Benched Page 2

  She sighed. Traveling non-stop between Nevada and Louisiana over the last year had made her social life pretty much non-existent.

  Even picking up the phone made her dizzy, never mind holding the receiver to her ear. She swallowed the Advil before pushing the button for Frank. “Please call Nic for me,” she murmured. He’d probably be surprised she was asking him to place a call for her, but there was currently a jackhammer pounding behind her eyes.

  A few seconds later, Frank clicked back to her line. “She’s not in the office, but I’ve got her on her cell. Line two.”

  She clicked over but never got a chance to say hello.

  “I know, I know. I should have called and told you, but seriously, Genevieve, you of all people ought to understand. I met this woman, she’s amazing, and she’s got this chateau in the south of France. After spending two weeks there, I just realized I need a break. I’m fifty-eight years old, I’ve been executive director of NCLR for a decade, and I’m tired. I didn’t know how tired I was until she showed me.”

  Genevieve took in a careful breath to say something, fuzzy spots swimming across her vision, but Nic barreled on anyway.

  “I’m not retiring—I’m going to take a year off, and then I’ll return to appellate work somewhere else—but I’m just so over bureaucracy and managing personalities and soothing egos. I want to go back to litigating. It’s going to be great. So you can say ‘congratulations’ and be happy for me, okay?”

  Genevieve was pretty sure Nicolette Ford had never spoken so many words so quickly in her life. Headache be damned—she laughed. “Congratulations. I’m happy for you.”

  “I have no idea who they’ll replace me with, and frankly, I’m glad. The board can do their own search, and hopefully, I’ll read about who they pick in the papers while I’m wearing a bathrobe on the balcony of my new chateau, drinking wine and eating cheese.”

  “She must be some woman.”

  “I’ve never met anyone like her.”

  A twinge of jealousy tickled at the back of Genevieve’s neck: The minor crush Nic had on her when they worked together on the Samuels case had never sounded like this. Was this how she herself sounded when she talked about Tori?

  “I certainly hope I get invited to the wedding.”

  “Will you bring Victoria Willoughby?” Nic asked.

  The ensuing pause was awkward and heavy, and Genevieve tried not to sigh.

  “Sorry, touchy subject? You’d think a woman who just admitted on national television that she’s dating you would be willing to, you know, actually date you.”

  “So, when do I get to meet this woman?” So much for a smooth change of topic, but with the migraine, it was the best she could do.

  Nic graciously rolled with it. “Come to France.”

  “We’ve got a full agenda this fall,” Genevieve said.

  “Good luck with that.”

  “Good luck in France.”

  Nic laughed, and Genevieve realized it was a sound she hadn’t often heard from her.

  “Don’t be a stranger, Genevieve.”

  As they hung up, Genevieve reflected that working together on intense, high-profile, Supreme Court cases was a bit like summer camp: it seemed to create inextricable bonds between people.

  Driving in her current state was out of the question, so she left her car at the office and took a cab to Tori’s. She was looking forward to the quiet of her girlfriend’s house. Maybe she’d be able to entice Tori into giving her a massage.

  She rested her head on the back of the cab’s seat and closed her eyes. Who would they find to replace Nic? She had been very old guard in a lot of ways. Genevieve wasn’t even a full decade younger—did that make Genevieve old guard now too? The thought made her head spin even more.

  The cab pulled up to Tori’s house, and she managed to pay the driver, despite the numbers swimming on the bills in her hand. She trudged up to the door, fit her key into the lock, and was instantly comforted by the soft smell of lemongrass and the muted palette of Tori’s living room.

  The absence of classical music coming from the iPod dock indicated that Genevieve was alone in the house. She nudged off her pumps and left them by the door before heading into the kitchen and running a washcloth under cold water. The walk back to the couch took forever, but she gingerly eased down on it and put the compress over her eyes.

  When she woke up, still on the couch in the exact same position, Tori was gently massaging her temples, and soft, cascading tinkles of Debussy sounded like raindrops washing away her pain.

  “Frank called and told me you were sick. I picked up some soup, and there’s a kettle on for tea.”

  “You’re beautiful,” Genevieve mumbled.

  “You can’t even see me with that towel over your eyes.”

  “Don’t need to. I remember. Plus, maybe I was talking about the parts of you I don’t need my eyes to see.”

  She could feel Tori’s laughter through the slight shaking of the couch cushion. “You’re a nut.”

  “Oh, that’s fair. You’re beautiful, and I’m a nut.”

  Tori kissed her neck softly and murmured, “Nothing in life is fair. Can I get you some soup?”

  “Hm. What time is it?”

  “After nine.”

  “Can we just go to bed?”

  She could almost see Victoria roll her eyes. “You have to eat a little something. I’ll heat up the soup while you gather your strength for the long walk to the kitchen.”

  Victoria didn’t exactly spoon-feed her, but she might as well have. Once Genevieve had consumed enough calories to satisfy her, they headed upstairs, where Tori slipped pajamas on her and tucked her into bed.

  As she drifted off to sleep, it occurred to her that she had become awfully dependent on her new—old?—girlfriend.

