“You know, you didn’t have to get all dolled up.”
Harper had always been a proponent of playing it casual. She didn’t like to put labels on her relationships throughout the years because, if she had, she would have been breaking a lot of unspoken rules about dating. “When was the last guy you dated?” was a very easy question to answer if you never actually claimed to be dating most of the guys that you went out and had a drink with. Or dinner. Or invited over, after the girls were asleep.
Okay, that made her sound bad.
The point is, she was a single mother with a busy schedule and a lot to do and she wasn’t one of those women who liked to bring home every guy she found herself entangled with to meet the kiddos. It had helped her to keep people at an arm’s length when it came to relationships. But as a consequence, that meant that as she’d gotten older and her dating pool had dried up, it had been quite a while since she’d gone on an honest-to-God date. And she was more than a little nervous.
“You’re gonna make all the other ladies feel bad.”
Her first official date in months, and her first date with a woman, called for a special occasion. She’d teased her naturally curly, kinky hair and put on a black sweater with high-waisted jeans and a leather jacket—the latest edition of her First Date Outfit™. It was a snug fit (she’d almost cancelled after seeing the hints of a muffin top over the high waist) but it helped ease the nasty case of the jitters she’d been feeling ever since she signed up to go on this date. With a woman.
“Or jealous.” Harper said with a sultry purr as she hooked her arm around Officer Reagan’s, pulling subtly at her tight waistband with freshly painted fingernails, “Lesbians do get jealous, right?”
“When I walk into a bar with you on my arm, yes.” Roxanne said with a smile as she drank her beer, “Among… other things.”
O’Halligan’s was a bar in downtown—it’d been there since she was a teenager. She’d been inside plenty of times; it was the standard date spot for a long time if you were in the mood for something other than a Dive. It was an old pub with booths and dim lighting, the perfect place to eat, drink, and maybe get kicked out of once or twice. Not that Harper, or the new owner, would know anything about that.
“A bar on our first date.” Harper joked as she took her seat, “You really are gay.”
“You sound like my partner.” Roxanne visibly backpedaled, “My partner on patrol, not… not my girlfriend or anything.”
“Is there someone I should know about?” Harper said in a put-on suspicious tone of voice, “Am I the other woman, or is she?”
“Officer Frank’s a real nice guy, buuut—” Roxanne clicked her tongue as a smile spread across her face, “I don’t think he’d look nearly as good in red lipstick as you do.”
As forward as she was, Harper’s nerves gnawed at the inside of her stomach lining with every passing minute. She’d barely looked at the menu when she settled on a big fried fish number—the last thing she needed if the effort it took to pour herself into these jeans was anything to go by. She’d ordered it with a glass of sweet tea and—once she’d confirmed with her date that they were drinking for the evening—a neat Bourbon drink to help calm her nerves.
Up until her food had arrived, they’d done their best to make small talk. Roxanne was obviously attracted to her and Harper was dealing with her own feelings towards the matter. She wasn’t sure what she was—other than anxious—but the feelings that nibbled at her brain were good. She wasn’t sure, but they felt good. It had been so long since she was the nervous one on a date—still reeling from turning the big 4-1, she supposed.
“I’ve got three kids—all girls.” Harper pulled her phone from her purse and showed off her daughters, using her free hand to grab another roll, “Parker, Piper, and Hunter. That was back when we all lived together.”
“They’re pretty!” Roxanne nodded in approval, “They look just like you.”
“Thanks—I can’t stand them most of the time, but that’s motherhood.” Harper tittered anxiously as she bit into a fluffy, buttery roll, “What about you? Any kids?”
“No, no kids.” Roxanne laughed, her blonde ringlets bouncing slightly, “Just a dog—Max.”
She whipped out her own phone from her jacket pocket.
“That’s me and him last October.” She said with a smile
Harper took Roxanne’s phone into her non buttered hand and took a gander. Max was a pretty dog—German Shepherd, black and tan with a stupid look on his face. Of course the police officer would have a police dog. Roxanne was in the picture too—her hair was a lot shorter, cut into a fashionable bob, and she was in a baggy green sweater. There was another woman in the photo—fat, round face with bunching chins and cheeks shining pink in the flash. They both had their hands around the dog, smiling at the camera.
