Sleeping with the Frenemy Read online

  When Rotquel lifted her head and whimpered, Bridgette got down on one knee and pressed her face against the side of her dog, giving Deborah a pout. “See, even Rotquel wants you to come over and see her home. I promise you she won't attack you again or give you unhygienic doggy kisses. She may try to swipe a slice of your pie off your plate, but I have treats available to keep her happy.”

  Deborah blinked as Bridgett finally took in a deep breath at the end of her long dialogue. Rubbing the back of her head, she shifted from one foot to the other. I really shouldn't—but what would be the harm in sharing lemonade and pie with this exceedingly kind-hearted woman?

  “I suppose I can take a short break. It wouldn't help if I passed out from the heat since I've been so busy cleaning.”

  Bridgette got to her feet and lightly clapped. “Great. Follow me.”

  “Wait a minute,” Deborah said to Bridgette's back as she started to walk away.

  “Yes?” Bridgette stopped and twisted to look back at her.

  “I must smell rank and should wash up first. Plus I need to lock up the house.”

  “I just ran for forty minutes, so you can only imagine what I must smell like. Also, there's no need for you to lock up anything. We're only going across the street.”

  “Um, where I come from—”

  “Sharon, you're in Woodberry Creek now. There's no need to worry someone might sneak into your house and steal your things. It's okay. Trust me.”

  “All right,” Deborah conceded. As they walked to the end of the driveway, Deborah almost tripped when she came to the unpleasant conclusion about something. A nervous fluttering in her stomach grew and she almost turned and ran back into her house regardless if she was overheated or not. “I never told you my name.”

  Bridgette lips twitched and she winked. “Let's just I have my ways. I'm too nosy for my own good sometimes.”

  “Another quirk of yours?” Deborah asked, wondering what else Bridgette might know about her. Maybe it was better if she took more caution where this adorable redhead was concerned.

  “Yup,” Bridgette responded happily. “I'll explain everything while we eat so you don't think I'm a stalker.”

  Deborah continued walking, anxious to learn what she could about Bridgette Woodberry in case Bridgette's inquisitive nature got out of hand and Deborah would have to look elsewhere to live—and to hide.

  Chapter Eleven

  Bridgette knew as soon as Sharon had taken a bite of her lemon meringue pie that she'd want another. Sharon didn't disappoint, and after taking a long sip of her lemonade, she shyly asked for another small piece.

  Bridgette planned on giving Sharon the rest of the pie as a welcome-to-the-neighborhood gift. And the hungry way Sharon are her slice, as if she hadn't eaten anything so tasty in such a long time, made Bridgette want to cook something more substantial for her.

  Sharon also gave off a vibe, more like a flashing signal that said do not touch.

  Perhaps it was the white skin of her left tanned ring finger that led her to believe Sharon had just ended her marriage. Bridgette knew from experience with the married men who'd hit on her, and their ring finger sans the wedding ring they slipped off in the hopes of getting laid. As if she would ever date a married man, or even a single man for that matter. At least the women she'd gone out with were honest with what they wanted from her and didn't need to lie about someone waiting for them at home.

  “You're staring at me,” Sharon pointed out as she patted her mouth with a paper napkin and looked around the room, barely meeting her eye.

  Bridgette had a bad habit of staring at people to the point they grew uncomfortable. She loved watching the angles of faces and the slope of a person's shoulders, especially a woman like Sharon, who had wonderful shoulders, but with a collarbone too thin from the way her clavicle bone stuck out.

  “Sorry,” Bridgette said and shrugged, finishing off her slice and reaching down to give Rotquel a pat on the head. Rotquel rested her chin on her knee as she wagged her tail. “I guess you could say it's one of my—”

  “Quirks?” Sharon lifted an eyebrow and lifted her hands as if she was going to pull back her hair. She stopped when she met the sides of her head and dropped them back on the table.

  “You could say that.” Bridgette smiled lightly. “I love watching people, mainly their faces. I'm an artist and my specialty is drawing and painting portraits.”

