McKayla's Miracle Ch. 01

She squeezed my hand, then turned and quickly walked away.

I sat at the table for a long time, staring down the staircase McKayla had just graced with her soft steps. In my mind's eye, all I could see was the provocative sway of her hips, the wave of her hair, and I wondered what I had just gotten myself in to.

***********************

The next afternoon, I buzzed about my apartment. No matter what I did, I couldn't get the butterflies in my stomach to settle down. My pulse raced with the first date anticipation that was a combination of delight, nerves, fear and arousal.

My look needed to be just right. I washed and dried my hair. I checked the clock. I got dressed. I put my hair up. I put my make up on. I let my hair down. I checked the clock again.

I paced around my apartment. I changed my earrings. I put on a different blouse. I put my hair up again. Ten years ago, I had my first date with a guy named Jason Hager and that wasn't half as nerve-wracking as this day.

Finally, I settled on a button-down white blouse over a maroon tank top with a short—but not too short—skirt. She said we were going some place casual, but I hoped I wasn't too casual.

As I stared at the mirror for the millionth time, I heard a knock at the door. The clock read 4:58. That was McKayla: always on time if not a little early.

I spritzed myself with perfume then went to the door. I took in a deep breath, then let it out slowly, trying to will the tension and nervousness away. It didn't work.

My heart racing, I opened the door.

McKayla stood there. Her hair was pulled back, highlighting her delicate features. She smelled of sweet vanilla lotion.

A long moment passed.

"Ready to go?" she asked, breaking the silence.

"Sure," I managed to smile.

"I know a little Italian place just up the road," she said as we walked towards her car.

"That sounds great." I didn't know what to say or do. It was like I was 14 again and she was the captain of the football team while I was the nerdy girl from the back row in geometry class. She was way out of my league and I was in over my head.

We got in her car, a sporty little BMW convertible. Red, of course. The top was down and the drive to the restaurant was quick.

The hostess seated us at a table tucked away in the back. The lights were low. McKayla's eyes glimmered in the candlelight.

I nervously looked over the menu, but I didn't have much of an appetite. I can't remember what I ordered; I just know I didn't eat much of it.

Another uncomfortable silence fell over us.

"Why did you ask me out?" McKayla said, not beating around the bush.

I looked around nervously, as if afraid that someone might overhear. On a Sunday night, the place was slow and there was no one around.

"I don't know," I replied. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

That drew an amused chuckle from both of us.

"I'm a heartbreaker, you know," McKayla said suddenly. The usual playfulness was gone from her voice. "Commitment is something I'm not good at. I don't do relationships."

It took me a second to absorb her words. Was she trying to defend herself from me? Or was she warning me?

"And I don't do girls," I said, trying my best to imitate her dry smile. "But you'd better know this: I'm not going to be just another notch on your bedpost."

We both managed a forced laugh. That seemed to break the tension between us. At least for the time being. Really, all it did was put it on the back burner.

The entrees came and we started to talk. Even though we had known each other for several months, being out with her alone was like meeting someone for the very first time. We started with the easy questions.

"How did your parents come up with a name like Amberle?" she asked me at one point.

Easy question. I had fielded this one many times over the years. "My parents were dorks. They named me, my sister and my brother after characters in some books they liked."

"I didn't know you had any siblings."

"Yeah," I shrugged. "I'm the oldest."

"What are their names?" McKayla asked.

"Brin and Ander."

"Interesting . . ."

"What about you?" I asked.

"My father wanted to name me Michael if I was a boy, and Mom wouldn't let him name me Michelle. Something about some psycho ex-girlfriend she didn't like," McKayla smiled and took a sip of her wine. "So they were going to name me M-I-C-H-A-E-L-A, but Mom convinced Dad that I needed a special name, so they switched the spelling to make my name 'unique'."

"Didn't you hate that when you were a kid?" I asked, flashing her a knowing smile. "You know, you can never find pencils—"

"Or keychains—"

"Or bicycle license plates—"

"Or shirts—"

"And don't you hate having to spell your name for everyone?"

We laughed together at our shared childhood experience.

"Speaking of spelling," McKayla said. "There's only one 'e' at the end of your name, right?"

