A Brighter Palette Page 7

  Annie had barely closed the door behind her when Siobhán rounded on her. “What happened at the bar?”

  “Nothing serious,” Annie tried to brush it off. “Chad hit on me, is all. I was more annoyed by his assumption that we weren’t on a date than anything else.” She dropped her purse onto the floor near the door and took off her shoes. “And him angling for a threesome.”

  “Ugh. That’s the problem with dating bi women,” Siobhán muttered.

  “Well, you’re hardly the stereotypical lesbian either,” Annie snapped as she straightened. She crossed her arms over her chest. “You must get hit on by men all the time.”

  Siobhán grimaced. “More of them than I’d like, that’s for sure. But that’s not the point. You confuse them.”

  “I confuse them? How?”

  “You give off vibes.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Do I give off some kind of waves that confuse people’s gaydar?”

  “That’s not what I meant, Annie.”

  “No, this is bullshit. I don’t know why you’re sulking about this. I had no control over him hitting on me. Nor do I have control over whom I’m attracted to!” Annie snapped.

  “I can’t stand the thought of anyone else touching you.”

  “Have I ever said I want anyone else to touch me?” Annie argued. “I can’t think about anyone but you, Siobhán!”

  “Good.” Siobhán yanked Annie to her and kissed her deeply, her mouth hot and damp. The kiss was forceful, claiming.

  Lust and anger battled within Annie and lust won out as she grabbed Siobhán’s hips and met Siobhán’s need with her own.

  “You make me crazy, Annie,” Siobhán muttered against her mouth. She grabbed Annie’s hand and pulled her forward. Annie barely had time to register Siobhán pushing her down onto the loveseat and dropping to her knees before she felt Siobhán’s hands pushing up her dress. Her head swam from the drinks and the out-of-control lust, and Annie was too turned on to argue any more.

  Siobhán yanked Annie’s flimsy satin panties down and off her, then rubbed her thumb across Annie’s labia. “Mmm, you are wet already. Is that for me?”

  Annie moaned when Siobhán slid two fingers into her. “Always you,” she managed.

  “Good.” Siobhán used her free hand to push Annie’s leg out and to the side. She lowered her head until she was just inches from Annie’s pussy. “Because I intend to make sure you never think about anyone else.”

  How could I? Annie thought as Siobhán buried her face between Annie’s thighs and began to lick. Annie gathered Siobhán’s thick hair up in her hands as Siobhán pleasured her. Annie let her head fall back, and she let out a gasping sob as her thighs tensed and she felt the first orgasm roll through her.

  How could she think of anyone but Siobhán at a time like this?

  A short while later, Annie’s spinning head finally settled, and she registered the fact that she was curled up with Siobhán on the couch, and Siobhán was playing with her hair.

  She looked Siobhán in the eye when she could finally form a coherent thought. “Your jealousy is completely ridiculous, you know.”

  Siobhán grimaced. “I know. I’m sorry.”

  Annie opened her mouth to argue, then realized Siobhán had agreed with her. “Really?”

  “Yes.” Siobhán hesitated, looking away from Annie for a moment. “Look, I—I definitely got insecure and let my jealousy get the better of me. But you’re right. I was being ridiculous and sulking about something you had no control over.”

  Annie relaxed a little, relieved that Siobhán had at least admitted she’d been out of line. “Thank you. That makes me feel a little better.”

  “I hope you won’t hold this against me,” Siobhán said softly. “I’ll try to rein in my jealousy in the future.”

  “No harm done,” Annie said, trying to lighten the mood a little. She reached out and pulled Siobhán a little closer. “And I’m certainly not complaining about the orgasms.”

  “Kiss and make up?” Siobhán offered.

  Annie sighed and pressed her lips briefly to Siobhán’s. “Only if you promise to make it really, really good,” she teased.

  “That is definitely a promise I can keep,” Siobhán said huskily.

  ***

  After another round of sex, Siobhán tugged Annie toward the bedroom. She followed on shaky legs, feeling half-drunk and completely stupid from all the orgasms.