  * * *

  Genevieve woke up to bright sunlight streaming in from the curtains, the clanking sounds of dishes and utensils, and the smell of toast.

  With a long stretch, she luxuriated in her complete lack of headache and the gentle caress of Tori’s sheets. It took great strength of character for her to get out of Tori’s bed, which was infinitely more comfortable than her own back at the townhouse. She brushed her teeth and hopped down the stairs, humming as she descended, and headed into the kitchen.

  “You’re in a good mood.” Tori kissed her lightly before turning back to the omelet she was making in a ridiculously shiny copper pan. “Migraine gone?”

  “Mm-hm.” Genevieve started coffee and put on a kettle for Tori’s tea. While the omelet finished cooking, she set the table, and they bustled around the kitchen in a quiet routine that felt so normal she wondered why they didn’t do this every day.

  When they settled at the table with their food and hot beverages, Genevieve sipped her coffee and pondered the view through the sliding glass door into Tori’s backyard. “I’ve been thinking,” she said.

  “Maybe that explains the migraine?”

  “You’re not half as funny as you think you are.” Genevieve gave her a dirty look.

  “That’s only because you never understand my jokes,” Tori said.

  “Did you want to know what I’ve been thinking about, or would you rather just be a smart-ass?”

  “Well, those aren’t mutually exclusive. But yes, dear. Please, share.”

  Genevieve shook her head and smiled. God, nothing could be easy with Tori, could it?

  “We’ve been together for over a year now, and honestly, we’ve barely seen each other. We get some weekends together here and there, and there was that trip to Europe. But with my travel schedule, I’m out of town more than I’m here, and your work keeps you so busy—”

  “I know. But I’m not sure how to make things different.”

  Two hands wrapped around her coffee mug, Genevieve leaned forward. “Well, I have an idea. I don’t want to travel this much anyway. I’m a good spokesperson for HER, but there are a lot of people better than me at raising money, which is hal
f of what I travel for. I’ve been going over the numbers with my assistant, and I think HER can—and needs to—hire an executive director.”

  “But isn’t that what you do?”

  “HER has an odd employment structure—most organizations like us have an executive director instead of a president. HER’s never had an ED, though. So, my idea is that I stay on as president and continue to shape the organization in terms of our identity, the cases we take, the way we staff them, that kind of thing.”

  “So, no more media blitzes?”

  “Oh, I’m sure I’ll continue to give interviews, and as the public face of the organization, I’ll have to do some of the galas still. I do really love everything HER stands for, and representing it still gives me a thrill. But an ED could take point on all the glad-handing and the traveling for smaller-scale fundraisers. It would be better for HER in the long term, I think.

  “And,” she took Tori’s hand, “it would mean I’m in DC a lot more. I could see my girlfriend every weekend, instead of once a month.”

  “And this would free you up to argue more cases?”

  “That’s what I’m hoping. I miss the excitement of litigation. It’s almost impossible to fundraise, run the organization, and take point on cases.”

  “Wow,” Tori said, putting her fork down and coughing a little. “More cases. That sounds…really great for you.”

  “Good. Because I’ve already started talking to the board about it, and they have ways to streamline this process. They think we can have someone in place in four to six weeks. So, pretty soon, you’re going to be stuck with me.”

  Tori laced her fingers through Genevieve’s. “However this new plan changes things, well, if it means more time with you, then I’m happy.” Her smile made Genevieve’s stomach flutter.

  “Are you sure me being around more will make you happy?” Genevieve traced circles on Tori’s palm, a smile curling her lips. “I’ve heard I have the ability to drive you absolutely crazy. To make you scream in frustration. To make you clench your pillow at night.”

  Tori drew her finger up Genevieve’s arm and across her collarbone. “Only at night? If I recall, none of those things happened last night.”

  Genevieve stood and pulled Tori to her, and her skin tingled as their mouths met. “Oh, I can make you scream right now.”

  Her lips hovered a breath away from Tori’s neck. As she ran her tongue lightly over Tori’s throat, Tori gasped and pulled her hips closer. Genevieve eased a hand between their chests and pushed Tori gently. “Upstairs. Now.”

  Before they made it through the bedroom door, Tori had turned around and slid her hand into Genevieve’s hair, pulling their mouths together again. Genevieve was so focused on the velvety softness of Tori’s tongue that she had no idea how they’d made it into the bed, but she loved the way Tori looked on top of her. As Tori’s hand possessively ran up and down the length of her body, Genevieve’s stomach fluttered.

  “You do know this is my bedroom, right? My bedroom, my rules, Genevieve.”

  The way her name rolled off Tori’s tongue made Genevieve shudder.

  “God, you’re sexy, trembling beneath me.” Tori’s hand eased between the fabric of Genevieve’s shirt and her overheated skin. As she lifted the shirt up and over her head, Genevieve surged upward with it. “Now who’s going to be moaning in frustration,” Tori whispered, her mouth just out of reach of Genevieve’s skin. “If you’re a good guest, I might just give you what you want.”

  To hell with always being the leader of their bedroom activities. By that afternoon, Genevieve decided that she thoroughly enjoyed this role reversal.