"Yup," I replied. "That's how it's spelled it in the book even though you say it like 'Amber-Lee'. And don't you hate it when people try and shorten your name? Being called 'Amber' always pisses me off."

"Yeah, I know what you mean. Don't call me 'Kay' or 'Kayla' or 'Mickey'. Gawd, I hate that," she rolled her eyes, "I used to hate my name, too, though after a while I thought it was cool. It makes me special. And not in the short bus kind of way. It sure beats being just another Tiffany, Catherine or Sally, doesn't it?"

"Exactly," I replied warmly. My mind drifted off for a second. I started to say something else, but stopped.

"What is it?" McKayla asked, looking suddenly concerned.

"Nothing." I said, looking away.

It dawned on her just then. Her eyes got real wide. "You said, 'were'. Are your parents? . . . Oh, my god . . . I'm so sorry."

I smiled reflexively and shrugged. This had become an automatic response for me. "It's okay. You didn't know."

"How?" she started. "No, wait, that's none of my business."

The uncomfortable silence came back.

"Mom was killed in a car accident when I was twelve," I said softly. My eyes were fixed on my glass of wine, but my gaze was distant. "Dad died when I was 17. He was out jogging and had a heart attack."

She took my hands in hers. I looked up and smiled meekly.

"I'm sorry, sweetie," she said apologetically.

"I like my name because my parents liked it." As McKayla had opened up to me the night before, I did the same for her. I shared something private with her, something not even my best friends knew. "It makes me feel like they're still with me, and they always will be, because no one can ever take my name away from me."

My hands withdrew from hers so I could wipe the tears from my eyes.

McKayla paused for a minute, then took my hands again. Her voice was soft. "If it's any consolation, I kind of know how you feel. My real dad was killed in a hunting accident when I was two. I don't remember much about him . . . but I know that he will always love me, just as your parents will always love you."

"Thank you," I managed to whisper. My feelings about my parents were things I had buried years ago. We went to live with my aunt and uncle, but a little part of me felt like I had to grow up quickly for my sister and brother. McKayla didn't know what that felt like, but I did appreciate her reaching out to me.

She raised her wine glass. "To dorky parents and the names they saddled us with."

I tried to smile and our drinks klinked together.

The maudlin moment passed as she changed the subject on me. We spent the rest of the meal making small talk and getting to know each other better. It was so much different without Allyson and Bretlynn there. Her attention was fixed solely on me. We talked about growing up. About our jobs.

McKayla was an only child. Her mom and stepdad lived a couple of hours away. She liked living at the beach and did very well for herself as a financial planner.

After the meal, we ended up back downtown at the boardwalk. Instead of going into the clubs, we walked together up and down the strip, sometimes stopping in at one of the chincy tourist trap souvenir shops or looking for something to get for dessert.

We ended up at Coldstone Creamery. I had a "love it"-sized Oreo Overload and McKayla had them make up some concoction of M&Ms, Oreos, Snickers and chocolate chips (in chocolate ice cream, no less).

How she could eat all that and look so . . . so hawt was beyond me. I'd be as big as a house if I ate half as much as she could put away.

The two of us wandered up the boardwalk and came back along the beach, each of us holding our shoes as the warm ocean water washed in over our feet.

Our conversation continued and we got to know each other even better. I lost track of time walking up and down the beach. The lights along the shore are deceptive that way.

I noticed that the shops along the boardwalk were closed and that the traffic in the bars had slowed down.

"Holy crap!" McKayla checked her watch. She flashed me an embarrassed smile. "It's 10:30. I didn't mean to keep you out so late."

"That's okay. I don't mind." A part of me was sad that our night was ending. "But I do have to get up early for work tomorrow."

"Me, too," McKayla grinned sheepishly.

We stared at each other awkwardly for a moment. It was then that I truly noticed how beautiful she was.

I had always thought she was pretty. There was no denying that. Her body was firm all over, round in just the right places and her angular features gave her an exotic look that made me envious. It dawned on me that she wasn't simply attractive. She was drop-dead gorgeous.

Standing there on the beach, right then in that moment, I was completely blown away by the woman at my side. She was the kind of woman men would fight duels over. I'd have fought for her. And if I was reading her signals right, she was mine for the taking.

