“…overlooks the importance of special teams, and has a penchant for cutting the most expensive players. He’s just awful.”

  “Hmm,” Genevieve said, enjoying the faint buzz in her ears, brought on no doubt by the vodka. When Bethany paused in her diatribe to drink, Genevieve jumped in.

  “Darling, I’m very sorry about this new development in the safe-as-kittens, not at all hypermasculine, one hundred percent head-trauma-free world of the NFL. But I’d really rather talk about your date.”

  Well, who knew Genevieve actually had the ability to silence Bethany—even if for a moment. Instead of launching into a monologue about the merits of the man she’d be spending tomorrow evening with, Bethany pensively swirled her martini around, and looked out the window.

  Finally, when Genevieve was about to apologize for asking, Bethany shrugged and turned her attention back to the room. “I wouldn’t ever have predicted him. For me, I mean. He’s British, for one.”

  Genevieve had to bite back a snort, because all Bethany had ever talked about wanting was a native Texan who could rope a steer as well as write a legal brief. She cleared her throat and took another drink, but why she ever tried to fool Bethany was beyond her.

  “Laugh all you want, G-Spot. I’d laugh too. But he’s… I don’t know. I just like him.”

  She’d never seen Bethany so…reserved. “What’s his name? Where did you two meet?”

  “Edward—that’s his name. The Bar Association threw an event for law firm partners who had done a lot of pro bono work in the past year. It was kind of an awards thing.”

  “Oh, Bethie, why didn’t you tell me! I would have come to support you!” Bethany’s ability to prattle on about insignificant things, while completely failing to mention important ones, never failed to amuse Genevieve.

  “You’re sweet, but really, it wasn’t a big deal.” She wiped her mouth with her napkin, despite not having eaten a bite of the salad in front of them, and Genevieve wondered how preoccupied she was in that moment, thinking about this mystery man’s lips. “Anyway, he won a couple of housing-related cases for low-income clients who couldn’t afford to pay for proper representation. He’s lived in DC for fifteen years, and in addition to being a partner at Skadden, he also consults on housing-related legislation. And he’s a Big Brother—not, like, he’s related to someone else. Or, like, I mean siblings. It’s…he’s…”

  Bethany shook her head and finished her martini.

  Genevieve sat back in her chair, stunned. “Whoa. He’s rendered you speechless, and he isn’t even here. Give me his number—I need to get pointers.”

  “Ha-ha. You’re hilarious, Genevieve.”

  “Okay, so, let’s recap. He’s civic-minded and mentors youth through a Big Brother program? He’s got dough because he’s a fancy-pants law firm partner just like you. So you don’t have to tread lightly around someone who might feel threatened by your professional and financial success. And he has you entirely flustered and probably doesn’t know it. I mean, have you even kissed him yet?”

  If she thought this lunch had been full of surprises, the biggest was happening now—an honest-to-God blush crept up Bethany’s neck and flooded her cheeks. Unsure how to interpret that, Genevieve just stared.

  “Um, no. Not at all. We talked during the cocktail hour before and sat next to each other during the speeches and stuff.”

  “Let me get this straight. Talking and sitting next to this guy makes you as red as a tomato?”

  Bethany’s hands flew to her face, and her eyes bulged. “Oh no.” Impossibly, her blush grew even redder. “Um, our legs sort of. We were touching. Just, like, our knees.”

  Genevieve abandoned all efforts at masking her response. She guffawed so loudly that the bartender threw her a dirty look. Tears in her eyes, in between snorting laughs, she managed to wheeze out, “Jesus, Bethie, are you a Victorian novel?”

  Bethany wadded up her napkin and threw it at Genevieve, who batted it away with effort, considering her arm—hell, her whole body—was weak with laughter. But at least the spell was broken, and Bethany’s coloring returned to normal. “Yes, okay, he makes me hot and bothered that easily.”

  Retrieving the rogue napkin from the floor, Genevieve dabbed at the tears in her eyes. “We are going to need to seriously strategize how you’ll handle it when you two finally kiss. Do you need me to be on hand with smelling salts? Shall I program the local apothecary’s number into your cell phone?”

