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“I happen to have scruples, Rach! Give me some credit!”

The two women walked on for a few more steps.

“God, who am I kidding?” Amy suddenly exclaimed. “I would totally do Vanessa! And I would let Vanessa do anything she wanted with me! Even if she was married to Megan. Even if she and Megan were the poster women for lesbian marriage!” She took a somewhat frustrated sip of her coffee. “Fuck, I need a girlfriend!”

“No luck online, then?”

Amy sighed. Luck? She had no idea what that was anymore when it came to women. Twenty-seven-years-old and the last time she had a girlfriend for more than six months was two years ago. Okay, fine…she was something of a workaholic. But being assistant director of an organization whose purpose for existing is to help vulnerable women meant that Amy often worked long hours and sometimes even took work home. She was simply that committed to the cause. And, okay, fine…the blog and the podcast both sucked up a lot of time as well. Nonetheless, Amy never felt as if she had made herself so busy as to completely wall off any possibility of romance.

“I mean, I’m an attractive woman, right?” she asked Rachel.

“Well, speaking from the I’m-straight-and-I-only-like-dick perspective, yeah, you’re super pretty.”

“Then why am I single?” Amy exclaimed, throwing up her hands, careful not to splash her coffee from its to-go cup. “And why do only crazy women hit me up on Zoosk?” Amy inquired. They had reached the corner of Grand and Carlsbad Boulevard, waiting for the light to change, and while they did, Amy regaled Rachel with the story of the woman she had been chatting with on Zoosk. Everything seemed fine, until they met for drinks this past Tuesday.

“At least ten years older than all her profile pictures,” Amy said. “Which, okay, I was willing to let slide because A: it was obviously still her, and B: she’s still attractive. But then she spent the whole date talking about cute guys.”

Amy made a face but then a thought came to her.

Podcast idea: fake lesbians on dating sites.

“I take it talking about cute guys is something lesbians don’t do much?” Rachel asked.

“Um, hardly ever!” Amy muttered.

“Don’t worry, Aims,” Rachel said. “There’s somebody out there for you. Somebody who actually likes women and will spend the entire date talking about how cute you are.”

The light changed and they crossed the wide expanse of Carlsbad Boulevard, one of the main thoroughfares of the town. On the other side, they continued west. They were now only a couple of blocks from the stairs that would lead them down to the beach and they could hear the ocean’s surf getting louder with each step.

“So, who is this writer you and Vanessa were chatting about getting on your podcast?” Rachel asked.

Amy smiled reflexively. Last night, she had re-read that final sex scene in Rego Park Romance almost out of compulsion, it was that good; and the memory of the orgasms she then gave herself afterwards were still fresh in her mind. Not that she would tell Rachel that.

“Jillian Ashley,” she began instead. “No shit, my favorite writer. Problem is, she’s this super reclusive person. She doesn’t post pictures of herself or her personal life on Twitter and she refuses to do interviews except by email.” Amy raised her right arm in a gesture of defiance as she walked. “But she will be mine! I am determined to convince her to come on my show!”

Amy thought about the email she had written on Thursday night. It had kept her up well past her normal bedtime but she hadn’t cared. The email had to be perfect and, in the end, after numerous drafts, she felt she had finally sent off a message that was an appropriate mix of fawning admiration for Jillian’s amazing talents and down-on-her-knees fangirl begging.

As of yet, Amy still had not heard back from Jillian. Earlier today, her phone had chimed with an email notification and Amy had almost dropped the device on the Mexican tile floor of her kitchen in her haste to pick it up, praying it was a response from Jillian. No luck. It was only her grandmother in Wichita sharing pictures of gingersnap cookies she had just baked.

That’s what Instagram is for, grandma, Amy had thought.

“Maybe I’ll read one of her books, then,” Rachel said. “I just finished a good mystery and could use something new.”

By now, they had reached the stairs which led down from Ocean Street to the beach and were walking down them. Amy laughed at Rachel’s statement.

“What?” Rachel asked.

“It’s lesfic, Rach,” Amy said.

“So? Are straight women not allowed to read lesfic? Is there a permission setting on my Kindle which will block me from downloading books about gay women?”

“Have you ever read any lesfic, Rach?”

Rachel rolled her eyes.

“No, but how much different can they be from any other books?” she asked. “Instead of boy meets girl, it’s girl meets girl. Instead of two male cops solving crimes, it’s two female cops solving crimes. I get it…the books all have women.”

Amy smirked.