Falling for Jillian Ashley: A Carlsbad Village Lesbian Romance

Three people.

Not telling anyone was plausible. If the true story was limited to three people—one of whom, this Max character, had a serious vested interest in not letting the secret out—then why not? It wasn’t in her nature to be so willing to participate in a deception but, really, what did it matter in this case? She had given the lesfic community what it wanted, a look at “Jillian Ashley.” And from the reaction to her interview, the lesfic community was satisfied and happy. What harm would it do for her to keep the ruse going? No one need ever know.

Besides, the alternative was horrible. It meant the end of her podcasting career. It had started as a hobby but was now not only a passion of hers, but a money-making passion because of the advertising spots she was able to sell on the show’s website, not to mention the bits of Lesbeing merchandise she occasionally sold through the show’s online store.

“Wait a minute,” she said. “What did you mean just now when you said ‘the whole story?’”

Sally sighed.

“My best friend Lisa watched our interview and now she thinks I’m Jillian Ashley.”

Amy blinked.

“You didn’t correct her?”

Sally scoffed.

“You don’t tell Lisa secrets,” she said. “That’s how they stop being secrets.”

“I see.”

Amy bit her bottom lip, thinking things over.

“You could have avoided this whole conversation we’re having if you had just turned me down for coffee. Why didn’t you?”

Sally’s green eyes, which were catching the orange and purple rays from the setting sun, pierced Amy’s.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I know I should have turned you down but it was impossible. I wanted to go on a date with you. I just felt like there was something between us that was more than physical attraction and I felt like it would be a decision I’d regret if I didn’t at least meet you for one lousy cup of coffee.”

Amy sighed. She knew what Sally was referring to, that “something” between them, something w

hich was more than physical attraction—although, Sally was hot. But during the interview on Tuesday and then while they were talking afterwards, Amy had felt insanely connected to this woman sitting on the beach with her, connected enough to feel like she finally understood when other people would tell her “I just knew” when talking about meeting their special someones.

“The coffee at La Vida Mocha is not lousy,” Amy said.

“You know what I mean,” Sally replied.

“And why did you tell me now?” Amy pressed. “I don’t mind admitting that things were going your way tonight. Right now, we could have been at my place with a lot less clothes on.”

Amy was gratified to hear Sally gasp and then work her mouth, trying to form sentences.

“I told you,” Sally was finally able to say, “precisely because I knew things were going my way tonight. Amy, when I arrived at that coffeeshop, I didn’t know what would happen. I figured, if our date fell flat and there was no chemistry then, fine, we go our separate ways and I let you keep thinking that you met Jillian Ashley. But our date didn’t fall flat.”

No, it didn’t.

“Amy, I know you probably think I’m some kind of deceitful witch but I’m really not. There was never any malicious intent in any of this. I pretended to be Jillian to help out a friend, that’s all. What I didn’t count on was meeting you. Even over a stupid webcam I felt connected with you and then when we met in person…I just suddenly wanted to spend every minute of the rest of tonight with you. And I swear I’ve never felt that before.”

“Fuck!” Amy exclaimed. “Why are you making this so hard!”

She sprang to her feet and resumed pacing. Everything Sally had just said, Amy had felt too, especially that bit about wanting to spend every minute of the rest of tonight together. Of course, Amy had planned to spend those minutes exploring every inch of Sally’s body with her tongue, lips, fingers and anything else she could use, even her toes if Sally was kinky like that. But Amy also knew that if she and Sally had simply gone back to her place and spent the rest of the night together watching bad TV shows before finally falling asleep in each other’s arm, she would have considered the night magical.

“I should be hating you right now!” she exclaimed, stopping in front of Sally, who stood up.

“I get that,” Sally said. “I, um, wouldn’t blame you. I wish you wouldn’t, of course but I knew that telling you this carried the risk of you never wanting to see me again.”

Amy suddenly found herself needing to exercise so much self-control. Sally’s lips were so close and the memory of how they felt against her own so recent.

“I should go,” Sally stated. “For what it’s worth, again, I’m sorry.”