It was hot as hell on the L train despite the air conditioning. Jet rolled her shoulders, trying to resist tugging on her bow tie. She wished she had worn just a vest over her button-down shirt as opposed to a full suit. But she had wanted to look her very best today, and that meant dressing to the nines despite the heat. Later, after she had made her first impression, she could ditch the suit jacket and roll her long sleeves neatly to her elbow, pulling the cuffs out just so.
At least she knew she looked good. She'd spent more time in front of her full-length mirror than she would normally have done, holding bow tie after bow tie up to her throat. She had finally chosen a dark-bronze-and-navy floral one that picked up the tones of her midnight blue suit and shirt and her brown oxfords. After tying it expertly, she had slicked a bit of mousse into her pompadour, plucked a few stray brow hairs, and judged herself good to go.
Now she was sitting on the train second-guessing her outfit. Cut it out, she told herself. Hoping for a distraction, she turned her gaze outside the train as it coasted into the 6th Avenue station. There was the usual assortment of people on the platform: students, parents with toddlers, a family clearly on vacation. There was also a couple who looked like they might be having an argument. The woman certainly looked annoyed, anyway, and she whirled away from the man as the train came to a halt, hoofing it down the platform and squeezing into Jet's car just before the doors slid shut.
Jet watched idly as the woman skirted a knot of people to stand just in front of Jet, ignoring the empty seat across from her. The curve of her full, round ass was right at Jet's eye level--though Jet tried not to stare, she couldn't seem to help herself from letting her gaze roll down the woman's shapely legs and back up. Her legs were encased in tight houndstooth-print ankle-length slacks, her toenails painted a soft pink. She wore a floaty ivory blouse and looked much cooler than Jet felt. The woman shifted, and Jet saw that her fingernails matched her toenails--short, neatly trimmed, no ragged cuticles. Heat crept up her cheeks as she realized she was paying way too much attention to this woman's fingernails.
She cleared her throat, telling herself to think of something else. Just then the train pulled into the 14th Street station, jerking to a stop as it always did. Jet barely took notice, but found herself reaching out automatically to steady the woman standing in front of her as she stumbled on her pin-thin heels and nearly fell into Jet's lap. Her hips were soft and lush and felt very good in Jet's hands. She also got a whiff of the woman's perfume--something floral and slightly spicy.
Then the woman looked up, clearly embarrassed, and their eyes met. Jet felt the jolt run right through her as they did. This woman was fucking gorgeous, with a wavy, artfully tousled mop of black hair, sharp green eyes, and a sprinkling of freckles. Her eye makeup was masterful--a skill Jet had never learned. Jet had the strangest urge to pull her down onto her lap and kiss her silly. She wasn't usually into super femme women, but this one pushed all her buttons. The woman gave her an swift assessing look in return, but Jet was too jaded to think it might be actual interest she saw sparking in her eyes.
"I'm sorry," the woman said, her voice deeper and huskier than Jet had expected. The sound of it sent a thrill through her, and she felt her core pulse in response. Not now, she urged herself.
"No worries," she managed, reluctantly removing her hands from the woman's hips now that she was steady on her feet again.
The train had nearly emptied as everyone headed off to the 6 Train. But the woman didn't move. She was looking through the doors into the next train car, and her face took on a distinctly strained expression.
"Oh god," she muttered.
"Something wrong?" Jet asked.
"Just this guy. He was hitting on me in the station. I said I wasn't interested. He didn't care. Then I told him I was taken, even though I'm not. Didn't work. So then I told him I was a lesbian, hoping that would get him to leave me alone."
"Are you?"
"Am I--" The woman looked briefly confused and then broke off, blushing. "Oh. I..." She hesitated.
"Doesn't matter. If he comes in here, I'll deal with him."
"Really?" She seemed painfully relieved at the prospect of not having to face him alone.
Jet hoped the guy would stay in the other car now that the train was in motion again, but...men. Especially now his quarry was alone.
"What's your name?" Jet asked.
"Rosie." Rosie took her gaze off the window and looked at Jet again. "You?"
"Jet."
"Jet?" she repeated.
"It's Jeanette, really," Jet said with a grimace. "After my grandmother. It doesn't suit me."'
"Jet does," Rosie said with a little smile.
The door at the end of the subway car opened, and a man walked in, his eyes fixed on Rosie. He was tall, just a bit taller than Jet was, in athletic gear that showed off his lean muscles. Jet lifted, too, though, and she figured she could give him a run for his money if she had to.
"Hey there, sugarpie," he said, grinning at Rosie. A flash of anger burst through Jet, as did the impulse to stand in front of Rosie and shield her. The notion startled her, but the anger was genuine. Couldn't a woman just ride the subway without being hassled?
Rosie froze, appearing to steel herself to respond, but before she could Jet stood and crossed her arms.
"Who are you?" she asked, frowning over at him.
"Who are you?" the man countered, clearly just noticing Jet for the first time.
"I'm Jet. 'Sugarpie' here is my girlfriend."
"Bullshit, she's no dyke."
It was hardly the first time she'd had the word thrown at her, but the soft flinch Rosie gave beside her told her it was likely her first experience with that particular invective.
"I said," Jet said evenly, "she's my girlfriend. And she's not interested in you." She slid her arm around Rosie's waist in a proprietary way. Rosie stiffened slightly, but turned into her as if seeking protection.
"Maybe she just needs a good fuck from a real man."
Derisive laughter bubbled up out of Jet's throat. "I can give a better fuck than you any day of the week."
"You don't even have a dick."
"I don't need a dick." She gave him an assessing look. "And I can still do better than a Two-Pump Chump like you. I can go all night," she grinned. "She can ride my face for an hour and when she's tired I worship her body with every part of mine. I make her come like a firehose until she's limp and exhausted. When's the last time you even saw a pussy, much less made one come?"
The man just stared at her, and she felt Rosie's attention riveted as well. Acting on impulse, she turned to cement their little lie with a kiss. Rosie's eyes widened slightly as she guessed Jet's intention, but she lifted her chin just slightly in acquiescence.
Jet's mouth came down on Rosie's harder, more possessively, than she'd intended. Rosie stiffened briefly before relaxing into the kiss, nearly melting in Jet's arms. Jet felt like she was on fire. She hadn't wanted a woman this badly in months--maybe years. She wanted to just say fuck the wedding and take Rosie home to bed.
Instead she pulled away from Rosie's petal-soft lips and glanced back at the man. He was glaring at them now with a sour expression on his face.
"Fucking dykes," he spat as he turned to go back the way he had come.
She had heard it all before, but that didn't mean it wasn't painful. It was always jarring to be reminded that, to some men, her only worth as a woman was her fuckability. On that scale, she thought, Rosie was worth about a thousand times more than she was. Rosie's body was lush, curvy, sexy as hell. Rosie was probably also straight--odds were, anyway. She'd played along, but that was all there would be.