  Bethany tried to give her a stern look, but her eyes were sparkling. “You know what, Genevieve Fornier? I have had to watch you do some pretty ridiculous stuff for Victoria Willoughby—twice—and not say a damn thing either time. The least you can do is cut me some slack here.”

  “That’s fair,” Genevieve said, sobering instantly at the sound of Victoria’s name. Bethany gave her a quick glance indicating she noticed, but Genevieve moved on. “Well, what’s he look like?”

  “Not very tall. Not ripped. Just, you know, normal. Except he’s got this great wavy hair that I can’t wait to run my fingers through. And this dimple that is outrageously distracting when he talks. And his lips are… I don’t know. Perfect? Whatever, he’s… I like him.”

  She seemed to have noticed for the first time that there was food on the table, and she picked up a fork. The blush had returned, full force, and Genevieve contemplated exploiting it for more laughs. Bethany gave the tiniest shudder, though, and Genevieve took pity on her. She was clearly not ready to laugh about this.

  “You know what, Bethie? I never would have guessed.”

  Once she changed the subject to work, the remainder of lunch passed without Bethany passing out or disintegrating or experiencing any of the other responses that discussion of her new beau seemed to be producing. Genevieve even managed to forget for a few minutes the exact shade of red on Bethany’s cheeks when the subject of Edward came up. While they were waiting for the bill, however, Genevieve shifted in her chair so she could gently rest her knee against Bethany’s, and gazed at her as if smitten.

  “Oh, Bethany. I’m so glad the Bar Association brought us together. I can’t wait to kiss the inside of your wrist in a chaste yet passionate way that communicates my feelings for you without damaging your virtue. Then, if your father gives his blessing, I shall propose to you, and, after a church wedding, we shall do that thing we’ve heard people whisper about but never directly discuss.”

  Bethany refused to talk to her, and when their bill arrived, she crossed her arms and glared. It was worth it.

  Genevieve stuck her credit card into the envelope, and when the waitress returned, handed it to her. Their fingers brushed, which couldn’t have been an accident, and Genevieve glanced at her. She was hot in a hipster artist kind of way and not at all hesitant to give Genevieve a slow smile that made the temperature in the room escalate. She backed away from the table, dragging her eyes up and down Genevieve’s body before turning and disappearing behind the bar. Bethany smirked at her. Because it was too much to ask for a lunch where the teasing went only one direction.

  When the waitress returned with Genevieve’s card and the receipt, she brushed her hand lightly over Genevieve’s shoulders this time. “I hope you enjoyed yourself. Dining out can be so much fun,” she said with enough suggestiveness in her voice that even Ryan Jamison wouldn’t be able to miss her meaning.

  Bethany did a poor job of stifling a snort, and as soon as the waitress departed, she snatched up the receipt. Grinning like the cat that caught the canary, she turned the slip of paper over and pointed to the phone number written on the back. “How does that saying go?” Bethany asked. “You keep getting older, but they stay the same age?”

  Genevieve yanked the receipt out of her hand and stared at the number. It felt like cheating somehow—why, after all this time, could she not escape the notion that she and Tori were together? With great effort, she managed to remember thoroughly and soundly dumping Victoria Willoughby.

  Tori had been right, of course, when she said Genevieve was every bit as in love with her as she was with Genevieve. When she wasn’t thinking clearly, she seemed to just assume that they were together. Her natural state of being seemed to be with Tori. An image of Tori with tears in her eyes at that damn wine bar flashed across her mind and she blinked.

  “Come on, Genevieve, it’s got to feel good to know you still got it. Those abs, those boobs—dynamite combo.” Bethany said, winking obnoxiously at her.

  Genevieve laughed and slipped the receipt into her wallet, more as a show for Bethie than anything else. “Well, now that we’ve had martinis, have you come up with a plan for your new beau? Are you sleeping with him on date one, or waiting until after marriage?”

  Bethany fluffed her hair, making it even larger than usual. “There must be something in between. I figure I’ll just play it by ear. In the meantime, facials and massages.”

  Genevieve stood and turned toward the door when Bethany gasped.

