The Player Ch 01 Ennui

I'd never intended Michelle to become as significant as she did in

Mentor

. "The bartender is straight" was intended as an accurate warning. Then I recalled that Ann, who gave the warning, tweaks facts for her own benefit. Maybe Michelle wasn't as straight as Ann claimed. Maybe Ann knew nothing about her. Maybe Michelle had a role in the story.

So she did, and it didn't end well for her. But that was Kayla's story. This is Michelle's

Oh, and if you were offended by Kayla preying on young college girls, you are going to

hate

chapter 3. Fair warning.

The Player

Chapter 1 - Ennui

"Should I give you a few minutes more?"

Michelle had been daydreaming, and hadn't noticed the woman approach. "Oh, no, I think we're ready," she said, glancing at her friends across the table for confirmation.

"I've heard that the steaks here are as good as anywhere," she said, after getting a nod from each, "so I'll take the eight-ounce rib-eye, medium rare."

"It's true," the waitress replied. "You won't be disappointed. What else?"

Her nonchalant but non-boastful tone caused Michelle to look up at the young woman, seeing her for the first time, and immediately wanting to take a second and third glance.

She appeared to be around Michelle's own age, a little shy of thirty, with short curls of an evening gold, several shades darker and more lustrous than Michelle's pale blonde, and eyes of a startling green. Freckles lightly dusted a button nose. She was slender, her build athletic, the widening of her hips subtle beneath her black skirt. Her crisp, white short-sleeved shirt had a disappointingly high neck, as she wore a complex navy bow tie that followed the countours of her shirt. A shape that strongly hinted at treasures within. The barely discernible outline of a low bra below the tie made Michelle doubly disappointed that the shirt's coverage was so complete.

Though she tried to be subtle as she checked her out, the woman must have caught a hint of Michelle's scrutiny, given her impish smile as she acknowledged the rest of her order.

It hadn't even been a conscious action on Michelle's part. Just an old pattern, no longer appropriate. Given her recent history, Michelle had no inclination to flirt, but force of habit and the waitress's undeniable allure made it impossible for her eyes not to wander.

She wondered what the young woman's reaction would be to her friends, who were clearly partners, and was pleased to find that she took their presence entirely in stride. If anything, her smile showed pleasure at the clear affection the two girls shared as they bickered over the menu. She glanced back, catching Michelle's gaze for a moment, and Michelle felt she could read her mind.

"Are you also into women?"

Turning back to Michelle after the couple had finally come to an agreement and placed their orders, the waitress asked, "Will you be wanting wine, or staying with your Negroni?"

Studying the wine list had seemed too much like a reminder of her job, and Michelle hadn't picked it up. "What would you recommend?"

The waitress moved close, brushing against Michelle's arm. She felt goosebumps at the contact. A cool scent called to mind snowscapes and winter meadows. "This Malbec is as good as any we have," the waitress said, opening the wine menu and touching the selection with her pen.

It wasn't a label Michelle recognized, though O'Neill's, where she worked, often carried Argentinian wines. It was far from the most expensive wine on the menu - very reasonable, by restaurant prices, which pleased Michelle. She could have easily recommended the most expensive red on the list.

The waitress remained close. Michelle could still detect her cool perfume as she asked her companions, "What do you think? Shall we get a bottle? We

are

celebrating."

"We're Ubering," said Kayla, the girl in the round silver-framed glasses, with dark mermaid hair and intense blue eyes. "We can have a glass or two."

"Is it safe to allow you and Michelle to drink together?" asked her partner, with a sly grin. Anita was a slender Chinese-American girl, who'd been in Kayla's life since before Michelle had met her, though they hadn't started dating until later. "Remember what happened last time? Do I need to play chaperone?"

"Those days are over, love," Kayla said, with a mock sigh.

"I

think

I can keep myself in check," Michelle agreed, dryly. She turned to the waitress, her arm brushing the woman's again. She was clearly amused by the conversation. Michelle wondered what she'd gathered from it. "We'd like a bottle, please."

"I'll bring it right away," the woman said. "Give it a chance to breathe before your food arrives. And if you need anything" - there was a slight emphasis on the word - "at all, my name's Rose."

"

Anything

at all," Kayla repeated, after the waitress - Rose - had left the table. "Anything for

you

, I think."

