Landing Love Read online

  Landing Love

  Lesbian Light Reads 6

  by

  Elizabeth Andre

  Published by Tulabella Ruby Press

  Copyright 2015 Elizabeth Andre/All Rights Reserved

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  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is strictly coincidental.

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  Other titles by Elizabeth Andre:

  Tested: Sex, love, and friendship in the shadow of HIV

  Learning to Kiss Girls

  The Time Slip Girl

  Taijiku

  Love’s Perfect Vintage

  Lesbian With Dog Seeks Same

  Bodies in Motion

  Right Time For Love

  Lesbian Light Reads Volumes 1-6 Boxed Set

  The Beauty Queen Called Twice

  Skating on Air

  Someone Like Her

  Roll With Me

  Stop and Go

  Nice Jewish Girls

  Lesbian Light Reads Volumes 7-12 Boxed Set

  Love Most Likely

  Joy for Julie

  Give Me Thorns

  Editor: Cassandra Pierce

  Landing Love

  Lesbian Light Reads 6

  by

  Elizabeth Andre

  I just wanted one fun winter with friends. No dating. No broken heart. No drama. No girlfriend sneaking off to Barbados for a rendezvous with an ex. So, the first week of December while my friends and I dug into some dim sum at our favorite neighborhood Chinese restaurant on a chilly Sunday afternoon, I announced my winter plan.

  I’d long been a recreational figure skater. It was good exercise and made me feel graceful. I could jump, although I never could land an Axel. Skating would be a part of my winter, and I would get better at it and improve my physical health. Friends would be a part of it, and we would spend more time together. I would go every day to my job as a paralegal working on people’s immigration paperwork, and I would help more refugees stay in the U.S. legally. Dating would not be part of my life for the foreseeable future.

  “I’m going to every rink in Chicago,” I said as a cart pulled up offering bean curd wrapped meat rolls and broccoli with oyster sauce. “I want to check out the rinks I don’t usually go to. Think of it as the ice skater’s tour of Chicago, and I’m not going to date until it’s mini-skirt season. Who’s with me?”

  Lynn, my old college roommate who was across the table from me, rolled her eyes and asked me to pass the hoisin sauce. Her new girl, Alice, was sitting next to her. They had only been dating for two weeks, but I knew they were holding each other’s hands under the table. They were at that super sweet point in the beginning of a relationship that I always enjoyed myself, but, when I saw it in other people and I was single, made me want to gag.

  “Lila, that sounds like a great idea, but we’ll have to see what our schedule looks like,” said Lynn. Oh God, they had become a “we” already. That was quick, even for Lynn. “And you’re really just going to skate? Not date?”

  “Really.”

  Lynn rolled her eyes again and gave Alice a kiss on the cheek before signaling a young man with a cart of dumplings to pass her a plate of chive dumplings. Seriously, get a room, I thought.

  “I’ll go skating with you. Not so sure about the no-dating part,” said Trisha, who was sitting next to me. We had been friends since we met at some big gay fundraiser a couple of years ago. She was a butch/androgynous gal with short black hair and always said she did a lot of dating. She regularly regaled me and our other friends with her adventures with various women she met online, at some street festival, or at a party. Her stories were always entertaining even though we never met any of these women, and she was usually available to hang out when I sent her a text message.

  Sitting next to her were Deborah and Matt. They were both fellow skaters. Like me, Deborah had trained and competed as a child, but was now just doing it for fun and fitness. Matt was an adult-onset skater and an adult-onset man. He had started taking lessons in college while he was still Maureen. I had met her at the rink while she was working on her back crossovers, and we even went on a couple of dates. It didn’t work out, and we became friends. She then came out as transgender. He changed his name, grew a beard and traded in his white figure skates for black. I told him I would always support him as long as he didn’t switch to hockey skates. I mean, no toe pick. What’s the point?

  “The outdoor rinks have just opened. Let’s do it,” I said.

  *~*~*

  The following Saturday I pulled out my skates and ran a sharpener over the blade. I hadn’t been skating in a couple of weeks, and I liked a sharp edge. Some people ran, swam or biked. I liked skating. It was even more fun as an adult in my late twenties. A girl who can jump at the rink is just another girl who can jump. An adult who jumps at open skate is a star. I didn’t even own skating dresses any more. I could just throw on some jeans and a sweater, go on the ice, and fly.

  That’s what it felt like. It felt like flying.

  I’d been to McFetridge, the indoor ice rink on the north side of Chicago, a million times so that was out. Millennium Park, the outdoor rink downtown, was always pretty, although it tended to be so crowded that the ice quickly turned to snow. Besides, I’d been there before. No, we were heading south to the Midway Plaisance in Hyde Park. It would be the perfect place to begin my skating/no dating winter. So, I called my friends to tell them my choice.

  Lynn and Alice decided they needed some couple’s time, so they weren’t joining us. Trisha had a date and would tell me all about it later. Deborah had hurt her Achilles’ tendon somehow, and Matt just wasn’t answering his phone.

