For the First Time: Twenty-One Brand New Stories of First Love (26 page)

He is Professor Dean West, a sexy, brilliant scholar of medieval history and the love of my life. He is my white knight, my lover, my best friend, the keeper of my dark secrets. He knows he has all of me. And then… I discover that I don’t have all of him.

WEBSITE
 |
FACEBOOK
 |
TWITTER
 |
NEWSLETTER

Tamsen Parker

K
insey was late.
So effing late. First week at the new job and of course she was late.

She slid behind the steering wheel, yanked the door of her car closed, and jammed the key into the ignition. It was annoying that she was having to drive instead of taking the T. That’s why she’d rented this apartment. On a narrow street in Mission Hill, it was more money than she’d anticipated spending and not particularly nice. But what it lacked in amenities, it made up for in convenience; it was an easy trip to her Longwood office on public transit. And if she weren’t so late, she’d be skipping to the train to enjoy a commute reading her book instead of fretting about how much parking was going to cost.

Something nagged at her though, so she ran down her mental checklist: wallet, check; keys, check; lucky water bottle, check; phone…shit. She rifled through her bag to confirm but she could picture the stupid thing sitting on the countertop in her tiny galley kitchen. And now she was going to be even later.

She flung the door open and was about to haul up the stairs of the brick midrise she called home when dark fabric and gleaming metal streaked by her, followed by a horrible crunch and a stream of swears. Kinsey covered her mouth to muffle the shriek rising in her throat.

She’d done it. She’d doored someone.

Moving to Boston after having grown up in the low mountains of Vermont and then attending a women’s college in the rolling hills of Western Mass had been an adjustment. All the people, all the bustle, all the noise. She wasn’t afraid of the city—on the contrary, it energized her. But the one thing that terrified her beyond everything else—more than getting mugged, more than getting lost, more than going broke because everything was expensive—was the possibility of dooring someone.

With the cramped streets and the way cyclists bombed around like they owned the place, she’d been religious about checking her mirrors before opening her car door and now she was reminded why.

There was a dark heap tangled up in the metal and still-spinning wheels of a bicycle and she finally got her shit together enough to apologize.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry. Are you okay?”

She edged her way between the car door and the body snarled in the blue frame, and bent to help. Her victim had stopped cursing and was sitting up, attempting to disentangle himself from the bike, his helmet askew.

“I think so.”

Oh. It wasn’t a man. Kinsey had thought so because of the clothes she’d glimpsed: black watch plaid pants, an open navy blazer and a tie tucked into a vest. But the voice…wasn’t a man’s. And when the person removed their helmet, she was even more confident.

The sleek black hair revealed was short, with the sides practically shaved, but there was something about the face with the deep set angular eyes peeking out under a section of bangs that said woman. It was funny the way a part of her brain did the math, as if that mattered. When you’d almost killed someone by dooring them, what the hell did it matter if they were a man or a woman?

Kinsey offered a hand and the girl took it, her grip strong as she pulled herself up. Kinsey couldn’t help but stare as the woman brushed herself off. An old but familiar feeling coursed through her, tarnished from disuse but recognizable all the same: attraction. To a woman.

It had been a while since she’d had a reaction like this to a girl. Yes, she’d found some of the women she went to school with attractive in a not-entirely-platonic way, but she’d thought it had been due to the lack of men around. She liked boys: the shape and smell of them, their low voices, and the way the word handsome fit them better than beautiful.

And yet this girl, with her tawny beige skin, round tortoiseshell glasses, her black wingtips and a—yeah, that was a pocket square peeking out from behind her lapel, this girl brought all those feelings back. Which was weird, because there wasn’t a shortage of dudes in Kinsey’s life. Since she’d moved here a year ago, she’d dated half a dozen guys, one of them for several months before she’d broken up with him because it didn’t feel right to keep dating him when her feelings were lukewarm. Disingenuous. That’s how it had felt, and it made Kinsey uncomfortable.

So what was with this glimmer in her chest that licked down to her stomach and then lower?

Putting aside the spark threatening to render her speechless, she apologized again. “You have no idea how sorry I am, and… Oh, shit, you’re bleeding.”

