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Nate was the chef, not Andy— never Andy.
He was the chef in that he was a literal chef, and also that he cooked every night at home. Andy never thought much of it; Nate just existed in the kitchen, flipping something with his engraved spatula and concocting something new with various bought ingredients.
Now, Nate was gone.
Andy's fault, really, since she had been the one to break things off in a hurry before she'd left for Paris. Technically it had just been a break, but a break turned into a really long break, which turned into him moving away, which led to Andy sleeping with Christian Thompson again, which led to... well, she guessed they had broken up wordlessly some time ago.
Sleeping with Christian the first time was admittedly a mistake, but she wasn't immune to mistakes. She frequently made many mistakes, actually. It was a mistake to drop out of cello lessons when she was six, it was a mistake to drink eight margaritas on an empty stomach at Doug's sister's wedding, and it was a mistake to rely so heavily on Nate's ability to cook. It was a slippery slope living off of food truck enchiladas and nachos fries if she was out, and burnt toast or stale cereal shoved into her mouth by hand if she stayed in— her body was tired of her.
She had burnt her last pack of instant rice, nearly set her apartment on fire trying to fry her own variation of Nate's famous grilled cheese, and charred an egg so severely she wasn't even sure it was safe to dispose of. It seemed obvious, then, to rip a tab off the flyer that sat tacked on the bulletin board at a local coffee shop.
"How To Boil Water: Cooking For Beginners!"
She could boil water. How hard could it possibly be to boil water? People boiled water all the time. Pssh, no biggie.
Andy felt like she was about to vomit.
She didn't know why she was so nervous considering she willingly signed up to take this class, but she was. Nervous.
What if she burnt down the building? What if the instructor hated her? What if she actually was the worst chef alive? Was there an award for that?
She pushed through her nerves, making her way up the stairs as she glanced at the flyer again, re-re-checking to see if she had the address and room number right. She made it to a large wooden door and looked down to check the flyer again.
This was it. She could do this.
She turned the knob, opened the door, scanned the room, and... wanted to leave. She nearly turned around and just walked right out, but her legs betrayed her, walking her over to sit at a spare cooking station near the back of the room. Fuck. Why was she here? Fuck.
Andy stared at the back of her head. What were the fucking chances? There were millions of people in New York City and she was here? Andy wanted to crawl under the counter and put a pot over her head. Maybe she could knock herself out with one of the frying pans? Ugh no, she'd still be alive. She bit her lip, rocking back and forth on her stool.
"It's not that bad," the woman next to her whispered. Andy jumped, taken aback by someone even being there at all. Well, she knew that someone was there and that other people existed in the room, but they all seemed to fade away once she spotted— "… and that's when I knew that I was in good hands." Oh. The woman had been talking.
"I'm… I'm sorry, what?" Andy replied dumbly.
"Do you know her?" the woman followed Andy's gaze. "You're fixated on her more than the lesson plan."
"Oh," Andy finally began to calm down and act like a person again, reaching for the printed out lesson plan in front of her. She pretended to skim it casually, "Yeah, I... we have some history. I mean, not bad history— well, I guess it's a little bad..."
"Ladies in the back?" Ms. Instructor called out, drawing attention to them both very clearly. "If you'll allow me to begin?"
Oh, so she was one of those teachers. One of those teachers who loudly interrupted to assert a kind of dominance, the kind that got off on being completely in charge of a bunch of other grown adults, and the kind who caused enough of a fuss to make Emily Charlton look behind her, directly locking eyes with Andrea Sachs.
It was only for a second, but Andy knew she'd been spotted the way Emily whipped her head back around as if she'd seen a ghost. It had practically gone in slow motion for Andy; Emily's bright blue eyes, her perfectly thin brows, her vibrant red hair (now a little bit shorter), her glossy lips that parted instantly at the sight... she was a vision.
Emily didn't look back again for the rest of the hour.
They learned about stove controls and safety for their first lesson, but Andy couldn't concentrate. They moved onto adding water into a pot on the stove, and she still wasn't listening. Her eyes wandered back to the redhead enough to worry her cooking partner, who was now giving her a sideways look.
"Andy," she said, now knowing her name. Andy had awoken from her stupor enough to introduce herself and share a fun fact before she immediately got sucked back into staring. "You're about to burn your hand. Who is she? An ex?"
Andy realized her fingers had been drumming dangerously close to a lit flame and pulled it back as if it'd actually burned. "No, no, just a colleague."