Anita chuckled. "Oh yeah, she totally wants you, Michelle."

Sighing, Michelle shook her head. "She's just flirting for tips," she said. "I do it myself. It can make a serious bump in an evening's income."

"She wants you," Anita insisted. "And she's seriously hot."

"Hey, you're not supposed to notice other girls," Kayla objected.

"Like your eyes weren't glued to her skirt as she left?" her partner asked.

"In the spirit of scientific enquiry, I was curious how fabric could stay so tight and still stretch like that," Kayla argued, then gave Michelle a quick smirk. "You're facing the wrong way."

"However hot she is, I'm not interested," Michelle insisted. "You know that."

Kayla reached across the table to take her hand. She shook it gently against the table. "You're free now," she said. "It's why we're celebrating, after all. Isn't it time to let go?"

"One day," Michelle said. "When I'm ready. Soon, I'm sure."

Kayla's hand continued to hold hers lightly, comforting, as Anita's sympathetic expression settled on her. The unexpected support of these two friends had made the past year tolerable.

Her hand was still nestled in Kayla's when she sensed a presence behind her. The faint wintry floral scent of Rose's nearness might have been her imagination as Kayla released her hand.

After serving the wine, Rose didn't leave immediately. "This is your first time here?" she asked. The flicking of her eyes was subtle, but she seemed to take in Michelle's appearance in a glance: the braided updo, with messy strands carefully teased out; the loose spaghetti strap top, quite revealing, though not out of place at this upscale-casual restaurant; the intricate dark artwork on both arms - her other tattoos would be hidden, though a butterfly's wing might be partially exposed, depending on how her top currently lay against her left breast. Michelle felt warmed by the woman's perusal.

None of the three companions had eaten at the golf club restaurant before, but it had a reputation as being the best casual dining place around. Michelle's comment about the steaks must have marked her as a newcomer. "It is," she agreed.

"I feel like I recognize you," the waitress said. "Have we met?"

"I tend bar at O'Neill's," she said. "And Gabby's."

"Oh, right! I'm sure I've seen you at O'Neill's," Rose said.

"Or maybe you've seen her singing with her band," interjected Kayla. "She has an

incredible

voice."

"Oh?" Rose's eyebrows quirked up. "What name?" she asked Michelle.

"'Of Darkness'," she replied.

"Oh yeah? I haven't seen you, but I dated someone who was obsessed with you. The band, I mean. Claimed you were destined to make it big."

Michelle laughed. "That's the reason you're not together?"

Rose returned her grin. "No, but it might be the reason I never went to a gig. My loss, I guess." This time her smile was clearly flirtatious. Michelle's belly tingled with a feeling that had become unfamiliar in the last several months. Not since that night over a year ago, that very naked, very physical, very orgasmic night with Kayla, who sat across from her, now holding her fiancée's hand.

When Rose left, Michelle turned her head to follow her movements, agreeing silently with Kayla that the tight skirt was unscientifically flexible, and observing the exaggerated swaying of her hips. She sighed. "Okay, you're right," she admitted. "She's coming on to me."

"And you're going to ignore it?" Anita asked, incredulous. She was the more reserved of the two - at least, outside the bedroom, though rumor had it that she was much less demure between the sheets. As the bartender of her favorite night spot, Michelle heard these things.

"I don't want to fall back into old habits," she said. "There's more to life than another woman in my bed."

"Oh, God, is there?" Kayla asked. "Did you know that?" she asked Anita, who released her hand to elbow her in the ribs.

"Oof," she continued. "Well, fair enough. We'll change the subject. But you should at least get her number."

Rose didn't intrude on their meal again, other than checking on their needs, which included a second bottle of the excellent wine. When she brought the check, Michelle took it. Her friends might have more stable incomes, but they'd stood by her through the divorce proceedings, and now that it was over, she wanted to treat them.

Returning with the credit card stub, Rose tore off a sheet from her order pad. Leaning close enough for her perfume again to remind Michelle of distant snowscapes, she said, "Would you text me when the band's playing next? I'd like to see them." Then she turned the pager over, and on the plain reverse, in large flowery characters - left-handed, Michelle noticed - she wrote "Rose," and her phone number.

