Page 29 of For the Record
She glanced up at Sawyer, disappointed when her hand wrenched free from Coy’s once more. “I’m twenty-seven,” she admitted, shoving her hands in her pockets so she wouldn’t accidentally reach for Sawyer again. Their eyes met and held. “And age is just a number. You are … Sawyer, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
Coy expected her revelation to bring relief to Sawyer, but she was mistaken. The older woman just scowled and left the garage. Once again, Coy wondered what the hell she’d said wrong.
Coy wiped the sweat off her brow, bending to pick up the last of her tools from the concrete floor. She felt good about the progress she’d made so far. Finding the time and ordering parts was going to be a bigger challenge than the actual rebuild. She packed her screwdrivers and ratchet set off to the side of the McLaren and out of the way. Next, she carried her reciprocating saw and charger out to the truck, tucking them on the floor of the backseat. After, McCoy made sure the ratchet straps were secured in the bed. She wasn’t concerned about the junk partsgetting wet, but it would be bad news to have a piece of the fender fly off while she was on the bridge.
She returned to the garage slowly, taking in the McLaren and appreciating the supercar for what it was. Even stripped down to the main frame and tub, its design was a masterpiece. At an impressive acceleration speed of zero to sixty in two point nine seconds, it could easily be a deathtrap for an inexperienced driver. Or a cocky one. Coy wondered which was the case for Sawyer’s husband.
Shaking her head, she headed over to the workbench to retrieve the Tupperware dish Sawyer had thoughtfully handed her earlier. She’d made a chicken stew but had added dumplings to the broth. It was an unexpected, delicious treat for her morning. It’d been a long time since Coy had eaten any that didn’t come deep-fried. She was resting the dish on the step leading into the house when thanking Sawyer came to mind. She hadn’t been very receptive to Coy entering her house on earlier occasions, but the guilt over their conversation was nagging at her. She’d said something to set Sawyer off. It seemed like she couldn’t get anything right around her. Coy was either making a fool of herself or inadvertently insulting Sawyer.
Pulling her lip between her teeth in thought, Coy climbed the three steps to the door. What was the worst thing to happen? Sawyer snarling and telling Coy off happened almost on the daily. It was like she had all these preconceived ideas about who Coy was as a person, and nothing she said or did could change her mind.
She rapped her knuckles on the door, and as she waited, she examined her hands, hoping they were clean enough. She’d tried wearing gloves before, but they ripped so easily, and it was hard handling small nuts and bolts with them on.
Knocking a second time, Coy waited, silently counting to ten before trying the doorknob. It was a big house, so it was entirelypossible Sawyer couldn’t hear the knocking. It turned easily, proof that Sawyer hadn’t been in her right mind when they’d last spoken because Coy had watched her lock it time and time again.Maybe this isn’t a good idea.
She pushed the door open. “Hey, Sawyer? It’s only me. Whoa,” Coy said as she got her first look inside Sawyer’s massive home. Even in the long hallway, the ceilings must have been ten feet high. She scrambled to get her steel-toed boots off, setting them by the garage door before continuing further into the house. The hallway opened into the kind of kitchen even Gordon Ramsay would love. It was beautifully designed with large south-facing windows to capture most of the sun and a fancy stovetop with two built-in ovens. A medium-sized shelving system filled with herbs sat off to one side.
“Sawyer, just wanted to say thanks,” Coy called again, setting the Tupperware dish inside the sink. She didn’t want to break one of Sawyer’s hard-pressed rules by snooping. She was about to leave the way she came in when she heard the faint sound of a piano. Coy tiptoed into what appeared to be the living room, straining to hear it again.
The soft melody began once more, and when Sawyer came into view, all of McCoy’s breath left her in awhoosh. She was perched on a piano stool, hunched over the keys, the long, elegant fingers of one hand gliding effortlessly back and forth. Sawyer was dressed more casually than Coy had ever seen her, wearing just a lavender silk bathrobe. The gently crimped waves of her long hair draped over one side of her chest, exposing her toned shoulder where the robe had slipped off.
“When did you know you were gay?”
It took a moment to register that Sawyer had not only heard Coy enter the living room but that she was speaking. The softness in her voice had Coy’s knees wobbling, and she quickly grabbed the back of a nearby sofa. Clearing her throat, it tookher a few tries before she could get her reply out. “I, um, prefer the term queer,” she admitted, her gaze on Sawyer’s back. She still hadn’t turned, but Coy got the feeling it was easier for her to talk this way.
“Is one term more acceptable than the other?”