"A colleague?" she asked, looking into her pot to see if there were any bubbles yet. The water wiggled a little. "I see my old colleagues around the city all the time. I never act like that."
"Well, we had an interesting relationship," Andy checked on her own pot where the water was completely still. "It was very intense."
"Ooh," she shimmied, watching as her water successfully came to boil. "Like, sexy intense?"
Andy almost choked at her words, but covered it with a disappointed hum when she realized her water was still stagnant. "I think my stove is broken."
"Your temperature is on LO," she reached over to correct Andy's dial. "See? She told us to put it on MED."
"Right."
"You were too busy staring at the fashionista up front."
"Ha-ha. You have no idea, actually," Andy laughed to herself. "I don't even know why she'd be here, I mean, this is the last place I thought I'd run into her."
"Maybe it was just something to do?" she shrugged. "Why'd you sign up?"
Andy thought. "Well... I guess I just got tired of eating peanut butter crackers and Cap'n Crunch. Why'd you sign up?"
"To learn some fun tips and tricks." Andy's nose wrinkled at 'fun.' "Just you wait. The real fun is when we get to sautéing! And the recipes we learn along the way…" she closed her eyes as if envisioning flavors.
"Wow, you're really into all this," Andy pouted, watching her water.
"Trust me," she assured. "Stick with this class and you'll know how to make all the essential meals."
Stick with the class.
Stick with the class.
She kind of wanted to drop out.
Maybe she could dye her hair and invest in a trench coat and sunglasses for next week? Change around the seating and start going by another name? Well, Emily already knew her by 'Andy' and 'Andrea' — what else was there? Andy wasn't very creative.
Andy showed up to the second class with no disguise, no different name, and no idea what to expect. Probably a whole lot of nothing. She had actually put effort into her appearance today, too: jeans that accentuated her long legs, a pretty nice quilted, collared shirt that didn't scream 'hey, look at me! I'm single with no friends, I can't cook dinner for myself, and I still can't dress'— she'd even brushed out her hair and positioned her awkwardly-growing-out bangs in a way that didn't make her look completely ridiculous. It was perfect!
She got to her seat and sat down next to her new best friend, whose name she had already forgotten, and stared at the empty seat Emily had occupied last class. New Friend talked, but Andy really wasn't paying attention. She would've loved to chat any other day, really, but right now her thoughts were full of 'Is Emily not coming? Had she seen me and dropped the class? Was she really that mad at me?'
Then she heard it.
She heard Emily's heels clacking on the floor as the door slammed shut, and then she saw Emily walking right past her without a glance. Andy raised her hand in a halted wave (way too late), as any verbal greeting died on her lips.
The third class, Emily actually didn't show up.
Was Miranda overworking her? Was Emily okay? Did she have other plans? A date? A party? A fancy gala?
Andy had done her hair for nothing, she realized. She sadly greased her pan.
Emily was back for the fourth class. Andy knew, because she had positioned herself toward the door and had gotten there ten minutes early. New Friend wasn't there yet, so Andy had the green light to act a little more absurdly than usual. Ms. Instructor gave her an odd look from the front of the class, but Andy paid her no mind.
A few people filtered through after a minute or so, but no Emily. Andy's shoulders dropped a little, but then she heard the unmistakable sound of heels entering onto tile. Emily. She was wearing sunglasses still from being outside, her hair was blown out and flipped up at the bottom, and she wore a deep red gloss on her lips that perfectly matched the red accents on her pleated skirt. Her shirt made Andy lose her breath: a tight, button-up blouse in a fabric that Andy couldn't name but absolutely loved due to the fact it was bunchy enough at the bottom to allow for a sliver of her stomach to be on display.
Andy stood up, her mouth completely dry. "Hi..." was all that came out.
In reply, she got a hum of recognition. That was all.
"So... a grunt?" Lily said over the phone.
"No," Andy denied. "It was like a 'hmp,'" Andy imitated, making a high feminine sound.
"A hum?"
"I don't know, Lils!" she said with a sigh. "It was like she was too good for me. Like she hated me."
"Well you did quit on the spot and leave her to deal with Miranda on her own. I'm sure she does hate you."
"Gee, thanks," Andy rubbed her forehead. "This is really making me feel better."
"I'm your best friend. I'm supposed to tell you the truth, not make you feel better," she said. "Plus, I'm familiar enough with Emily at this point from your horror stories."
"They weren't all horror stories."
"Um?"
"They weren't!" Andy said. "Maybe I just told you all the negative stuff."
