deep in her chest settles when she catches glimpses of Sam’s whole other life outside of Andrea’s master bedroom, something akin to sediment floating back down to the bottom of the ocean floor.

One night, she throws caution to the wind when she asks after Sam’s daughter.

“Where is your daughter when you’re with me?”

Sam’s fingers stop when she’s buttoning up her shirt halfway up. “What? Why are you asking that?”

She itches for a cigarette with the way Sam’s looking at her, a combination of confusion and incredulity. “Humor me.”

“She goes to her grandparents’ house every weekend outside the city.”

“Your parents?”

“No, her dad’s.”

“Where’s he?”

Sam studies her, always studying her, before crawling onto her side of the bed. Andrea resists thinking about that notion even as she sinks further into her own side, hugging a pillow against her chest. “He died a while ago.”

She opens her mouth to apologize, because that’s what’s polite, but Sam’s hand covers her lips. 

“Don’t say it. He was an asshole.”

Andrea should stop while she’s ahead, but the way Sam’s features form into a tense and angry frown, has her going against her better judgment. She takes her middle knuckle, gently draws it back and forth to smooth out the lines on Sam’s forehead when she asks, “What did he do?”

Sam wraps her fingers around her wrist and stares at her, eyes searching. “Do you seriously wanna know? It’s not pretty; not exactly pillow talk material.”

“I’m asking, aren’t I?”

So Sam opens her mouth and tells Andrea that she’d fallen into a relationship with her boss at a law firm when she had been a paralegal right out of college. Some guy who had recently made partner, twelve years her senior. He’d gotten her pregnant not too long after they began sleeping together. She found out she was pregnant not three months after getting together. She wanted to abort because she was still so young, but he insisted that she keep the baby. They tried to make it work off and on for the first four years of Ruby’s life. Except they were always fighting, mostly he was antagonistic and verbally and emotionally abusive. He never laid a hand, but he’d done damage to her emotionally. When she called it off for good, he’d fought her for full custody just to spite her.

When Andrea’s jaw drops, Sam only lets out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, like I said: asshole. He’d used his connections to his advantage and kept me tied up in court. It was such a disruption to Ruby for the four years after that. Then, he’d gotten blackout drunk and wrapped his Benz around a telephone pole.

“His parents tried to fight for custody because they didn’t know just how much of a piece of work their son was. But some godsend from his law firm leaked some stuff about him and it came to light that he was a raging asshole and a lowlife criminal, that they couldn’t really fight me on it. So now I have her, thankfully, but I’m not about to burn any bridges for any support and family Ruby can have.”

At a loss for words, Andrea’s only offer of comfort is her hand caressing Sam’s back, their bodies pressed close to one another. Sam sniffles before roughly wiping at her face.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to dump that on you.”

“Stop. I asked.”

Sam turns to face her, something she wants to say on the tip of her tongue, but she holds it and Andrea is left to wonder what it could be.

“I should go.”

She doesn’t stop her, knows a run when she sees it. Instead, she leans back onto the headboard, her hands folded on the pillow on her lap. “Next Friday, then?”

Sam leans forward and kisses her on the cheek, just missing her lips. “See you then.”

—

Their arrangement continues, but something in Andrea’s heart unclenches. She knows what it is, of course. Has known its presence for some time now, only shoving it into its cage when Fridays roll around just so she can set it free for a time.

She shouldn’t want it—any of it, or so she says. At least, it’s what she says to Veronica when they’re coming out of their spin class downtown one Sunday morning.

Veronica narrows her eyes at her when they make their way to a nearby cafe for brunch. “Then call it quits.”

“It’s not that easy.”

Her friend scoffs at her just as she puts in an order for drinks. “Isn’t it? She’s just your fuck buddy. So tell her you found someone else to fuck around with.”

She winces at the words, trying to cover up her reaction with a long sip of water. Truth be told, that hasn’t been true in so many months, Sam fulfilling her every sexual need with relative ease.

“Unless you’re hesitating because she means more than that.”

She grunts. “That’s asinine.”

“What’s asinine is keeping a fuck buddy for months and thinking that’s normal. You’re not even sleeping with anybody else. Whether you like it or not, you’re in a relationship. So if you want out, then just break up with her.”

It should be so easy, no?

Andrea is poised to think more about what Veronica’s said when she hears a yell for her name.

“Miss Rojas!”

Their heads, along with the other patrons sitting outside, turn to the sound of the voice. It’s from a ten year old girl rushing towards her from the opposite side of the outdoor seating area of the cafe.

“No fucking way. Is that the kid?”

“I need you to behave.”

“Fuck—I make no promises.”

Ruby makes it towards their table in no time. Andrea is once again struck with this child’s inability to enforce any kind of self-preservation measures for herself. “Hi, Miss Rojas.”

“Hello, Ruby. Where’s your mother?”

"There you are!” Her head snaps up to find Sam catching up to them. Her heart rate picks up speed at the sight of the other woman: dazzling her in the light of day with hair pulled back in a ponytail and faint color on her cheeks. “You’ve gotta stop running away, baby.”

Ruby cranes her head up to look at her mother. “But I found your friend, Miss Rojas.”

Veronica looks at her and mouths, friend? She kicks Veronica under the table.

“Hey, sorry. I didn’t even realize she remembers what you look like.”

“Are you gonna introduce me?” Veronica interrupts, leaning back on her chair and resting her arm on the back just as she crosses her legs at the knee.

Andrea glares at her before plastering on her best attempt at a smile. “Veronica Sinclair, Sam Arias. Sam, this is Veronica.”

She watches Sam extend a hand to Veronica who clasps it slowly. “Pleasure,” Veronica offers, a predatory smile on her face.

“Nice to meet you. Sorry again for the interruption.”

“Why don’t you join us?” Veronica asks, and this time, Andrea visibly scowls at her.

“Can we, Mom?” Ruby pipes up from under Sam’s hold of her shoulders.

“No, no. Let’s leave these nice women to their food. Maybe next time. Say goodbye, Ruby.”

The little girl sighs in defeat before she waves at them. Andrea offers her own, foreign a feeling as it may be, until her eyes are drawn to follow Sam’s retreating form holding onto her daughter’s hand. They’re gone from view in no time, and only then does she return her attention to her table. However, when she does, she’s struck with Veronica staring pointedly at her.

“Well, I get why you can’t let it go if she looks like that.”

“Stop talking.” Her friend’s only response is to howl in laughter.

“Break up with her and let me at her.”

The thought alone makes her skin blaze in disdain, the thought of sharing Sam with anybody else too terrible a possibility to even consider.

—

The tempest of her emotions that conflict and confuse her leads Andrea to believe that she needs to cut her losses, unwilling as she is to admit it to herself. Her attachment to Sam has gone on long enough. She decides that this Friday, she’ll break it off.

Except when the following Friday arrives, Sam has brought over dinner for the two of them and chatted mindlessly about the traffic jam on the way to her penthouse.

The words we should stop are on the tip of her tongue, but when Sam kisses her in greeting, they disappear as if she’s swallowed them down.

Instead of breaking up with her fuck buddy of almost three seasons, she wraps her arms around Sam’s neck. The pair of them stand in the middle of her kitchen where she languidly explores the mouth of the woman she’s grown to know expertly all these months.

She’s meant to cut ties of the growing strings of their relationship that are suddenly wrapping around every limb. But when Sam asks if she wants to hang out with her daughter because Ruby has been asking after Miss Rojas, Andrea means to say no, I have no interest in spending time with you or your kid.

Except she agrees, even doubles down when Sam stares at her in shock and asks, are you sure?

She’s not sure, not in the slightest. But the words tumble out of her mouth without permission, a final string winding its way around her neck like a noose.

—

When Andrea calls Veronica to tell her about Sam’s invitation and her consequent agreement to go, her friend simply laughed herself to a coughing fit before hanging up on her without saying a single word.

—

She accepts the invitation for a pizza dinner with Sam and Ruby somewhere midtown. Her driver drops her off in front of the pizza parlor just as the mother-daughter duo are crossing the street right in front of her. 

Ruby rushes up to her, so reminiscent of how she’d run towards her at the cafe, but stops just before colliding into her. “Hi, Miss Rojas.” 

“Hi, Ruby.” 

“I got a B in my project. The one that you helped me with.” 

She arches a brow, glances over Ruby’s shoulder to where Sam’s watching the two of them. “That was a while ago.”

“You left a lasting impression.” 

She purses her lips before returning her attention to the child in front of her. “Are you blaming me for your low grade?” 

Ruby’s just about to respond, when Sam steps in. “I think what she means is that she’s really proud of her grade and she would have gotten something worse if not for your help.” 

Andrea quirks a brow before chuckling. “Congratulations are in order, then.” 

“Hey, Miss Rojas—” 

“You can call me Andrea.” 

“Hey, Miss Andrea, how much do you think your slice of pizza is gonna be?” 

Andrea faces Sam with a pointed look. “Why does your daughter keep asking me how much something costs?” 

Sam only shrugs, placing a hand on her back as they begin walking towards the pizza parlor. Andrea congratulates herself for not reacting to the warmth of Sam’s hand on her. “Well, according to her, you’re the most interesting person I know, so. Also for reference, a slice of pizza is, like, four bucks.” 

Her eyes bulge out. “That’s insane. Are we about to eat cardboard?” 

Sam nudges her forward with a laugh in her chest before the pair of them trail after the kid. 

—

“So how do you know my mom?” 

She directs an arched brow towards Sam who shrugs behind her daughter. “She worked for my father.” 

“Does she work for you now?” 

“No.” 

“I’m turning 11 in a month.” 

“Ruby,” Sam warns, but it seems her daughter is barreling forward without any sense of decorum or tact. Andrea easily blames the child’s father. 

“Is that right?” she asks with a quirk of her brow. 

“Yeah. We’re going to the park and having a party there. My mom promised me a piñata because I told her I’d be too old after this year.” 

“Is that right?” she asks, throwing an amused look towards Sam. 

“That’s right,” Ruby responds. “Then we’ll have churros.” 

“That sounds like you’ll have a good time.” 

“Can you come? We’re friends now, too, right?” 

“Ruby,” Sam, voice gentle but edged, places a hand on Ruby’s shoulder. “I’m sure Andrea has a lot of things she needs to do.” 

Andrea turns to look at Ruby. “What day is your birthday?” 

“The 17th. It’s a Friday.” 

“A Friday,” she hums, pretending to be deep in thought. Her gaze lands on Sam. “I’m normally quite busy on Fridays, but maybe if you ask your mother, I can make an exception.” 

