No Strings Attached (The Pink Bean Series Book 1) Read online

  “So do I.” Martha fastened her gaze on Micky.

  If this woman was, in fact, in the same boat as Micky, where did she get this amount of confidence?

  Kristin and Sheryl were skilled at keeping the conversation going and asking the right kind of questions at the right time so Micky could give the gist of her story while she learned about Martha. After lunch, which had been civilized and pleasant, Micky knew that Martha fell into the same latebian category as she did, though her husband of twenty years had left her for “a younger model” first, before Martha’d had the chance to “realize her true potential.” This information made Martha especially interesting to Micky, who left the restaurant with a million questions on her mind. To meet someone who was going through the same monumental changes was a relief.

  Kristin and Sheryl discreetly disappeared after lunch, leaving Micky purposelessly lingering on the sidewalk with Martha.

  “Dessert?” Martha asked.

  Micky checked her watch. “I have yoga at four.” Micky could not afford to miss today’s class. She had too much inner turmoil to deal with—and renewed sexual energy to release—and she didn’t want to disappoint Amber by not turning up again. “Which gives me forty-five minutes.”

  “I’ll take them,” Martha said.

  ✶ ✶ ✶

  “I have known for years,” Martha said. “But when you’re married to the Vice Chancellor at the University of Sydney, it’s quite hard to just tell your husband and find yourself a lady.”

  “Until he left you.” Micky was doing her best to remember Amber’s words about every single person walking their very own particular path.

  “I know it makes me sound like a coward, but it’s not that simple. I have three children and two grandchildren.”

  “Hey, I hear you. I have two teenagers, and I know how complicated it all is.” Micky sipped from her cappuccino, which still, invariably, made her think of Robin.

  “Until we decide to un-complicate it.”

  “Do your children know?”

  Martha nodded, then stared into her tea for a few moments. “My two sons barely batted an eyelid, but my daughter, the youngest, has taken it quite hard. We were always so close, and I think she feels betrayed more than anything. Because I wasn’t honest with her.”

  “If you could turn back time, would you do things differently?” Micky was seriously considering skipping yoga. Having someone like Martha to talk to, someone who had already made her way out of the boat Micky was still stuck in, was invaluable.

  Martha scoffed. “I wish I could give a resounding yes to that question, but I probably wouldn’t have. Things were different thirty years ago. I married at the tender age of twenty. What did I know? If I compare that to all the things Stella, my daughter, has been subjected to in the first twenty years of her life already. There’s a world of difference.” She stared gloomily into her tea again.

  “I don’t mean to bombard you with questions.” Micky suddenly became very aware of what she’d been doing, subjecting Martha to a questionnaire like that.

  Martha waved her off. “It’s okay, really. If I were you, I’d do the same. Having someone to talk to about these things plays such a crucial part. I have no idea where I would be right now if it weren’t for Sheryl. Plus, I’m very interested in the details of your story.” She gazed at Micky with that light stare again. “I know you have to run, but would you like to continue this conversation over a nice, long meal this weekend?”

  “I would love that, but I have the kids this weekend.”

  “And you don’t leave the house when they’re home?” Martha’s smile was crooked and inviting.

  “I do, of course I do, but, er, well, you know…”

  “I’m just teasing you, Micky. If anyone understands the predicament you’re in, it’s me. You don’t want them to ask you annoying questions, and you don’t want to lie to them. I get it.”

  “Can I think about it?” Micky wouldn’t be lying if she told Olivia and Christopher she’d be having dinner with someone she met at the coffee shop. She also wanted to know their plans for the weekend first, before making plans of her own. “I’ll let you know.” It wouldn’t even be a date. Martha didn’t strike her as the kind of woman who thought in terms of going on a date. Micky just really wanted to pick her brain.

  They exchanged numbers, pecked each other on the cheek lightly when they said goodbye, and on her way to yoga, Micky came to the conclusion that she hadn’t thought about Robin all that much for the past forty-five minutes.