"Sure," Lily pacified. "Keep telling yourself that."
Andy watched the door again the day of their fifth session. After her conversation with Lily, she felt extra pressure to apologize properly— This could be closure! What were the chances that Emily would be here and allow Andy to make things right in the first place? Andy was so quick to slip away after Paris, too embarrassed to show her face to Emily, but who did that serve? Why should she be selfish?
Ms. Instructor gave Andy a weird look at her close observation of the door two classes in a row, but Andy didn't care. Again.
Andy heard Emily's heels click through the hallway before she saw her, but then Emily was there, opening up the door. She looked glamorous, as always, in a sheer-sleeved black blouse and tight back pants.
"Emily," Andy managed to squeak out, but Emily had already left without a word. That was it. Emily would just never speak to her again and this coincidence would end up being nothing. Everyone settled in their seats as Andy dropped her head into her hands.
"Alright," Ms. Instructor started, "since class is half over, I'm going to be assigning new partners. You'll be using a single pan and starting simple, this way you can work together to create your first simple side dish as a unit. Vegetables today, but it gets exciting next week! Susan, your new cooking partner is Bernard. Frankie, your new cooking partner is Julia. Emily, your new cooking partner is Andrea…"
She kept reading names, but Andy's hearing seemed to ring, and ring, and then cease to work. She was being paired with Emily? She was Emily's cooking partner? Had Instructor Chef really been so attentive, noticing that Andy wanted more time to speak with Emily? Or was this another push together from the universe? Another way to nudge Andy in the direction of making things right.
Andy awkwardly picked up her bag and coat, shuffling over to Emily's station as everyone repositioned. She felt her hands clam up as Emily refused to even look her way.
"Hey," Andy greeted, sitting down on the stool. Emily didn't look. "How have you been?"
"Fine," Emily answered, acting as if the intricacies of the cutting board in front of her was the most interesting pattern in the world.
"Same," Andy drummed her fingers on the top of the counter. "I can't believe it's already been a year since we've seen each other. Isn't that wild?"
Emily made a small huffy sound as her reply.
"Remember Nate? He got a great job and moved to Boston," Andy tried to make conversation. "And Lily moved, too. I'm sure you remember her— I talked about her all the time— but yeah, they're both gone. Well, Nate and I broke up, but Lily and I call each other constantly. I'm still writing, to no one's surprise— what's surprising… oh! I started rock climbing recently. Cool right? Anyway, whatever. Are you still at Runway?"
Emily had pretended to not be listening, but she visibly hardened at that question. "No."
"What?" Andy asked, shocked. She thought that Emily would be successful and promoted by now. She had recovered from the accident, she went right back to work, and she had presumably already trained Andy's replacement.
"Did you develop a hearing problem?" Emily snapped, finally looking at her with icy blue eyes. Andy remembered them being the same sparkly blue, but she hadn't recalled them looking so cold.
"Alright, class," Instructor Chef clapped, saving Andy from further beration. "Since we're all settled, I now want you to look at the ingredients in front of you. You each have a different vegetable, but additionally you should see whole onions, garlic, olive oil, soy sauce, and a bunch more. By the end of today, you'll officially have worked together to create an incredibly tasty and healthy side for an entrée."
Andy had floated off into space when she'd explained today's task, but she got the gist. Yeah, yeah, they were all chopping a vegetable. Blah, blah, she and Emily were assigned zucchini. She did actually come here to cook, but now she was much more interested in why Emily hated her so intensely and why she was no longer working at Runway.
Did Andy get her fired without meaning to? Did Andy quitting truly push Miranda to the brink and cause her to lash out, firing Emily in the process? Did Emily have some kind of family emergency and quit? Did Emily even have family or did she just spawn in New York City one day with an impeccable British accent? She briefly registered a chopping sound beside her, followed by a loud huff.
"Are you going to do anything at all to help out?" Emily asked. "Is the modest journalist suddenly too high and mighty to chop up zucchini?"
"No," Andy grumbled, picking up her knife and grabbing one of the veggies. "I was just in my head."
"How wonderful for a hands-on cooking course," Emily said under her breath.
"Em, look—" Andy started, but Emily's body whipped around so fast Andy feared where the knife in her hand would end up.
"It's Emily," she snapped. She took a few breaths before turning back to her cutting board, resuming her chopping.
"Right," Andy said carefully. "I'm sorry, Emily. Like, I'm actually really sorry about how we left things."
"How you left things, you mean," she clarified, cutting harder. "How you quite literally left."
