Read Online Too Close to Touch by Georgia Beers - Free Book Online
Authors: Georgia Beers
Tags: Fiction, Romance, Contemporary, eBooks, Lesbian, BSB, bold, Life gets complicated when love turns out to be nothing like you expected - and the woman you want is too close to touch., strokes, e-books
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hardened her resolve. It was Þ ne. If Gretchen didn’t give a shit what she thought, Kylie didn’t give a shit about knowing anything there was to know about Gretchen outside of work. So there.
But it was hard. Kylie was naturally inquisitive and genuinely friendly. She liked to talk to people, to learn about them, to debate with them and have in-depth discussions. She and Jim Sheridan used to talk well into the evening about politics and entertainment, and religion and philosophy. Often, Jim’s wife would call his cell and only then would either of them look at the clock and realize they’d missed dinner. She would refer to Jim as a father Þ gure if she didn’t feel that was an insult to her own dad. So she thought of him as a favorite uncle instead.
She missed him.
That Þ rst day, when Gretchen left the coffee on Kylie’s desk, Kylie was sure they’d be great friends. Gretchen had put up a wall, though.
She apparently didn’t want such a relationship with her EAA and she’d made that perfectly clear last week. His opinion doesn’t matter to me and, frankly, neither does yours…
Kylie was annoyed by how much that sentence had stung her.
After all, she barely knew Gretchen. Why should she care about what Gretchen thought of her? What did it matter? She sighed in frustration, looking at the clock and noting that it was going on seven already. The truth was, Gretchen’s opinion did matter and she had no idea why. The thought that Gretchen might not like her, didn’t think of her as a friend or even as a valued employee with good business sense, bothered the hell out of her.
Dismayed to feel the beginnings of emotion well up behind her eyes, she muttered, “Goddamn PMS,” and pressed her Þ ngers into her eyelids.
After a couple of sniffs, she took a deep breath, raked her Þ ngers through her hair roughly, and squeezed her shoulders, hoping to work out some of the tension. She wanted to go home, have a glass of wine to allay the oncoming cramps, and be a pile on the couch. She glanced at the framed photos of Rip on her desk and smiled wistfully.
A softly clearing throat made her whip around in surprise. Gretchen stood in the cubicle opening. She didn’t look the least bit stressed and
• 54 •
TOO CLOSE TO TOUCH
Kylie suspected that this kind of pace was what she lived for. Her black slacks hugged her hips intimately and the pink blouse was open at the throat, inviting the tiniest peek at a collarbone. Almost-black curls framed a face that showed a crooked and uncertain semi-smile.
“Hey,” Gretchen said, and even that one word rumbled so low that Kylie felt it in the pit of her stomach.
“Hi.”
“Busy day, huh?”
“Insane.” Kylie worked hard to keep her business face in place, despite the fact that she wanted to ask Gretchen how she was holding up, how she liked Rochester, how she liked Emerson. But she knew Gretchen didn’t want that, so she bit her bottom lip and remained silent while Gretchen shifted from one black pump to the other.
“Um…” Gretchen had a small, white paper bag in her hand. She held it out to Kylie. “I went out to dinner on Saturday and I had steak. I thought…” Her eyes pointed to the pictures of Rip on Kylie’s desk. “I thought you might want the bone for your dog, so I saved it for you.”
She seemed embarrassed and looked out over the top of the cubicle while she waited for Kylie to take the bag.
If Kylie hadn’t been premenstrual, she would have been able to accept the bag for what it was: a peace offering from a woman who rarely gave them. Instead, her eyes Þ lled with tears. A horriÞ ed look appeared on Gretchen’s face as big, fat drops rolled down Kylie’s cheeks and she covered her mouth with her hand.
“Oh, my God,” Gretchen said, her voice laced with confusion.
“Oh, God, Kylie, what’s wrong? I’m sorry. What did I say?”
Kylie made a snorting sound that could have been a sob or a laugh.
When she glanced up at
But it was hard. Kylie was naturally inquisitive and genuinely friendly. She liked to talk to people, to learn about them, to debate with them and have in-depth discussions. She and Jim Sheridan used to talk well into the evening about politics and entertainment, and religion and philosophy. Often, Jim’s wife would call his cell and only then would either of them look at the clock and realize they’d missed dinner. She would refer to Jim as a father Þ gure if she didn’t feel that was an insult to her own dad. So she thought of him as a favorite uncle instead.
She missed him.
That Þ rst day, when Gretchen left the coffee on Kylie’s desk, Kylie was sure they’d be great friends. Gretchen had put up a wall, though.
She apparently didn’t want such a relationship with her EAA and she’d made that perfectly clear last week. His opinion doesn’t matter to me and, frankly, neither does yours…
Kylie was annoyed by how much that sentence had stung her.
After all, she barely knew Gretchen. Why should she care about what Gretchen thought of her? What did it matter? She sighed in frustration, looking at the clock and noting that it was going on seven already. The truth was, Gretchen’s opinion did matter and she had no idea why. The thought that Gretchen might not like her, didn’t think of her as a friend or even as a valued employee with good business sense, bothered the hell out of her.
Dismayed to feel the beginnings of emotion well up behind her eyes, she muttered, “Goddamn PMS,” and pressed her Þ ngers into her eyelids.
After a couple of sniffs, she took a deep breath, raked her Þ ngers through her hair roughly, and squeezed her shoulders, hoping to work out some of the tension. She wanted to go home, have a glass of wine to allay the oncoming cramps, and be a pile on the couch. She glanced at the framed photos of Rip on her desk and smiled wistfully.
A softly clearing throat made her whip around in surprise. Gretchen stood in the cubicle opening. She didn’t look the least bit stressed and
• 54 •
TOO CLOSE TO TOUCH
Kylie suspected that this kind of pace was what she lived for. Her black slacks hugged her hips intimately and the pink blouse was open at the throat, inviting the tiniest peek at a collarbone. Almost-black curls framed a face that showed a crooked and uncertain semi-smile.
“Hey,” Gretchen said, and even that one word rumbled so low that Kylie felt it in the pit of her stomach.
“Hi.”
“Busy day, huh?”
“Insane.” Kylie worked hard to keep her business face in place, despite the fact that she wanted to ask Gretchen how she was holding up, how she liked Rochester, how she liked Emerson. But she knew Gretchen didn’t want that, so she bit her bottom lip and remained silent while Gretchen shifted from one black pump to the other.
“Um…” Gretchen had a small, white paper bag in her hand. She held it out to Kylie. “I went out to dinner on Saturday and I had steak. I thought…” Her eyes pointed to the pictures of Rip on Kylie’s desk. “I thought you might want the bone for your dog, so I saved it for you.”
She seemed embarrassed and looked out over the top of the cubicle while she waited for Kylie to take the bag.
If Kylie hadn’t been premenstrual, she would have been able to accept the bag for what it was: a peace offering from a woman who rarely gave them. Instead, her eyes Þ lled with tears. A horriÞ ed look appeared on Gretchen’s face as big, fat drops rolled down Kylie’s cheeks and she covered her mouth with her hand.
“Oh, my God,” Gretchen said, her voice laced with confusion.
“Oh, God, Kylie, what’s wrong? I’m sorry. What did I say?”
Kylie made a snorting sound that could have been a sob or a laugh.
When she glanced up at
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