  Just as Micky entered the changing room, her phone beeped. It was a message from Robin:

  How about being just friends, no benefits?

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Micky still hadn’t replied to Robin’s message by the time she got to work the next morning. She hadn’t been able to discuss it with Amber, who was teaching back-to-back classes and was attending a seminar on something Micky didn’t really understand in the evening.

  The reason Micky hadn’t been able to bring herself to accept Robin’s offer was because she simply couldn’t imagine being just friends with her. The notion seemed so entirely out of the question that it seemed better to just avoid Robin altogether.

  Until Robin stood right in front of her at The Pink Bean.

  Josephine winked at Micky. Micky didn’t keep her younger colleague up to speed on her private life, but the girl was no fool. “Feel free to take your break, Micky,” she said. “I’ll bring Robin’s coffee over in a minute.”

  Faced with Robin like that, Micky knew exactly why she was to be avoided. All the images she’d been trying not to succumb to came rushing back. This, however, didn’t mean that Micky wasn’t happy to see Robin. Her heart was already doing that crazy pitter-patter thing again, and even her skin seemed to be reacting to Robin’s sudden presence, the way it seemed to light on fire under Robin’s blue gaze.

  “I might have been a bit too harsh and principled,” Robin said as soon as they’d sat down in the farthest corner of The Pink Bean. “I didn’t mean to push you away like that.”

  Robin was dressed in work attire, her fitted blouse clinging to her tight abdomen. Glancing at it, Micky realized that, if presented with the choice, she wanted the exact opposite of what Robin had proposed. One thing was for sure, however: she could not just be friends with Robin. It was out of the question.

  “I’ve met someone,” she blurted out. “Another woman.” Oh Christ. Her brain was really not operating at its best. Micky blamed this entirely on Robin’s scrumptious presence.

  Robin cocked her head and looked at Micky intently. “You have? That’s great.”

  Why had she even said that? To make Robin jealous? It wasn’t a lie. Micky had met Martha—could even go on a date with her this weekend if she felt so inclined—but what she was conveying to Robin in no way matched how she felt about any of it. Because, come to think of it, and however much she wanted to pick Martha’s brain for coming-out-later-in-life information, Micky would much rather spend any given evening with Robin than with Martha.

  “Well, I mean, it’s early days…” she stammered.

  “I mean it, Micky. That’s great. This will make it so much easier for us to be just friends.” Robin made it sound as though all her dreams of friendship had just come true. Why was she so hell-bent on cultivating this friendship with Micky, anyway? Robin was the kind of person who could go to any bar on her own, sit there nursing a drink—even a ridiculous wet cappuccino—for ten minutes, and attract a crowd of strangers around her who would leave the venue eager to become her friend.

  When Micky didn’t say anything, Robin inquired further. “Tell me about this mystery woman.” She quirked up her eyebrows and painted a hopeful smile on her face. “I have a few minutes before I have to leave for work.”

  In times of acute stress like this, Micky’s go-to question had, over the years, become: what would Amber do? Of course, someone like Amber would never find herself in a situation like this, conc
octed of half-truths and un-communicated desires, but… what if she did? The reason Micky used Amber as a moral compass was because Amber made a point of always telling the absolute truth—except for that one time she didn’t tell Micky about Darren questioning her sexuality.

  “You’re awfully quiet for someone who was so eager to tell me about the woman she just met,” Robin said. “What’s wrong?”

  Micky sighed. The adrenalin rush of being faced with Robin was wearing off, making way for deflation. “I only just met her yesterday. I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t even know why I did.”

  “Why?” Robin looked at her the way, Micky guessed, she would at a life-long friend who was talking about her love life.

  “Why?” Micky shuffled in her seat. “You can’t come in here and pretend we’re friends like that. It doesn’t work that way.”

  “You’re the one who told me about the other woman. I just presumed you wanted to talk about her.”