  God, had she ever come like that? She’d lost count of them somewhere around six as one rolled straight into another. Or maybe they’d all just been part of one giant orgasm. But what did it matter? She felt so relaxed and sated she could hardly stay upright.

  “Come on, álainn,” Siobhán said, a smile in her voice. “Into bed, so.”

  “It’s not that late,” Annie said dazedly. But she let Siobhán pull her down onto the sheets and pull the blankets up over them both.

  “And you can barely keep your eyes open,” she murmured.

  True, Annie thought as she looped an arm around Siobhán and pulled her closer.

  “What does álainn mean?” she asked thickly. “I think I knew once, but I can’t seem to remember. And I kept forgetting to ask you.”

  “It means beautiful. And you are, Annie. So beautiful.”

  Annie pressed a kiss to Siobhán’s shoulder in thanks, but her eyes felt unbearably heavy, and she slipped into sleep before she could say it aloud.

  A while later, Annie awoke to Siobhán staring at her with a smile on her face. “Hey,” Annie said sleepily. “How long have I been out?”

  “Half an hour? Forty-five minutes, maybe?” Siobhán shrugged. “Does it matter?”

  “No.” Annie pushed her hair out of her eyes. “Did you sleep or just lay here staring at me?”

  “I was awake.” Siobhán traced her fingers across Annie’s cheek. “You’re so beautiful when you sleep. I need to paint you sometime soon.”

  “Siobhán.” Annie flipped onto her stomach and propped herself on her elbows. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

  A furrow appeared over Siobhán’s brow. “What about?”

  “What are we doing, exactly?”

  “I don’t understand what you mean, Annie.”

  Annie wet her lips. “I’m really enjoying being with you but I ... I’m not sure where this is heading. My roommate referred to you as my girlfriend, and I almost called you that earlier to the bartender, but I don’t know how you feel about it. You said you couldn’t stand to see someone else touch me, but I don’t know what that means to you.”

  Siobhán smiled at her. “Does it help if I say I’ve been yours—and only yours—since I saw you studying my paintings at the gallery?”

  “Yes.” Annie swallowed past the lump in her throat. “I’m falling really hard for you,” she admitted.

  Siobhán pulled her in for a kiss. “Too late. I’ve already fallen for you.” Siobhán kissed her again. “I have no intention of seeing someone else, and I hope you feel the same.”

  Annie smiled. “I do. I just want to be with you, Siobhán.”

  Chapter Seven

  Reorganization. Temporary cutbacks. Annie stared at the reply to her email with a sick, sinking feeling. We’ll let you know when more freelance opportunities become available, but we will not be accepting new submissions in the foreseeable future.

  “Annie?” Siobhán’s gentle touch on her hair made her look up from her laptop. “What is it? You look like you got horrible news.”

  “I did,” Annie said dully. “You know how I told you that the site I regularly submit freelance stories to hadn’t been posting any new submission calls lately?”

  “Yes.” Siobhán’s brow furrowed as she took a seat beside Annie. “Did something happen?”

  “They don’t need me anymore. I mean, they’re not saying they’ll never want my work again, but they basically said they’re cutting way down on the number of submission calls while they ‘reorganize.’ Whatever that means
. They were my most reliable source of income. What the hell am I going to do?”

  “Oh no!” Siobhán rubbed her arm. “I’m so sorry, Annie.”

  Annie leaned her head on Siobhán’s shoulder. “I’m just so tired. I feel like every time I get my foot in the door somewhere and things are maybe a little better, the bottom drops out from under me. I can pick up some pieces here and there from other sites, but it won’t be enough.”

  “I’m sorry, love.” Siobhán’s tone was soft and sympathetic. “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Wave a magic wand and find me work?” Annie asked weakly.

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that. You know I would if I could though.”

  She did knew Siobhán would help if she could, but there was little she could do besides offer sympathy. It was nice, but it didn’t deposit money in her bank account or make her feel any less like a failure.