Sam worries her bottom lip between her teeth. “Only if you’re sure.” 

“I’m sure.” 

Ruby’s attention volleys between them and accuses them of being so weird before taking a bite of her pizza slice. Sam cracks first and grins even as she shakes her head, and Andrea, finding herself helpless to resist this mother-daughter duo, smiles back. 

—

The pizza dinner leads to a gelato trip just a few blocks away. Ruby walks just ahead of them, the two adults but a step behind. 

“You ever been here before?” Sam asks, nudging her by the elbow. 

“No, can’t say gelato lands high on the list of destinations that I have.” 

“It’s been in Metropolis for 97 years. Three generations of the same family run it. They’ve never changed the recipe even once and only sell the same eight flavors. The great granddaughter is apparently poised to inherit the shop in the future, so she’s already learning the ropes from her parents. It’s a real family operation.” 

She throws Sam a curious stare. “I didn’t take you for a historian of gelato establishments.” 

Sam throws her a half-hearted shrug. “Yeah, who knew I would be so layered a person, huh?” 

“You’re certainly one surprise after another.” 

The other woman shoves her hands in her pockets, her elbow grazing Andrea’s arm in the process. “Ruby’s so smart and so curious about the world, I just want to keep up. When I told her that little tidbit, she spent a week wanting to make our own gelato shop. I had to tell her that if we set up our own restaurant that we would put this one out of business, and who were we to ruin a family’s tradition.” 

“How’d she take it?” 

“Like a champ. She even said that we can’t break up their family like that,” Sam says with a watery chuckle. “Sometimes I wonder how she gets to be so good considering all that we’ve put her through.” 

Without thinking too hard about it, Andrea loops her arms around Sam’s bringing the two of them closer. “I don’t have any positive parental experiences to draw from, but I’ll tell you now that you’re doing better than you think.” 

“Yeah?” Sam asks, glancing down at her. 

“Take it from someone with divorced parents who chose every vice instead of actual parenting, you’re doing better than you think,” she repeats. It’s too late to take back what she’s shared, but from the softness of Sam’s face when she smiles down at her, Andrea thinks it’s a small price to pay. 

They get their own bowls of gelato before tucking themselves in one of the back picnic tables available, Ruby and Sam on one side with Andrea sitting opposite them.  

“How’s your gelato, Miss Andrea?” Ruby asks with a mouth full of strawberry gelato. 

“Rubes, what’d we say about talking with our mouths full?” 

Andrea fights the smirk on her face when Ruby responds, still with her mouth full. Sam can only shake her head, for the umpteenth time today, her small plastic spoon digging into her cup.

“Good?” Sam asks her, nodding towards the small cup of pistachio gelato in her hand. 

“I can see why they’ve stayed in business for a hundred years.” 

“You can just say you liked it, you know,” Sam comments with a teasing smirk on her face, dragging the spoon down from her mouth after taking a healthy mouthful of gelato. 

“I could,” she shrugs, and leaves it at that. 

“Have you ever had gelato before?” Ruby asks, her back straight as she leans forward, a certain level of seriousness on her face that Andrea notices. 

“I have. I had fresh pistachio gelato like this in Rome just last year.” 

“Where’s that?” 

“Italy.” 

“Where gelato was invented?” 

“Yes.” 

“Next time you go, can I come with you?” 

“Ruby…” Sam warns. “You can’t just invite yourself to things like that.” 

Andrea taps her foot against Sam’s, signaling that it’s fine. Because it is. Because she’s already accepted having dinner with a mother and her daughter despite everything being uncharted territory for her. 

“You’ll have to ask your mother, and it’s only if you behave and maintain the best grades possible.” 

The young child frowns at that, her eyes settle on her cup, thinking. It’s far too reminiscent of when Sam watches her, studies her. 

“You had to bring up Italy,” Sam muses. 

She shrugs. She didn’t have to, but she did. She’s finding that this outing has been an exercise in all things she didn’t have to do but is still doing. She’ll have to think about this later in the comfort of her own home and not the sticky outside tables of this gelato place. 

—

Andrea offers them a ride home courtesy of her driver. Ruby is passed out between them.

Sam reaches for her, a hand gently circling her wrist. “Hey.” 

Her sights first fall on Sam’s hand on hers, then wordlessly, she glances up to Sam, whose features she can only see in between the faint glow from the streetlights that they pass by. 

“Please don’t feel pressure from a ten year old who has no sense of boundaries. I’ll let her know you’re busy at work or something that day.” 

She furrows her brows for a second until she remembers their earlier conversation about Ruby’s upcoming birthday. “Do you not want me to come? All you have to do is say so, Sam.” 

“It’s not that.” 

“Then what is it?”

Sam sighs, her fingers caressing the inside of her wrist even as she stares down at her daughter. “Doing this—it’s different now, right?” 

“Why?” 

“Come on. It’s not just me anymore here, Andy. And you know it.” 

Before she can reply, Ruby rouses from her sleep, Sam’s hand rubbing her back as they push out of the backseat. 

“Thanks for this, really,” Sam says, though her face remains masked. 

“Well, it’s not my usual dinner plans, but it’s not like I didn’t enjoy myself.” 

“Rubes, honey, why don’t you go up first, and get started with your bath. But first, what do you say to Andrea?”

The girl, daring in all the ways Andrea has never thought of herself to be, throws a hug around her waist, her chin resting on her abdomen. “Thanks for having pizza with us. For my birthday, you don’t have to give me a present. But if you do, I really like Wonder Woman stuff.” 

“Ruby!” Sam admonishes, but Ruby just giggles to herself before rushing to the front door of their building. 

“She’s a handful.” 

“Don’t I know it.” Their bodies instinctively turn to face one another, with Sam taking a step forward. 

“I’ll see you Friday?” she asks, her voice even, face tilted up to look Sam in the eyes. 

“Sure thing.” 

Andrea manages to not push up on her tiptoes, but only just, when Sam leans down and closes the gap between them. The kiss is slow, languid; it is now also a reality set outside the confines of her bedroom. She doesn’t lock her arms around Sam’s shoulders, like her body craves to do. Instead, she steps back and pulls her lips into her mouth; her body tingling with the sensation of want and desire despite not once being touched.

Oh, yes. Things are different now. 

—

She lets out a groan, her hands scrabbling for purchase around Sam’s back.

They’ve kissed before, of course. Plenty of times, plenty—countless, even—of kisses. Yet Andrea is searching for something, hunting for something, but uncertain as to what it is. 

Her brain is blank when Sam pulls back and unsheathes Andrea’s favorite cock from inside of her, carefully releasing the harness off to the side. Sam is sidling back up to Andrea as she brings their faces together that Andrea finds what it is that she’s been looking for. 

It is the same slow and languid kiss she’d received last week outside of Sam’s building, right outside of her car, for all the world to see.  

“Go again?” Sam asks on the exhale, interrupting Andrea’s thoughts, before pushing herself up on her elbow. Her other hand travels up the contour of Andrea’s exposed side, her sweat cooling on her skin. 

“In a minute.” 

Her mind struggles to make sense of why she wants it, least of all from Sam, so Andrea settles for the next best thing. She brings her own hand to trail up from Sam’s back to then wrap around her neck, pulling the woman above her to kiss again, their mouths perfectly slotting in place. 

—

Andrea cinches her robe around her waist, her naked body appreciating the cool touch of silk. She looks on as Sam buckles her belt before putting her long sleeve blouse back on, pulling her long hair from underneath. 

“Hey, so next Friday,” Sam starts to say as they make their way to the front door.  Andrea tenses at that, but remains quiet. “Ruby’s grandparents are gonna be out of town.” 

“Will you need to cancel? Reschedule?” she supplies, unsure of where this is going. 

“Probably.” 

“I’m sure I can manage one week without you,” she says offhandedly. Sam’s face scrunches before shaking her head. 

“Well, I was maybe thinking you might wanna join us for lunch on Saturday. Nia, Ruby’s regular babysitter, can watch her for that night, I think. So the weekend doesn’t have to be a wash is all I’m saying.” 

“Sam…” she warns. 

It is then that Sam places her hands up in surrender, a tired chuckle coming out. “Thought I’d float it out there.” 

Andrea follows Sam to the door, her hand on the handle, her back facing the slab of the wood. Sam places her feet in her boots before placing her hands on Andrea’s waist.  

“Alright, I’ll text you in a couple of weeks,” Sam says, leaning down and kissing her. Andrea’s hand automatically lifts up to cradle Sam’s face, the chaste peck transforming to a long parting kiss, Sam’s body closing in on her as her back hits the door. 

Her eyes flutter open slowly, Sam smirking at her. Sam then places a more chaste kiss on her lips. “Bye,” she whispers. 

“Bye.” 

When she is alone once more, Sam long gone, Andrea stares at the light navy blue cardigan that Sam left on the back of her couch. 

She frowns at it, her thoughts tripping back onto a memory not too dissimilar from this one. Except it’s not a cardigan, but a sleek bomber jacket. Except it’s not Sam’s face, long and bright and handsome, but a bearded and angular face of the only man she’d ever truly loved. 

She remembered how he always placed his jacket on her couch instead of the coat closet despite her many reminders. It was a game they played, to see who could irritate whom more about it. 

She had done everything right by him, had followed all the steps she thought would secure their future together. They were in love; he’d promised her the world and she’d believed him. They were good together. Even her dad agreed when she’d introduced him to her only remaining family.  

They were good together. Until they weren’t. 

Until she began feeling his distance from her. 

Until he found her exhausting. 

Until he complained that she was controlling, that she needed to ease up, that she was suffocating him. 

Until he found someone who could give him what he needed. 

How could it be that she was too much, that her love was too much, that her love smothered instead of soothed.

The frown on her face deepens. She shakes her head to get rid of images of him. She’s not going to make the same mistake. 

She leaves the cardigan on the couch and walks back to her room. 

—

“How’s playing house?” Veronica asks, the woman entirely too comfortable in Andrea’s home to place her feet on the coffee table, precariously holding onto her stemless wine glass filled with red wine. 

She sighs, remembers that Veronica is truly her only real friend in Metropolis. “Nobody’s playing house.” 

“No? So you haven’t gone out again with the mom and her kid?” 

“Of course not. We see each other regularly for stress relief and not much more.” 

“But you want more.” 

She scoffs, the idea so preposterous. “Not in the slightest. Families and relationships aren’t exactly things high on my list. I work busy hours and my attention is focused on Obsidian. Anything else is not a priority.” 