“Who’s that?” Harper asked innocently
“Oh, that’s Carrie—my ex.” Roxanne laughed awkwardly, “Sorry, I don’t really have any other pictures of him.”
“Of that beautiful boy?” Harper made a face, “I find that hard to believe!”
“He’s spoiled rotten.” Roxanne laughed, taking a swing of her beer, “Of course, that was back before we had him neutered—he’s a big boy now.”
“Aww, himbs a big boy.”
The small talk stage was normally the hardest part for Harper. Not because she ever had a shortage of things to say (far from it, actually) but because normally, that was the part she was least interested in slogging through. With Roxanne, it was different already. Right off the bat, she felt a strange… connection between them. Maybe it was because she was another woman, but whatever it was made Harper feel excited. Happy. Hungry.
She grabbed another roll and emptied the basket.
***
Harper should not have ordered the fish.
It was a big meal—literally served on a platter. Fried and buttered, with a side of tartar sauce and the biggest order of fries that she’d ever seen in her life, Harper’s eyes nearly popped out of her head when the waiter put it down in front of them. It was good, no bones about that, but even her nerves couldn’t power her through the damn thing. Not that she didn’t try.
Half of it wound up sitting right there in the pit of her stomach, porking over the waistband of her high-waisted jeans. She’d actually had to undo the button (when Roxanne had excused herself to the bathroom, of course) just so she could get some breathing room. That and the refilled glass of Bourbon (she’d switched to straight after the first glass) had kept her picking at what ultimately remained of her gigantic dinner—a third of her fish stared at her as she leaned dreamily into the booth.
“Sure you don’t want to finish that?”
“Ohhh nooo, I—“ Harper hiccuped, “—think I’ll just take it home.”
“’Scuse me, can I get another drink?” she asked the waiter before lowering her voice, “We’re on a date and I’m a little nervous.”
“Harper, you’re adorable.” Roxanne said with an uneasy little laugh, taking her date’s hand in hers, “Buuuut how about we settle up and go get some ice cream instead?”
“Oof… I don’t know.” Harper ran a self-conscious hand over her bloated paunch, “I’m pretty full of fish.”
“We’ll walk around a little—stretch our legs.” Roxanne stood to her full height, about a half a head shorter than Harper, “I’ll get you a box.”
With all the grace that one could expect of a woman who was three glasses of bourbon and a full fish dinner with fries, Harper did her best to get to her feet. When she did, she felt her full stomach run the zipper down on her jeans as it swelled to its standing width. A throaty burp escaped her as the contents of her stomach sloshed. Roxanne took her by the hand and lead her down the street to a local Ice Cream shop, got them each two scoops of Rocky Road, and walked Harper right back outside for a night in downtown.
“I shouldn’t be eating this much.” Harper said with a tight, drunken little frown, “You’ll see, when you’re my age—”
“35?” Roxanne joked
“—whatever, stop being cute.” Harper stuck her tongue out, “When you’re my age, and your metabolism slows down, you’ll see when you’re my age.”
“You look pretty good.” Roxanne said in a low voice, “For your age.”
“No I don’t—I’m fat.” Harper grabbed a handful of her belly chub beneath her sweater, “I had to unbutton these like halfway through our dinner at dinner.”
“Harper, you’re letting this whole age thing really bog you down.” Roxanne said in a simple but stern voice, looking her date in the eyes with a little nudge on the upper arm, “I think you look great—you’re really hot, you’re fun to talk to, and you’re just a little drunk, but that’s okay because you’ve got a police escort to make sure you get home safe.”
Her inhibitions weakened by the alcoholic content of her blood, a stroked ego, and sprinkled with the bicurious aftertaste she’d been nursing since she’d been asked out, Harper slowly slunk back into the crook of Roxanne’s arm and laid her head on her shoulder. A happy noise coming from the back of her throat as she nestled into Officer Reagan’s neck.
“Whose home…?” she purred, kissing the smaller blonde on the neck, “Officer Reagan~”
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