"Yes," Andy swallowed thickly. "But I—"
"Ladies, what's with all the chatter over here?" Ms. Instructor waltzed over with her arms folded. "Ms. Andrea, you're very behind Ms. Emily."
"Yes, Ms. Andrea has been very distracted," Emily chimed in. "She's been talking my ear off."
"Do you two know each other?" she asked.
"Yes."
"No."
"Yes we do, Em!"
"Emily!" she stressed.
"Ladies, ladies," the instructor soothed. "Let's get back to chopping, okay? I want to see more progress and less arguing."
Andy watched her leave, listening as she praised the partners at the station behind them. Andy chopped a little too fast, nearly slicing her finger off.
"As I was saying—"
"You just always get your way," Emily interrupted, quieter now. "Paris was just handed to you despite it being my lifelong dream. I worked there longer than you, I worked harder than you, I actually cared about my job, yet you reaped all the rewards! Right from under my nose! Then you had the nerve to quit while you were still in Paris? Not for a single second considering the foul mood you'd just put Miranda in, who was now being sent back home to me. I was the only one there for her, all while I had to train someone completely new to the industry all over again. You never called me, emailed me, nope, absolutely nothing."
"I—"
"You could've emailed me to ask how I was, how Miranda was dealing, how work was going now that I was completely alone. You could've thanked me for training you, thanked me for covering for you— you could've called and told me to go to hell! Anything! But no, it was radio silence from you, Andrea. So yes, I'm a bit peeved that's how you left it, and I'm not very fond of you at the moment."
Andy waited to see if she was going to get interrupted again, but Emily put the knife down and took a deep breath. She honestly couldn't believe that all of those words had actually come out of Emily's mouth. Did she actually care that much?
"I'm really sorry, Emily," Andy began, picking up an onion and chopping without rhythm. Emily immediately rolled her eyes. "No, I'm being serious. I thought that you'd be really mad after Paris, so I didn't want to call and upset you. I didn't think you wanted to hear from me at all, let alone for me to just call and say hey."
Andy sniffled, making Emily's eyes go wide. "Are you crying?"
"I'm cutting an onion." Andy said, wiping away a stray tear with her wrist. "It burns."
Instructor clapped her hands again. She now stood at the front of the room again, having made her rounds. "Okay!" she said with enthusiasm. "Next, you'll all gather around my station while I refresh your memory from week twos lesson. Mincing garlic is incredibly important when preparing high quality meals, class. After we mince, you'll add it into the pan with the onions and your chopped up zucchini, then we'll focus on the seasoning. You should all know how to oil up your pans by now and get some crispy edges on those vegetables, right?"
They were silent again after the mini-lesson.
Emily seemed to expertly grasp cooking concepts, mincing away and adding everything to the simmering pan. Andy uselessly tossed a stray zucchini piece on top. She couldn't tell if this whole Emily thing was severely distracting her or if she was just a lost cause in the kitchen. Doomed for all of eternity to eat peanut butter out of the jar and melted cheese on toasted white bread.
Emily grumbled under her breath— something very British— while throwing another lump of garlic aggressively into the mix.
"I learned French for her," Emily huffed, a bitter laugh escaping. "If you learned French, Miranda would've probably promoted you and fired me anyway. I studied French for nearly three years, isn't that something? Bloody waste of time. Sitting around, waiting for Miranda to need me to teach Caroline and Cassidy basic terms. I was shit at it, too."
"Did she ask you to do that?" Andy asked tentatively.
"Of course not," Emily turned up the heat on the pan. "I just assumed it was something I could do to be extra helpful— I'm an idiot."
"No you aren't," Andy defended her from… her. "Miranda's the one in the wrong here. You were a great—"
"Save it," Emily cut her off, turning stone cold once again. "I really don't need the pity, Andrea. Not from you, not from anyone. I'm not the one who always needed a pat on the back and a gold star for doing a simple task."
"Ouch."
"Doesn't seem like anyone's giving you validation nowadays," Emily snipped. "I Googled you for a while after you left, but nothing ever came up. Having trouble making it big?"
"It doesn't exactly happen overnight."
"No, it doesn't," Emily said. "It has been a year, though. You don't regret blowing up your opportunity for success? Rhetorical, by the way. I don't actually care about your answer."
"I said I was sorry," Andy put down a battered clove of garlic. "What else do you want from me? Do you want me to drop out of the class?"
"That hardly seems necessary," Emily didn't even bother to look over, still focused on the task at hand. "If you can't stand to be around me though, there's the door."