“Alright, fair enough.” 

“But she did invite me to lunch with her and her daughter next Saturday.” 

“No shit.” 

“Yes shit.” 

Veronica laughs, but she sits up from her hunched posture. “Please tell me you said yes.” 

Andrea quirks a brow. “What part of ‘not a priority’ do you not understand?” 

Her friend studies her for a long moment and then shakes her head. “Fine, I suppose. I mean, if you’re not gonna go, I can, right?” 

“You don’t know her.” 

“We met a couple of weeks ago, if you recall.” 

“I don’t.”  

Veronica places her glass on the table and leans forward. “Come on, share the wealth. A little eskimo sisters action or whatever they call it.” 

She tenses in her spot on the couch, her grip tightening around the stem of her own wine glass. The idea of Veronica digging her claws into Sam is preposterous and grates on her every nerve. She hates her friend for even suggesting it. 

“Please stop talking. I’m not giving you her number.” 

“Why not?” 

Because she’s mine, is on the tip of her tongue, but knows that that’s not quite right.

“I just cannot imagine in what universe you two would ever get along.” 

Her friend lets out a cackle, her own piercing eyes staring into Andrea. “Life is full of surprises, Rojas. It’s not like you have any business with a woman like her, but she let you in just fine. Who’s to say she wouldn’t let me in. Unlike you, I’m not afraid of a little commitment.”

“I’m not afraid of commitment. I just have no use for them.” 

“You keep telling yourself that,” Veronica mutters, the matter closed when she rises to her feet and walks over to the kitchen, no doubt for another refill of wine, and leaving Andrea to her thoughts. 

—

It’s Friday night again, the week having passed by in a strange combination of slowed blur. Every day she stepped into her office and sat through meetings and answered emails and put out fires, yet she hardly remembers any of it now. 

Now, she’s just sitting at the bar nursing a whiskey neat between her hands, as her eyes scan the mirror behind the bartender’s head. She ends up catching the eye of a beautiful woman at one end of the bar, with her tight dark curls and her dark olive complexion. The woman lifts her glass and so does she. 

The woman reminds Andrea of days gone by, of alcohol-induced nights when she first started working, pushing herself to the limit because she could, because she had nothing to worry about, because she was untethered. 

How much has changed? she wonders. How is she meant to consider the truth that her life has changed so little after a decade? 

With a growing frown, Andrea downs the rest of her drink, the spice of it blanketing the descent down her throat. In any other instance, when she drops the bill under her empty glass and rises to her feet, it’s so that she can approach the woman who’s now staring intently at her. 

Instead, and for reasons she can’t think too deeply about for fear of what she discovers, she turns on her heel and walks out of the establishment only to go home to an empty and quiet penthouse. 

—

It’s just shy of 1 AM when she slumps into the center of her bed, nestled deep under her covers, her pillows on either side of her. She stares at her phone. 

This is a terrible idea, she knows. This can’t possibly end well. But the alternative seems worse, seems she’s already living. That, she’s afraid, she’s not sure she can handle. 

What’s another string? What’s another string if she’s the one who puts it there this time?

With a worried lip between her teeth, she pushes her head into her pillow while she holds her phone to her ear and waits. It takes four rings when a voice answers the call. 

“Andy? What’s wrong?” Her voice comes out gritty with sleep, but rushed with concern. Andrea can’t decide how to feel about that. 

She exhales, shuts her eyes until she’s practically seeing white spots behind her eyelids. “What time is lunch tomorrow?”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line and a bit of rustling. A click, perhaps, maybe a lamp being turned on. 

“Noon.”

“Text me the address.” 

“Of course.”

She hears a long and audible exhale on the other end of the line. Her eyelids flutter open and her gaze is now focused on the blank whiteness of her ceiling—a view she’s seen countless times, but somehow never once paid attention to. There’s a thin hairline crack just above her. She’ll need to call someone to take a look at that sometime. 

“Goodnight, Sam,” she says after the long quiet between them. It doesn’t seem that Sam is all too bothered by it. 

“Goodnight, Andy.” 

—

She walks into the Tex-Mex restaurant with Sam and Ruby already seated at the table. She waves the hostess to stay put when she catches sight of the two of them immersed in some kind of conversation with each other. 

Ruby is the first to see her, the little girl’s face brightening when she’s spotted. That’s not the welcome Andrea’s familiar with or accustomed to receiving, the surprising warmth of it blossoming inside of her. However, it’s when Sam turns in her seat and flashes an identical bright smile that causes a mild stutter in Andrea’s steps, covered only by having just arrived at the table when it happens. 

“Miss Andrea!” 

“Hello, Ruby.” 

The brightness of Sam’s earlier transforms to a soft smirk, and Andrea has half a mind to roll her eyes. Sam greets her by standing up and kissing her on the cheek, a hand on the small of her back that has Andrea leaning to the touch. “You find the place okay?” 

“Mm. Well, my driver found it just fine.” 

That elicits a small laugh from Sam before the taller woman pulls the seat for her. 

“What counts as passable here?” she asks, catching the way that the mother-daughter pair glance at one another. The two of them then lean closer to her and begin pointing at the different points of the menu. 

“They have really tasty quesadillas, Miss Andrea. That’s what I’m gonna get because they put extra cheese in them if you ask really nicely,” Ruby says, pointing at a picture of the offending dish on the menu. She does her best not to make a face, one that makes Sam chuckle beside her. 

Sam places a hand on her shoulder, her fingers gently scratching the area right by her shoulder blades. “We can order a few dishes and just share, family style. How does that sound?” 

“Alright. That’s better than trying to figure out this menu.” 

The server arrives with their waters, a young college-aged boy wearing a shirt with a printed sombrero on the front. Sam points to a few things on the menu, along with Ruby’s quesadilla. 

“What made you decide on this place?” she asks, now having had a chance to inspect the establishment. The table is slightly sticky, so are the floors, and there are paper decorations hanging all over the place. It’s a far cry from the restaurant bar that she and Sam frequent, so different from the life that Andrea knows. 

“It’s our favorite!” Ruby announces, a proud smile beaming up at her. 

“Why is it your favorite?” she asks, turning her attention to the younger girl.

“They have really tasty quesadillas for me and good margaritas for Mom.” 

She quirks a brow and looks at the woman beside her, one who is sporting a gigantic grin and is now leaned back onto her seat, her fingers drumming against the table top. “Is that right?” 

Sam only shrugs and takes a sip of her water. “What can I say? The finer qualities of higher echelon restaurants that you and I know are lost on the palate of a child who considers cotton candy ice cream as the best flavor.”

Soon, their food arrives along with a margarita for each of them and a horchata for Ruby. She grimaces when she takes a sip of her bottom well tequila, but Sam only laughs, her hand resting casually on Andrea’s wrist, her forefinger lightly caressing her.   

She grabs hold of a small corn tortilla in one hand before scooping a small portion of the meat dish into it before rolling it in a small makeshift taco. When Sam just watches her, she stills in place. 

“What?” 

Sam only shakes her head. “Nothing, nothing.” 

She stays relatively quiet during lunch, mostly watching as Ruby and Sam talk about how good the food is here. Later, she drags out her confession that the food is quite good to the approving high five of both Sam and Ruby.

When all is said and done, she’s full and warm from the food and the drinks. When the server comes with the check, she’s already pulling for her purse, but Sam only places a hand on hers. 

“No way, Andy. You’re our guest. We’re paying.” 

She relents only because Sam’s thumb brushes against the back of her hand as she passes off her card towards the server. 

“Mom, can we get bubble tea on the way home?” Ruby asks. 

“I don’t know, Rubes, I think you’ve had enough sweets.” 

“What’s bubble tea?” she asks. Suddenly, two pairs of eyes stare at her. Ruby’s, in particular, bulges out and an excited grin appears on her face. 

“You’ve never had bubble tea, Miss Andrea?” 

“I can’t say that I have, no.” 

Just then, Ruby turns to her mother and brings two hands up together. “Mom, please, can we get some? Miss Andrea has never had it and I want to be the one to show her what it is.” 

Sam tilts her head and fusses with her daughter’s hair. “You’re sneaky.” 

Andrea pipes back up. “Can someone tell me what it is?” 

“You’ve done it now,” Sam says. “Don’t worry, Ruby will tell you.” 

Ruby grabs hold of Andrea’s hand and she lets her, throwing a glance at Sam who only shrugs and walks beside them. Andrea finds out exactly what bubble tea is a few minutes later, after allowing the ten year old to drag her three blocks in front of a small Asian tea shop. 

She and Sam order some type of fruit tea with tapioca pearls while Ruby orders some milky tea concoction that looks far too unhealthy for Andrea to determine if that ought to be allowed for children. 

“She’s gonna freakin’ crash later, I just know it,” Sam says before taking a sip of her own drink. 

“You could have said no.” 

Sam angles her head to stare at her. “And have Ruby lose out on the experience of teaching you what bubble tea is? What kind of mother do you think I am?” she jokes. 

The question strikes something inside of Andrea, a memory of a mother who’s walking out of their home and out of her life for good never to be seen again until well into adulthood.

It’s not until a warm hand grasps her wrist that her mind jolts back to the present, Sam’s rich brown eyes staring at her in concern. “Where’d you go just now?” 

She shakes her head, the answer too personal to share, too raw. “Nowhere.” 

“I’m all ears, if you ever decide to talk about it. I have it on good authority that I am a good listener.” 

“Oh, and whose authority is that?” 

Sam observes her for a bit longer, but relents when Andrea flashes her a small smile. Then, Sam nods towards her daughter. “That girl narrates her entire day to me every afternoon and quizzes me about it.” 

She chuckles in amusement, leaning her body so it presses to Sam’s side as they walk down the street. “She runs a tight ship.” 

“That she does.” 

—

She stares up at the familiar steps of the brownstone, the last time she was here had been months ago, when she first picked Ruby up from school. 

“Do you wanna come in or…” is this another string you don’t want? her head fills in for the unspoken words. 

“For a bit.” The response seems to surprise Sam so Andrea begins to climb the steps following Ruby who unlocks the door for them both. She remembers the dining table where she spent time with Ruby eating fast food and working on her class project, but not much else, her mind too focused on all that had happened that day. 

She’s ushered towards the living room where an oversized sofa takes up the center of the room. “Make yourself at home, I’ll be right back.” 

