A Long List of Firsts: A Carlsbad Village Lesbian Romance

“Oh, we’re on this again?” Ainsley asked. “You were supposed to go left!”

“My left!”

“No, my left!” Ainsley shot back. “Chapter 25 is very specific, Rach, and if you don’t follow—”

She was interrupted when suddenly the darkness of the street was filled with strobing blue, red and white lights. Up ahead, a police car turned the corner onto the block, its siren wailing, and then screeched to a stop in front of Ainsley’s house. Not even five seconds later, another police car came from behind Ainsley’s parked car and zoomed past, also screeching to a stop at her house.

“Fuck!” Ainsley muttered. Despite the more important fact that there might actually be an intruder in her home, Ainsley couldn’t stop herself from thinking that she was going to have to bake a truckload of cookies and bring them to all her neighbors as a way of apologizing for this ruckus.

She put the Porsche in gear and slowly approached the police cars. Thankfully the sirens were off but the lights were still strobing. It looked like a scene from any flavor of CSI.

There were two cops now standing on her front walk looking at the house. A third officer, a little portly, was peering over the gate to the side yard, his hand on his holstered firearm. A fourth cop stepped off the curb and stood in front of Ainsley’s approaching car, his hands held out in a Stop gesture. When she stopped the car, Ainsley rolled down the window.

“I’m Dr. Janowicz,” she said to the police officer when he stepped over to the driver’s side. “I’m the one who called. This is my house.”

“I.D., please,” the officer said. The name tag pinned to his uniform identified him as Boatman. When Ainsley handed it to him, he examined it and then gave it back. “Do you live alone?”

“Yes.”

“And you weren’t expecting any guests? You didn’t give anybody the key?”

“No.”

At this moment, the portly officer, the one who had been looking over the side gate, joined them.

“Sarge, looks like there’s a window on the side of the house near the back that’s open,” he told Boatman.

The sergeant looked back at Ainsley.

“Did you leave a window open?”

Ainsley hated leaving windows open because she didn’t like flies getting in her house. Of course, the police had no way of knowing that.

“No,” she told him. “Although I can’t say for sure if any of the windows were locked.”

Sergeant Boatman pointed at the white car.

“Do you know who this car belongs to?”

Ainsley shook her head. “It wasn’t there when we left.”

The police officer nodded.

“One of my men checked and your front door is still locked. May I have the keys, please?”

Ainsley fished them out of her purse and handed them over, showing him which one unlocked the front locks.

“Okay, ma’am. I need you and your friend to stay in your car, understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

When Sergeant Boatman walked away, Ainsley let out a huge breath.

“You know,” Rachel began, “I’m all on board the whole women-can-do-any-job-a-man-can-do bandwagon, but in a situation like this, give me strapping men with guns anytime.”

Ainsley agreed. Men were just what this situation called for, in her opinion. And if hostile aliens from another planet ever did attack Earth, she’d find the nearest hulking Marine to hide behind.

***