"It's not me," Andy stressed. "It's you! You're… you're twisting things! I said I was sorry and—"
"And now you're expecting that gold star?" Emily feigned a pout. "Poor Andrea."
"You are so—"
"My goodness," Ms. Instructor fanned above their pan as smoke rose. "You're about to start a fire, you two! This pan is way too hot, Ms. Emily." It seemed Emily wasn't as focused on cooking as she'd appeared. "This is salvageable, just… we don't have time today. Next week, I'll have to stress the importance of staying diligent while operating a stove."
Emily burned with quiet rage and deep embarrassment. She swore it hadn't been smoking a second before the instructor had shown up. Maybe that woman was a witch set out to publicly humiliate Emily in front of Andy. Maybe it was all some sick joke. Maybe Emily just wasn't paying attention to the food, the cutting, the pan, or anything except for the infuriating woman next to her. Yeah, probably that one.
"Everyone, listen up," Instructor announced. "Next week, I'll reiterate stove rules and kitchen safety. Now, you have your first homework assignment. I'd like for you to communicate with your partner and come up with an item for each of you to cook and bring in. In class, we will work on presentation, finishing touches, and blending your items together into a dish. Great work today!"
Everyone shuffled around, getting their coats, their bags, and cleaning up their stations. Andy's eyes flickered nervously over to Emily's as she grabbed her coat.
"Just to let you know, I'm not quitting the class," Andy said.
"Oh wow, something you're not quitting," Emily snatched up her purse. "I've never seen this side of you. Sticking with something."
Emily strode past her, their hips brushing in the tight quarters as Emily made her way into the aisle. Emily was fast, but Andy was determined.
"Emily," she marched after her, juggling her coat, scarf, and whatever else was spilling out of her purse. "We have to discuss what we're making next week."
"You can email me," Emily said without looking back. "Do not call or text me. I won't pick up."
"Why do you have to make this so hard?" Andy asked, trailing after her still. Wow, she was fast when she was pissed off. She made her way down the stairs of the building without glancing down at her feet, in heels, without using the handrails. Sexy. "I literally have your phone number already."
"Yes, but you're not to use it," Emily said, flipping her hair out of her coat as she shrugged it on. "My email is 'E Charlton eighty-three at Gmail dot com,' got it?"
"Um, sure," Andy made a mental note. She didn't have a pen and pad at the ready like she did when she was working at Runway. Even if she did, she didn't have any free hands to help her out.
"Do not spam my email, either," she shoved open the door, bracing as the chilly New York air slammed into them both.
"Emily—"
"Email me once, tell me about the item you're choosing to bring, and that's all."
"Are you going to be like this every time?" Andy asked, shivering from the cold. She was so wrapped up in chasing Emily, she'd forgotten to dress herself back up to face the chill. Emily didn't stop walking. "Emily!" Andy grabbed her arm, spinning her around to face her.
"Don't touch me!" Emily yanked her arm away, her mouth falling open in surprise. Surprise and something else that nestled deep into her chest. "I'll have to have this coat dry cleaned."
"You can hate me, that's fine, but we should be able to cook together for an hour," Andy held her head a little higher. There, that'd show Emily. "You're a lot better at cooking than I am— well, you burnt it all today, but besides that, you're a quick learner. Let's just start over, okay? I'm Andy." she held out her hand.
"That's disgustingly corny," Emily shoved her hand down, holding her by the wrist. "I'm not shaking your hand."
"You're grabbing my wrist," Andy commented, reaching into her pocket with her free hand to find her car keys. Where had she even parked? She clicked the lock button a few times.
A horn sounded and Emily's eyes followed the flash of light that came from a car a few rows away. "I didn't know you had a car."
"It's a rental," Andy said, feeling Emily let go of her wrist. "I was visiting my mom—"
"Get in it," Emily said, walking toward it in a way that showed off her hips. "And for God's sake, don't talk."
Emily had attacked her lips as soon as Andy put the back seat of the large sedan down. Andy threw everything that had been in her hands onto the floor of the passenger seat, awkwardly shuffling into the vehicle as Emily climbed on top of her and bit her bottom lip. Emily raked her hands through Andy's thick brown hair and, God, Andy felt like her insides were on fire. She was sure that her face was flushed red, her lips were wet from Emily's tongue, and she was turned on beyond belief.