  Right now, the only thing going well in her life was her relationship with Siobhán. It had been a little over a month since they’d met at the gallery and several weeks since they’d discussed exclusivity. It had been smooth sailing since the fight about Siobhán’s insecurity. Annie had loved every second of the time she spent with Siobhán. Annie had even posed while Siobhán painted her a few times. Their time together seemed almost idyllic.

  But the worry over her future grew worse.

  If things didn’t improve soon, she was just going to have to admit that she couldn’t make a living with her writing and get some kind of an office job somewhere. The economy wasn’t great, but Annie was pretty sure she’d be able to find something. Something that would at least pay the bills until she figured out what else to do. It was utterly and completely demoralizing. And she dreaded the thought of having to get up to go to work every day to a job that—at best—she’d tolerate and—at worst—she’d loathe. She might as well go back to journalism.

  “Maybe I can help you brainstorm some new ideas,” Siobhán offered, pulling her out of her melancholy thoughts. “Together, I’m sure we can come up with something.”

  Annie straightened and set her laptop on the ottoman beside Siobhán’s. She shifted so she was facing her. “I’d welcome any help I can get. I’m doing a terrible job at it myself.”

  Siobhán gently grasped Annie’s foot and tugged it toward her. “Come here, love. I’ll rub your feet while we brainstorm.”

  “Okay.” She moaned quietly as Siobhán began to knead her arch. “Ohhh. That feels heavenly. I’m not sure I’ll be able to think while you do it.”

  “You just answer my questions. I’ll do the thinking.”

  “I like the sound of that,” Annie said with a small smile. The panic inside her that had begun to rise the moment she read the email was receding a little, thanks to Siobhán. Maybe they could figure out something else. Something to stave off having to apply for desk jobs a while longer. All she could do was hope.

  “We established that you don’t want to be a journalist anymore, yes?” Siobhán said, all business now.

  “Yes,” Annie agreed. “I can’t see myself ever going back to it.”

  “And you love history, but you don’t want to teach.”

  “Correct.”

  “But you do love writing.”

  “I do.”

  “Have you thought about becoming a novelist?”

  Annie hesitated. “I don’t feel like I have any stories in me.”

  Siobhán leveled her with a look as she pressed her thumb into the space between Annie’s big and second toe, making them curl. “Are you saying that because you don’t think you’re capable of it?”

  “No!” Annie protested. “Not at all. I just ... I love to read, but I’m not sure a novel is what I should do. I’m not a fiction writer.”

  “You could write non-fiction—biographies or something.”

  Annie sighed, feeling frustrated. “I don’t like the long format. I like shorter pieces and a more immediate connection with my readers.”

  “Hmm.” Siobhán switched feet. “Well, that presents some dilemmas, doesn’t it?”

  “Unfortunately.” Annie frowned. “Now you see why I’m struggling.”

  “I do. And it’s clear that freelancing for various sites isn’t working for you.”

  “No, not at all. I’m at the mercy of what others want. I have almost no creative control, and if they decide they don’t need me, I’m out of luck.” She gestured toward her laptop, indicating the email she’d gotten earlier.

  Siobhán’s frown deepened. “Have you thought about starting your own blog? You love writing, and the freelance posts of yours that I’ve read are very good. Why not start something of your own?”

  Annie shrugged. “The thought has crossed my mind a few times. But it’ll take a while to get off the ground, and even then, how would I make money?”

  “Advertising, I would think.”

  “It just seems so daunting. Where would I begin?”

  Siobhán set her foot down and patted the top of it. “Begin with something you’re passionate about.”

  Annie laughed ruefully. “I don’t even know what that is.”

  “Sex with me,” Siobhán said with a sultry toss of her hair as she struck a vampy pose.

  This time Annie’s laugh was loud and long. “Yes, I do love that. But I’m not writing about lesbian sex on a blog.”

  “Why not? It sounds fun.” But Siobhán’s expression was more teasing than serious.

