Jenny only lives a few blocks away from me, so I decide to walk there on Sunday. I throw on some scrubs and walk out the door. Outside the air is rushing and frenzied in anticipation of a thunderstorm that never seems to come; it has been like this all day.

I walk savoring the tension of impending weather. I have always loved storms, and the inexplicably erotic feelings they stir within me. It is unfortunate that Jenny is the one I'm going to see.

I round a corner onto the proper street, and check the piece of paper. 4035. The house is your average WeHo deal, wide open porch, lots of potted plants, a gate and walkway. The vague smell of cigarettes and incense wafts from within.

I walk up the steps and ring the bell. It makes a strangled ringing sound deep inside the house. Above the sound of rushing wind there is the running of water, very faint, and low, atonal singing that comes closer.

Then, Shane is at the door, in plain black panties and a wifebeater, hair damp, without a speck of makeup. What the hell? I look at her and then back at the scrap of paper in my hand. "Hey," she says, not one bit surprised to see me, and she opens the screen door. "C'mon in."

"Hey. What are you doing here?"

"I live here," she says.

“No shit?” Are they an item? No, they can’t be. My gaydar never fails with things like this. Roommates, then.

“Yeah. Jenny’s ex husband leases the place, and he moved to Ohio, so we’re covering the lease for the time being. I just moved in last week.”

“Jenny has an ex-husband?” I say.

“Yep. Tim. Oh, hey, can I get you something to drink?”

“No thanks. You could put this in the fridge, though.” I brought some wine despite the fact that I will be heading to work after lunch, and that I am doing Jenny a favor. My mother bought me a case of my favorite blush last year for Christmas.

“Sure.” She meets my eyes as she takes the wine, and I get a familiar unsettled feeling in my belly that isn't altogether unpleasant. I follow her into the kitchen, and admire the movement of the of her shoulder blades, slight muscle under skin and fabric, as she puts the wine in the fridge. She has a tattoo shaped like a violin on the small of her back, its neck disappearing under the hem of the wifebeater.

“Hey, I’m sorry I was such an ass on Friday. You were totally right.” She turns around and smiles, leaning against the counter.

“No worries,” I say, smiling. “I see a lot of out and out carnage at work. I'm a Nazi about it.”

“Shit. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. So, are you gonna join us for lunch?”

“Um, no, I don’t think so. I’ve gotta be at work in a few hours.”

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

“Where do you work?”

“All over. I’ve been doing a lot of work on TV and movie sets. I'm with an agency that sends me out wherever they need me.”

“Cool.”

"Yeah. You look like you're heading to work too."

"Yeah, three to eleven."

"You look cute."

I look down at myself - I'm wearing plain blue scrubs, nothing spectacular. "Um, thanks."

Just then Jenny comes in, looking fresh and clean in a white poet shirt and jeans skirt, her dark hair wet. "Hey," she says.

"Hey, Jen."

"I'll let you guys talk," Shane says. "Darah, are you coming to Radar on Tuesday?"

"Um, possibly, I think I'm working, but I might swing by after."

"Cool," she smiles. "Have fun." I watch her walk away. Her body is a compelling mixture of masculine and feminine, her shoulders held in a boyish slouch, belied by the fragility of her small bones. Jenny is totally watching me check her out. She chuckles softly.

.

“So what’s up with you and Shane,” Jen asks, holding her cigarette glamorously, smiling. She’s relaxed considerably after lunch and wine. We’ve found that we have a common love of art and film noir, and we’ve sort of bonded.

“Nothing’s up. We fuck. We’re friends, I guess. Why? You two aren't...”

“No,” she laughs.

“Why not?” Jenny is plenty sexy, and I’m sure Shane would do her, because Shane does everyone. “I dunno,” Jen says, a dreamy quality in her voice. “I guess it would seem like incest. We’re just friends.”

“And you don’t fuck,” I tease, plucking a piece of feta cheese from my salad.

“No.”

“That’s cool. It’s nice to have friendship without sexual tension.”

“Yeah, it is. She likes you,” Jenny says. I have no idea what she means by that.

“She likes a lot of women.”

“True. But I think you guys..." She blows her cigarette smoke to the side and looks up in the air, as if to pull an answer from it. Then she turns back to me with her big eyes, smiling. "I dunno.”

“No, honey, I don’t do relationships.”