She'd always found Emily incredibly hot, but what had she done to deserve this now? Andy didn't really care as long as Emily didn't stop kissing her. She broke away for a moment to pull the door shut before clambering back to reconnect their lips and work on the buttons of Emily's shirt. She'd gotten too bold apparently, because Emily's hands caught hers, throwing them to the side.
"Don't," she rasped against her lips, taking over to unbutton the shirt herself. "I don't need your help."
"Okay," Andy nodded. "Whatever you want."
"Whatever I want?" Emily repeated back to her. "You're so desperate for it, aren't you?" Emily turned her head to the side right before Andy could kiss her again, "Take off your pants."
"Okay," Andy said quickly, dropping onto her back to tug off her jeans in a series of ragged movements. She could feel that she was already getting slick, not quite bleeding through the material of her underwear, but enough to remind her how turned on she'd gotten so quickly. How did Emily have the power to reduce her to a mess in minutes? She let out a soft, needy hum once her eyes found Emily on her back, pulling her skirt up to expose her legs.
"Come here. Show me how much you want it," Emily moved her leg to slide between Andy's, who moved and parted to accommodate her.
Andy straddled her leg, bringing her clothed center to slide once along Emily's thigh. Emily lifted up to place a hand on her hips, feeling the band of Andy's underwear and slipping a hand further down to cup her ass.
"Fuck," Andy breathed, biting her bottom lip. She ducked her head to breathe into Emily's neck, avoiding hitting her head on the roof of the vehicle. The barrier between her legs was getting to be bothersome, but she also didn't want to pull away and be without friction for a moment. "I... I need..."
"Spit it out," Emily said. "What? You want more? Use your words."
"I... more," she kissed Emily's neck, but Emily pushed her off.
"Take it off, then," she said. "Fuck yourself properly."
Andy rapidly nodded, working to peel off her underwear as fast as possible. Emily faltered at Andy's desperation. She had that look in her eyes— that watery, utterly pathetic one, and Emily just couldn't stand it. She tugged Andy close as Andy straddled her, lowering her bare cunt onto Emily's thigh.
Andy made a high-pitched noise that Emily hadn't planned on hearing. Whenever Emily had thought about this, she imagined Andy to be a whimperer. There was still time, she supposed.
"You're so loud," Emily chastised. "Been a while?"
"Shut up," Andy groaned out, meeting her lips as she moved. "No."
"No?" Emily said in disbelief. "Why're you getting yourself off in your own car if you're frequently getting fucked?"
"You're the one who dragged me in here," Andy panted, "and it's a rental."
"You followed me eagerly," Emily reminded, nipping at her neck. Andy let out a whimper, craning her neck to allow for more access. Emily licked along her neck, her lips settling on her jaw. One of her hands found Andy's breast through her shirt and squeezed, feeling her nipple already hard.
"Oh God, oh God," Andy cried. She heard how slick she was and she felt how easily she was gliding, leaving smears of wetness across Emily's pale legs. "Oh—"
Emily's hand left her breast to cover Andy's mouth, silencing her from underneath her. "Shut up, fuck," she rasped. "Shut u— oh!" she moaned as Andy licked her palm, making Emily pull her hand back and grip onto Andy's neck instead. "Finger me."
Andy nearly toppled over, moving her hips back and forth while she looked down and lifted Emily's skirt up further, shoving her hand into Emily's lace.
"You're wet," Andy said in awe. "You're so warm…"
"Quiet. Fuck me, And— Andrea," she said, arching her back. "Don't make me wait. Tell me you want it."
"Em," she said as she slid one finger through her folds, familiarizing herself. "Oh fuck, I want it." Andy moaned into Emily's ear, her hips stuttering as she clenched around nothing. She desperately wanted Emily's fingers filling her up, but she was too feral to change the pace— too needy to move, now that she found the position that rubbed her clit so precisely.
"Emily," Emily corrected, but it turned into a sigh. "Don't tease, put it in."
Andy inserted her finger into her fully, filling her as she dragged it in and out through her tightness. "Emily, you're… Oh God, you're tight."
"Don't," Emily placed her hands on Andy's waist, guiding her to move against her again. "Oh, fuck you. Fuck, you feel so good. Moan for me."
Andy let out a wanton moan, collapsing further into Emily as she curled her fingers inside of her. She tried to zone in on her clit, but her own clit pulsed. "I'm gonna—" Andy's movements inside Emily slowed as her own pleasure began too much.
"God, you're so pathetic," Emily moaned out. "You're so hot. Cum on me, Andy."