She can only nod before she’s left all alone in the living area. Her eyes scan the room, a tasteful and minimalist aesthetic that feels warmer than her home. Her legs take her towards the bookshelves on either side of the entertainment console where she becomes privy to photographs of Ruby and Sam through the years. There’s one when Ruby is an infant in Sam’s arms. Another where Sam and Ruby are celebrating Ruby’s 8th birthday. Another where Sam is holding onto a younger Ruby carrying a backpack. 

There are other photos, too. One of Ruby and who Andrea assumes are her grandparents. Then there is one that Andrea pauses in front of, even going so far as to take it off the shelf. It’s an image of Sam and a group of friends, a woman with shoulder-length blonde hair kissing her cheek as Sam holds up a cupcake in front of her. 

“That was several years ago, when I turned 30.” 

She startles, but doesn’t quite jump, when her head spins and finds Sam standing right by the couch. She then walks closer until her front is practically pressed to Andrea’s back. Andrea lets Sam hold onto the frame with her fingers held in between. 

“Law school friends of mine took me out to dinner so I could forget about the lawsuit for a bit.” 

“They sound like good friends,” she comments, her gaze on Sam who’s still staring at the image. 

“Yeah. It was good to forget and celebrate something.” 

Andrea allows Sam to place the frame back on the shelf. She allows Sam to wrap her arms around her waist until their fronts press into one another. She also allows the dip of Sam’s head so their lips slot perfectly into one another. She allows for the kiss to deepen, even a smidgen, before she’s pushing Sam’s chest back. 

“Your daughter is here.” 

“She’s busy showering so she can get ready to stay over at Nia’s tonight.” 

She arches her brow. “Presumptuous.” 

Sam lets out an amused huff through her nose. “Oh, so you only joined us for lunch?” 

“Maybe.” Andrea shrugs, slowly wrenching herself out of Sam’s grasp. 

“Well,” Sam starts. “If you only wanted to hang out with me and my daughter, you could have just said. I could still cancel the sitter.” 

Of course Andrea knows that Sam is a little shit. Somehow she can’t escape personalities like that, what with Veronica Sinclair being her best friend as the largest glaring evidence, so when Sam slides her phone out of her pocket, Andrea is already back on her. 

“You cancel that sitter and you can forget ever having me ride your face.” 

The beauty of Sam’s laughter is that it is easy and unrestrained, giving it so freely. Which is what she’s doing now for Andrea, her laughter filling the space around them before Andrea allows Sam to sweep her back in her arms. Their kiss is a barely contained smile against a feigned scowl meeting in the middle. 

Her arms wind up around Sam’s neck, her hand cradling the back of Sam’s head as Sam blindly walks her back to the arm of the couch where her ass leans rests on it. She hums into Sam’s touch, her fingers fiddling with the hem of Andrea’s blouse just as her mouth traverses to the column of Andrea’s neck. For her part, Andrea tips her head back just enough to give Sam access. 

Heat pools in her core as Sam’s mouth and hands and everything begin to overwhelm her. Her legs weaken and she props more of her weight on the couch, glad that the arm rests high enough for her to slouch some without losing the height that she shares with Sam. The kiss deepens but it does not rush, the two of them slow in their exchange even as she opens her mouth when Sam’s tongue teases the seam of her lips for entry. 

They break apart just in time to hear Ruby rustling around the corner, no doubt finished with her shower. She doesn’t realize that they’d been settled there for that long, not until Ruby finally appears in the living room. The moment between them dissipates when Ruby enters the living room with wet hair dripping onto her shirt and the floor. 

“Miss Andrea, do you wanna watch Tangled with us?” 

She turns her attention to Sam, seeking guidance, but Sam only stares back at her and lets her decide on her own. 

“Sure, Ruby.” 

The young girl beams up at her and grabs hold of her to sit in the center of the couch. For her part, Sam simply takes her spot by her side and watches the whole scene between the two of them unfold. 

It’s only when she asks what is Tangled? that Sam throws back in laughter and Ruby falls into a long tirade about how it’s the most amazing movie that Disney has ever released. 

Andrea listens to the young girl beside her explain the lore of this movie that eludes her. Meanwhile, she accepts the way Sam’s hand travels comfortingly up and down her back. 

—

Shortly after the movie ends, the babysitter appears. 

Sam gets up from her spot on the couch just as Ruby continues to chat Andrea’s ear about the other Disney movies they’ll have to watch next so that Andrea can better understand who all the princesses are.

“Say goodbye, Rubes,” Sam says. 

Ruby already has her pink backpack on when she throws her hands around Andrea’s middle when they’re standing right by the threshold. 

“Bye, Miss Andrea. Don’t forget, my birthday is in two weeks.” 

“Ruby!” 

Andrea’s brows rise up to her hairline, but offers the young girl a smile. “I’ve already made a note of it on my calendar.” 

The young girl beams up at her before grabbing hold of the babysitter’s hand and tugging her out the door and down the steps. 

Andrea is the first to walk back to the living room with Sam in tow. The same space that she just spent the last couple of hours watching an animated musical she’d never seen before. Who is she becoming? 

Yet when Sam wraps her arms around her and places a nuzzling kiss on her neck, Andrea decides that the answer to that question can wait. 

“Bedroom,” is all she says, and Sam untangles from her, only to allow herself to be tugged to the master bedroom.

Chapter Text

Sam’s husked praise rings out by her left ear, the harsh exhalations causing such tingling sensations up all over her body, loving how well Sam’s weight pins her down just as two long and expert fingers thrust into her in motion with her hips, fingers plunging themselves into Andrea’s sensitive core. Like an unquenchable thirst, Andrea desperately yanks her head closer to her so that Sam’s mouth is colliding with hers. One hand cradles the back of Sam’s head so she stays in position while the other gropes the taller woman’s ass, pulling at it for more, loving the feel of Sam’s thigh between her own.

She signals her impending orgasm by wrapping her arms around Sam’s back while her legs cross at the ankles and rest on Sam’s ass, toes curled in anticipation. Andrea is pulling Sam closer just as she’s ready to come undone, like doing so will allow her to keep herself together. It doesn’t work, of course, because Sam knows her body better than she does, knows how to play it, how to touch it, how to make it tremble. 

Their gazes are only on each other, ragged breaths intermingling with their faces mere millimeters away from one another, their eyes focused on each other, It’s as if looking away will break concentration, will break the tether they have together in this one crucial moment in time. 

Sam’s thumb presses down on her clit, Andrea’s entire core slippery with her arousal. Her hips hump into Sam’s hand, using her core to meet every single thrust that Sam makes. When she finally—blessedly—comes, it’s to Sam’s fingers scissoring deep inside of her, orchestrating an ongoing orgasm that stretches with every buck of her hips, her core and her legs working to get even closer. 

They are a union of bodies, Sam deep and penetrating while Andrea is open and wanting. 

When it becomes too much after a long and intense minute, Andrea pries her hand from the fist she has pressed into Sam’s spine, unfurling her fingers until she’s gently tapping Sam’s hand to stop, to pull away. Sam does as told, careful in releasing her hold of Andrea, her fingers gentle as they move. 

Sam brings her fingers up between them, the shine of Andrea’s cum so visible. Andrea watches in fascination, and a little bit of embarrassment, if she’s honest, when Sam takes her index finger only and puts it in her mouth, sucking and licking it clean. Then, in a move that Andrea will not soon forget, Sam brings her middle finger down just right in front of Andrea’s mouth, a quiet and expectant look on her face. 

Without a second thought, Andrea opens her mouth—willing and accepting—and mirrors Sam, sucking that long finger clean. 

Sam smiles down at her before dipping her head down so their lips touch, slotting perfectly into place as they slide against each other. She opens her mouth to Sam’s tongue, her taste coating their palates. Her hands stay on Sam’s back, her legs tightening over Sam’s backside. She wants to bring Sam closer, into her, a wish to coalesce as they bring their breathing back to equilibrium. 

If Andrea had been capable of thought at that moment, she would have soon realized the weight behind every stroke, every movement, every action given and received. She would have soon realized that this was no longer just sex; that it was so, so, so much more. 

—

“Andy?” 

She purses her lips in thought, eyes focused on watching the distant clouds from out of her window while she lounges in her bed, her naked torso in full display. Sam has taken the spot beside her on the bed, already fully clothed. 

“Andy.” 

Andrea slowly turns her head to meet Sam’s eyes. “I’m thinking.” 

Sam’s easygoing laugh easily fills her bedroom. 

“Stop thinking so hard. It’s literally just lunch with me and Ruby. She wanted to check out the street market happening today in lieu of lunch, so I figured we could make a day out of it or something.”

She makes a face. “You want me to willingly go outside and spend time with you and your progeny?” 

“In fewer words, yeah.” 

She audibly breathes out through her nose, which seems enough to make Sam chuckle to herself before taking Andrea’s hand in her own, and pulling it into her own lap. 

“Look, I’ll even cook dinner tonight just to sweeten the pot.” 

The mere thought of spending an entire day with one person—and their child, no less—is already a joke. So a dinner would have been an equally laughable suggestion that Andrea shot down without a second thought had this been a regular arrangement with anybody. But it’s not a regular arrangement, and Sam isn’t just anybody. 

She doesn’t immediately respond just to bask in Sam’s hopeful face sitting in anticipation for a few long beats. It’s only when she sighs deeply, exaggerating, relenting, that Sam’s face breaks into a massive smile, bringing her head down so their lips meet. 

“Go wash up and get dressed, I’ll call Ruby and let her know our plans.” Sam kisses her again before bringing one of her hands up and kissing it. 

—

Walking around the streets of Metropolis doesn’t rank high on Andrea’s list of activities to do, not now, and definitely not with anybody she’s ever dated before. Now that’s a funny thought considering she and Sam are not dating. 

Yet, here she is, standing beside the woman she regularly sleeps with and her daughter. If Veronica could see her now, she thinks. 

Sam takes the lead with Ruby where they show Andrea some food stall options for her to consider that won’t be such a massive threat to her arteries. Eventually, the group settles in line to a meat skewers food stall. They buy a whole bouquet, it seems, by how much Sam is prattling off to the vendor. When the vendor announces their total, Andrea is already pulling her wallet out of her purse when Sam places a hand to stop her. 

“Put that thing away. You must be insane if you think I’m gonna let you pay for today.” 

That does something inside of Andrea, but she relents, and does as she’s told, offering Ruby a small smile beside her. When they get the stack of meat sticks, they resume walking through the street market, Sam happy to carry the foil for everyone. 

“I’ve never been to something like this before,” she says, offering this piece of herself willingly. She’s almost just as surprised as Sam beside her when she realizes what she’s done. 

“Street markets?” 

