Nothing but a Fling: A Carlsbad Village Lesbian Romance

Sounds awesome! Text me tomorrow with details. Glad you made it home safely. I am heading to bed. Long day. See you tomorrow!

Megan smiled and replied that she hoped Vanessa slept well and then continued down the steps, the smile lingering on her face. Despite the three glasses of wine, Megan wasn’t at all tired and so she decided that since it was Saturday and she didn’t have to work tomorrow, she could stay up late getting some drawing done. She instructed Alexa to play the soundtrack from The Empire Strikes Back and then she sat at her drawing table which was in a corner of her living room.

Her salary may come from her job working for a software company—and a great salary it was, soon to be made even greater once she made the move to New York—but Megan’s true passion was her artwork. She first discovered she had a talent for it when she was a senior in high school during an elective art class. She also discovered then that when she drew it was like meditation for her—a calming exercise that also made her feel whole, as if that activity, more than any other, was what made Megan completely Megan.

Nonetheless, she left high school with no desire to pursue a career as a starving artist; hence college in New York for a degree in Information Technology before returning back to the west coast after being headhunted by Lucy Whitaker herself even before Megan had graduated due to her advanced course load and her leadership position in an BeachSoft-sponsored student club called “Women in I.T.”

Still though, once she had turned twenty-five last year, Megan began realizing that if she could, she’d love nothing more than to be a full-time artist—just one with a steady paycheck.

And that was her problem. She liked what her BeachSoft salary had brought her so far: an upscale condo in hip Carlsbad, California; a nice car; the ability to have a savings account that grew each week and enough disposable income to treat herself to nice things pretty much whenever she wanted them while still keeping food in her kitchen and the lights on in her house. She’d also vacationed in Singapore, London, Amsterdam, Berlin and Paris.

No, she was fine keeping art as a hobby.

Settling herself at her art table, she picked up a pencil. She was working on a new piece depicting the legs of her friend Anastasia, who was a ballerina and who Megan had photographed in a studio back when the world was normal. She would readily admit to anyone that she had a thing for dancers, particularly ballerinas. They made Megan swoon. Cindy used to tease her about it, say that she was certain Megan was going to leave her the next time the Bolshoi blew into town.

As she resumed work on the drawing, Megan started thinking about her date tomorrow.

Whoa, whoa, whoa! Not a date!

Her whatever tomorrow.

A walk along the seawall and ice cream sounded perfect. Besides, even if she and Vanessa were really going to just be casual and have a bit of fun, Megan still wanted to get to know at least a little bit about Vanessa. No-strings-attached, fuck-buddy-type sex with a beautiful woman? No problem. But Megan still liked to at least know what the woman’s favorite color is.

Still, though…

There were several times during the engagement party when Vanessa would touch Megan just so. On the elbow, the small of Megan’s back, Megan’s upper arm. At one point, Vanessa had reached up to tuck a strand of Megan’s hair behind Megan’s ear and with each touch, especially that last one, Megan’s clit had pulsed.

At another point, Vanessa had offered to go back in the house to get Megan a bottle of water, and as she walked past Megan, she brushed her breasts against Megan’s arm. It was the kind of contact that to an outside observer could easily have seemed accidental, but Megan knew it hadn’t been. Vanessa had pressed her breasts against Megan, sending shivers down Megan’s thighs and arousal out of her core so that she was left waiting for her bottled water in wet panties.

Vanessa wanted her.

Megan wanted Vanessa.

Seawall? Ice cream?

Megan groaned as her clit pulsed again.

“Fuck what her favorite color is,” she said to herself.

Chapter 9

Vanessa was doing her normal early morning run, a ten-mile set that took her from her house in Carlsbad, up to the Oceanside pier and back. It was a good course on well-populated busy streets, even at 6 a.m., and which included a few inclines for that added bit of cardio. On any other day, Vanessa would return to her house, quickly shower and head to La Vida Mocha for opening. But this was Sunday and she had the day off, so she was actually setting a bit of a slower pace during her return leg.

A young man leaned his head out the passenger-side window of a car that had just zoomed past her on Carlsbad Boulevard, clearly wanting a lingering view of her front now that he’d had one of her back. His mouth was moving but with her AirPods in she couldn’t hear whatever juvenile nonsense he was spewing.

Vanessa rolled her eyes.

So barking up the wrong tree, fella.

In another ten minutes she was home at her house on the outskirts of downtown Carlsbad.

Entering, she went into her bedroom, stripped, and got into the shower. Under the spray, Vanessa smiled. Today was her non-date with Megan and she couldn’t wait. In truth, Vanessa hadn’t been out with a woman she was interested in since late the year before, with a woman named Holly, an abortive relationship that didn’t really have a chance to get off the ground because it was during that period when Vanessa, new bank loan in hand, was devoting most of her time and attention to bringing La Vida Mocha into being. Between then and now she’d had exactly two one-night stands, meaningless encounters that satisfied a need, but which Vanessa had had no intention of continuing. The coffeeshop was her priority, even more so now that a microscopic virus was threatening its very existence. Dating—actively trying to find a girlfriend—was just not something Vanessa had even thought about over the past several months.

But Megan seemed completely open to having a little fling, one with an expiration date, and the possibilities of what that could mean over the next few weeks or months or however long it lasted made Vanessa excited. She was fine being alone, sure, but the opportunity for sex with a great-looking woman like Megan was not to be passed up.

Her phone rang almost as soon as she stepped out of the shower, a towel wrapped around her wet hair. A part of her worried that it was Megan canceling their plans, and so she was relieved when she saw William on the caller ID.

“What up?” she answered.