Chapter 7: The Night In
Between Us Girls by Natalie Drenovac
If you’re new here, read: Chapter 1
Friday, July 12
We wrap by six-fifteen. Carmen gives me a look when I order the Uber to DUMBO instead of Tribeca, but she doesn’t say anything. Just winks. The car drops me on Emily’s street and I stand outside for a second collecting myself before knocking.
Emily opens the door in jeans and a gray sweater, no shoes, her hair down.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
I step inside and it’s like walking into a different universe. There’s stuff everywhere. A backpack spilling crayons, tiny shoes in a pile, mail stacked on the console that probably hasn’t been touched in a week. It smells like someone made pasta with jarred sauce for dinner and there’s something sweet underneath. The kitchen is small. Warm. There’s a photo on the fridge of Emily and David and the kids at a beach somewhere, everyone smiling. Layered sheets of children’s drawings and school information sheets cover every surface. I would have thought all this stuff would be digital by now but apparently not. It’s chaotic. Lived in. Miranda would have a panic attack, but I find it comforting. I’ve been hungover and miserable all day, but walking into Emily’s space makes me feel… lighter?
Earlier that day, I’d almost cancelled because I felt ‘dry behind my eyeballs’ and it wasn’t going away. I was still downing electrolytes and contemplating whether I could cancel this late when Miranda texted me a photo. Crisp white T-shirt, black shorts, spotless white sneakers, pickleball paddle, huge smile.
Ready to destroy David! Have fun tonight and don’t forget my jeans x
Always committed to the plan. I’d watched her methodically select and order the ‘perfect pickleball outfit’ earlier this week, laptop perched on her lap in bed, an aura of same-day delivery emanating from the screen.
I send back a heart emoji and type: I don’t know where you get all this energy.
I know the answer: IV drips of B12, caffeine, extremely good skincare, and “value packs” of laser treatments that could probably pay for a deposit on a house upstate. Years of practice.
Her next text comes through: The jeans, baby. Put them in your bag when you get there.
I start to send a thumbs-up emoji, then quickly change it to a heart. “A thumbs up is basically a fuck you,” she’d explained once, after a thoughtless thumbs-up had escalated so quickly we were both on the edge of tears in the middle of a restaurant.
---
Emily doesn’t apologize for the mess. She also doesn’t ask if I want wine. She just heads to the kitchen and pulls a bottle of Chablis from the fridge, pouring two glasses.
We stand there with the island between us.
“Oh,” I remember. “The jeans.”
Emily gestures to the end of the island where they’re folded neatly on top of a canvas tote.
“Thanks for washing them.”
“Of course.”
Neither of us mentions why they needed washing.
“So.” She’s standing across the island from me. “There’s this wine bar around the corner I love. We could go.”
I stare at the Chablis. I’m teetering on that edge of a hangover, a drink might save me or destroy me. I take a sip. It’s cold and good and going straight to my head. Somewhere deep inside my body is probably screaming ‘water, please, god, a glass of water’ but I pick up the delicate stem of my wine glass and lean in on the kitchen island. “Honestly? I don’t want to be anywhere public.”
She looks at me. “No?”
“No.”
“We could stay in. Order food. The kids made brownies for their cousins but they kindly agreed to leave us half of one to share.”
“Oh, that settles it then. I’m not going to some packed wine bar when we have brownies and not wearing shoes on offer.”
We both know the wine bar was never going to happen. She pulls up a Thai place on her phone and we order half the menu. Then we migrate to the living room and I take one end of the couch, she takes the other, and we just start talking. About work. About how David won’t shut up about his coffee subscription. About how her daughter is obsessed with making slime.
“Late night?”
“Carmen and I had drinks. Then Miranda came.”
“That sounds fun.”
“It was.” I pause. A weird thick silence is forming between us. I wonder if this whole evening has been a mistake. I could be ordering Thai food in my own house, wrapped in blankets and not contemplating the subtext of silence.
“Can I ask you something?” I say.
“Yeah?”
“This is going to sound weird, but—” I pause. “Could I use your shower? I feel disgusting from the day and I think I’ll be better company if I don’t smell like a hangover.”
She blinks. “Oh. Yeah, of course.”
