Next Chapter || chaennie

Guilty Pleasure

[M]

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The first time I heard about Jennie Kim was during an awkward “welcome to the neighborhood” conversation with her parents as they helped me unload boxes from the U-Haul. I don’t recall the exact course we took through multiple topics, but somehow we ended up on how I’m single, a lesbian, and how their college-aged daughter was a lesbian, too. Even though the conversation with this middle-aged couple was awkward in and of itself, I was at least a little grateful that they didn’t assume I knew her because of our shared orientation. They told me how they’d known about Jennie's preference for girls since grade school, even when she didn’t, and had to act surprised when she had finally come out in high school. I laughed when it was warranted.

It was easy to talk to these bright, cheery people, even if they did contrast with my usual quiet, broody self. It gave me good reason to be content in my choice of new home. Starting someplace new in your early thirties isn’t easy for anyone, especially an androgynous lesbian. If I had worried about landing in a neighborhood where I’d feel unaccepted, those worries were squashed. I had hit the neighbor lottery with the Kims.

I settled into my new home quickly and easily. My new job was great, and the Kims seemed to know just when I was feeling a little lonely, and they would offer to have me over for dinner. It was nearly perfect until spring break rolled around. That’s when Jennie came home from school. I knew she was trouble the moment I saw her. She was the type of woman who would distract you every day for the rest of your life.

I was checking on tulips that were sprouting up defiantly through the chilled soil. The previous owners must’ve planted the bulbs, and to my surprise it looked like my planters out front would be filled with the color in no time. I was looking around at the bare trees that lined the streets when she caught my eye.

A small brunette jogged up the Kim's front path. Her yoga pants clung to her full thighs, and even though the rest of her was hidden under an oversized sweatshirt, I knew her curves didn’t stop there.

“You must be Rosie.” When she spoke it surprised me. She had a throaty, raspy voice that I knew would narrate every sexy dream I would have from that point on.

“Excuse me?” Pretty women make me dumb, I’ll admit it, and Jennie didn’t qualify as just pretty—she was drop-dead stunning. I eyed her curiously, and she tossed her long ponytail back and forth as she laughed.

“I’m Jennie.” She jogged across the small patch of lawn that separated my house from her parents’ home. Well, I suppose it was her home, too. “My parents have mentioned you a time or two.” She eyed me up and down, and I was suddenly very conscious of how I looked: blonde hair that had been styled by my pillow, wrinkled pajama pants, and a hooded sweatshirt I’ve had for longer than I care to admit.

She smiled at my silence, and I damned her for having beautiful eyes, too. The kind of eyes I saw myself falling into, deep, and that was as unexpected as it was unwelcome.

“ Roseanne,” I corrected so unnecessarily that I even annoyed myself, “but yeah, most people call me Rosie.” I kept my hands drawn close to my sides because Jennie's eyes were soft enough to be called a temptation. I didn’t need to know whether her skin was just as dangerous. “Nice to meet you.” I turned away as casually as I could and started to retreat, but dammit, I still heard Jennie's sultry voice say that she hoped to see me again soon.

There was no immediate second meeting, I actually didn’t see Jennie again until she came home for the summer, when I was bringing my beat-up garbage cans to the curb around the same time she was waiting for her ride. Gone were the workout clothes, and instead she looked like she was dressed for a night out on the town, one that would inevitably lead to a very satisfying night in bed. If our age difference wasn’t obvious before, it certainly was now—my night was ending just as hers was beginning.