  “I had a suspicion you had some artistic ability from the décor of your house and the home made stenciling on the walls here.” Sharon indicated the intricate leafy design Bridgette painted that really brought excitement and flavor into the room.

  “I'm glad you noticed. The first thing I painted was the kitchen, with my own personal flair,” Bridgette replied, pleased. “Do you enjoy painting?”

  Deborah blinked a few times before responding. “I guess you could say that. I-I'm a freelance graphic artist and create websites for people and businesses. I do all my work from home.”

  A warm fuzzy feeling filled Bridgette's stomach. A fellow artist. What a happy coincidence! She's modest about it. How cute. “That's lovely! Maybe we can compare our work sometime. I wish I could draw and paint full time, but it's nearly not enough income. I work as a first-grade schoolteacher to pay the bills.”

  Sharon mumbled a response Bridgette couldn't catch. She gave Rotquel a piece of her leftover pie crust. Rotquel gulped it down and left her lap to walk over to Sharon.

  Sharon watched Rotquel carefully and looked ready to vault up from her chair when Rotquel sniffed her arm, then laid her chin on her knee. Bridgette was about to order Rotquel to go lie down someplace else, but Sharon surprised her by petting her gently. Rotquel responded by thumping her tail on the floor and releasing a content exhale.

  “Rotquel may seem scary at first, but she's a friendly girl and loves people. You've made quiet the impression on her.” And on me, with your haunting eyes and badly cut short hair. What has happened to you? She continued to view Sharon covertly, ignoring the need to wrap her arms around her new neighbor and promise her everything would be alright.

  “I've never been around many dogs before so I panicked.” Sharon looked away from Rotquel and back at Bridgette, meeting her eyes for a beat, then glancing down at the table. “I've jumped at shadows too many times,” she said softly.

  “I found out your name from my Aunt Sandy,” Bridgette blurted out, trying to put Sharon more at ease. She'd hate to think Sharon wanted to keep her distance from her because she was prying. From the moment she first met Sharon at Meede's, she wanted to know more about her. It had been so long since a woman had made such an impression.

  Sharon smiled, swiping a finger across her plate and pushing her finger in her mouth to suck away the leftover cream. Bridgette swallowed over Sharon's seemingly innocent yet seductive action. Sweat trickled down her back and she quickly crossed one leg over the other to stop the release of liquid from her pussy dripping down her leg.

  “I figured that out. You remind me of your aunt,” Sharon said.

  “Because she asks a million questions and won't give up until she gets what she wants?”

  Sharon laughed and rested her arms on the table. Rotquel moved away from her lap and left the room. “In that sense, yes. But she was also very kind and considerate to me.”

  When Sharon gave her another timid smile, the heat building in between Bridgette's thighs continued to grow.

  “This may sound as if I'm tooting my own horn, but I go out of my way to make others feel like they belong. Most of my family is like that. Actually, everyone in Woodberry Creek is very sweet. Once you're a resident here, you're considered family.”

  “I feel as if I walked into another time. I'm expecting a horse and carriage to drive down the street and men to tip their hats saying, ‘Good morning, neighbor!’”

  “Where you moved from isn't as friendly?” Bridgette asked as she got up from the table and grabbed their empty plates.

  “Not rea
lly. The people are more superficial and keep to themselves. My Mom told me when she lived in Woodberry—”

  Bridgette turned away from the sink when Sharon stopped speaking. Her eyes were closed and she was shaking her head. Her hands were also clenched on the table.

  “Hey, are you okay?” Bridgette asked and gently patted Sharon's shoulder.

  Sharon flinched, but didn't push Bridgette's hand away, and opened her eyes. “Don't mind me. I kind of have that same quirk you have where I don't think before I speak.”

  Bridgette found Sharon's explanation odd, but let it pass. Apparently she didn't want her to know her mother had lived in Woodberry Creek.

  “It happens, Sharon. Do you prefer Sharon or do you go by some other nickname? My brother, Bryan, he's a lieutenant here in Woodberry, loves calling me Red. My younger brother, Preston, who's away at college, calls me Ridge. When he was little he couldn't say the letter B correctly and could only say Ridgette. Soon he shortened it to Ridge.”

