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Sweet Jesus, Chloë hoped this would go somewhere!

When Morgan opened her front door, Chloë felt her consciousness shift from her brain to another vital organ much further south. She knew it was going to take a supreme effort all night to ensure that that organ didn’t do all of her thinking during the next few hours.

Her date was in her own dress, a super cute wine-colored number that fit like a second skin but was totally elegant at the same time, the hemline of which stopped just above her knees. Her phenomenal legs were sheathed in black patterned tights which made Chloë gulp. She loved women in tights.

“Fuck, you look amazing!” Chloë uttered and then winced. “Shit! Sorry…I mean, wow, you look amazing!”

Morgan laughed, and Chloë was thrilled at how Morgan’s eyes moved over her body and how Morgan very subtly inhaled deeply.

“So do you,” Morgan said, running her eyes over Chloë’s form once more. “I love your coat; just let me grab mine and we can leave.”

At the car, Chloë held open the passenger side door for Morgan.

“Do you hold the door for all your dates?” Morgan asked with a smirk.

“Actually, I do,” Chloë said. “My Dad insisted. He used to tell me, ‘Just because you’re a lesbian, Chloë, doesn’t mean you can’t be a gentleman.’”

Morgan laughed.

“Oh my God, that’s priceless!” she exclaimed, taking her seat in the car.

“Yeah, he’s pretty good with little quips like that.” Chloë shut Morgan’s door, went around the front of the car and got in next to her date. “He’s crap at fixing shit, but he’s good at being witty.” She started the engine.

“I seem to remember that about him,” Morgan said as Chloë started driving. “At our parent-teacher conferences, when me and your parents were talking about what a rotten kid you were, he was always funny.”

“What?” Chloë exclaimed. “Rotten? I was an angel!”

“Relax, Miss Marchand, I’m kidding. Though, I also seem to remember feeling like you could have done better.”

“That was your fault,” Chloë said.

“Mine?” Morgan squawked.

“You’re a distraction!” Chloë insisted.

“I happen to be an excellent teacher!” Morgan replied.

“Yeah, who looks like one of those weather girl chicks on the evening news! Trust me, Miss Banks, a fair number of girls who take your class and probably all of the straight guys who take it, find it hard to concentrate enough to get high marks. I know I did.”

Laughing, Morgan said, “So if I looked more like Miss Greene the kids in my class would get better grades?”

Chloë nodded.

“Well, unlike you, Miss Greene looks like Rudy Giuliani! So, yeah, there was nothing better to do in her class than pay attention to calculus.”

“You’re too much,” Morgan said. “How far is this place?”

“Would you be alarmed if I said Paris?”

“I’d be impressed instead. But I’d also tell you I’m severely under-packed!”

Chloë giggled.

“I’ve always wanted to do that, you know?” she said. “Pick up a woman for a date, not tell her where we’re going until we arrive at the airport and then tell her we’re having dinner in Paris or someplace like that.”

“Why, Chloë…I didn’t know you were such a romantic!”