Page 37 of Saving Graces
One thing was for damn sure though. Seeing Rosalie again had only made it painfully crystal clear: Kinsey still wanted her. Badly.
Chapter Twelve
Rosalie straightened up from sliding the pizzas into the oven, Savannah watching her, a wine glass dangling from her fingers. Rosalie was not quite sure she liked the glow of the expression on her friend’s face.
“So,” Savannah said, now they were alone. “What did you think of Cassie’s bandmate? She’s gorgeous, huh?”
Rosalie raised her chin.
“I didn’t really notice,” she lied.
Savannah smiled, cocking her head.“Really? Even with those smoldering eyes? That’s interesting. You might need to get your vision checked.”
“I’m going to tell your little sister you’re checking out her friends,” Rosalie threatened. “What kind of married woman are you, exactly?” She realized slightly too late that she might be overcompensating because Savannah looked straight up thrilled.
“A very secure one with a very secure wife,” she said. “Now if I were single though, and she were to look at me the way she looked at you, I think I might find myself a little tempted.”
“Well, no one would be surprised to hear that about you.” Rosalie knew the stab was outlandish, but she was increasingly desperate to derail this conversation.
“I guess it would be different if I were you.” Savannah breezed by the accusation. “I’d probably be all tied up in knots about it. I’d probably think of her as someone I shouldn’t have had sex with.”
“Savannah!” Oh god. Sometimes it sucked having a best friend who knew you on what occasionally felt like a cellular level. “Ugh, how are you this fucking psychic?”
“I mean, it helps that you turned into a literal strawberry when you saw her. Besides,” Savannah smirked, a tiny glint in her eyes, “you always like to pretend I don’t know what your sex face looks like.”
Rosalie’s cheeks burned. Apparently it was time for Savannah’s regular, approximately once-a-decade reminder that they’d had sex, delighting in the reaction it provoked. Rosalie shook her head as if to deny it.
“You’re a pain in the ass,” she complained, focusing hard on her glass of wine.
“What are you going to do?”
“Nothing!” Rosalie huffed. “She’s twenty-six. She’s your little sister’s bandmate and friends with Lane.”
“So an adult?” Savannah pointed out. “And apparently so hot in bed that it turned your life upside down?”
“Savannah, hush,” Rosalie implored, her eyes going wide. “She’s literally here in this house.”
“As are you, interestingly enough.”
“Nothing is going to happen.” Rosalie stared her down firmly. “Please, please don’t tell anyone or do anything to make this more uncomfortable than it already is. Keep in mind you thought my mental state was so precarious you forced me here in the first place.”
Savannah’s smirk disappeared. She nodded, her eyes going serious.
“Honey, I won’t. I promise,” she said and Rosalie let her shoulders fall from where they’d been hunched practically to her ears. “Wow,” Savannah said after a moment. “She’s really done a number on you. What happened?”
“If I promise to tell you another time, when it’s actually private, will you leave me alone?”
Savannah considered her.
“Tomorrow,” she agreed. “It’s a date.”
“Babe, would you please stop offering dates to beautiful women?” Brynn sauntered into the kitchen and Savannah’s eyes did that specifically Brynn-related thing where they went soft and hot at the same time. She slipped her arms around her wife and gazed up at her. Rosalie’s heart did that thing it often did around them, some kind of complex emotion that was love and joy and jealousy and some other weird tug that she only just now realized was grief.
“You know what a weakness I have for them,” Savannah flirted with her wife and Brynn smirked and kissed her.
Dinner was… dinner was a nightmare.
Savannah, true to her word - as Rosalie had known she would be - insinuated nothing, instead reverting to her charming hostess best, making sure to share her spotlight with every person in the room equally. She asked Cassidy and Kinsey about how the band was going, shared cute kid anecdotes with Lane, got Brynn talking about her impending album release and gently hauled Rosalie into a conversation about the cold snowy walk through the woods they’d taken earlier. It was about as low pressure and easy as a dinner party could be.