  Micky should just say the words that would make all of this much easier, but she couldn’t bear to let them roll off her tongue. You and I can’t be friends. “Look, I’m sorry, it’s all been a bit much,” she said instead—which was nothing but the truth.

  “But you did meet someone?” Robin’s tone was gentle. Maybe she was just curious—maybe she was even curious for the reason Micky wanted her to be.

  “I did. Her name is Martha. She’s a colleague of Sheryl’s, Kristin’s wife.”

  “And you want to see her again?” No matter how gentle her tone, Robin really wasn’t letting it go.

  “We’ll see. Either way, I have the kids this weekend.”

  “So no chance of us doing anything together over the weekend?”

  Micky knitted her brows together. “I really don’t think that would be a good idea.”

  “We’re just friends, remember?” Robin drank from her coffee but kept her eyes glued to Micky’s. Did she even know she was giving a whole host of mixed signals?

  The way things were going, Micky just wanted a quiet weekend at home. She had a job during the week now. She had to rest on Saturdays and Sundays. She didn’t need all this innuendo and these friendly expectations. She would focus on the two most important people in her life: Olivia and Christopher.

  “Yes, well, we’ll work on our friendship the weekend after,” she said firmly, then made to get up.

  Robin grabbed her by the wrist and looked up at her. “Hey, have I done anything to upset you?”

  Yes, Micky wanted to scream. You rocked my world and then… And then what? She couldn’t fault Robin for a lack of honesty and transparency. It was her own feelings Micky had to deal with. Right now, faced with what felt like another rejection, Micky felt a ridiculous kind of anger stir in the pit of her stomach. Who did Robin think she was? Turning her on like that—basically changing her life—and then waltzing in here with a friendly smile on her face, casually asking about Martha as though what happened between them had no consequences for her whatsoever?

  “No. I’ll text you,” Micky said. “I need to get back to work. Josephine’s being swamped.” They both looked at the counter where Josephine was cheerily chatting with Mark, one of the regulars. There was no queue.

  “Okay.” Robin let go of Micky’s wrist and rose. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  ✶ ✶ ✶

  “So you want to be friends with Martha and more than friends with Robin, but the way things are presenting themselves, they both want the opposite,” Amber said.

  Micky hadn’t contacted Martha or Robin. Instead, while Christopher had decided to go to the beach to teach his new friend Liam how to surf and Olivia was hanging out with April, Micky sat on her tiny front porch with Amber, drinking a green juice.

  “I don’t know exactly what they want. I can only be sure of what I want.” After seeing Robin at The Pink Bean for two subsequent days since their conversation on Wednesday, Micky had no doubts about what she wanted. She’d never had any, really.

  “This Martha seems interesting, though. She sounds emotionally available, and she won’t be leaving Australia any time soon,” Amber said. “Two factors that can’t be underestimated.”

  “I know, but we’ve only just met, and well, I can’t get Robin out of my head.” Today of all days, Micky wished Amber was the sort of person who brought over a bottle of wine instead of juice when she visited her best friend at home.

  “That might be so, but I sense an opportunity here. Just for the record, I’m absolutely not suggesting you be dishonest with anyone, but I can see a possible happy ending here.”

  “Oh yeah?” Micky made no effort to keep the skepticism out of her voice.

  “First of all, be upfront with both of them. You tell Robin you can’t be friends with her, and you tell Martha you’re still hung up on someone else but you’re willing to go on a date with her. The worst that can happen is that you and Martha don’t have that spark, but you stand to gain a genuine friend and learn from her along the way.”

  Though Amber’s logic was, theoretically, irrefutable, she was missing the input of a large variable in her reasoning. “So, basically, what you’re saying is ‘Fuck Robin.’”