Andy retracted her fingers from Emily's pussy, using both of her hands for leverage as she chased her high. Her brow furrowed and her lips parted as she came with a long cry, whimpering into Emily's shoulder as her hips jerked back and forth. The palm of her hand slammed into the fogged car window, leaving an incriminating print. Andy tried to catch her breath, still slumped on Emily, turning her head to finally notice that she'd gotten Emily's slick on the window. "Sorry," she mumbled, wetting her lips. "My fingers slipped out."
"I noticed."
She leaned down to place an apology kiss on her lips, but Emily avoided her again.
"No more kissing," she reprimanded. "We're fucking in your rental, this isn't a romantic retreat."
"Right," Andy repositioned herself to be able to touch Emily properly. "People just usually kiss when they're having sex, is all."
"Well, I'm very particular," Emily said. "I don't kiss people I don't like."
"But you can have sex with them?"
"Yes," Emily said simply. "I have needs. Kissing is gooey, Andrea, I don't need that at the moment. Especially not with you."
"But you kissed me before," Andy squinted, adjusting herself so she could comfortably slide her hand against Emily's wet center.
"Lapse in judgment. It won't happen again."
"Because you hate me?"
"Yes," Emily breathed out shakily. "I can't stand you. Two fingers inside, please."
They didn't talk about it.
How could they? Andy was strictly prohibited from calling, texting, and emailing more than once. She knew she couldn't ask about the sex, she knew she couldn't ask about any feelings, so... she'd give a cooking update. She'd follow Emily's email rules and keep it casual. First, she had to call Lily.
"Hey!" Lily picked up, flopping down on her couch.
"We had sex."
Andy heard immediate coughing and sputtering as Lily choked on whatever liquid she'd taken a swig of. "What?!"
"Emily and I!"
"Yeah, I gathered that!" she stressed. "You just made me do a spit take all over the carpet."
"Was it water?"
"Yes it was water!"
"Okay, then no biggie," Andy played it off.
"No biggie for you! You're states away," Lily grumbled. "Anywho, how the hell did she let you in her pants?"
"She made a move on me," Andy boasted.
"What?" Lily repeated, gasping. "No way. I thought she hated you?"
"Well, she does," Andy conceded. "We were arguing, then we were kissing, and then we were really kissing—"
"Focus."
"Right. So we were partnered together in class, like I told you weeks ago, and she seemed super pissed about it. She was ragging on me, yelling at me, complaining— all that Emily stuff. But then, she actually let me talk and let me apologize without interrupting, so I think we made a breakthrough. Then we're leaving, she's walking ahead of me and insulting me over her shoulder, so I put my foot down, Lils. I called her out for being argumentative, and then she was just all over me. I have no idea why."
"Andy," Lily said, almost disappointed.
"What?"
"You're telling me you don't see a catalyst there?"
"Um," Andy pursed her lips and looked up at the ceiling. "No."
"She liked that you stood up to her a little!" Lily stressed. "She thought that was sexy! Arguing must be foreplay for her, or something."
"What?" Andy wrinkled her nose. "Why would arguing be foreplay?"
"You're so dense, Andy, I love you, seriously."
"Just explain."
"Well, I don't know her obviously, but I'd say she was purposefully trying to piss you off a little bit. She's probably pissed at you for leaving, but maybe she saw you and was more pissed that she was attracted to you. And then you stood up to her, showed her that you changed? The rest is history."
"You really think that's it?" Andy thought. "She said she really hated me, though. And she wouldn't let me kiss her during."
"Probably doesn't want to get attached," Lily guessed. "Where'd you guys go at it? Bed sex is already intimate."
"It was in a car."
"A car?" Lily chuckled. "Super romantic. She has a car?"
"No, it was that rental I got to go to my mom's," Andy explained. "I got the keys out and she was pulling me into the backseat."
"Go get 'em, tiger," Lily whistled. "Are you gonna do it again? How was it?"
"It was great, but probably a fluke. I doubt she'd let me touch her again."
"You're that bad in the sack?" Lily teased.
"Shut up," Andy laughed. "Don't make me hang up on you. Tell me about your new gallery set-up."
Andy's fingers lingered above the keyboard. She could do this. It was just Emily. Just Emily, who had shattered on her lap once, and clenched around her tongue the other. Just Emily, who made Andy's heart feel like it was about to beat out of her chest.
Whatever.
She could be chill.
