Fore Play Page 10

  “I think that’s enough for today,” Peyton said. She didn’t wear a watch, but she had an uncanny sense of time and knew they had exactly five minutes left in their hour session. She wanted to give Leigh the opportunity to ask any final questions.

  “How do you think you did? Did you see any improvement?”

  “Yes, I did,” Leigh said enthusiastically. “My hands were still uncomfortable, but the new grip made my drives straighter than they’ve been.”

  “Good.”

  “What do I do from here?”

  “Obviously you can come back for another lesson or you can simply take what you’ve learned today and use it when you play. We can’t cover everything in one session.”

  “I know. I didn’t expect you to. I need to focus on one thing at a time so I can teach my body to remember what you told me to do. I’d like to see you a few more times. Maybe next week?”

  Peyton’s pulse raced at the thought. Obviously, the whole murder-prison thing wasn’t a deterrent. “Okay. We’ll go back inside and check our schedules and see what’ll work for both of us.” What she really wanted to do was learn every inch of Leigh’s body.

  Leigh returned her club to her bag, and peeled off the glove on her left hand, and put it back in the zipper compartment.

  Peyton picked up Leigh’s bag and slung it over her shoulder.

  “How do you make it look that effortless?” Leigh asked.

  “Practice. That and the fact that I do it all day, just about every day.”

  “How often do you play?” Leigh asked as they headed toward the clubhouse.

  A shaft of pain shot through her at what she’d once had, then lost. “A couple times a week, I guess. Sometimes more, sometimes less. It just depends on what they need me to do.”

  “What a life,” Leigh said. “Outside all day in the fresh air, getting a fabulous tan.” Leigh’s eyes lingered a few moments on Peyton’s arms and legs. “You get to meet interesting people, no bureaucratic bullshit. Must be nice.”

  “It’s a job, just like any other,” Peyton replied. “Every job has its good days and its bad, but it’s just a job.”

  This certainly wasn’t what Peyton had envisioned during all those late-night hours studying her pre-med classes. By now she’d have completed medical school, her residency, and doing what she could to save lives. Instead, she’d killed someone, spent nine years in prison, and come out on the other side with her dream shattered, an unclear future, and dead broke. Not that she had any money when she was going to school, but her grandmother had left her some when she died, and Peyton had been counting on that to get her through medical school and to establish her practice. Instead, it went to her attorney. She wasn’t angry or bitter. She’d made her decision and accepted the consequences, all of them, including where she was right now.

  Peyton held the door for Leigh, and as she passed, Peyton caught another whiff of her perfume mixed with old-fashioned sweat. Some people might find it offensive, but not her. It was intoxicating. Peyton had always been athletic. She ran and lifted weights in Nelson not only to stay fit but to keep her sanity. Her schedule in Nelson gave her the opportunity to run several hours every day. By the time she was released she was barely winded after twenty miles. She’d even run a couple of marathons in the past few months. She hadn’t won any of the races she entered, but she didn’t need to. Running free in the warm sunshine was enough.

  Peyton enjoyed running, now, especially since she had something to look at other than two twelve-foot-high, thick chain-link fences topped with razor wire separated from each other by thirty yards of soft sand. She was grateful that a fence surrounded Nelson and not the cement blocks found at other prisons. Outside the fence, for miles in every direction, was absolutely nothing. Every tree, shrub, and weed had been removed, and ironically, the low-escape-risk prisoners maintained the area in its pristine, sterile condition.

  “Oh, man, that feels good,” Leigh said when they stepped inside.

  It was hot today, and the air conditioner inside the club was a welcome relief to her as well. She was used to being outside all the time, and of course Nelson didn’t have any air conditioners, so the heat didn’t really bother her. Of course, if she had the choice of being inside or outside on a day with the temperature as high as it was today, she’d definitely choose inside.

  “I’ll get my calendar,” Leigh said, heading in the direction of the locker room.

  Peyton set Leigh’s bag by the door and stepped behind a desk to the left, jiggling the mouse to wake up the computer. It had taken her a day or so to get the hang of the computer-based scheduling system, but now her fingers flew over the keyboard, pulling up her open times.

  Leigh came out a minute later, her duffel bag over her shoulder and an iPad in her hand. She flipped open the cover and pushed the button. “Let’s start with your availability,” Leigh said, pursing her lips and frowning.

  It took several times before they settled on the next five sessions, and after signing the voucher to put Peyton’s fee on her bill, Leigh left the same way she came in.

  Peyton watched Leigh walk to her car. Her head was high, her steps sure and confident. Leigh needed two attempts to get her bag into the trunk, and Peyton smiled at Leigh’s earlier comment about the weight of her bag. Even though Leigh had a full set of clubs, it was lighter than most.

  Peyton saw a car pull in and park next to Leigh. A man took his gear out of the trunk, but not before looking Leigh up and down completely. What was it with men that they couldn’t just nod hello? Or simply not look? Yeah, right. Like she’d been able to keep her eyes off Leigh.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Leigh crossed the finish line, thrilled that she’d finished third in the race that qualified her for the finals to be held later this afternoon. Slowing down, she maneuvered her dirt bike through the other riders and stopped just outside the arena. She tugged off her gloves, putting them on the seat between her legs, unbuckled her helmet, and pulled it off. She slid the band out of her hair, running her fingers through it and shaking it loose.

  Rick rode up beside her and slapped her on the back. If she hadn’t been wearing her safety gear, it would have hurt like hell. However, the reinforced hard plastic surrounding her chest and back protected her from the force of his blow. Some riders didn’t wear protective gear, whether from stupidity or thinking it didn’t fit the macho persona of motocross riding. Leigh didn’t care. Several times her protective gear, or as some called it, over-protective gear, had saved her from serious injury.