  Sometimes, friends suck. I went anyway.

  When I got to the Midway, the grass was dusted with the light snow that had fallen overnight. The frozen ground crunched under my feet as I headed to the rink’s warming center. The silver rays of the mid-morning sun outlined the Zamboni, a huge steamroller designed to smooth out all the scratches and gashes in the ice. Most rinks had the Zamboni come out every one to two hours, so my timing was perfect.

  It was too early in the day for there to be that many skaters. Most families would probably arrive in the afternoon for some winter fun. For the moment, it appeared it would be me, a handful of other skaters, and the smooth glide of fresh ice. My friends didn’t know what they were missing.

  I had just put my shoes and other stuff in a locker when I first noticed her. Or rather I smelled her perfume that was oddly out of place. She smelled of lemons, sun and sand, almost like summer. In the middle of December it was a scent that I barely recognized, but it intrigued me.

  I watched her out of the corner of my eye while I laced up my skates. Hers were super stiff and designed for some serious jumping. And she clearly had jumped. There were deep scratches in the toe box from when she may have missed a landing.

  As I moved my eyes up from her boots, I realized she was probably the kind of gal who landed more than she missed.

  She wore thick black tights that hugged the curve of her calves and emphasized her strong thighs. Oh yeah, she was a j
umper.

  I was just remembering my pledge not to date until mini-skirt season when I noticed that she was wearing a black skating dress with long sleeves and a turtleneck and, yes, a little skirt. The dress was plain jersey knit, definitely a practice dress, and not covered with the bling that you would have for an outfit meant for competition.

  Before my no-date pledge a week ago, I’d been dating various women for about the past year, ever since my ex, Tahlia, had returned from a week away “on business” with a tan and a shell necklace that she refused to take off. We broke up, and I started playing the field. Nothing serious had emerged. Maybe I wanted a relationship too badly. Maybe I didn’t want it badly enough. Maybe I was still heartbroken over Tahlia, although I was convinced I was over it. No matter what the reason, I needed a break, and outdoor rink season seemed like the perfect time.

  I knew my friends doubted I could go long without dating. I’d known Lynn for about a decade, ever since we’d lived together as freshmen in our college dorm, and she’d almost never known me to be single. I had to admit that watching this woman with long ash blonde hair and green eyes lace up her skates had me doubting as well.

  I had ice to conquer. Love would have to wait.

  I finished getting on my skates and headed onto the fresh ice. I started with a warm up, zipping around the rink with a quick series of forward strokes and crossovers just to build up some speed. Lots of people think ice is ice, frozen water, all the same. It’s not. This ice had a dry, crunchy hardness to it, possibly because it was an outdoor rink, and it had been an unseasonably cold December. My cheeks were cold, but I kept moving. My speed kept me warm.

  I did some lunges, which involved bending one leg and sliding the other behind me on the side of the boot, and shoot the ducks, which meant crouching down and sticking one leg out, to stretch myself out. I did a few spirals on the right and then the left leg. My right was always my stronger side, and I shifted from my inner to my outer edge with ease. Most people don’t realize that a figure skating blade is not flat, and where you are on your edge is critically important. A back outside edge, near the back of the boot, was very different from your inside front, which was near the toe pick. You can also skate better on one leg than the other. My left leg was tighter, not quite as graceful.

  An older man in hockey skates sped around me like a pro, skating low and fast. A het couple ambled awkwardly around the rink. The female of the couple seemed to be a better skater than she was letting on to her male date. Maybe that was her way of getting him to hold her? The blonde in the skating dress, her hair now pulled back and tied in a bouncy ponytail, skated with a serious look on her face in the middle of the rink. She was good. Her one-foot spin was tight and graceful. When she exited the spin, she moved to the outer area of the rink, where she quickly did a ballet jump and then a half-toe Walley. These were small jumps that looked easier than they really were. You could tell that these were just warm-ups. She had more in her. Her back was taut and broad. Her free leg was solid without any wavering. I skated fast. She was faster.

  I thought I caught her eye as she moved past me, but then she was at the other end of the rink skating backwards on two feet and landing a single Lutz jump.

  Every so often, you would be at the rink and know that you were getting to see some really fine skating up close. This was one of those times. I felt the breeze she created as she sped past me again. This time we definitely locked eyes, if only for a moment, and I knew it was my turn to show her what I could do.

  I couldn’t think about how those green eyes sparkled in the morning light or how her black skating dress hugged her curves. I had to focus on back crossovers, a step forward, and then a three-point turn to get myself on my right back inside edge and jump into a single Salchow. I could feel her watching me as I moved to the center of the rink and followed up with a sit spin.

  We were circling each other, attempting ever more impressive jumps and spins, and then she trumped me. I had nothing more to show. She had landed an Axel. It was a jump I had tried many times, but I only had a small scar on my chin to show for my effort. I had never landed it.