She shrugs, her eyes focused on the back of Ruby’s head as Ruby walks in front of them. “No, I mean anything like this in Metropolis.” 

“Why’s that?” 

“Just never thought to put down roots here or bother exploring beyond what bar or restaurant to go to with prospective clients or investors.” 

“That’s bleak, Andy,” Sam comments, a half smile on her face even as she nudges Andrea by the elbow. 

“Yes, well,” she manages, taking a bite out of her overdone skewer. She makes a face. “This overcooked beef is not exactly engendering me to reconsider.” 

Sam laughs then before stopping Andrea with a gentle hand on her arm. “Well, I hope that tough beef aside, you find something here worth exploring.” 

The look Sam gives her is more than what she bargains for, and tries to say as much, when Ruby pipes up in front of them, gathering their attention to the dessert food stall that the little girl is pointing at. 

— 

“What’s been your favorite so far, Miss Andrea?” Ruby asks just as she attempts to lick her ice cream to keep it from dripping onto her hand. 

She hums, thinking about it for a second. She’d say none of it was all that good, but shattering the illusion for a ten year old was not ranking high on her to-do list today. So she settles for, “I enjoyed the funnel cake, even if it was a guilty treat.” 

“My mom says that guilty treats aren’t real and anybody who believes in them are woosees. Right, Mom?” Ruby asks, glancing at her mother, the ice cream successfully having trickled onto Ruby’s hand. Then she turns and tilts her head back up to Andrea. “You’re not a woosee , are you, Miss Andrea?” 

“Oh, I’m most definitely not one, but maybe your mother thinks I am.” Andrea lifts a challenging brow towards Sam’s direction who has enough good graces to look horrified before offering a sheepish smile. 

“There’s no need to learn how to repeat that word, baby,” Sam says, pointedly looking at her daughter before glancing back up at Andrea. “And I did not say that. What I said was guilt shouldn’t factor in things you enjoy. It’s fine to enjoy things and not punish yourself for it. That’s all.” 

“Then I suppose guilt doesn’t factor into how much I’m enjoying watching you squirm, woosee or not.” 

“Alright, alright. You’re not a wuss and I definitely deserved that,” Sam sighs before rolling her eyes and leaning in to peck Andrea on the cheek. 

—

They’ve just about hit the end of the street markets towards a makeshift restroom area. Ruby shoots off to use it leaving Sam and Andrea trailing behind her. They perch themselves a few yards from the entrance just to make sure Ruby sees them. 

“Hey, listen, I know this isn’t your normal bag,” Sam comments, one hand gesturing all around them before it lands on Andrea’s arm, tugging enough so Andrea uncrosses her arms from her chest. “So I just wanna say thank you. You had fun, right?” 

She hums in thought, not quite saying anything, but letting her body get pulled until they’re almost pressed upon one another. “I could think of worse ways to spend my day, sure.” 

Good natured, Sam rolls her eyes and brings a hand up to brush Andrea’s hair out of her face. “You’re so particular.” 

“You’ve never complained,” she teases. 

“Oh, no. I love that about you.” 

Her eyes broaden in surprise when she hears the word, rattling her very core. Yet just before she can say or do anything, Sam’s phone buzzes in her pocket, interrupting them. 

“Shoot, sorry. Let me get this, it’s one of the partners. Just watch out for Ruby, alright?” Sam steps away, releasing her hold of Andrea, pressing a finger into her other ear to listen better. Andrea watches Sam’s back facing her, and she sighs, glad for the short reprieve as she attempts to gather her thoughts that Sam would like, let alone love , anything about her. Just then, her own phone buzzes, this time with a call from Veronica. 

“What do you want?” she asks. 

“Whoa, tiger. See if I invite you out ever again.” 

“Empty threats.” 

“We can talk about that later. But for now, where the hell are you? It’s kind of loud.” 

She crosses an arm over her chest while her other elbow rests on it. “I’m out.” 

“Out where?” 

She rolls her eyes despite knowing that her best friend can’t see her. “At a street food market.” 

“By yourself? ” 

“No, of course not.” 

She hears Veronica’s crackling laughter from the other end of the line. “ Bitch, stop making this into 20 questions.” 

“Sam invited me out.” 

“Like a date?” 

“No, definitely not. Her daughter, Ruby, is with us—” At the mention of Ruby, she whirls in her spot and tries to look for Sam’s brunette daughter, failing to find the little girl by the bathrooms. When she searches for Sam, she’s still on the phone a few yards away. “Shit, V, I’ll call you.”

“Wha– ” 

She hangs up and rushes towards the bathroom, calling out for Ruby. Yet when all the other people stare at her, some yelling for her to get to the back of the line, she pays them no mind and rushes towards the stalls to find the little girl. 

Shit! Shitshitshitshit running through her mind as she exits out of the bathrooms and scans the crowd. She begins walking around the area, letting her legs take her where it goes while she tries to calm her thundering heart knowing that panicking won’t do her any good. Images of Ruby hurt or lost or taken start to fly through Andrea’s imagination, each one pushing her further into a frantic search for this child. 

She walks back and forth, knowing that she looks somewhat deranged, but Ruby is nowhere in sight. 

Trembling, she speeds off towards Sam, hands gesticulating wildly as she remains on the phone, hoping against all hope that her daughter is by her side. When Sam, still on a call, happens to turn on her heel and come face to face with her, something about the look on her face has her hanging up on her own call. “Andy, what’s wrong?” 

“Where’s Ruby?” 

Sam’s eyes widen in alarm. “What do you mean? Hasn’t she come out of the bathroom by now?” 

“I—I’m not sure. I haven’t seen her. I ended up getting a call, and…I was looking for her but I couldn't find her. Sam, I—” 

“You were supposed to keep an eye out on her!” Sam snaps, her face darkening with emotions, shutting her phone off as she begins to march away in search of her daughter. 

“She’s your daughter,” she argues, though she knows her words come out weak, even if combative. 

“She’s ten, Andy! You give a kid an inch, you know they take a mile!” Sam then shakes her head. “Fuck. Did you check the bathroom?” 

“Yeah, she’s not in there.” 

Sam doesn’t respond, simply bolts towards a direction yelling out for Ruby with Andrea rushing after her. 

“God, I know she does this—I shouldn’t have turned my back on her,” Sam mutters beside her as they make their way the length of the markets. They search the larger perimeter of the bathroom with hopes that the young girl hasn’t ventured much farther from the bathrooms and that they had simply missed one another. 

Andrea’s heart rate spikes higher until she catches a glimpse of a brown haired girl talking to a street vendor. “Ruby!” 

She grabs hold of Sam’s hand and the two run into a few people until they reach a stall selling egg custards where Ruby has been obliviously and delightfully chatting with the vendor.

“Oh my god, Ruby,” Sam says, releasing her hold of Andrea and pulling her child in her arms. “Why did you run off like that?” 

“I didn’t see you guys outside, so I thought I would go looking for you. Then I stopped here because they put faces on the eggs.” 

“What did I tell you about walking off like that?” Sam envelopes her daughter in her arms, exhaling a relieved breath that Andrea mirrors. 

“Sorry, Mom.” 

Andrea takes her wallet and gives the vendor who has been watching the whole thing a few bills for her troubles of inadvertently watching over a kid. When the woman looks up at her questioningly, Andrea waves her off with a small appreciative smile on her face. 

Suffice it to say, the trip back to Sam’s apartment is a quiet car ride home, Andrea having insisted on hailing a ride for them. 

“Thanks for coming with us, Miss Andrea,” Ruby says, hugging Andrea. 

“You’re welcome.” 

“Rubes, go upstairs and get cleaned up.” 

The young child runs to the top steps of the brownstone, opening the door without a second glance back to the grownups. A more awkward silence settles over the two adults as they watch the young girl disappear through the doors. 

“Your daughter has no sense of self-preservation,” she notes, breaking the silence. 

Sam’s strained laugh settles uncomfortably between them. “Yeah, she does that. I’m working on it, though. I’m sorry she worried you.” 

She shakes her head. “Don’t apologize to me. If anything, I should apologize to you for almost losing your daughter.” 

“You didn’t lose my daughter. She’s fine.” 

“She may be fine, Sam, but I’m not.” 

“I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier. I just—” 

“It’s not that,” she says, though her face is tense and her jaw is clenched. 

“Hey, come on, talk to me,” Sam says, placing her hands on Andrea’s biceps, gently caressing her. Andrea simply shakes out of her hold. How can she say that she’d never felt fear like that before? How it caused her heart to thunder in her chest from worry, the slew of worst cases flashing through her mind at the fact that she had meant to keep her eyes on Ruby and failed to do so. How, regardless of whatever it is Sam is saying now, the look of sheer panic and anger on her face was something that Andrea wasn’t able to wipe from her memory any time soon.

“I’m gonna go.” 

“Andy…” When Andrea doesn’t immediately respond, Sam only sighs. “Alright. Text me later?” 

She barely throws a nod before walking away. 

—

Veronica sidles up next to Andrea at the bar, quiet with every move. From the corner of her eye, she sees her friend gesture to the bartender. Meanwhile, she stares at the crystalline glass of her drink in front of her. 

“I almost lost her daughter.” 

Veronica, thankfully, doesn't say anything. She simply takes a sip of her drink before angling her chair to swivel towards her direction. 

“That’s why I hung up on you. I was supposed to be watching her walk out of the bathroom, but I answered a call from you and walked away so she couldn’t see anybody familiar.” 

“Well, if we’re laying blame, you can argue that it’s also my fault considering I called.” 

She glares at Veronica whose face has remained placid. “Stop. I’m not in the mood. I’m having a hard enough time as it is being responsible for Sam almost losing her daughter.” 

“But you didn’t.” 

‘But I almost did.” 

“You and I both know ‘almost’ never counts. What’s this really about?” 

She sighs, deep and long and frustrated. “She invited me to go to some street market. And I went. That’s—I don’t even recognize who I am anymore.” 

“Is that so bad?” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Come on, Andy. You can’t seriously be thinking that this is somehow all that surprising. You’ve been dating this woman for months.”

“We’re not dating. It’s literally just sex.” 

“And a trip out with her daughter at a street market, decidedly something outside of the bedroom.”

“I should have stopped it when I found out about her daughter.” 

Veronica shakes her head. “It’s not about the daughter, you know.” 

“No, it’s not. I’ve only ever wanted—” She stops herself, realizes with a frown that she doesn’t know how to end that statement. She’s only ever wanted what? She’s wanted so much, has been left wanting all her life. For love, for companionship, for family. She has only wanted, but what has that ever gotten her? 