  “I guess that is what I’m saying. She’s not going to help you evolve, Micky. If anything, she’ll stunt your growth as a person—as a lesbian. I know the sex was spectacular and all that, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be that way with anyone else. She was a good… starter woman for you. Made you realize a few things about yourself you were on the cusp of realizing anyway, but now you need to move on. Ultimately, she won’t be able to give you what you want. We both know that. There’s no use beating about the bush.”

  “That’s easy for you to say.” Micky felt like pouting.

  “No, it’s not easy for me to say at all. I’d much rather be telling you something you want to hear, but I wouldn’t be a good friend if I did only that.”

  “I just don’t know how to forget about Robin.”

  “It will take some time, most likely, but you need to tell her. Be honest. Tell her it’s impossible for you to be friends with her because you’ll always be hoping for more.”

  “Why must you be so logically gifted?”

  Amber shrugged. “You know me, always better at giving advice to my friends than working on my own love life.”

  “How about, instead of going out with Martha on my own, I have a dinner party here next week, with you, Sheryl and Kristin, and her?”

  “I guess that could work. I’m curious to meet Martha, and keen to spend some time with Sheryl and Kristin. They’re so overwhelmingly nice.”

  “Do you also think there must be something hidden underneath that perfect exterior of theirs? Two people can’t be that perfect together.”

  Amber broke out into a smile. “Oh, Micky.” She shook her head.

  “Come on,” Micky insisted. “There must be something.”

  “We had dinner with them once. We don’t know them that well.”

  Micky was enjoying the distraction of speculating about their acquaintances—who were turning into friends. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Kristin moonlighted as a high-end BDSM Mistress.”

  Amber narrowed her eyes, as though sunk deep into thought. “I could see that.”

  “Or maybe it’s the other way around. You just never know.”

  “Sheryl? She’s so laid-back… I don’t know.” Amber scrunched her lips together. “We only know one thing for sure. They are one hot couple.”

  “Shall I invite them then? I actually already spoke to Kristin about it.”

  “Sure. How about next Saturday, so I can let my hair down a bit?”

  Micky chuckled. “I haven’t seen you let your hair down in ten years.”

  “My version of it then. I’ll drink two glasses of wine instead of one.” Amber sat up a bit straighter. “Don’t forget the task at hand. Why don’t you text Robin now? And let Martha know about the dinner, ask her if she’s free to join.”

  “Christ.
Yes, boss.” Micky looked her friend in the eyes for a fraction of a second. There was always nothing but good-heartedness to be found in them.

  Micky did as she was told, inviting Martha to dinner first, then, her heart beating in her throat, sending a message to Robin saying: I’m sorry, but I can’t be friends with you. I would always be hoping for more.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  It wasn’t Micky’s usual Sunday morning ritual to make French toast for her children, partly because Olivia had been listening to Amber’s anti-sugar rants too much and only reluctantly pecked at her breakfast, and partly because Sunday morning breakfast was never a big deal.

  It used to be, pre-divorce. Sunday was the only day of the week that Darren had focused all his attention on his family and he used to be the one to cook them eggs to order, with crispy bacon and bread he had fetched from the bakery on a brisk walk before any of them got up.

  After Darren moved out, Micky had attempted to recreate the atmosphere of days past, but no matter how hard she tried, there would always be one person missing from their Sunday morning tableau. No amount of French toast could ever fill that gap.

  But this particular Sunday morning, Micky was feeling especially guilty for robbing her children of a constant fatherly presence in their lives, and dipped white bread into a bowl of beaten eggs as though the very act could undo that knot in her stomach.

  At the table where Olivia and Christopher were sitting now, a flock of lesbians would gather next week. And only seven short days ago—though it felt more like a lifetime—Micky had brought another woman into this house she shared with her children, and oh the things they had done. Micky straightened her posture and made sure the slice of bread she’d just transferred to the pan didn’t stick. She didn’t want to think of Robin right then. Preferably, she’d never think of Robin again, but her subconscious brain heartily disagreed. Although it did help that Robin had yet to reply to the message Micky sent the day before.