There was such a deep and bitter irony about being judged on morals by Donald fucking Trump that it made everything seem completely surreal. Sure, maybe she'd thrown her legs up in the air a few too many times and she probably should've waited a few months to see if coke really was better in the city than in Kentucky, but in spite of how exciting being Miss USA was made to sound, being the prized cow was pretty tedious.
It would be all right, she thought to herself as she slammed her palm against the button in the elevator to take her to her shared room the final time. Vanessa Williams had a career and she couldn't remember the last Miss USA to really break through and make something of themselves. This was, perhaps, more due to her mood than reality, but it didn't matter. It was comforting.
She could ride the talk show circuit. Maybe give her life to Christ or something equally as banal. If that didn't work, there was always
Playboy
. They'd probably be drooling for her after she was born again. Then
Maxim
, maybe. If that dried up... maybe she could go back to the Christians again. They were saps like that.
When she walked through the door, she saw Katie watching the news, her face still pink and eyes red from crying. Sometimes when Katie looked at her, it was like looking in a mirror in that generic way that most pageant girls looked about the same. They'd kissed a few times, mostly in drunken jubilance, enjoying the frivolity of the party atmosphere and to see what the guys around them would do. It had never been serious, at least not to Tara.
Now that she saw how all of this was affecting Katie, she felt a little guilty. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy kissing her. It was soft. Softer than men tended to kiss, but maybe that was just because her lips were bigger, plusher, softer than any man she'd dated. Tara didn't miss the lack of facial hair scraping her face, providing fresh make-up challenges the next day. Scruff looked a lot sexier than it ever felt.
"I'm so sorry, Tara," said Katie. She stood and flung her arms around Tara as she sobbed again, murmuring apologies and how thankful she was that she hadn't been ratted out.
It wasn't altruism. It wasn't even that she was particularly protective of Katie. They were only two years apart, and Tara didn't think she needed any protection. It just wouldn't have done any good to tattle and might have even made things a little worse. As it was, Tara sounded like she'd corrupted Katie. That wasn't true. Both of them had gone out together, drank together, made-out when it amused them. Maybe Katie was just less likely to drop her panties, and she drew the line at cocaine and that was just enough to keep her out of the line of fire.
"It's all right, dolly," said Tara in her soft southern drawl. She released the hug to cup her face and brush away her tears. "You've just gotta keep it clean from now on, all right? Watch out for yourself."
The way that Katie was looking at her was odd. There was a softness to her eyes even as her brows furrowed with worry. But she wasn't looking at Tara's eyes, but rather her lips. Tara had seen this look before, although usually they were both fuzzy with drinking. At least Tara thought they'd both been buzzed.
She released Katie's face only to find it mashed against her own. Her face was wet but her kneading lips were tender and pliant. Her tongue was slick, warm and needy as it pulled Tara's tongue into her mouth and sucked it greedily.
Katie was pulling at Tara's short skirt, driving the hem up over her hips. Tara broke the kiss, about to question it when she felt Katie's long nails scraping over the lacy front of her La Perlas. The sensation took Tara's breath away, partly because it was so unexpected but also because the scrape of nails through the fabric was new and erotic.