I just didn't know what to do next. It really was like being 14 again.

"Come on," she reached out and took my hand. "Let's get you home."

I looked around nervously to see if anyone might be watching us. The fact that I had never held hands with a woman before made me wonder if I had bitten off more than I could chew, but that thought passed out of my head in an instant.

Her touch was electric. All I knew was that I wanted to be close to her. I needed to be close to her. We walked quickly back to her car and rode in silence to my apartment.

She parked right outside my apartment and I led her to my doorstep, still holding hands.

I fumbled for the keys in my purse, finally opening the door.

"Would you, um . . . like to come in?" I asked.

There was a longing look in her eyes. I could tell she almost said, "Yes."

"It's late," she said with a regretful sigh. "We have to be up early tomorrow."

I didn't know what I would have done had she taken me up on the offer, but I looked away, trying to hide my disappointment.

McKayla squeezed my hands and my eyes went back to hers.

"I had a really good time tonight," she said quietly, a hint of nervousness in her voice.

"Me, too."

"Am I going to get a second date?" The hopeful look in her eyes must have matched the one in mine.

"Yes," I replied. "But next time, I'm paying."

She smiled awkwardly.

It was moment of truth time. At least it was for me.

My hands were still in hers. I felt her tug slightly and I tilted my head back.

I closed my eyes. McKayla's lips were soft and warm. A shiver ran from the top of my head all the way down to my toes.

She nibbled softly on my lips. I wanted to throw my arms around her but I couldn't. My body was paralyzed, frozen by her kiss.

Finally, she pulled back. It took me a second to open my eyes. I drew in a deep breath.

"Wow," I breathed softly, unaware that I had spoken out loud.

McKayla smiled gently.

"Thank you," she whispered. She let go of my hands and took a step back. "I'll call you tomorrow. We could go out after work or something."

"Sure thing," I replied robotically. Inside, I was torn. A part of me wanted to pull McKayla inside with me and never let her go. But another, possibly more rational, part wanted to put the breaks on whatever it was that I felt and take things a little slower.

"I'll . . . ah . . . see you later." McKayla gave me a look that promised great things for our next outing, then turned and walked back to her car. I watched her, hypnotised by her bouncing pony tail and magnificent backside.

She got in her car and backed out. I went inside and closed the door. My hands still smelled of her lotion. I could taste her on my lips.

It only took a few seconds to throw my purse down and rush to the back of my apartment. Falling onto the bed, I imagined McKayla laying on top of me, her weight pressing down.

I masturbated violently, fantasising about being with a woman for the very first time.

My orgasm didn't satisfy me.

So I did it again. And again. And again, until I finally fell asleep, exhausted.

***********************

She called me at work the next morning. We had to postpone our second date; she ended up having a meeting that night. We compared schedules and found that the only time we could go out by ourselves was the next Friday. She was busy with meetings and dinners with clients; I was free most nights but we had also promised to go out with Allyson and Bretlynn some after work.

The four of us girls went out on Wednesday and Thursday. It was awkward. At least it was for me. I tried not to hover too much around McKayla and she avoided staring at me. It was like our date was something to hide.

Of course they knew we had gone out; Allyson told me as much later. They also knew we had gone out as more than "just friends", but neither of them said anything; I think they enjoyed watching McKayla and I sweat as if we had some deep, dark secret.

Each night I went to sleep wondering what I was getting myself in to. Was this infatuation or puppy love? Was I just experimenting? Was I really a lesbian? Or did I just find myself attracted to someone who was irresistible?

The memory of our kiss made me long for the next Friday night. That was the slowest week of my life, but it finally passed.

McKayla was coming over after work. I made reservations at Chez Pierre, a local French cuisine restaurant, and wanted things to be perfect for us. I was still nervous, but not as bad as the weekend before.

She showed up right on time.

"Hungry?" I asked as she stepped into my apartment.

"I'm starved, actually," she said.

After I went to retrieve my purse and keys, I turned to head for the door and found McKayla right behind me.

I jumped slightly. My body tensed as I felt her arms around me. She pulled me close and, before I could react, gave me a deep, passionate kiss.