  Annie’s brief good mood evaporated. “Seriously, though, I have absolutely no idea what I’d write about.”

  “Well, you enjoy art. And you follow a lot of the female artists in the area. What about something to do with that?”

  “You just want me to write you up and promote your work,” Annie countered with a laugh.

  Siobhán shrugged. “Well, I wouldn’t argue if you did, but that wasn’t what I intended. I just meant that it’s something you’re interested in, passionate about.”

  “I know. And that’s true. Would that really be enough to fill a whole blog though?” Annie asked doubtfully.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “And what kind of advertisers would I get? Galleries? There’s only so many of those in the area, and I can’t imagine they’d be that interested in a little blog like mine. Or at least not until I grew the readership.”

  “Well, perhaps not just artists ... maybe something broader.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. What about a—a travel blog?”

  “Hmm.” Annie sighed. “A travel blog sounds amazing, but I’ve hardly been anywhere, except the northeast part of this country and the one semester in Ireland. I would love to travel more, but I can’t afford it.”

  “So what about a more local focus then? Something ... something like a Boston area blog.”

  “What about it?” Annie asked doubtfully.

  “Well, feature local attractions. Places to visit in Boston, Salem, and Cambridge. Kind of like an online travel guide for the Greater Boston area. You’re great with history, you know art, you like eating out. You could spotlight a series of places, talk about tips for navigating the area, ways to save money while visiting, that sort of thing.”

  “That’s ... yeah, that’s an interesting idea,” Annie said, warming to the idea. But reality reared its ugly head, and she felt like a popped balloon, rapidly deflating. “I just don’t know if I’d be any good at it.”

  “I know it’s an avenue you’ve never explored before, but you have the skills as a writer, you know how to research ... I really think you’re suited for this.”

  “I guess I am pretty decent with a camera too,” Annie admitted. “I had to do a lot of my own photography when I worked for the paper. Some video too.”

  “See?” Siobhán smiled at her. “It’s coming together. What do you have to lose?”

  “I’ll think about it,” Annie replied. “There’s a ton of research I’d need to do first.”

  But the ideas were sw
irling in her head, and for the first time in a while, she felt a thrill of excitement about a potential career path.

  In fact ... she looked over at Siobhán ... her life was finally coming together in a lot of ways.

  Maybe things weren’t quite so hopeless after all.

  ***

  Two days later, when Annie got home to her own apartment, she was still thinking about Siobhán’s blog idea. Siobhán seemed convinced that Annie could handle it. While Annie appreciated the faith Siobhán had in her, and loved the idea, she couldn’t shake the apprehensive feeling that if she agreed to it, she’d be biting off more than she could chew.

  She gave a desultory wave toward Trent, who was watching a Red Sox game on the TV. She tried not to cringe at the coffee table littered with half-empty glasses and dirty dishes.

  Her thoughts quickly returned to the blog idea as she walked down the hall. She didn’t like the niggling doubts she had about it, and the more she thought about it, the less plausible it seemed. What made her think that any blog she started would stand out among the millions—or maybe billions—of other blogs in the world? Thinking that was really the height of arrogance.

  And while Siobhán’s encouragement meant the world to her, she couldn’t help but think that Siobhán was biased. Of course, she thought Annie would succeed. But Siobhán wasn’t a writer or an editor. She was a brilliant, talented woman, but she was a studio artist, not a journalist or a blogger. What did she know?

  “Ugh, I don’t know why I even bother,” Anne muttered under her breath as she walked toward her bedroom. “I should just accept reality and get a stupid office job like everyone else out there.”

  The kitchen was as messy as ever when she passed through it, and she scowled in the general direction of the living room and Trent. Great, she was going to have to clean before she could even make dinner.

  Once her bags were in her room, she ventured into the kitchen, shaking her head at the piles of dishes and the faint odor of old food and musty sponges. With a sigh of resignation, she put on rubber gloves and tackled the stack of dishes.

  She could scream at Trent until she was blue in the face or suck it up and clean. At the moment, cleaning seemed like less work.