  * * *

  It took exactly a month for Genevieve to solidify the hiring of a charming and very experienced executive director named Chuck Green; she immediately tasked him with handling the gala that weekend in Cincinnati. And it was none too soon. She was dying for a break after having traveled to four different cities in three weeks, including a stop in LA for the premiere of a documentary about the Samuels case she had won at the Supreme Court. For the first time in months, she called Tori on a Friday afternoon and said, “Hey, can we swim tonight?”

  “God, that sounds amazing. I’ve missed you,” Tori said, her voice like warm sunshine spreading through Genevieve.

  “For real. Don’t know why these past few weeks have felt so hard, but I can’t wait to see you.”

  “It’s that thing about the race being hardest right before the finish line, right? I think knowing that your schedule was going to lighten after this last bout of travel probably made it that much harder to wait.”

  Genevieve exhaled a breath she felt as if she’d she’d been holding for weeks. “See, that’s why I love you. You always make me feel better.”

  “And here I thought you loved me for my cooking skills.”

  “Oh, don’t get me wrong. Those don’t hurt.”

  “Mm,” Tori said, and Genevieve could hear the smile in her voice. “I’ll see you soon.”

  It was such a novelty to meet as they used to, outside their personal changing rooms at the most exclusive gym in DC, their names engraved on their respective doors. They smiled at each other and walked hand in hand to the pool. It was certainly hard to feel as though they were making some kind of statement by holding hands when no one saw them. But still, on the off chance that they encountered someone on their way to the pool, well, they were officially out. And Genevieve swelled with pride as she squeezed Tori’s hand.

  They swam their usual fifty laps, and when Genevieve pulled herself out of the pool, she basked in the view of Tori, flushed and breathless and dripping wet.

  “God, you look good.” She stepped toward her, wiping her hand across Tori’s chest and collecting water droplets. Tori’s face grew even redder, and her eyes fluttered.

  “You know,” Genevieve said, “we’ve never taken full advantage of those private dressing rooms.”

  But Tori’s features changed from turned on to something that might have been panic before settling on slightly annoyed.

  “You and your ideas,” she said, and she might have been trying to sound playful, but what Genevieve took from it was exasperation. “I’ll see you at home for dinner?”

  Home. Genevieve thought about asking “yours or mine?” but she already knew the answer. They never went to her house, no matter how hard she tried to manipulate the situation so that it would make more sense to go downtown instead of the suburbs. Honestly, when she wasn’t suffering from a horrendous migraine, Tori’s house was one of the least inviting “homes” she’d ever been in—it looked magazine ready at all times and not at all like a place where someone could actually live. Not that she had much ground to stand on, considering her own home had a distinctly neglected feel to it and that there were still boxes here and there. As she stood there in front of Tori’s impatient expression, Genevieve vowed to warm the place up, now that she was going to be in town more.

  “How about we do my house instead?” she suggested anyway, knowing as she said it that Tori would never go for it.

  Tori’s towel stilled in the process of drying her hair. “Do you have food there?”

  Right, well, the first step in actually moving into the house that had been her permanent address for a year now would probably be stocking the bare fridge.

  “I have phone numbers for some great takeout places. And we could always stop at the store on the way home and pick some things up.”

  “I already have everything for soup and salad back at home.” Tori seemed to catch herself. “My home. Let’s just go there.”

  Genevieve nodded. Before she could say anything about the two of them maybe having dinner at her townhouse the following night, Tori turned and walked into the locker room.

  Well, that went well. She realized she was going to have to try harder to break Tori’s routines. But as she trailed after, admiring Tori’s legs, it was hard to feel too frustrated in their domestic life.

  * * *


  One week later, and it was déjà vu—the swimming, Genevieve flirting, and Tori shutting her down when Genevieve suggested they spend the night at her place instead of Tori’s. This time her excuse was that she’d spent the day worried that she’d left her garage door open, and could they please hurry home to close it.

  It was, of course, closed when they arrived.

  Regardless, they ate dinner together, and then Tori chose another way to drive her crazy. Genevieve’s sleep that night was filled with sex dreams, and they fooled around again in the morning before Genevieve reluctantly told Tori that she had to go to the office.

  “On a Saturday?” Tori asked before shaking her head. “That’s fine. I have some writing I’d like to get done anyway.”

  By the time Genevieve’s legs worked enough for her to stand, Tori was partway through her shower and had finished shampooing her hair. Genevieve joined her, brushing her body against Tori’s back and sliding her arms around Tori’s stomach. She dropped featherlight kisses on her ear, and it brought flutters to her abdomen.

  “I had fun this morning,” she said. “You know, I don’t have to be at the office just yet. We could—”

  “Could you hand me the conditioner?”

  So this was going to be a purely functional shower. Genevieve closed her eyes and willed the ache between her legs to dissipate.

  When she looked at Tori, her girlfriend seemed determined to avoid her eyes. She passed over the conditioner and stepped around Tori to get her hair wet.

  They didn’t say much as they dried off and dressed. Tori was pulling her hair into a smooth ponytail when Genevieve dared to interrupt the silence. “What’s on your mind?”