The rest of the girl was so put together that the ripped fabric at her knee and the scraped skin oozing blood showing through the tear was conspicuous.

“Damn,” the girl said, bending over and inspecting the hole, “and these were some of my favorites.”

Kinsey checked her watch and, knowing she’d never make it to work on time anyway, did the right thing.

“Hey, I live right here.” She thumbed up to the third floor window where her apartment faced the street. “If you want to come up, I’ve got a first aid kit and maybe some pants you could borrow. Unless you live close.”

A furrow formed between the girl’s eyebrows. “I don’t, I bike in from Jamaica Plain. But are you sure you want to invite a stranger up to your apartment?”

“It’s the least I could do. And unless you’re the most opportune and imprudent burglar, I’m not worried. I mean, I’m the one who doored you. I’m Kinsey, by the way.”

She offered her hand again and the girl took it, this time for a shake. “Astrid. Astrid Zhao. And yeah, if you don’t mind…I don’t have time to go home to change before class.”

“Class?”

Astrid picked up her bike, gave it the once over and apparently determining there wasn’t any lasting damage aside from a few scrapes of the robin’s egg blue paint, locked it to a nearby streetlamp. “Yeah. I’m a med student. Psychiatry.”

Fancy.
Not only did the girl dress to kill, but she must be a genius. Another part of Kinsey stirred because brains turned her on as much, if not more, than a body. She swallowed, trying to ignore the way her mouth watered and gave a nonchalant “cool.”

She unlocked the front door and pushed into the lobby, holding the door open so Astrid could follow.

“How about you? Are you a student too?”

“No. I help administer clinical trials at one of the hospitals.” Kinsey smiled over her shoulder and rolled her eyes, because she was hopeless.

Astrid grinned back and the way her face lit up—her cheeks appling against the thick frames of her glasses and her eyes narrowing almost closed—sent another spark shooting through Kinsey’s chest. “Not going well so far?”

“Meh.” Astrid stood close behind her on the small landing as she unlocked the door and then stepped into her apartment, still cool because it hadn’t been long since she shut the A/C off. “I just feel like I’m in over my head. And now I’m going to be late.”

“Why didn’t you say so? I wouldn’t have asked if I’d—”

“You didn’t ask at all,” she pointed out. “I offered. Really, I’d feel guilty about it all day if I didn’t do something to help.”

She directed Astrid toward the futon that passed for a couch in her crowded living room and went in search of the first aid kit. Finding it in a jumble of tampons and extra toilet paper under the bathroom sink, she went back out and sunk to her knees in front of Astrid, laying the kit on the coffee table.

Cracking it open, she pulled out antiseptic wipes and an over-sized Band-Aid that would be big enough to cover the damage she’d done.

Astrid winced when Kinsey peeled back the ruined fabric and suddenly Kinsey felt ridiculous. What was she doing, on her knees, tending to this girl like they knew each other? A med student no less?

“I-I’m sorry. You could totally do this yourself. And I shouldn’t be touching you, jeez.”

The corner of Astrid’s mouth tugged up, and she shrugged, the shoulder of her blazer peaking. “I don’t mind. It’s actually kind of nice. But I can finish up if you don’t—”

“No. I’ll do it.” It would further assuage her guilt. And the truth was, she’d always enjoyed taking care of people. She didn’t have the stomach to be a doctor or a nurse, but a scrape she could handle. She finished laying back the tattered plaid so she could see Astrid’s entire knee and tore open one of the wipes. The wound was shallow and only a little bloody. She tried her best to be gentle, dabbing at the broken skin.

The other girl sucked breath through her teeth and Kinsey looked up in alarm—she hadn’t meant to hurt her…

“It’s okay. Just stings. You know what they say about doctors being the worst patients, right?”

Yeah, she’d heard that before. She set back to work, making sure she got every speck of dirt and gravel out before opening the sterile packaging of the Band-Aid and positioning it so it wouldn’t stick to any of the ouchy parts. “Getting started early, aren’t you?”

“Touché.”

She liked the way Astrid cocked her head, the way her hair flopped in her eyes when she did. Scrambling to her feet so Astrid wouldn’t see the blush darkening her cheeks, Kinsey headed to her room for the promised pair of pants.