She laughs.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.” She doesn’t see fit to let me in on the joke, and I don’t push it.

I ask her if I can read her writing. She seems surprised, but she sends me home with a big bowl of pasta salad and a battered anthology including one of her stories. She’s good. I don’t know why it surprises me, but it does.

.

Wednesday afternoon. I knock on Shane and Jenny’s door, doubting that either will be home. I’m dressed for work and holding Jenny’s book. Jenny said that if no one was home, just to leave the book in the door.

I’m just about to do so when I hear footsteps. It’s Shane. She has a towel around her and water drips from the jagged edges of her hair onto her naked shoulders.

“Hey,” she says, surprised.

“Hi. Jen said to leave this if she wasn’t here.”

“Okay. Come in.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to drag you out of the shower.”

“Darah, calm down.”

“Okay,” I say, moving my eyes over the naked splendor of her bare shoulders, her clean-scrubbed face.

“You look...” she moves her eyes over my scrubs. Today it’s black pants and black top with Pink Floyd prisms strewn across it. “...Nursey.”

“I look nursey?“ I laugh.

“You look totally hot,” she says, and I feel something shift inside, unsettle a little.

“Yeah?” I say, stepping toward her.

“Totally...” She murmurs, her eyes meeting mine.

“Do you have somewhere you need to be?” I say, moving just a bit closer.

“Not immediately,” she whispers, smiling.

I press my lips to a droplet of water on her shoulder, taste it. Her breath rewards me, faltering jaggedly, and her slick flesh is like heaven.

She takes my hand and leads me back into the house. I stare at her naked legs, gorgeous, pale skin, god. She pulls me into her bedroom. I never thought I’d see it. Hardwood floors, simple bed, cool modern lamp. It smells like her, vaguely green tea-ish, lust and cigarettes.

“You look fucking beautiful,” I say, roughly pull the towel, and kiss her hard, more roughly than I want. It’s our third time, technically fourth, and I’ve learned enough about being with her to know what she will and won’t tolerate.

For some reason the clean water droplets taste sweet. I kiss the water from her skin before it evaporates, not her whole body but a line between her breasts, down to her cunt. I feast there until I know I’ll be late for work. Something about her clean naked body and naked face makes me feel unusually tender and aroused, and when we kiss, after, it makes me so close to coming that all it takes is a little pressure of her leg on my crotch. Again, she watches for my reaction, as if drinking it up.

Then I bolt up, putting my scrubs and shoes back on.

“Do you have any mouthwash?” I ask. “I can’t do triage with pussy breath.”

She laughs. I can see it shaking her ribcage as she walks to the bathroom, and the fact that I've caused the reaction is strangely satisfying.

She hands me a bottle of scope. I rinse, gargle, then kiss her again. Her hair is drying messily, her lips pink from so much kissing, and I’m so tempted to be sucked into a second round.

“I’m fucking late for work,” I whisper.

“Sorry,” she grins, not sorry at all.

“Don’t be,” I grin. “I’m out, ok?”

“Ok.” She walks me to the door.

“Oh, hey, I wanted to ask you! Are you into Nine Inch Nails?”

“Yeah.”

“I won two tickets for Friday. Do you wanna go?”

“I dunno, I, uh...”

I laugh, and this throws her. She probably has no clue that this flustered expression - mouth slightly opened and eyebrows raised together - makes her adorable.

“I didn’t ask you to register for china. It’s a concert. A loud, sweaty mosh pit, followed, perhaps, by some loud, sweaty sex. That doesn’t threaten your sense of autonomy, does it?”

She looks so damn pretty, freshly-kissed lips parted, deer-in-headlights eyes open wide.

“No, that’s not it.”

“Look, we‘re friends, right? I mean, I know Alice and I are friends, and Jenny, and your other friends seem cool, though Tonya kind of frightens me, but that's not the point, the point is that I could use some friends here. And why can’t we be friends who fuck? I mean, what’s the big deal? Is that not possible for you?”

She doesn’t move a muscle for a minute, just stands there naked.

Then she smiles, as if knowing she is bested, a lopsided smile that reaches her eyes. “Were you born in this country?”

“Yeah, barely, why?”

“Because I get a feeling we were separated at birth.” I feel the tension that I didn’t know I was holding dissolve, and smile back at her. “Friday. Pick you up at seven.”