The Love Letter (girlxgirl) (lesbian story) gxg

Chapter 23

"I got screwed," Olivia said." For four years Mr. B handed out A's like mints. The year I take the class? He decides to be a real professor."

"Mhm." Alison replied.

"Dude really made me read 800 page books for a D? My GPA can't take that, how am I supposed to explain that in a job interview?"

Alison looked up from the bar. "You won't have to, they don't really care about that."

Charlie walked past them, eyes looking down, not uttering a word. Olivia balled up her exam and shoved it in her oversized purse. She refused to use a backpack, she'd sooner be found dead than use them. "You still haven't talked to her."

Alison shook her head. She was going to. Last week, when she saw Charlie at a restaurant near campus, the same place she was meeting her tutor to discuss the never ending dread called: her final project. She was going to walk up to her and address the conversation they had, when she saw another woman sit down in front of Charlie. They didn't seem to know each other, but they were both smiling.

Alison didn't exactly plan to stick around after meeting her tutor but it took about fifteen seconds for her to find the bar, far enough from Charlie so she wouldn't notice and close enough to see them clearly, the woman had excused herself to go to the restroom it seemed, and Charlie was checking her makeup and hair through the front camera of her phone. Strange. Maybe she could work on the outlines of the project at the bar, Alison thought. What if Charlie got herself in trouble? She should stick around just in case. Alison angled her body to touch as few people as possible, she kept her head down and walked swiftly to the bar. Once there, she exhaled in relief, the bartender's face a stranger.

"Bourbon, neat." She said, setting her bag next to a stool and resting her arms on the bar. The guy - Jake, his name tag said - smiled and winked at her, then made a very large show of pouring her liquor into her glass from a height of about two feet.

She simply stared at him, tapped her dark green painted nails on the shiny bar top. He set her drink in front of her and leaned in. Floppy hair, trimmed beard, deep brown eyes. Probably cute to most girls.

"Thanks," she said, tossing it back. It burned all the way down, lighting her up in a way so familiar to her as paint on her fingers, maybe more.

"You from around here?" He asked.

She fought an eye roll.

"I'm not your type," she said.

His smile faltered. "No?"

"No."

"I think you might be."

She tapped her glass for a refill, and he obliged with even more showmanship than before, flipping the glass and the bottle in the air. Oh, how she wished he'd drop them. When he gave her the drink, he lingered, eyes on hers expectantly. She sipped her bourbon more slowly this time, staring at him down with a look that could blow a hole through the wall, in hopes he'd scamper off.

He didn't.

"Listen buddy, you're type is a pretty, little girl, hoping to be swept off her feet by how charming you are or how cool you can make pouring bourbon onto a glass look. I, on the other hand, think it's a little pathetic how you think you can impress me with a cheap trick and hope it'll get me in bed. So turn around and only come back when you see my glass is empty."

She heard a familiar laugh from across the room. Charlie's no doubt. The woman was back from the restroom, she looked... Like she was touching up her makeup as well.

Wait a minute, Alison thought. She reached for her phone, almost dropping it to the floor, and called Olivia.

She didn't pick up.