She leads me down the hallway, next to the laundry. To a perfectly folded stack of towels. She hands me one and then swiftly grabs a perfectly folded face towel.
“Do you need a…?’
“This is great, thank you.”
She shows me to the bathroom and then we’re both just standing there.
“The temperature can get a little funky sometimes but just turn it all the way off and then swing the tap quickly and it should come right.”
“Thank you.”
Our eyes meet as I say it and she lingers for a moment.
“Thanks.” I repeat. It breaks the tension. Emily turns swiftly, moving her hands around as if she’s not quite sure where to put them.
“Of course. Just shout if you need anything.” She closes the door. Her cheeks are pink.
---
Asking to shower at someone’s house when you’ve been invited for wine is definitely weird. But I feel fifty percent more human when I emerge.
When I return, the food has arrived. Emily is unpacking containers from a massive delivery bag. I stand holding my damp towels like an offering.
“I thought we could just eat straight from these,” she says, gesturing at the spread. She moves toward me to take the towels. Our fingers touch. I feel it through my whole body.
We end up on the couch with the food spread across the coffee table. We lean forward to grab forkfuls from different containers, passing them back and forth. Not more convenient than eating from bowls, but more fun. At some point her foot touches mine and neither of us moves it.
“This is nice,” she says quietly. “I was nervous. About tonight.”
“Me too.”
She sets down her container. Our eyes meet.
The air changes.
She looks at my mouth. Then back at my eyes. Then my mouth again.
I have a wife. She has a husband.
She sets her wine down. Moves closer.
“We shouldn’t.”
“I know.”
But I don’t move away.
I reach out slowly. Tuck her hair behind her ear. My fingertips graze the edge of her jaw and she closes her eyes. Leans into it.
“Alex—”
“We should stop.”
Neither of us moves.
She leans forward. Kisses me so softly I almost can’t feel it.
I pull her closer.
The kiss deepens. Her hand slides up to my neck, fingertips pressing into my skin. Not urgent. Just holding me there. Like she needs to make sure I’m real.
When we break apart we’re both breathing hard.
I pull her sweater over her head and she’s watching my face the whole time. I reach for her and she straddles my lap. Her weight settling against me. I slide my hands up her thighs- slowly-feeling the heat of her skin through the denim.
I unbutton her jeans and she watches my hands the whole time.
I slide my hand inside her underwear and she’s wet. God, it makes me want her even more. She inhales sharply.
I don’t move yet. Just rest my hand there. She rocks forward slightly, then stops herself. Waiting.
“Since the Hamptons,” I say quietly, “I’ve been thinking about what this would be like.”
“Me too.”
I slide two fingers inside her and she drops her forehead against mine. I don’t rush. Just move slowly, deliberately, finding the angle that makes her breath hitch.
Her hips start moving and I match her rhythm. I love this. The way she’s grinding against my hand, the way her pussy tightens around my fingers. She’s getting wetter. I can feel it. The heat of her. The way her body responds to every small shift.
She’s close. I can tell by the way she starts to clench around me, her breathing ragged, her grip on my shoulders almost painful.
When she finally comes her whole body goes rigid. She clenches hard around my fingers and then she’s shaking, her mouth against my neck to stay quiet.
I ease her off my lap carefully. She watches as I pull off my jeans and kneel beside her.
“What are you—”
I slide my hand back between her legs without answering.
“Oh—”
She’s still sensitive. I can feel it. But she spreads wider anyway.
I push two fingers inside her and she is so wet, so hot. I find the angle and her back arches off the couch.
“I can’t—”
“You can.”
This time I don’t tease. I give her everything, hard, fast, exactly what her body is begging for. She meets every thrust, her hips lifting, her body chasing it. I love watching her like this, completely lost, completely mine. When she comes she’s gripping the cushions so hard her knuckles go white.
“Jesus.”
She catches her breath. Then reaches for me, her hand sliding down my stomach.
She pauses. Looks at me.
“I’ve been...” she stops. “I looked some things up. After the Hamptons.”
It takes me a second to understand. Then it hits me.
She’s been researching. Watching videos probably. Trying to figure out how to touch a woman.
The thought makes me want her even more.
“Next time,” I say. “I promise.”