  “Those!” she said, pointing at her boots as though Genevieve hadn’t been wearing them when she walked in. “Ohmygod, those are yummy. They’re so delicious I could lick them. I want them. In black. I’m buying them immediately. And you can wear yours on Mondays, Thursdays, and every other Saturday. I get the rest.”

  “I’ve got a better idea. You wear the new cowboy boots you just bought, whenever you want. And we’ll both be happy.”

  Bethany glanced at her own feet, and her face lit up in delight, as if she were seeing them for the first time in her life. “Oh yeah, these old things! Okay, I accept your deal. But you drive a hard bargain, Genevieve.”

  “You and logic aren’t friends, you know that?” Genevieve shook her head and shrugged into her coat.

  “To the spa!” Bethany said, linking arms with her and dragging her to the door.

  * * *

  When they left the spa, legs replaced with Jell-O after hours of pampering, Bethany murmured, “Drinks?” and Genevieve said, “The wine bar in my neighborhood. That way we can both park at my place and walk.”

  “I may as well just stay over, don’t you think?” Bethany gave her a guileless smile and pointed at a bag in her backseat. “I’m all packed, anyway.”

  Genevieve raised her eyebrows. “You just assumed I’d be that easy to sleep with?” she asked.

  “I’ve lived with you. I don’t have to assume.”

  Genevieve unlocked her car, tossed her purse in, and turned to give Bethany her sweetest, most innocent expression. “You know, I’ve been wondering about Edward. And those perfectly kissable lips of his. Would you draw me a picture of them, so I don’t have to rely on my very active imagination?”

  Bethany tried to give her a murderous expression, but her eyes glassed over, and her neck and cheeks turned pink. Before Bethany fainted or threw keys at her head, Genevieve got into her car and drove away, wondering how long it would take Bethany to catch up.

  Word had spread about the wine bar, and they had to squeeze past crowds of Capitol Hill wonks who’d left the office a little early for Friday happy hour. She and Bethany landed the last open table in the place and were soon comparing notes on their wine flights. By the time they’d ordered another round, two women had stopped by their table to hit on Genevieve.

  When a third woman threw Genevieve a look so smoldering it seemed to scorch her clothes from across the room, Bethany slapped the table.

  “What the hell, Genevieve. Did you take some kind of ‘fuck me’ pill this morning?”

  “It’s the boots,” Genevieve said.

  “It’s not the boots. Why are you just oozing sex right now?” She crossed her arms and stared. “Spill.”

  Genevieve looked around the table, taking stock of anyone who might overhear. For all the looks she received, no one paying them any attention was within earshot. She leaned forward. “I almost slept with someone. But I didn’t. And now I’m… What did you say? Oozing sex?”

  Bethany put on an expression that conveyed mild interest. Genevieve had never seen her in court before, but she imagined this was her professional expression. She folded her hands primly on the table. “Does this involve the incomparable Penelope Sweet? Do tell, Genevieve,” she said.

  So she told. The whole story. Bethany’s eyes grew wider and wider until she finally held up her hand, as if in surrender.

  “Genevieve Fornier, I’m only going to say this once. You’re not getting any younger. Quit messing around—with your own heart and everyone else’s. Because, girl, when you are sexually frustrated, it’s like a homing beacon for every lesbian in three states.”

  As she said this, the door opened, letting in a blast of cold air that made its way to their table in the corner. A woman who could have been a dead ringer for Eva Longoria shook the dusting of snow off of her coat collar, looked around, and raised an eyebrow at Genevieve. Before Genevieve could react, Bethany leaned forward, blocking the woman’s view of Genevieve, and vigorously shook her head. The woman spared Bethany a dirty look, located her friends, and turned her back to them.

  “That wasn’t necessary.”

  Bethany turned to look at her, fire in her eyes. “For Christ’s sake, are you emitting some kind of sonar only lesbians can hear? Turn it off!” She sat back down, shaking her head. “Honestly, sort your shit out, lady.”

  “I’m trying!” Genevieve protested, and even she knew it sounded weak.