Slowly, I relaxed as her tongue entered my mouth. Her hands framed my face.

My heart nearly leapt out of my chest. Her kiss was both hard and gentle at the same time. I could feel the desire radiating from her, yet her touch wasn't rough or overpowering like a man's.

McKayla was all woman. She was very feminine but at the same time not girly.

She pulled back enough to let me breathe, then nibbled softly on my lower lip.

Her hands brushed the hair out of my face.

"I've been waiting all week for that," she whispered.

"Me, too." My voice was barely audible.

No matter what I told my arms or feet or hands to do, I couldn't move. All I could do was stand there in her arms, trying to remember to breathe.

We gazed into each other's eyes for an eternity. Her big brown orbs were hypnotic and smoldered with lust and passion.

Finally, she let me go. I tried not to let out a disappointed sigh.

I took her hand and led her out to my car.

We made some small talk on the way to the restaurant. She had just landed a couple of new accounts at work and was very excited. I was just happy that my boss hadn't chewed on me the day before when a whole pallet of liquor had turned up missing (no one at work had actually stolen anything—this time—the new inventory system screwed up all on its own).

We were seated at a private corner table. The lights were low and the food was excellent. McKayla ordered a braised chicken and I had the stuffed duck in a white wine sauce. We talked for a while about little things.

"Amberle," she said right after we were done with our salads, her voice nervous. "Are you . . . I mean . . . do I . . . aw, shit, I'm going to fuck this up, too . . ."

"Fuck what up?" I asked after a moment.

She took a deep breath. "Do I have a shot at being more than just a friend?"

I looked into her eyes. "I've been wondering that myself. . . . Listen . . . This is all very new for me . . ."

Her hand reached across the table. I took it.

"I'm not good at relationships," McKayla said quietly. "All the ones I'm in usually end badly."

For a second, I was tempted to say something, but I could see that she was searching for just the right words.

After a false start or two, she began to speak, her voice hushed. "I don't like commitment. I don't like feeling like I'm tied down. Maybe it's because I spent so much time . . . wondering if I was normal . . . worrying about rejection or people not accepting me because of who I am . . . I wish I could explain it."

Very gently, I took her hand in both of mine and gave her a reassuring look. "I'm just the opposite. I fall in love quickly. I like being in relationships. They're safe and secure . . . or at least I like to think they are. Sometimes I put up with someone's shit for too long just because I don't want to be lonely. I've been trying out this single thing, but I'm not sure I really like it."

We were silent for a second. She looked away for a second and chuckled to herself. "We're quite a pair, aren't we?"

I smiled back. My mind flashed back to my last couple of boyfriends.

"Sometimes, I think I like the idea of being in love more than I like the person I'm with," I whispered.

"I like the idea of being in love, too . . . I think I'm too chickenshit to do it, though." McKayla gave me a rueful smile. "You know that girl we saw the other night? . . . Vicki . . . She's my usual pattern. We met at a club, hooked up and then went out a few times. Then I started making excuses not to see her."

As her voice trailed off, I felt that little twinge of jealousy in my stomach again. "Why?"

McKayla looked away. "I don't know . . . I think a part of me likes the one night stands . . . I can't get hurt that way."

"I'm not the one night stand type," I said, my voice hardening unconsciously.

"You've never had a one-night stand?"

I just shook my head. That wasn't quite true, but I wasn't about to tell her that. Not then.

She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. "Look at me . . . I'm a mess."

"You're a beautiful mess," I said softly.

McKayla shot me an appreciative, yet mischievous, smile. "And you're full of shit."

We both took a quick drink, both to avoid having to say anything and to wet our dry mouths.

"Why did you ask me out?" she asked me for the second time.

"Because you're . . . I don't know," I stammered. "Because it seemed right."

"I don't want to break your heart," McKayla warned.

"You don't want to break my heart or you don't want your own broken?"

I could tell a flippant retort was on her lips, but she stopped. I think the words stung her because they hit a little too close to home.

"McKayla," I began. I waited until she had looked up into my eyes. "I don't know what came over me. A part of me thinks that I've gone off the deep end. I've never been attracted to another woman, but when I look at you . . . all I can think is that I've got to be with you."