The "Impact" series began as a collaboration with ButteredCrumpet who posted our original versions* as "Impact of Collision" - I have edited and added to mine as I've worked to finish the series by myself.
When Sarah is alone the story is in the past tense. When Claire and Sarah are together the story is in present tense.
Special thanks to HaltWhoGoesThere for proof reading this chapter - repeatedly.
Impact of Collisions
"Ohmygodimsosorry! Ohmygod! I'm such a... let me!"
She's not wearing a bra. I've soaked her. She looks panicked.
"Please, I can fix this," I promise. She had been sitting next to me at the little bar, her facing her date, me facing mine. I'd been listening and admiring her first-date patter while I waited for my date to arrive... and as much as I could after he'd come. She is way more interesting than the finance bro I'd saddled myself with for the evening.
I had turned to stand up with my glass when our table was ready but hadn't expected her to be getting up at the same time. I doused her. We were facing each other, both looking at her dark nipples showing through the sheer silk of her shirt. The horror on her face mirrored my own. Thank god it was rosΓ©.
"Trust me," I plead as I pull her towards me so my chest is blocking any view of hers.
"May I have some napkins and a pint of seltzer?" I ask the bartender, who is a lovely older blonde. She understands and snaps into action.
Seltzer in hand, we pushed past a girl waiting for the restroom.
"Hey!"
"We'll be quick," I lie.
I usher her into the little bathroom and get my first really good look at her.
'Jesus, she's
really
pretty,' I register with a jolt. I've gathered paper towels in my hand and am beginning to kneel. I have to force myself to stop, to merely dip my knees and stoop.
'What are you doing Sarah?' I wonder. We exchanged a look. 'Did she see what I'd almost done?'
I'm holding myself in this strange crouch, hoping she'll think that's what I meant to do all along. I feel myself blushing scarlet with shame and busy myself wetting the towels in the seltzer.
Her breasts are pear shaped and upturned, the perfect size - not too big.
I start by dabbing at the stain with the seltzer, but realize I need to be less tentative and more aggressive. Soaking a napkin I begin watering down the wine. The rosΓ© is bright pink against the cream silk; the seltzer is making it all more see-through. Her nipples are oily-looking through the silk. She's watching me, she no longer looks mad - curious? Amused? My flush deepens.
"Disaster," I apologize, feeling self conscious as I push at her breasts with the wet towels. I'm soaking her tits.
She untucks and pulls her shirt away from her chest, allowing me to mop it with the napkin more easily. Again I fight the impulse to kneel.
'Stop it!' I tell myself.
Glancing up to see her looking down at me, that same curious look in her eye. Casting my eyes back at the mess I've made of her blouse I push down at a burst of guilt, mumbling another apology.
"You're Sarah?" she asks, making me look back up in surprise. "I heard you introduce yourself to your date, I'm Claire."
Her voice is gentle, friendly even, none of the anger I deserve.
"I know," I admit. "And you're a curator, which is the coolest thing ever!"
"Sounds like your date is as interesting as mine," she laughs. "But yes, I work in a gallery in Chelsea - 'curator' is inflating what I do. I'm more of an overblown gallery girl..."
"Well the artist you're working with sounds amazing," I tell her.
"Sophie," she says absently. She's looking over at her reflection.
If it weren't for her hazel eyes, which are warm and kind, I might describe Claire as an icy blonde. Her long thick mane is pulled back tight into a lovely loose bun, and her face is beautiful, perfectly made up. More makeup than I wear, but not too much. She looks elegant and mature in a way I can only dream of.
"I'm so sorry for wrecking your date," I tell her.
"Yeah, don't be, he sucks," she laughs. "We couldn't even get to our table and he was already talking about Ayn Rand."
"Mine too!" I blurt. "I mean, Bitcoin, but same thing right?"
She laughs, which makes me feel good. Her laugh is light and feminine. Like Audrey Hepburn.
Seriously
elegant.
"I mean I knew it was coming as soon as I set eyes on him," I blurt, "but what happened to romance? Warm a girl up with some compliments and small talk,
then
the capitalist monologue!"
I'm nervous and babbling, but whatever, I make Claire laugh. I'm a little surprised by how happy I am to hear it.
'Even her laugh is pretty,' I think, hating the way I snort and bray.
"Well I think your John Gault is better looking than mine," she tells me. I must look as clueless as I feel because she smiles and explains, "That's a character from one of Rand's books,
John Gault.
"
"Oh. I've never actually read her books," I admit. "I just know what I learn from awful dates."
Claire narrows her eyes at me, sizing me up.