Michelle turned to watch her leave again, the swaying of her hips in the tight, tight skirt pleasing her more than she would have expected.

Kayla looked up from her phone, with which she was summoning an Uber. "You're such a player," she said. "You didn't even have to ask," she continued, with a chuckle. "It would be rude not to call. You don't want to hurt the poor girl's feelings, do you?"

Adding a substantial tip, Michelle signed the credit stub, then stood to leave. Pursing her lips, she picked up the paper. She shouldn't find it frustrating. It wasn't Rose's fault that she was taking a break from affairs of the heart, and other parts of the body. Taking her number wasn't a commitment to call her, Michelle reassured herself, as she slipped it into her purse.

~~~~~

The gig was going great. Michelle was finally feeling that she was close to recovering the energy sapped from her over the last year.

Just six months ago, she'd been ready to quit the band. It had been so hard to make herself play the same songs at the same pubs for the same tiny fees. Tending bar had always paid better than music, especially on a good tip day, and devoting so many hours a week for such a low reward had left Michelle feeling trapped.

But she'd hung on. Jon had penned his first song, and it was a winner. Then Jon and Michelle had created one together, then the band had added other new material from Sydney, who was their most prolific writer, and who always included exciting guitar riffs and solos. Slowly, her enthusiasm returned, and she was glad that she hadn't given up.

Mostly, though, it was the support of her friends. A year ago she wouldn't have envisioned rebuilding a relationship with Kayla, but now the pretty mermaid-haired girl was solidly in her life. And there was her friend and fellow O'Neills bartender, Austin, his girlfriend Dylan, her bandmates, and others encouraging her. She felt that she was back.

Almost back. The few one-night stands she'd had since initiating the divorce had been desultory events. She could and did have a more satisfying time with her

personal massager

. And she still didn't understand why.

But that was a concern for another night. Nothing was going to detract from the high a particularly good show gave her, as her bandmates and she took their well-deserved final set break.

Joe, the band's manager, approached, carrying a pint glass of something pale and slightly cloudy. "From an admirer," he said, wearing his usual sardonic grin.

Giving him a resigned smile, Michelle took the glass. Not even an overly attached fangirl (or fanboy) would spoil her mood. "Who?" she asked.

"Blonde at the bar," he said, waving in that general direction. "Don't think it'll be hard to find her."

She rolled her eyes and headed for the bar, where she found the blonde in question. Golden hair, green eyes, a smattering of freckles, and an athletic build. She recognized her instantly, though it took a second to come up with the name.

"Rose! Thanks for the beer.... what is it?"

Rose beamed. Off-duty, she was dressed much more casually. A burgundy long-sleeved tee, its keyhole slot shaped by pale curves, showed how correct Michelle's assumptions had been. And though she wore jeans rather than a skirt, they were tight enough to have been painted on, if not quite as pliant as her work skirt. She pushed herself off the stool, low-heeled sandals sliding to the floor.

"Hey Michelle," she said - yelled, really - holding out a hand. Michelle gave it a perfunctory squeeze. She moved away from the bar stool.

The pub was named the Englishman, with a replica British pub sign over the door, showing a faux weathered image of a skinny man wearing a black suit with a monocle and top hat. The bar had an arrangement with a craft brewer to carry the widest range of IPAs in the area.

Tonight it was packed to capacity, or more than, which had been the case the last few times the band had played here. A sizable crowd had taken refuge in the beer garden. With the doors open, and the volume of the music, they wouldn't have any difficulty hearing. But even with so many outside, there wouldn't have been a chance of finding a seat with Rose.

"I didn't think you'd want a Negroni," the girl yelled, "so I asked the bartender. He said you like to try new beers. It's a local wheat beer that they brought in last week."

"He's right," Michelle said. "This isn't honestly the best place for us to play, but the beer selection helps." She took a sip of the glass she'd been carrying for the last few minutes. Her eyebrows rose. "And this is a good one. Did you get one for yourself?"

Rose glanced down, seeming to notice that her hands were empty. She looked around, then laughed and squeezed back through the crowd at the bar to recover her drink. "Wine," she said, flourishing the oversized glass as she stepped close. In her low heels against Michelle's Doc Martens, she had to look up to meet her eyes. "I don't mind beer, but I don't like having to remember what I like and what's so bitter it makes my tongue shrivel. After hours on my feet, I don't want to think so hard."

Her innocent demeanor almost convinced Michelle she didn't intend any innuendo, so of course it was her job to bring it to the surface. "And God forbid you'd let a shriveled tongue cramp your style."

"Seriously limits my options, right?" Rose agreed, deadpan.

In a different time and place, Michelle might have wanted to explore those options. She'd never considered herself to have a type, but if she had, Rose would probably personify it. She had wit and snark, was fun to talk to and hot as hell, with a body that suggested stamina for energetic activities, and a smile and style of dress that hinted at what those activities might include.

If her libido wasn't on vacation, Michelle would be imagining how amazing her body might feel writhing under Michelle's. Or atop hers. And from the smoky look in her eye, Rose's thoughts were traveling the same paths.

Hell, who was she trying to kid? If her libido

was

still on vacation, it must be riding back to town on a tricked-out Harley. She couldn't quite hear the roar of its exhaust, but she could maybe perceive the sirens of the state troopers in pursuit.

"Did you get our schedule from the website?" she asked. "Or from a flier somewhere?"

Rose looked puzzled. "You texted me?"

"I... didn't?" Michelle replied. "I think I'd remember doing that." After a moment, she asked, "May I see the text?"

Still frowning, Rose unlocked her phone and found the message.

"Fuck," Michelle breathed. "That's Kayla's number."

"I see," Rose said. "I did say I wanted to see the band. I guess she's just being a good neighbor and letting me know where and when."

Michelle shook her head. "Oh, no, I'm sure she has much more specific goals than that," she said. "Goals that include both of us," she glanced around at the crowd, "in a more intimate setting than this."

"And you don't?" Rose asked. One eyebrow rose in amusement, though she seemed to be masking disappointment.

"It's... complicated," Michelle replied, "and it's time for the last set." She took a swig of her beer, but there was still more than half left.

"I'll be here afterward, if you want to uncomplicate it for me," Rose suggested.

"I would," Michelle replied, finding that she meant it, "but my bandmate's taking me home."

The other girl shrugged. "I could offer you a ride. Unless you have a lot of gear?"

Michelle shook her head. "Why not? I can leave my bass with Jon. We'll be able to find a table when the show's over."

