Page 73 of Elite Connections: an LGBTQ Romance Charity Anthology

My phone buzzesto life on my desk. I look down at the screen, annoyed that someone is calling instead of texting.

“Unknown? Um, no, thanks.” I clear the call and continue to work on the plan for my next gig. Lil’ Jay did indeed get ahold of Elite, and I’m prepping to execute his Billboard Music Awards afterparty in a week. After the last party, I’m looking forward to a different type of event.

Not that I didn’t love every single thing about that party, especially how it ended…

Christ, the air in my apartment is stifling. I fan myself as memories of Alison Grace, spread naked across her bed, flood into my mind.

My phone buzzes again, ruining my foray into the past. “What the hell?” Unknown again. Who in the world is calling from an unknown number—oh. Wait. Oh. Oh! My throat begins to collapse in on itself. I frantically grab my water and take a sip before I fumble with my phone, trying to get my fingers to work so I unlock it. I finally answer with a tentative and winded, “This is Roberta Baldwyn.”

“Roberta, hi, it’s River Mills. Am I catching you at a bad time? Are you working out or something? You sound?—”

“Uh, no,” I somehow manage to answer. “I’m good. Just fine.”

“Great. My apologies for the unknown number. I realize you probably thought it was spam.”

“You’re not wrong.”

“How have you been?”

Is she serious? “I’ve been… okay.” I look around the room. “River? What’s going on?”

“Alison would like to have coffee with you. I told her I would handle the logistics.”

“Logistics?”

River’s laughter sounds way too forced. “Yes, I’ll send you a link with directions to the coffee shop where you’ll need to meet her. Would today work? Noon?”

I look at my watch, but before I have a chance to respond, River says, “Noon it is. She’ll see you then. Please don’t be late.” And the line goes dead.

What the fuck? It’s eleven now. I have an hour to get to wherever the hell I’m meeting Alison.

Oh my god. I’m meeting Alison. I stand up so fast from my desk that my chair skids into the bookshelf behind me. I have to get ready.

I fly into the bedroom of my Harlem apartment and rip open a dresser drawer. The only clean pair of pants awaiting me there is my only option, so I pull the black skinny jeans on. My foot gets caught in the ripped hole on the knee, and I stumble and fall over onto the bed.

“Son of a bitch!” I shout as I right myself. “Calm down, Roberta. Calm the hell down.” I take a deep breath as I put them on correctly, button them, and glance in the mirror on the back of my door. Thank Christ they fit. I feel like the last two weeks all I’ve done is eat my feelings. It’s been… a process. I throw on a white tank top, a jean jacket, and my favorite pair of brown booties. My hair looks presentable, which is shocking because I literally woke up two hours ago and barely touched it. I put on such a limited amount of makeup that I’m second-guessing the entire time.

She’s going to think I look awful. Ugly. Old. Haggard.

Fuck.

If she thinks those things, then she’s not the right person for me to worry about. Right?

Right.

Fuck.

I grab my cell and my bag, lock my apartment, and rush as quickly as possible to the subway. My heart is racing. My mouth feels funny from not rinsing it well enough after I brushed my teeth. I search through my bag and find a piece of gum. It’s grape-flavored. Oh well, it’s gonna have to do.

Settle down, Roberta. Everything is going to be fine. You’ve literally seen her naked, had her vagina in your mouth. This is just coffee. Everything. Is. Going. To. Be. Fine.

I get off the subway at Fourteenth and Sixth and head as quickly as possible up the stairs to the street. Birch Coffee. It’s a trendy little spot, and it makes sense she’d choose it. It’s close to her recording studio.

Not that I’ve done any research.

Because I haven’t. At all. It’s well-known where she records. I’m simply human.

Ugh. Why am I justifying any of this to myself? Jesus Christ. I’m in way too fucking deep. I’m a forty-five-year-old woman, for fuck’s sake. What the hell am I doing?

When I get to the shop, I quickly walk inside without a second thought. The place is completely empty, save for… “Ahh, Matt, so nice to see you both again,” I say with a smile as one of the security guards from the party two weeks prior waves at me from his post at the counter.

“Ms. Baldwyn, it’s nice to see you,” Matt says with a goofy grin. “Alison should be here momentarily.”

“Thank you. Should I just sit anywhere?”

He nods. “You can sit wherever you’d like. River requested that you’re preferably away from the windows, though.”

“Ahh, that tracks.” Of course. Away from the windows. I take a seat at a table near the back of the shop. My hands are sweating, my pits are sweating, and so are the undersides of my breasts. I’m gonna combust. And now I’m sitting here. Waiting. Sweating. Sweating and waiting.

I hear the front door open, a little commotion, people shouting, camera shutters clicking and bulbs flashing, and then the door closing. Heels walking toward me. And then she comes into view.

My breath involuntarily holds in my lungs as my entire world grinds to a halt.

“Hi,” she says tentatively with a tiny uptick at the corner of her lips.

Goddamn. She looks… wow… so good. Her hair is falling in waves around her face, over her shoulders, as if the sudden spike in November humidity is getting to it. How funny that even humidity affects a super star. “Hi.” I tried to stand before I spoke, but it was useless.

“Is this seat taken?” She wraps her hand around the top of the chair as she pulls it out, her eyes never leaving mine. “I hope not.” The way she smiles at me makes my chest clench.

And that’s when I realize two things are true.

One, she didn’t forget about me. She’s here. Right now.

And two? I’m absolutely falling for this woman. Head over feet.

* * *

Erin Zak is a sapphic contemporary romance writer who loves older women, imperfect people, and beautiful places. She’s a bit dorky and quirky and tries to make sure every single one of her characters has those same qualities. You can find her on Twitter and Instagram at @erinzakwrites. You can also listen to her podcast, The Weekly Wine Down, where she gets tipsy with her best friends while discussing any and everything.

Erin”s first book, Falling into Her, was a Goldie finalist for Best Debut Novel. Breaking Down Her Walls and Create a Life to Love were both Lammy finalists for Lesbian Romance.

www.erinzak.com