  I smiled and gave her the thumbs up. We were playing with each other, having a little friendly competition. We tried to get each other’s attention, and we did. I was feeling good tired. I had skated more than I had planned, so maybe it was time to go. I started heading toward the warming center.

  “Leaving already?” I heard her say as she sped past me once more.

  “Yeah, it’s time.”

  My friends had bailed, but I was glad I had followed through with my plan. I couldn’t have asked for a better morning. I was feeling warm inside from the skating, the winter sun and being so close to a woman who was both beautiful and a great skater, but I had to leave because I wasn’t going to do any dating this winter. I wasn’t here to make that kind of connection, and my nose was cold. My quads ached. That cramp that I tended to get in the second toe of my left foot was getting started. I had pushed myself because I wanted to keep up with her. I wanted to impress her, but I had just run out of steam. Skating while tired was never a good idea. I learned that the hard way when I fell a few years ago and broke my wrist. I was just skating forward, but I was too tired. My focus faltered, and my left wrist ended up spending four weeks in a cast because I caught an edge. It was time to take me and my skates home and pick next week’s ice skating adventure. I waved goodbye to her and left the rink.

  I stepped onto the rubber mats that led from the rink to the warming center. That first step was always slightly jarring, that move from an easy glide that felt like flying to heavy awkward steps in boots that weren’t really designed for walking. I was in the warming center when I heard the dull roar of the Zamboni restarting for another ice cut.

  I was sitting on a bench in front of my locker taking off my skates when I once again smelled that subtle combination of lemon, sun and sand. I knew the blonde was behind me without even turning around.

  “You skate really well,” she said. “But you can’t do an Axel, can you?” She spoke her words softly, slowly and clearly. Every word felt sweet, like chocolate sauce on ice cream.

  “I’ve already sacrificed for that jump,” I said, turning to her and pointing to the tiny scar on my chin.

  The Axel was by far the toughest of all the jumps. The forward entry made it especially tricky. You were more likely to trip over your toe pick and go splat on the ice than you were to vault gracefully into the air.

  She put her hand on my shoulder. I could feel her warmth through my sweater. Her nails were short and neat. Her fingers were long. I stared into her eyes. Neither of us spoke for a moment.

  “You should let me teach you,” she said.

  I knew I had told my friends that I was going to skate, not date, but all I wanted at that moment was to be naked with her.

  “I worked on that for a long time and never landed it,” I said.

  “Maybe this time will be different,” she said. “Sometimes things can all fall into place when you least expect it. You have power and maturity that you didn’t have the last time you tried. I bet you could do it now.”

  She was close enough for me to see the dimple that formed in her left cheek when she smiled and the widow’s peak at her hairline. Her eyebrows were neat but not harshly plucked. She had taken her hair out of the ponytail, and that hair, the hair I wanted to run my fingers through, cascaded around her shoulders and stopped right where her breasts began. I told her my name was Lila, and she told me her name was Ashley. She analyzed data for a big drug company during the week, but spent her weekends skating or teaching other people how to skate.

  “I’m here every Saturday. If the rink is open, I’m here,” she said. Her hand was still on my shoulder, and I wanted it to stay there. “I don’t have any students today. I’m about done. Would you like to get a hot chocolate?”

  I nodded. I was starting to feel that slightly uncomfortable squishiness that
I got between my legs whenever I met an attractive girl. I was so happy that I was wearing a thick sweater. If my nipples were hard, and they probably were, the sweater would hide them. I kept reminding myself that I was not here to make a dating connection, but it was just hot chocolate. Nothing would happen. I would keep my pants on and just imagine what was under her skating dress. I didn’t have to see or touch her naked flesh. I was on a dating break. Skating only this winter, and we would just talk about skating over a hot drink. We clearly had lots in common, and maybe she really could get me to do the Axel.

  She did eventually take her hand off my shoulder, much to my dismay, but that allowed me to finish taking off my skates. I wiped down the blades and wrapped them in a pair of soakers to reduce the risk of rust before I put them away in my bag. She took a seat next to me on the bench and did the same. I enjoyed watching the care she took of her skates. She clearly valued them as much as I did mine. She was still close, but not so close that our thighs touched. Too bad. We talked about where we got our skates, the best places to get them sharpened, and where we liked to skate.

  She liked the wide open space of the Midway Plaisance, and she lived not far away. I lived in Andersonville, on the North Side of Chicago, and generally made my way to McFetridge for most of the year but went to Millennium Park in the winter. This was my first foray skating, although I told her I had been to plenty of parties and other events on the Side.

  “So, you know the south side exists?” she said, referring to longstanding Chicago tensions about the north and south sides. The North Side tended to be richer and hipper. The South Side was poorer and could be more dangerous, even though the Obamas settled not far away from where we were sitting. Within a mile of us were both the richest and the poorest areas of Chicago. No one ever talked about the West Side. Too bad, really. The West Side didn’t even have an ice rink.

  “Yes.”