  Deborah glanced out the kitchen window. “I've had some nicknames, but they never stuck for long or they've sounded too silly. Someone once close to me had her own pet nickname for me, but I hated it. I guess there's not much you can do with the name of Sharon.” She shrugged and looked back up at her.

  Bridgette pulled her hand away, not realizing she'd left it on top of Sharon's shoulder for so long. At least some progress had been made between them, and Sharon didn't act uncomfortable by her touch. Bridgette went back to the sink to put the dishes away, the question on the tip of her tongue about who the person was and the nickname given to Sharon, when her eyes caught the flier hanging up on her refrigerator door.

  “You do know that all new residents must take a day to meet all the townspeople. It's an unwritten rule here in Woodberry Creek.” Bridgette purposely made her voice light as not to make Deborah think what she was saying was fact. She grabbed the flier and put it on the table. Sharon picked it up and scanned the page.

  “Oh, really? I wasn't made aware that it's expected of me to go to the Fourth of July town barbeque and dance this weekend,” Deborah said, her voice just as airy as hers.

  Bridgette lifted her shoulders back and titled up her chin to give Sharon a haughty stare. “Why, yes, my good woman, you must attend. The day is filled with craft tables, amazing sidewalks sales, and enough food to have you rolling down the street from the amount you scarf down. Before the fireworks display there's dancing in the town square. It's all a real hoot.”

  “A hoot?” Sharon's lips trembled as if she held back her laughter. Bridgette didn't care and giggled. Sharon finally released her own. The kitchen filled with their joy and Bridgette longed to wrap her arms around Sharon and give her a big hug—and a kiss to see if she tasted as sweet as Bridgette believed.

  When Sharon stopped laughing, she stood up from her chair. Bridgette tilted her face back, wishing she was a few inches taller, so her mouth would be in perfect alignment with Sharon's. But a part of her didn't mind being so petite because then Sharon could pull her in a tight embrace. She'd lift up on her toes, pressing a kiss to her jaw and moving up higher until her lips met Sharon's and their tongues found one another until she was backed against the kitchen wall, her shirt riding up and Sharon's hands cupping her breasts—

  “Bridgette?”

  Bridgette blinked as Sharon waved a hand in front of her face. Bridgette palmed her heated cheeks and found herself rubbing her thighs together, turned on by her sudden fantasy. How embarrassing!

  “Sorry, I zoned out for a moment there. Busy thinking about all that cotton candy I can't wait to eat on Saturday.” She gave Sharon a light punch on her arm to release of the tension.

  Bridgette exhaled slowly when Sharon's lips twitched in humor, seemingly unaware of the brief erotic daydream Bridgette had been lost in.

  “I should get back to my house. I have so much to do before it gets dark. I have plans to clean my bathroom so I can soak in the tub.”

  “A bath would be nice,” Bridgette said lamely, a vision of a wet, naked Sharon rubbing a sponge over her breasts, and those nipples of hers that stayed in hard points from the moment she entered her house. In the future—possibly the very near future, when Sharon was more at ease and could trust her, she'd have them in her mouth to nibble on.

  “Yes, it would,” Sharon said softly and took a step back. “Thanks so much for the afternoon snack. Maybe I'll see you around.”

  Bridgette followed Sharon to the front door. Rotquel jumped up from the couch and came over to sniff Sharon's hand.

  “We'll see each other Saturday at the barbeque. I can always stop over and see if you're free. We can go over together.” Bridgette hoped she didn't sound too needy.

  Sharon scratched Rotquel around the ears. “Maybe, if I'm not too busy,” she said and with a wave, opened the door and walked out.

  Bridgette gave Rotquel a light pat on her head. She watched as Sharon crossed the street and disappeared into the back of her house. The wind had picked up and gray clouds were forming in the sky, a sign of rain to come later in the day.

  She closed her door and leaned back against it as she fanned her face, even though it was cool from the central air. She hoped the storm wasn't a sign of things to come in the newly formed friendship she hoped would turn into something more between her and the cautious Sharon Wade.

