Chapter 6-I’m A Lesbian Because I Like Breasts

Spencer was on edge, a fact not entirely surprising considering she hadn’t slept in two nights nor had sex in two days. Not to say she hadn’t tried, because she had, on both counts. Regardless of the reason, though she was not so disillusioned to rule out the fact that whatever she was experiencing was related to Ashley, Spencer found herself at Starbucks for the third time that Tuesday morning, tapping her debit card irritably against the check out counter as an incompetent trainee struggled fruitlessly to process her order.

“Okay, you know what?” Spencer snapped, fishing through her wallet for the deck of bills she kept there, “Take this,” she continued coolly, reaching across the counter to stuff a hundred dollar bill down the bumbling neophyte’s crisp shirt pocket, “Keep the change,” She smiled sarcastically, leaning forward to where he was visibly shaking, “And give me my fucking drink.”

“So, you’re a lesbian because you hate men.”

Then there was that.

Sipping innocently on a tall frappuchino in Spencer’s corner, the one she had dubbed her own since she was old enough to understand that caffeine was a drug from god and Starbucks was her overpricing dealer, cross-legged and eyeing Spencer as if she was new and rare species of African Gazelle, was Ashley Davies.

See, there was another reason Spencer Carlin was so antsy and it was not a ‘who’ but a ‘when’. Courtesy of Kate, Spencer had learned of Ashley’s pilgrimage back to town and their inevitable ‘bumping into’ was another source of all her troubles—It was making her crazy.

“No…” Spencer said slowly, “I’m a lesbian because I love breasts,” She answered, unable to help herself from returning Ashley’s infectious smile.

“Breasts?” Ashley laughed, watching Spencer slowly approach her table.

“MmHmm,” She teased, “Perhaps you’ve heard of them?”

“Perhaps” Ashley said, incapable of wiping the grin off her face.

They stayed like that for a few seconds, Ashley sitting and Spencer standing, staring critically at one another as if drinking the other in, summing the other up, memorizing every crook, crevice, and plane of the other’s goofily grinning face, while feeding their own insane fascinations. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think they were in love.