I pull her up and she collapses against my chest. We lie there tangled together, both of us still breathing hard.
The room is a disaster. Takeout containers. Clothes scattered. The smell of Thai food and sex and her perfume mixing in the air.
Both our phones start ringing at the same time.
We look at each other.
“Fuck,” she says.
We grab our phones. Giselle’s name.
“Group FaceTime.” Emily’s eyes go wide. “I don’t have pants on.”
“Shit…”
We’re scrambling. I pull on my jeans. Emily grabs throw pillows, piles them over her lap.
“Do I look okay?” she asks.
“You look like you need a cigarette”
“Fuck.”
She answers.
The screen fills with faces. Giselle glowing. Carmen grinning. Jess screaming. Miranda in a restaurant somewhere.
“SHE SAID YES!”
We scream. The ring is beautiful. Everyone’s talking over each other. Ethan appears and it gets louder. Emily’s bouncing on the couch, no pants, and I see Miranda’s face change. Just for a second.
“When did this happen?” I ask fast.
“An hour ago! Kensington Gardens!”
Everyone asks questions. The ring. The proposal. Plans.
“Okay,” Giselle says finally. “I need to go. Just wanted to share with you all.”
“Love you!” we say.
The call ends.
Emily and I look at each other.
“Did you see the ring?”
“It was gorgeous.”
We lie back down.
She doesn’t say anything for a long time.
Then: “David and I haven’t had sex in eight months.”
I wait.
“Even when we did, it felt…I don’t know, rehearsed? Like we were going through the motions.” She looks at me. “This feels entirely different”
I don’t know what to say.
She looks at the ceiling. “What are we doing?”
“I don’t know but I should probably go.”
I get dressed. She watches from the couch. At the door she kisses me. Long. Like she’s trying to memorize it.
“Goodnight.”
The car pulls up and I get in. I spend the ride scrolling through the group chat. Everyone’s still talking about Giselle’s ring. Making plans to celebrate when she gets back.
When we pull up to my building, Miranda’s sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Hey!” I’m smiling. “Can you believe Giselle?”
“I know. Beautiful.” Her voice is flat.
“The proposal in Kensington Gardens. so romantic. We should…”
“How was Emily?”
I stop. “She’s fine?”
She’s not looking at me. “You two seemed close on the call.”
“We were excited for Giselle”
“Right.” She stands. Goes to the bathroom. “What did you do tonight?”
“We decided to stay in and ordered Thai”
“Did you kiss her?”
I stop.
“What?”
She comes back. Sits. “Did you kiss her?”
My chest tightens. “Yes.”
She goes still. “Just the two of you.”
“Well, yes”
Silence.
“We slept together”
“You had sex.” She stands. “With Emily. Alone.”
“You told me to hang out with her…”
“I told you to keep her company. Have wine. Talk. Not fuck her.”
“You kissed Carmen first. Yesterday…”
“That was different. We were all together. This is you alone. Going behind my back.”
“You said ‘don’t do anything I wouldn’t do’…”
“It’s a turn of phrase, Alex. Not an invitation.” Her voice cracks. “Do you not see how this is different? You made a choice without thinking about me.”
My chest feels hollow. “I didn’t mean…”
“But you did.” She gets in bed. Turns away. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
“Darling - “
“Tomorrow.”
I stand there for a moment. Then go to the bathroom. Brush my teeth. Stare at myself in the mirror. When I come back she’s turned away from me.
I get in bed.
I can still smell Emily on my skin. Wonder if Miranda can too.
Miranda’s breathing shifts. Deliberate. She’s awake but not speaking.
I lie there in the dark.
Oh fuck.
The jeans.
I forgot the jeans.
Keep Reading: Chapter 8
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Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. The characters, events, companies, places, names, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance, whether direct or indirect, to actual persons (living or dead), places, events, or businesses is entirely coincidental and unintended. Where reference is made to real locations or historical events, such references are included solely for the purpose of creating a sense of authenticity. They should not be interpreted as depicting real people, their actions, or their conduct. The author expressly disclaims any and all responsibility for any such interpretations or assumptions.
Time for my coffee and morning read!! It’s like getting weekly episodes 😂😍