  “Try harder. Look, far be it for me to encourage anyone to pursue Victoria Willoughby. That woman has a stick up her ass the size of the Washington monument.” Her expression turned thoughtful. “But she loves the pants off of you. And you have been over the moon for her since the damn day you met her. This seems like a no-brainer.”

  “Well. Yes.” Genevieve cleared her throat. “I’m not sure love is always enough.” She ran her fingers through her hair as old frustrations threatened to abscond with her good mood. “She drives me crazy—and I don’t mean in bed. Well, I mean, yes, in bed. But everywhere else too. And, I’m no one’s…lapdog. Or whatever. Everything has to be on her terms. It’s exhausting. And I don’t feel like an equal partner.”

  “I think you’re misinterpreting her agenda, Genevieve. If she likes things on her territory, it’s not because she’s selfish—she’s scared. The woman is the biggest closet case this side of Queen Latifah. So, you know, hold her hand and help her through it, or wash your hands of her neuroses forever. That’s what I say.” She leaned back in her chair, clearly proud of herself.

  Genevieve had one sip left of her second wine flight, and she twirled that glass around, watching the legs of the wine ease back to the bottom.

  Bethany snorted. “Oh, boo-hoo. My name’s Genevieve, and I’ve got women all over me. I have to decide between playing house with a beautiful, powerful Supreme Court justice and a gorgeous, brilliant human rights executive. My life is so hard. I might as well wear a bag over my face, because that’s the only way women will stop dropping their pants for me.”

  Genevieve stared at her. “Sorry to destroy your little fantasy, Bethany, but with a body like this, it won’t matter if I cover my face. They’ll still come…uh, running.”

  Bethany glared at her. “Well. I’m on the verge of having a very cute boyfriend.”

  “And I can’t wait to meet him.” Genevieve hesitated. “I guess I never thought of it that way. Thought of Tori as afraid. I mean, I always knew she was scared, but I focused more on the way her fear affected me, not her. I…I haven’t had as much compassion for that fear as I should have.”

  “No, you haven’t. She’s made mistakes, you’ve made mistakes. So, what now?”

  “Mm. What now, indeed. Shall we stumble back to my place, watch something we’ve seen a thousand times, and order Thai food?”

  “I see what you did there. With the glaring change of subject. But I’ll let you off the hook this time, on the assumption that you will think long and hard about this, and actually make a decision, nimrod. In the meantime, Devil Wears Prada and pad see ew, here we come!”

  On the walk home, with snow flurries tickling their faces, Bethany sang KT Tunstall’s “Suddenly I See” and danced in the street. Genevieve reflected that while her love life might be a mess, she was hitting homers at work. And she had a very funny, very thoughtful, very tipsy best friend that she could turn to for anything.

  Chapter 25

  Alone at her kitchen table, Genevieve turned the invitation over and over in her hands before taking a sip of her morning coffee. The invitation was simpler than last year’s design and more to the point. Last year’s event was well attended, and she’d heard fun stories; she hadn’t been able to go, of course, because she had been traveling for something or other.

  She read the invitation for a fifth time.

  The District of Columbia Bar Association invites you to our annual Women in the Law gala. This year’s keynote address will be delivered by Justice Victoria Willoughby. Cocktail hour begins at 6:00 p.m. Please RSVP by March 15.

  Well. The universe couldn’t be clearer if it had delivered Tori to her doorstep. The question was, could she put aside her anger?

  The thing was, if she RSVPed, her name would be on the guest list, Tori would likely see it, and…well, it was supposed to be a special night for Tori, not one hijacked by Genevieve.

  She checked her watch. Almost nine—she should leave for the office soon. She called Frank while she gathered her coat and bag and headed to the door.

  “Genevieve, hi. What’s up?”

  She swore she could see his smile through the phone. God, morning people.

  “Frank, can you RSVP to the Bar Association gala? Just tell them someone from HER will be there, and we don’t know who yet. I’ll let you know when I figure it out.”

  “Okay,” he said with enough hesitation in his voice to make Genevieve wish she hadn’t called. Of course Frank would know why she wouldn’t commit to going. Well, in addition to his pity, at least she could count on his discretion. “Anything else I can do?” he asked.