She and Astrid were of a height, though the other girl was thicker, more muscular. Finding the jeans she was looking for, she felt stupid offering them because jeans didn’t seem like Astrid’s jam but they were the best bet.

Back in the living room, she held them out apologetically. “I think these will fit, but if you want to look at what else I have…”

Astrid shook the pants out, assessing them. “They look good to me. Bathroom?”

Kinsey pointed toward the open door and tried to busy herself while she waited. She called her boss and left a message explaining why she’d be late. Hopefully Becca wouldn’t mind too much. She seemed cool and Kinsey would be happy to stay late or work through lunch to make up whatever she’d missed.

When she heard the click of the bathroom door, she looked up to see Astrid striding out, and…damn. Kinsey’d never looked like that in those jeans, she was sure of it. The denim clung to the other girl’s thighs and Astrid had cuffed the legs to show off argyle socks.

“Whaddya think?” she asked, executing a tight, stylish turn Kinsey would expect from a jazz musician, not a med student. “Do I look okay?”

“Um, yeah. More than okay.” Seriously, what was up with her? She needed to get out of here before she said something really stupid.

“Cool. I’ve got a reputation to uphold.” Astrid straightened her tie and smiled. Kinsey wanted to reach out and straighten it for her. She wondered what Astrid would look like without the grey flannel vest, or at least how it would feel under her fingertips. Or what it would be like to press her lips to Astrid’s full mouth. If she’d bump into her glasses and smudge them?

She’d lusted after boys before, but none of the sparks of interest she’d experienced for women had felt quite like this. Quite so…forceful. She mumbled something resembling “yeah, of course,” and averted her eyes, grasping for her phone and her bag.

They made their way out of the apartment and down the stairs. Kinsey stood awkwardly, not knowing what to say.

Luckily, Astrid wasn’t similarly affected. “Hey, what are you doing tonight?”

“Tonight?” She cursed herself for the utter lack of coolness in her tone and wanted to cover her face as Astrid’s brows pinched together in puzzlement.

“Yeah. I’ve got class this morning, but I was going to do laundry while I studied at home this afternoon. I could bring your pants back if you’ll be around. Unless you’ve got a hot date?”

How she envied Astrid’s poise. And her hipness. But more than she wanted to be
like
her, she thought maybe she’d like to be
with
her?

Which is what made her say, “No, I’ll be here. With my Netflix and my ramen,” instead of telling Astrid to keep her pants because she’d never be able to wear them again, not when she knew how they were supposed to fit. It was as if they’d been made to hug the other girl’s thighs and cling to her calves.

So they said goodbye, agreeing Astrid would stop by around eight. The other girl unlocked her bike and sat astride it before buckling her helmet on and saluting Kinsey. And Kinsey…well, she was already late and she wanted some time to clear her thoughts of the dapper girl who’d literally slammed into her life, so she set out on a brisk walk.

“W
hat the hell
is wrong with you?”

Astrid turned so Justin would be hit with the full effect of her glower. “I’m sorry?”

“Chill it with the death glare, Zhao. You know what I’m talking about. Usually you’re on the edge of your seat during Psych and today you had to scramble for an answer when you got called on. So what gives?”

If she hadn’t known Justin since freshman year of undergrad when they’d bonded over a shared love of the Foo Fighters while trudging their way through chem lab, she’d punch him. Instead, she sighed.

Justin smirked at her over his ridiculous aviators. He should’ve been the kind of jock she’d learned to avoid but somehow he was one of the coolest guys she’d ever met. He not only didn’t give a shit about what other people’s orientations were but actively muddied the waters about his own even though she’d only known him to be with women. “Girl trouble, huh?”

“Shut your face.”

“Whatever. Nothing else gets you so distracted. Who is she? The cute blonde in Human Dev? I didn’t think she was your type.”

“No,” she snapped, wishing Justin weren’t right. About the girl trouble. Not the blonde. She was too buttoned-up-Brooks-Brothers for Astrid’s taste. The blonde did have one thing on Kinsey though. Astrid was ninety-eight percent sure Ms. Human Dev was a lesbian. Whereas she was about ninety-eight percent sure Kinsey wasn’t. That two percent was a wicked tease, though…