Sawyer sounded genuinely curious. It was strange listening to her without her usual bite after each sentence. Coy rolled her shoulders, watching Sawyer’s hand on the piano keys and wishing she would play more. It was hard to concentrate when she was around Sawyer. “I guess gay is an umbrella term, but more in reference to those who identify as men. I use lesbian and queer interchangeably. Everyone is different. My sister is pansexual, but most of the time, it’s easier for her to say queer. Especially to people like my nana.”
“I see.”
“Mm-hmm.” What a strange conversation to have with her crush. A part of Coy appreciated it, though. Sawyer opening up a little could only mean she was beginning to trust Coy, right?
Sawyer began playing again, a soft ballad echoing in the silent room. The notes were rusty, as if it’d been years since she’d done so. But not to Coy, who stood there absolutely mesmerized by Sawyer’s fingers fondly stroking each key.
A disappointed sigh left her when the music stopped. Then, “Are you going to make me ask twice?”
“Twice?” Coy echoed, racking her brain for snippets of their conversation because she’d be damned if she was the cause of it ending. The answer dawned on her, and she perked up. “You asked when I knew. And my answer is always. My sister was into all things girly, and I liked to follow my dad around everywhere. I know that alone doesn’t scream queer, but I felt different than the other girls. It took Sloane a lot longer to figure out her sexuality. Why do you ask? Are you … are you unsure? I’m sorry if I ever said something to—”
“No. I’ve always known, too,” Sawyer interrupted before turning back to the piano. She played, continuing to speak over the music. “That I was different. Not like other girls in my church. It wasn’t until I was old enough to understand the scriptures that it changed for me. That I learned homosexuality was a sin.”
Hearing the outdated, derogatory term was like a bitch slap to the face. Defensive replies were at the tip of Coy’s tongue until she realized Sawyer hadn’t meant it the way it sounded. She was talking about herself and how that twisted mentality affected her upbringing.
Coy crossed the room in long strides, uncaring anymore if she dirtied the furniture. Sawyer was sitting more to one end of the piano bench, so Coy straddled the opposite side, finally getting a look at Sawyer. Coy’s fingers tingled to reach for her, to swipe away the hair falling in her eye, to kiss away her doubt. “Sawyer, no matter how you identify, know that you’re incredible. It’s not a sin to live your truth. My nana has a whole spiel when it comes to inaccurate religious beliefs, but I won’t get into that. She’s as old school as they come, and she was the first one to know I was queer. Whatever you were taught, whatever bullshit politicians are still coming up with, they’re lies.”
“Such a Gen Z thing to say.” Sawyer’s voice was bitter. Her hands left the keys, and she slowly shifted on the bench. A slight gasp left Coy as she got her first unfiltered look at the scar tissue on Sawyer’s cheek. The full lighting in the living room left nothing to the imagination. Without makeup on, her eyes seemed paler, the fine lines above her top lip more noticeable, but it was the scar Coy’s eyes kept flickering to.
Sawyer looked away. “Not so beautiful now, am I?”
“You’re joking, right?” Coy sucked her teeth, having a battle of wills as she debated how to explain how responsive her body always was to Sawyer, scar or no scar. Launching herself atSawyer seemed inappropriate for the mood, and besides, she had given Coy zero confirmation the attraction was mutual.
Despite her back and forth, Coy’s hand still found its way to Sawyer’s face. Instead of tugging her in for a kiss, she held Sawyer’s gaze, very slowly tracing the contours of the scar. Her fingers slipped over the leathery texture, dipping into the uneven ridges until finally landing on her parted lips. Coy’s thumb hovered there, in limbo, waiting for permission to do what she had wanted since the night they first met. Sawyer’s eyes drifted closed, and Coy’s gaze dropped to her chest, watching the quick rise and fall of her breasts beneath the robe. Coy’s tongue darted out to lick her lips as she leaned in closer.
She was inches away from kissing Sawyer when the spell broke. Sawyer’s eyes flew open, and she shoved Coy with such force Coy’s ass connected with the living room floor. “Get out.” Sawyer’s snap was back, and oddly enough, her accent was thicker when she was superbly pissed off. Her death glare had Coy wishing she could sink into the luxurious floorboards. “Get out, and don’t ever use your … your womanizing skills on me again!”
Coy clambered to her feet, her heart stuck halfway up her throat. When she bolted from the house moments later, confused tears blurred her vision. She ran to her father’s truck and jumped in. Her hands trembled as she shoved the keys into the ignition. She didn’t know why, but she felt dirty. Like Sawyer had mistaken their almost kiss for something truly nefarious. Is that how she saw Coy? She wasn’t a villain; Sawyer had had more than enough time to back away or say no.
God, her heart hurt. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d cried over a girl.