~~~~~

She took the beer with her, back to the - well, it wasn't a stage in this place. Just an area of the floor marked out with some of the band's equipment. But along with the good beer, the enthusiasm of the bar patrons compensated for much of the discomfort of playing the pub. As Joe booked them better venues - and he'd certainly been moving the locations up-market in the last few months, in terms of scale and popularity - Michelle hoped they wouldn't completely outgrow a couple of the smaller spaces. Especially since those gigs let them focus on original material and skip the covers they had been known for.

So the encore was a new piece, one of Sydney's, and though the guitarist didn't have as much space to move as she preferred during her solo, her energy was still huge. Michelle screamed the chorus, her instrument seeming to play itself. As she sang, she noticed that the exuberant revelers crowding the band included a golden-haired girl who yelled and gesticulated with the rest of the fans.

Once the encore was over and the audience had begun to disperse, Michelle packed up her bass, and asked Jon to look after it. After she'd moved some of the gear out to his SUV, he took pity on her and told her he'd handle the rest.

Inside, Rose beckoned her over to the bar, asking what she wanted to drink. She waved off Michelle's attempt to pay, and bade her find a table. As Michelle had predicted, several had become open.

She was in the process of trading her tinted glasses for her usual rose gold-colored frames when the blonde appeared with a replacement beer and her own drink, sparkling with a slice of lime. The table was U shaped, and she'd moved partly around, giving Rose the option of facing her or sitting beside her. The girl chose the latter, pleasing Michelle. When their arms brushed she felt goosebumps, just as she had at the restaurant.

"Fuck, you're good," Rose said.

"I've heard that before," replied Michelle, "usually a couple of hours after the show."

Rose's smirk grew as she digested that rejoinder.

"So, I figured out how Kayla has your number," Michelle said. "She was summoning a ride on her phone when you left your note. She must have snapped a photo."

"You weren't going to call?" Rose asked, frowning slightly, though she didn't seem displeased with the direction of the conversation. Michelle was sure she wouldn't be very familiar with rejection.