  * * * *

  By the time Deborah finished cleaning the bathroom and ate her small dinner of peanut butter and jelly, she was exhausted. Afraid she'd fall asleep in the bath, she took a shower and fell into bed just as the rain started. Her eyes drifted closed as the rain pounded on the roof. Along with the fan moving above her head and the breeze coming in from the open window, she wasn't hot in the least, although the creaking of the house and her overactive imagination had her opening her eyes and listening for anyone who tried to break in. A few times she sat up and crawled over to the end of the bed to look out the window. No suspicious cars or unmarked vans were parked out front.

  She settled back down and a flash of lightning lit up the room.

  Maybe I should get a dog to protect me?

  Deborah rolled onto her back as she thought about Rotquel, glad she'd been mistaken about the dog. She no longer thought of her as a demon, but more as an angel, just like her owner.

  Bridgette's sparkling face popped up in Deborah's head and she spread her legs apart. Her white tank top rode up until her stomach was uncovered and she circled a finger around her belly button. Her lips lifted and she moaned as her fingers tickled her stomach, moving down to her navel and under the waistband of her bikini briefs.

  Her once-waxed mound had become bushier since she ran away. She fingered her curls, a damp musk forming over them. Getting waxed had been more of a punishment than a pleasure, one she'd never do again since she had been the one who forced her to do it.

  From now on Deborah would never think of her former wife by a name again. That silent rebellion made her slicker as she circled her pussy and found her clit.

  “Yes,” she hissed and arched her back as her finger went in knuckle deep. She rocked her hips as she cupped her mound, moving her finger back and forth. She moved her other hand under her shirt and pulled on her nipple. Her pussy clenched around her finger from the tugging and she let out mewls as she rocked, wishing a tongue lapped over her to help her come.

  The loud boom of thunder covered her loud cries as she pushed a second finger in to join her first. She bit down on her lip hard, almost close to the end, but still not there.

  “Bridgette…” Deborah whispered in yearning, and she flexed her feet and stiffened as her come flowed down her inner thighs. With one last hard rub over her clit, she flew high, her eyes going blind from the bright spots appearing in front of them.

  Her harsh panting filled the room as she took her hand away from her cunt and played with her breasts. The scent of her release drifted up toward her face. She licked her bruised lip, wanting to taste a woman's musk—Bridgette's desire and
come all over her face.

  Shudders soon overtook Deborah's body as she pressed her face into her pillow and silently cried, wishing she had a pair of arms around her. She was so lonely and hated it. Eventually she drifted off to sleep as the rain continued to fall from the sky—only to wake up screaming and drenched in sweat to a nightmare in which a shadowy being stabbed her in her throat with a knife until her head was hacked away from her shoulders.

  Chapter Twelve

  Tears kept falling from her eyes even though she continued wiping them away with a tissue. When a drop splashed on her wedding picture, Genevieve wiped her palm over the plastic covering. During the four-hour drive, she had flipped through her wedding album and cried uncontrollably as she remembered the day she and her Deborah had been so happy and in love.

  “Oh, my dearest, how I miss you so,” Genevieve whispered and took out the picture of her and Deborah kissing behind their wedding cake.

  It had been two weeks since she lost her Deborah. She left Las Vegas and drove back home after she received the phone call from the police saying Deborah had driven their car off a ravine. When she finally returned home, Teresa was sobbing and Gilberto held her, both dark faces pale. The two detectives were polite but distant, as if they had told family members many times before about the death of loved ones. When she declared they were mistaken, that Deborah would never do such a thing, they showed her the suicide note found near the bedside table. She grabbed the letter out of their hands and barely read the words as her eyes went blurry. She then crumbled to the floor, allowing the darkness to overtake her.

  Now she sat in the car in the parking lot with the dreaded duty of telling Deborah's sick mother that her daughter had committed suicide. Genevieve pulled down the visor, wincing at her bloodshot eyes and splotchy face. She looked a mess, tired from lack of sleep. The only way she could sleep was by taking sleeping pills, since she didn't have Deborah lying next to her where she could hold her close and rub against her, whispering how much she loved her.