—

For the rest of the week, she fills her days with work at Obsidian, even canceling on Veronica for lunch. It’s not what she wants, but she needs to reassess what it is that she does want.

On Thursday night, just after a long day at work, she enters her apartment and immediately beelines for her drink bar. She fills a glass three fingers deep and gulps half of it, staring out at the stunning night lights of Metropolis outside of her window. 

Her phone buzzes in her hand and it startles her when she finds a message from Sam. 

Are we meeting tomorrow?

She gulps down the last of her drink before replying, her mind and heart in a tempestuous fight with each other. 

Something’s come up. I’ll text you after this weekend to catch back up next week. 

She watches the three dots appear at the bottom of the screen, blinking up at her. She almost expects a massive text, with how the three dots had gone on for a while. So she shakes herself of the disappointment when she finds four lousy words in Sam’s message, even though she knows she has no room to feel that way. 

OK. Just text me 

—

When she wakes up on Saturday morning, her head is throbbing and her muscles ache. Perhaps, most notably, she is not alone in bed. For a split second, she wonders when Sam had come in only to discover that the person beside her has short auburn hair, a far cry from the person she expected. 

The woman shuffles around, moving the covers off of her to reveal her bare chest save for some intricate calligraphy tattoos. She then greets Andrea good morning, no doubt in a voice meant to seduce her, but all it leaves Andrea is a grating noise echoing in her ears. 

The stench of alcohol and the stickiness of dried fluids on her skin is enough for her to know what she’s done. She vaguely recalls any of it, just that this woman was there where she needed her to be and the rest became a blur of hands and mouths. 

She reminded herself that despite the growing mistake the night had turned out to be, that it was her mistake to make because she lived her life for herself and any choices she makes is hers to do without interference from others. That if she wanted to sleep with anybody else, she could and nothing or no one could stop her because she wasn’t dating anybody, wasn’t beholden to anybody, wasn’t promised to anybody. 

So why is it that a cinder block of guilt appears in the pit of her stomach? Why does her body burn from the thought that she’d somehow committed wrongdoing, had committed some type of betrayal?

Andrea practically shoves the woman out of bed and out of her apartment, a taintedness washing over every square inch of her own home. 

She scrubs her body raw and red in the shower, the heat of the water aiming to cleanse her of the touches of a woman she doesn’t know. When she walks back into her bedroom, she changes her sheets, and throws them all in the laundry, hoping to rid herself of any reminders of what she’s done. 

When she heads over to Veronica’s house for dinner that same night, she recounts what she’d done with as much nonchalance as possible. Because this is a non-issue, after all. 

She announces after their meal that she’s most likely going to break things off for good after the child’s birthday party. It’s for everyone’s own good; their arrangement has run its due course. 

Her best friend simply stares at her with equal parts shock and disappointment, eyes boring into her so hard that Andrea wonders if there’s a hole on the side of her face. She snaps, demands to know what Veronica is looking at before yanking the cigarette from her friend’s hand. But Veronica only blows smoke in her face. 

—

The week that follows leads up to Ruby’s birthday. Andrea has washed herself of the past weekend, eager to put it past her. She braves a phone call to Sam, squaring her shoulders and clearing her throat. 

“How was your weekend?” Sam asks. 

“Fine.” 

“How’d that thing go?” 

“What thing?” 

“You said something came up. Is it all good now ?” 

She falters, recalls the woman who woke up in her bed and how so different she was from the woman Andrea’s talking to now. “Uh, yeah. That’s—it’s fine. It was less of an issue than we thought.” 

“Good. So, what’s up?” 

Andrea takes a deep breath. “Where is Ruby’s party being held?” 

A long moment stretches between them that has Andrea checking if Sam’s still on the line. “I’m here, I’m here. I just— ” 

“What?” 

“Just surprised you’re still going.” 

“You don’t want me to go?” she asks, a frown beginning to form on her face. 

“It’s not that, Andy. You ran away pretty fucking fast last time you saw us. And something came up this weekend. You haven’t texted me in days. I just…figured you’d be done.” 

This is an out if she ever saw one, an opportunity to lay to rest what she should have done months ago. But the softness in Sam’s voice, the tinge of resignation she hears in her words, forces Andrea to pivot. 

“I promised your daughter I’d attend.” 

“Alright. She’d love to see you.” 

Just her? Andrea wonders before chastising herself knowing that this is the last thing she ought to be thinking or asking herself. 

“Send me the address,” she redirects, before hanging up. She leans back on her office chair, her phone’s edge tapping against her chin, as she loses herself in her thoughts. So much so that it takes Louise two buzzes into her office to see if she’s ready for her upcoming meeting. 

—

On the day of Ruby’s birthday, Andrea finds herself standing at the edge of the park entrance, holding onto a large bag that contains a handful of smaller wrapped boxes. She’s dressed in a more casual marigold pencil skirt and a white blouse, something that she hopes is appropriate for a child’s birthday party. She’s making her way towards the group of children and parents alike at a picnic area of the city’s central park with pink balloons tied to the ends of the tables. Two white balloons of the number 11 float prominently. 

A wayward thought appears on the edge of her mind as she begins making the short trek, one that reminds her in not so subtle terms that this entire ordeal is such a far cry from the regular social circles she inhabits. She entertains the notion of dropping off the bag and leaving, but decides that she will behave, if only so as not to make a scene. 

Of course, despite wanting to blend in, it’s Ruby who catches sight of her first, calling out for her. “Miss Andrea! You came!” 

The little girl rushes towards her,  arms quickly circling her waist, with Sam following not too far behind. 

“I said I would. Now, I brought your presents,” Andrea says, offering the bag of gifts to Ruby. “Happy birthday, Ruby.” 

Ruby hugs her again, happy to receive the hefty bag of presents, her eyes dancing with anticipation. 

“What do you say?” Sam asks, catching her daughter by the shoulder before she gets a chance to run off. 

Ruby smiles up at her. “Thank you for coming to my party and thank you for my presents.” 

“You’re welcome,” Andrea says, offering the young girl a matching smile. 

“Now, go put that bag away with the rest of the gifts,” Sam instructs, to which Ruby obliges, seemingly happy to grow her pile of presents to open later. As the birthday girl’s departure, it leaves the two women to stand on the outskirts of the larger party. “Sorry about that.” 

“She’s the birthday girl, she can do whatever she wants.” 

“Mm, I suppose,” Sam intones. Then, she says, hi, and leans down to capture Andrea’s lips before Andrea realizes it’s even happening. It’s quick, the kiss, gone in a flash, but it throws Andrea off kilter enough that she steps back, her eyes searching the party for anybody who sees. 

“Don’t give people the wrong idea about us.” The words come out harsher than she intends, her defenses building up quickly. 

The shock of her terse comment is apparent on Sam’s face, her dark brows climbing high on her face as she registers Andrea’s words. “And what exactly would that be?” 

“That we’re together.” 

Sam’s face breaks into a frown, but Andrea only begins to walk away as she beelines towards the drinks table where she hopes for something alcoholic even knowing that there will most likely not be any strong liquor at a child’s birthday party. 

—

Andrea attempts to sequester herself to the farthest picnic table, nursing a light beer courtesy of one of the dads somewhere, probably. Her eyes trail after the scene before her, parents mingling with one another, wearing capri pants and cargo shorts as children run around shrieking and laughing. 

Her thoughts meander to possibilities of a life gone by, if she and her exes could have had this at all. Would she have become some type of suburban mother rushing after snotty young children with perpetual dirt on their faces and under their nails? She can hardly process it now, knowing that all she’s done for the better part of a decade is grow her business, follow in her father’s footsteps the best she could, and become a force of nature. A force of nature amongst her colleagues and peers—in boardrooms and bars, mingling in galas and VIP suites. She rubs elbows with dignitaries and foreign investors, not parents with sticky children. 

Before her thoughts can spiral even further out of control, a woman sidles up to her and asks her how she knows Sam. 

Not wanting to explain to this woman their rather risqué arrangement, she simply answers, “We know each other through work.” 

If the woman considers Andrea’s reply to be curt, she doesn’t make a note of it, simply barrels on with the conversation. One that turns to observations mused aloud about an older mom, someone by name of Jennifer, flirting so much with Sam. 

“What?” she asks, her face narrowing on the woman’s face before she follows the woman’s gaze towards where Sam is standing in front of a shorter woman with blonde hair. Andrea catches Jennifer placing her hand on Sam’s bicep. She frowns at that, though she holds herself together, gripping her glass tightly in her hand. 

“Yeah, Jennifer is the newest addition to the neighborhood, she has twins.” 

“Okay…” 

The gossip beside her simply barrels forward. “Heard she was recently divorced from her wife. Haven’t been here but a couple of months and is already trying something. She works fast, I’ll give her that, but I don’t think Sam will be all that receptive.” 

“What do you mean?” she asks, her voice coming out raspier than intended. 

“Sam is quite infamous for turning the single parents down whenever one of these things are going on. There’s always one who shoots their shot.” 

“She hasn’t gone on any dates with anybody?” 

“Uh-uh,” the woman says. “She just turns them all down with a smile. She says that she’s focused on being Ruby’s mom, but my money is that there’s someone.” 

This woman, the one who probably has no business talking about Sam’s life so openly like this without Sam defending herself, simply smirks and pointedly looks at her. 

She thrusts her drink to the woman’s hands and departs, walking with her phone in hand to text her driver to pick her up. She ought to say goodbye to the birthday girl, but the idea of breaking up the children playing some obnoxious game doesn’t sound all too appealing. Trying to talk with Sam right now to say she’s leaving, less so. 

She’s just passed by the table of presents when she hears Sam shouting after her, catching up to her with a huff. 

“Whoa, hey. Where are you going? We haven’t sung Happy Birthday yet.” 

She scratches her forehead. Where should she even start? “I—this isn’t for me, Sam. This is one string too many.” 

“What? You’re the one who called me about where this party was gonna be.” 

“I know, but—look around, Sam. This isn’t really my type of gathering.” 

“Andy…come on, are you serious?” 

“Yes, I’m serious! Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“Because we were having a good time. We’ve been having a good time together,” she comments, her words referring to something beyond this party.  

“No! No.” She takes a deep breath and steps forward to whisper the next part, knowing that they may quickly garner an audience if they’re not too careful. By her earlier experience with the gossipy mother, she’d rather not be a part of that. “Listen, the sex is phenomenal, don’t get me wrong, but there is absolutely no future here with us. Go back to that soccer mom bimbo who’s been throwing herself at you.” 