From: [email protected]
hii so im thinking potato salad or something ?? also idk why shes having us bring in pre-cooked food i feel like thats dangerous. or at least im scared for my own life since i potentially have to eat what you bring and if one person was gonna poison me in class it'd prob be you. which are we eating in class are u gonna eat beforehand or are we like having dinner together ? but okay anyway im gonna do that and peel them the night before maybe so theyre fresh ?? idk i have to google it. anyway u can do the other stuff for your part if that's cool and ill see you in class :D
Perfect. Andy hit send and sat back. Emily would reply soon, and everything would be alright.
Emily didn't reply until the day before class, six days later.
From: [email protected]
Hello Andrea,
Just letting you know that I've finished my portion of our meal prep for tomorrow. Have you completed the work? Do let me know. Also good lord, your email is atrocious. Why are you contacting me from your personal email?
I happen to be free after and would like for us to discuss preparation for the following class.
See you then,
Emily C
Andy read it three times. Why so formal? Why would she ever contact Emily from her business email? Why did she take nearly a week to reply?
From: [email protected]
why are u being so formal LOL. yeah i did the stuff with the potatoes don't worry your pretty little head. also are we actually gonna talk about cooking or is that code for sex that you just didn't wanna write in the email ?? because oops i just wrote it in the email. but anyway im free :)
From: [email protected]
Andrea,
Aren't you a journalist? I turned a blind eye the first time, but this is not proper email etiquette in the slightest. I'm happy to hear that you finished your task for class.
And yes, I would love if we could act like adults and make subtle plans without blatantly spilling the beans. No need to email me back.
Emily C
Andy furrowed her brow. Why couldn't she email her back? She was already cut off? What was the harm in a little back and forth? Andy had respected her wishes and agreed to communicate entirely through emails, so why couldn't Emily bend a little bit and make this a little more colloquial?
But fine, she wouldn't push. Andy was a gentleman.
Emily showed up in a plaid skirt, a flowy brown blouse, and surely incredibly expensive kitten heels. Andy was in… thrifted khakis.
"Hi!" Andy greeted as Emily came to stand beside her. "I brought my potatoes."
"Lovely," Emily said as she opened her bag, taking out various containers.
"Wow, you were busy," Andy commented, nodding at the little bowl that she'd brought and covered in Saran Wrap.
Emily followed Andy's nod and nearly dropped her container out of her hand. "Andrea, what the hell is that?"
"Uh, potatoes?"
"Why are they mashed?" she clattered her tupperware onto the counter, placing a hand on her forehead. "Did you bother to look up what potato salad even was?"
"I Googled pictures and some of them were definitely mashed."
"You're supposed to boil the potatoes and then julienne them, or something— I don't remember the bloody term!"
"Who's Julianne?"
"Andy—" Emily covered her mouth. "I'm about to be sick. You messed up our very first lesson!"
"I really don't think it's a big deal," Andy peeled the wrap off of her bowl. "See? Doesn't that look scrumptious?"
"It looks like it's stuck all on the sides," Emily closed her eyes, unable to look.
Andy's eyes traveled to Emily's containers, her mouth opening and a loud laugh escaping, "Oh my God. You made, like, actual salad. You messed up first!"
"Stop that!" she covered the containers with her hand, shoving others back into the bag. "I misread your email, okay? I chopped lettuce and vegetables for four hours!"
Andy was laughing harder now, nearly swaying off the stool. "You were getting on me for mashing the potatoes when you didn't even make the other stuff needed for a potato salad? You just brought… salad? Like, should I whip up a vinaigrette?"
"Oh, shut up, Andy," Emily cracked a smile, putting all of her stuff back in the bag. "At least I was using the chopping skills we learned. What did you do? Use a mixer?"
"Yes in fact, I did," Andy said proudly. She took in Emily's slightly defeated expression, how her shoulders dropped, the slight crease in her brow… "Do you wanna leave?"
"What?" Emily asked, offended. "You leave— you messed up, too!"
"No, no," Andy calmed her, "I mean… both leave. We already fucked up."
"We paid for ten classes," Emily crossed her arms, "and I'm not a quitter like you."
"You still have time to become one." Andy said, leaning in closer to whisper, "I still have my rental."
"That's highly inappropriate and presumptuous," Emily said, though she uncrossed her arms. "It's not nearly roomy enough, I've learned."
"I also have an apartment."
"Well, I'd hope so."
"And a bed."
"No bed," Emily shook her head. "That's too much."
"A sofa, a wall, a counter, the front door— Em, just… let's go," Andy pleaded.
"I…" Emily started, opening and closing her mouth. "Well, come on then, before she realizes we've up and left."