“Bimbo?” Sam’s face scrunches until it smoothes out as soon as she realizes what Andrea is implying. “Are you jealous?” 

“What? How did you possibly get that idea?” 

“Why call a woman out there a bimbo if you’re not jealous? Who does that?” 

“I’m not jealous. How can I be when I’ve been fucking other people,” she hisses out. 

That gives Sam pause and all of a sudden, the air between them stills. She can feel curious gazes are on them now. Thankfully, as she glances past Sam’s shoulders, the children seem too preoccupied to concern themselves with adult matters. 

“What? Really?” 

“Yes, really. I—why wouldn’t I? I’m committed to getting laid, not playing house.” 

Sam takes a deep breath, both hands now holding onto Andrea’s wrists. “Hey, where is all of this coming from? What happened?” 

“This whole thing happened. I’m at an eleven year old’s birthday party, for fuck’s sake. That’s not my life.” 

“Could have fooled me.” 

Andrea shakes her head, shakes Sam’s hold of her loose. “We had a great time. But this—this is over.” 

“Andy. Can we just talk about this later? Andy. Andy!”  

She walks away, her driver already waiting for her at the curb. 

This is the right thing to do.

She leads a specific life, a particular one, and she will not have it fall into shambles by associating with someone and her child.

This is the right thing to do.

She is in charge of her life and everything about it. 

This is the right thing to do.

So why does her heart ache when she returns to an empty home, the sight of gift wrapping paper still on her kitchen counter making her cry. 

—

There’s a voicemail from Sam that she doesn’t touch. The notification taunting her, haunting her. 

—

It’s Friday night, the first in months that she has it free. Her thoughts betray her when she thinks about what Sam might be doing tonight, if she’s spending it alone at home, if she’s spending it with someone—perhaps that woman at the party. It’s a hopeless endeavor knowing that it’ll only serve to irritate her. She does it, though, her mind all too eager to remind her of who’s missing. 

She joins Veronica and some of her friends, a breezy invite her best friend passes along to her. It’s an eclectic cluster of people that join them in a VIP booth at the back of the club. The drinks flow constantly without going overboard, and the seat to her right becomes musical chairs for different people shooting their shot with her. 

For her part, Andrea simply leans forward if she’s interested, leans back if she’s not. It’s a simple method to widen or narrow the distance with the person next to her. She gives them all a fair shot, though they all are starting with a disadvantage. A disadvantage she doesn’t want to further investigate. That particular conclusion brings about a frown she can’t fully shake off. 

Tired of the small talk circling around her, Andrea excuses herself to try and enjoy herself on the dancefloor, the heat of four shots coursing through her veins, a restlessness thrumming underneath her skin. 

She sways her hips side to side, hands up by her head. Her eyes are closed but her ears are open, letting the music take over her body, her mind. Before long, she’s dancing by herself amidst the throng of other clubbers around her. Their bodies brush up against hers and she lets them, her senses alight by the heady combination of sweat and scents align with the throb of colorful lights that she sees even with eyes shut. 

Someone, a man, takes his place behind her, his front pressed against her back as they sway in rhythm to the song. Soon, a woman follows suit, this time crowding her front as their legs bracket one another. 

The beat pulses out of sync with her heart, a thumpthumpthump against the boomboomboom of the bass. She is surrounded, she is overwhelmed, and she welcomes it. Hands are running up and down her sides, she can’t tell whose is whose, where one begins and the other extends. 

A mouth makes a home on her neck, sucking and nipping while another goes in for the kill, their lips connecting in nothing but want and heat, a desire for desire to take over. She can have them if she so chooses. She can fortify the walls of her heart with every kiss and tug that they give her, each one a contributing brick as she rebuilds her walls back up. 

Except when she opens her eyes, they focus in on a woman who looks a lot like someone , over at the bar, talking to someone else. She can’t be sure, the lights playing tricks on her or maybe that’s her own mind, or maybe that’s her own heart. 

Her body loses its momentum between the man and the woman who were so eager to have her. 

She loses interest completely and she stops, standing out of place and out of rhythm with everyone else on that floor. She doesn’t bother excusing herself, simply leaves her two dancing partners to question what has happened, to wonder where she’s gone. 

Andrea throws another glance towards the bar, confirms if her eyes are deceiving her, but whatever she’s looking for there is nowhere to be found. 

She finds Veronica at the center of the booth, a woman draped on her arm on either side of her double-fisting champagne bottles. What her best friend is celebrating, she doesn’t know. All she knows is that Veronica is the vision of debauchery and hedonism. She steps towards her and leans in, just enough to be heard over the music; she tells her best friend she’s leaving. Veronica observes her, even in the dim lighting of the club. She does not squirm away, though she wants to, letting Veronica know that she’s fine, that she will be fine. 

Veronica soon releases her with a nod and a promise for Andrea to text her or call her this week. She nods and she leaves the club, glad for the fresh air when she walks out. 

—

She is hidden underneath her blankets, her head burrowed in between her pillows as she lays at the center of her bed. She opens her phone, despite herself, and scrolls through social media. She finds a picture of Sam and Ruby together from Ruby’s birthday just a week ago. She swipes through the small set of photos and at the end, there’s one with Ruby and all of the Wonder Woman stuff she got her. 

Her pulse spikes and she startles herself when she accidentally likes the post before unliking it. Seems fitting, she thinks, to fall face first into the horror of social media faux pas, a truly appropriate ending to her lousy night. 

She can’t even begin to imagine what Sam thinks about what that notification might mean, so she doesn’t. Instead, she gives into the lull of sleep, her body steeped in exhaustion. 

—

Another week passes by and she’s having dinner with some investors, happy to throw herself into her work. 

At the bar restaurant, she catches sight of Sam and her colleagues. But when they lock eyes, it’s Sam who looks away first. 

This is what she wanted, this is her vying for control of her life. 

She hates herself for it. 

—

Long and grueling days pass, and an emptiness grows in Andrea’s life—it’s just as it was before she and Sam began their sexual relationship. Yet the distinction here is that she’s emptier than empty, the absence of warmth much more apparent. 

She and Veronica are at their regular spin class, Veronica eyeing her after every set they go through. Andrea enjoys the burn in her lungs and in her legs, a wishful attempt to sweat out all the restlessness that she has been fighting for the better part of two weeks. 

“What are you moping for?” Veronica asks on the exhale, taking a long gulp of her water. 

“Have I ever been one to mope?”

“No, you just pack everything down and pretend nothing’s happening.” 

She glares at Veronica and focuses on speeding up her cycling. 

—

It’s been a month of silence. 

All of it her own doing. She doesn’t know if she can handle Veronica’s brand of tough love right now, so she hides. She even leaves Veronica on read, shirking her commitments with her best friend. 

Has Metropolis ever felt this terrible? 

The voicemail remains unopened. 

—

Andrea arrives at some corporate party for some business partners. She hardly remembers what it’s for, just catching enough of Louise’s notes of it for her and how her presence is required.

She grabs a champagne flute from the first server tray she finds already wishing for something stronger. 

She makes her presence known to the appropriate people, shaking hands and fluffing her hair, knowing her part as a business mogul. It goes fine because she’s in her element. She laughs at the right places, puts on a gentle touch on the right shoulders, quirks a challenging brow at the right times, and reminds them all that she is a force to be reckoned with regardless of the smile on her face, perhaps especially so. 

Taking a breather, she makes her way to one of the open bars and orders herself something stiffer. When she turns to scan the crowd, her eyes land on a familiar figure. Veronica is standing on the opposite side of the room chatting with someone Andrea doesn’t recognize. When the man leaves, Andrea considers heading over, her feet moving towards her friend before she’s even fully committed. 

She stops in her tracks, however, when she spots Sam sidling up next to Veronica with two glasses of wine. 

Something inside of her snaps. Then, Veronica spots her and brings her glass of wine up to greet her. Sam follows her sightline, shock apparent on her face when she sees Andrea across the way. 

She downs her drink in one gulp, slamming the glass right into the tray of a passing server, and stalks out of the hall space. 

—

Veronica is already waiting for her at their usual brunch spot that weekend, her body draped over her chair as her piercing eyes watch Andrea like a hawk. Her own face remains passive, neutral, the two friends regarding each other, Veronica already fiddling with the cigarette between her fingers.

“Ask what you wanna ask, princessa,” Veronica prods, pointing the ends of her fingers that hold her cigarette right at her. 

“Did you sleep with her?” 

Veronica snorts, a jarring sound that hardly fits the situation at hand. She then flicks the butt of her cigarette until ash flutters on the side of the table.  

“Just answer the question.” 

The sharpness of Veronica’s features come into view when she leans forward. “Why should I? I’m not the one hung up on a booty call.” 

“I’m not hu—” 

“Aren’t you?” Veronica takes a deep drag of her cigarette. “I did it to make you jealous. And by how much you’re almost ready to explode, I’d say I was pretty successful.” 

“I’m not jealous,” she huffs, fighting every cell in her body to not cross her arms. 

“You’ve always been a shitty liar, just so we’re clear.” 

“What do you want with her?” 

“I could very well ask you the same thing.” 

Exasperated, Andrea practically slams her hands on the table. “Stop talking in circles. Just say what you mean and let’s get this over with.” 

“You’ve got some nerve to ghost me for weeks and demand answers from me.” 

“What do you want me to say, huh?” 

“Just own up to your bullshit,” Veronica says with a glare. “Start with that.” 

She grits her teeth, pushing forward. “Fine. Do you really wanna know? I have feelings for her. I fucked up and caught feelings for the best fucking lay I’ve ever had, and I can’t even have it anymore. That I want to spend more of my time with someone outside of the bedroom. She has a kid and my immediate reaction isn’t how much I dislike kids, but that I wanted one particular kid to like me. Is that it?” 

Veronica takes another drag of her cigarette before leaning back. 

“I didn’t sleep with her, for the record, but I was really fucking tempted. For a lawyer, she’s a lot nicer than she has any business being, and that means that neither of us—” Veronica goes on to point between the two of them. “—probably have any business being with her. But somehow she’s hung up on you . That charity gala? That’s a warning bell. I don’t believe in any of that true love bullshit. I believe in winning. And I think in due time, I can win her over, if only to show you up.” 

“Why do you even care? What’s all this to you?” 

“Believe it or not, I give a shit about you. I’m sure that’s hard to believe considering you’ve pushed away anybody who’s ever cared about you over the years. So maybe accept this for what it is.” 

Veronica stumps out her cigarette on Andrea’s plate and vacates her seat without a glance back at her, Andrea reeling from her friend’s departure as she sits all alone with her thoughts. 

A worried server blocks her view of her retreating best friend offering to replace her plate with a new one, but she dismisses the server with a wave having lost all of her appetite. 

—

Alone at her kitchen island, Andrea places the phone face up on the counter. She finally presses the triangle play button at the top of her voicemail messages and listens to Sam’s voice for the first time in a month. 

God, you’re a real piece of work, you know that? I don’t even know why I’m calling or leaving this message. I guess if nothing else, thanks for the gifts to Ruby. She loves them. She asks about you often so now I’ve had to resort to lying to my own kid about you, so thanks for nothing for that. 

A long beat of silence plays before Sam’s voice picks back up again. 

Look, I don’t know what the fuck happened and, frankly, I kinda don’t care. All I know is that you were pretty fucking shitty about it. I know you’re probably justifying that you’re a bitch so it doesn’t matter, but believe it or not, I know you better than that. And maybe that’s what’s freaking you out, the fact that I know you better than you think I do. You’re not very good at being as closed off as you think. Like it or not, I know you. So if that’s what scares you…well, sorry to say, but you’re not the only one.

Andrea covers her face with both of her hands, pushing at her eyes to stop the impending tears. This isn’t what she wanted to happen, this is what she’d worked so hard to avoid for all these years. 

Yet. 

Yet, all she feels is hollow, all she is is a yawning cavern of love she would have endured, had they just given her a chance. Now, there's a woman who is offering all of it to her, and she has no idea what to do with any of it. 

—

She presses the green call button on a familiar profile, the last of her messages having gone unanswered. The phone rings twice before a flat voice answers her. 

“What do you want?” 

“You were right.” I’m sorry, she wants to say. 

“About?”  

“All of it.” I am an idiot, she wants to add.

Andrea hears a sigh from the other end of the line and she thinks about sobbing. “You’re a fucking mess, you know that? You’re in your thirties, darling, please get it together.” 

She does sob, an ugly mixture of her tears and a reluctant laugh, her best friend able to needle her way into her worst insecurities with all the love she can muster. Veronica Sinclair was cruel to be kind, personified. 

“What do I even do?” 

She can imagine the way Veronica rolls her eyes, even across the city, and she settles on her couch as she listens to her best friend—both a source of comfort and regret to know that she has someone, and has had someone when she thought she had no one. 

—

She visits the building for three straight days, every time she steps out of her car becomes its own barrier that her feet can’t take her the rest of the way. Surely some neighborhood watch has spotted her make a fool of herself get out of her car, pace on the sidewalk, before leaving without walking up the steps. 

It’s only after the fourth day, when a neighbor from the brownstone two doors over approaches her with a mixture of trepidation and concern that she relents and she stands right by the door. 

Still, it takes her another five minutes to gather her thoughts, her wits, and her courage to even knock.

With her breath suspended in her lungs, her fist makes contact with the door and waits. 

What she finds on the other side is Sam, hair in that classic middle part tucked behind both ears, brows knitted in confusion, no doubt attempting to make sense of Andrea’s impromptu appearance, an etch of a frown on her lips as she says, “Andy?” 

Hearing her nickname come out of Sam’s mouth is a breath of fresh air, it’s a sound Andrea doesn’t realize she craves until this very moment. 

“What are you doing here?” 

“Did you mean it?” she blurts out, barrelling forward with the rest of her question before Sam can ask for clarification. “The voicemail.” 

Sam exhales, deep and resigned, before folding her arms across her chest, the subtle cut of her biceps displayed prominently. “You’ll have to be more specific.” 

“That I’m not the only one.” 

She thinks back to the voicemail that she’s played countless times since the first time, practically memorizing the message, the cadence of Sam’s voice, the deep sigh in the middle that indicates that she’s tired of Andrea’s bullshit. It’s like a soothing balm to her as much as it douses her with the cold hard truth. 

Sam doesn’t say anything, doesn’t add anything, doesn’t help Andrea navigate these uncharted waters between them. Andrea proceeds because what else has she got to lose?  

“I know nothing about children,” she starts abruptly, lacking any poise or grace in how the words come tumbling out. “I didn’t care before, and other than Ruby, I still very much don’t care about them.” 

Still, Sam waits for her in silence. 

“I haven’t had a real relationship in years. Not since the man I thought I would spend the rest of my life with broke my heart, punished me for loving him the only way I know how, and leaving me for someone else.” 

Sam remains quiet, the two of them understanding that this moment here, the precipice of something, is one that Andrea has to take first, for herself. 

“I haven’t navigated anything beyond a one night stand or a weekend getaway in years. You’re new to me, Sam, you and Ruby. I might still run. I might honest-to-God ruin this before it starts. But I don’t think it’s possible for me to go back to who I was before I knew you.” 

Sam is quiet, her eyes discerning and studying Andrea like always. It’s a long, uncomfortable moment that stretches between them, until Sam takes a step back. Andrea has half a mind to think that Sam is shutting the door on her, until she continues stepping back enough to pull the door open. 

There’s a triumphant cry in her heart that she keeps to herself, her face remaining neutral for fear of giving herself away. Her left foot lands on the threshold knowing that when she steps foot in, it’ll never be like before. And for once in her life, she wants that. 

—

They’re sitting on the couch, a cushion distance apart from each other. 

Sam has put a cup of water for each of them, but otherwise has remained quiet. 

“I came here to apologize,” she starts, her fingers gripping onto each other to avoid twisting them. 

“For what?” 

Andrea sighs. “Everything.” 

“I need you to be more specific.”

So she takes a deep breath and starts with one: an apology for walking out on them at Ruby’s birthday party. Then another falls out of her mouth, this time for  the consequent questions the young girl has about her whereabouts. For the way she’d handled their breakup, even if they weren’t dating. For the weeks-long silence between them. For her fear of what’s to come, of her feelings that run deeper than she’d ever thought possible. 

When she finishes, she’s in tears, though she holds herself strong so as not to sob and ruin her makeup. Still, it helps ease the pinching pressure inside of her to be able to give voice to all the feelings drowning her. 

“Was that so bad?” Sam asks, the distance between them now non-existent, cradling Andrea’s hands on her lap. 

“God, yeah,” she says through a watery chuckle.

“Listen, Andy,” Sam starts. Andrea thinks that this is Sam’s way of letting her down gently, of letting her go and realizing that she’s perhaps better off. “You don’t have a monopoly on being hurt. I need you to know that right now.” 

“I know that.” 

“I—” Sam takes a deep breath. “And, I need to know if you’re serious. Because I have feelings for you, deep ones, but Ruby comes first. Always.” 

She nods. “I know that, too.” 

“And you’re ready for that?” 

“I don’t know. But I can’t keep going on like this.” 

That, it seems, is enough for the both of them. 

—

It’s a strange, yet not unwelcome feeling to lay in bed with Sam without the express purpose of having sex. Stranger still, she is in Sam’s home, in Sam’s bed, above the covers, facing one another. She doesn’t recall the last time she has done this. 

The woman in front of her has well and truly thrown her off her axis. 

“Where’s Ruby?” 

The corner of Sam’s mouth twitches into a small grin. “It’s Saturday night.” 

“Oh. So she’s with her grandparents?” 

Sam brings a finger up to gently caress Andrea’s cheek. “You know, for someone who supposedly claimed she knows so little about children, you’re awfully familiar with my daughter’s schedule.” 

“Your daughter’s schedule doesn’t change.” 

“You’d be surprised at the amount of people who can’t get that part right at all.” 

She lets out a shuddering breath, their fronts scant inches from each other, their bodies humming with a kind of energy and tension that Andrea knows can’t be solved by deep breaths alone. Rich hazel eyes stare at her with a certain fondness that Andrea isn’t accustomed to receiving. Andrea knows what Sam is doing, feels it in the very caress of Sam’s hand grazing her cheek. She shakes her head. “Stop.” 

“Stop what?” 

“Stop being so gentle with me. I don’t deserve it.”

“Why don’t you let me decide that for myself,” Sam says, not unkindly. 

“Sam, I just told you to stop being gentle with me.” 

A laugh bubbles out of Sam before she’s pushing herself up on her elbow and peering down at her. She draws her hand to brush Andrea's hair behind her ear. “Sorry, babe, but that's the only mode I function in.”

“You're not sorry.”

Sam doesn’t laugh this time. Instead, she smiles before tucking her bottom lip between her teeth, her eyes roaming, constantly roaming Andrea’s features. Then, she says, “No, can't really say that I am.”

Andrea doesn't respond for a long while, and unnervingly, Sam doesn't seem too bothered by it. She brings a hand up to Sam’s chest, comforted by the steady beat of Sam’s heart underneath. 

“Are you going to be here when I wake up?”

“You do realize you’re in my home, right?” Sam teases, her voice light and airy. Yet when Andrea dips her head down, she sobers enough to bring a hand down to Andrea’s chin, her finger gentle in its caress of her skin. Sam tips Andrea’s head back so they're looking at one another. “Don’t disappear on me now, Andy.” 

She takes a deep breath, calmed by the scent of detergent and soap and woody perfume that Sam has on. 

“I want to open my eyes in the morning and find you there.” She wants to open her eyes to a bed that isn’t empty, to a life that isn’t carved out. To someone who will stay, for her. 

“Then I’ll be right here,” Sam promises, her voice dropping to a whisper, their faces inches closer to one another. Andrea regards Sam, her gaze pinballing to Sam's hazel eyes then her brows then her lips then her nose cheek lashes chin freckles. She is all over and Andrea cannot look away.

Sam dares to place a hand on her waist, and Andrea lets her, deft fingers idling just under the hem of her shirt. Sam dares further by pushing her hand to blaze through the skin underneath until her palm rests on Andrea’s rib, and Andrea lets it, bringing her front closer until they’ve practically melded together. Sam dares even further when she brings their lips together and Andrea lets her, her own hand finding purchase on Sam’s nape until they’ve closed the distance. 

When Andrea draws back and stares at the woman in front of her, there’s a lightness inside of her that she hasn’t felt in ages. A weightlessness despite Sam’s body anchoring her down. There is so much to talk about after, so much more to discuss. She’s not ready, she’s not, can’t possibly even begin to be ready. 

The graveyard of failed relationships that she’s had all of her life is a testament to that fact. Yet, she wants — craves — something different. A different outcome, maybe. A chance. 

If nothing else, at least she’s not alone, not this time, not anymore, and that’s all the difference in the world. 

THE END