  “Good job, Leigh,” Rick said, his voice loud and gruff. “Steve’s in the next race, and if he does well, we’ll all be in the finals.” Rick was referring to the remaining guy in their weekly riding group.

  He rode off, and a woman seated in a red lawn chair next to a white cargo van caught Leigh’s eye. The woman was about her age and had long, dark hair held away from her face by a bright-green visor. The day wasn’t too cool for shorts, which showed off her long legs. The woman was looking at Leigh and smiled with obvious interest.

  Leigh didn’t wave but lifted her chin, acknowledging that she saw her. Even though she was sitting on top of the equivalent of two hundred and fifty horses, no way was she going to ride over to her on her bike, swing her leg over the saddle, and tip her helmet like in an old Western movie. She kicked the bike in gear and rode to where her truck was parked.

  In addition to her Audi, she had a Toyota pickup that she used to haul her motocross bike and do other truck-like things that every lesbian needed. She stepped off the bike, lifted it, and set it on the stand. She set her helmet and gloves on the tailgate, reached inside the cooler in the bed of the truck, and pulled out a bottle of water. She took a few swigs, rinsing her mouth of the dust and dirt that somehow found its way there. She drank half the bottle before stopping to breathe, her thirst temporarily sated. She’d tried using a camelback, a water bladder secured in a backpack, but that was more problematic than it was worth. She was ne
ver able to get the tube that ran from the bladder into her mouth. The terrain on the courses was so difficult she needed to keep both hands on her bike. The first time she did it, she almost crashed, and the second, the tube ended up her nose. There was no third time.

  She sat on the tailgate of her truck, raised her jersey, and pulled open the Velcro straps securing her chest protector, while her feet dangled in the air, inches from the ground. As soon as the fasteners opened, Leigh took her first deep breath since she put on the bulky safety equipment. She set it down beside her and tugged at the front and back of her T-shirt that had stuck to her like a second skin. Leigh finished the water before putting the heel of her boot beside her on the tailgate. She popped the buckles and slid her foot out of the heavy safety boot. She repeated the motion with her other foot and jumped to the ground. She slid off her heavy pants, stripping down to her tight spandex shorts. The cool air felt wonderful on her legs, and she placed the bulky pants beside her helmet. She opened the strap of the brace she wore on her right knee and slid that down her leg and off her foot. Leigh was rubbing her knee when she looked up and saw the woman approaching.

  “That was a great ride out there,” she said, stopping just in front of Leigh. The woman was slightly taller than Leigh, but her lean form made her look even taller.

  “Thanks.”

  “I’m Tammy,” the woman said, holding out her hand.

  Leigh rubbed her hand on her shorts, looked at it, and said, “Leigh. Excuse the dirt.”

  As she shook the woman’s hand, a predatory look flashed in her eyes. “I don’t mind getting dirty.”

  Women had come on to Leigh before, but none nearly as blatant as Tammy. According to Jill and her other friends, sometimes she missed the signs completely. But there was no missing Tammy’s intent.

  “I’ll have to remember that,” Leigh said, her mind completely empty of any other reply.

  “Obviously you’ve been riding for a while. You looked pretty good.”

  “Just something I picked up as a hobby.”

  “Quite a hobby.”

  Tammy was spending way too much time looking at Leigh’s bare legs, and Leigh felt the heat of her gaze. She had a pair of cargo shorts on the front seat of her truck, but Tammy had stepped closer, making it next to impossible for Leigh to get to them. Tammy’s eyes seared a path from the top of her knees to her collarbone, lingering on her chest, where her shirt clung to her breasts.

  “You look pretty thirsty,” Tammy said. “Maybe we could go somewhere and get something to drink.”

  “I have to race again later this afternoon.”

  Tammy eyes perked up. “Even better. Maybe we can grab a bite with our drink.”

  Leigh was tempted to say thanks but no thanks, but the devil on her left shoulder repeated Jill’s words, “You need to get laid.” An image of Peyton crossed her mind, and she quickly shut that thought down. That would not be a smart move.

  “Sure, why not,” Leigh said. “I should be done around five thirty.”

  “Five thirty it is. I’ll come back here and find you.” Tammy reached out and ran her finger from the top of Leigh’s knee to the bottom of her shorts, burning a trail as she did.

  Leigh wasn’t certain Tammy was going to stop, and a thousand excuses ran through her head as she scrambled for the right one. She sighed in relief when the woman turned and walked back toward her chair. Tammy was very attractive. The devil on her shoulder whispered in her ear, “You’re gonna get laid,” in a sing-song voice.

  Leigh came in a respectable ninth in the final race. Twenty-four riders started, and after eight crashed on the third turn and six more at various places on the course, ten actually finished. She supposed it could be said that she came in next to last, but ninth sounded much better.

  Tammy was waiting at Leigh’s truck when she rode up. She was more attractive than she had been earlier this afternoon, and Leigh wondered how anyone could look that good after being outside all day.

  “Have a good race?” Tammy asked as Leigh took off her protective gear.

  “I didn’t crash.”

  The woman laughed, her voice low and husky, sending chills down Leigh’s spine.

  “I suppose that’s something. Wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”

  Leigh’s body heated, signaling that it needed some personalized attention as Tammy’s eyes traveled over her limbs. “I’m in no condition to go out anywhere without cleaning up first.”

  “You can clean up at my place. I’m not far from here.” Tammy’s meaning was very clear.

  “I appreciate that, but I don’t have any clothes to change into.”

  “Who said anything about getting into clean clothes?”

  “You’re gonna get laid,” the devil said again. “How about I meet you somewhere? Maybe Michael’s, on Twelfth and Broadway?” The restaurant was not too quiet to be intimate, but not too noisy so conversation was difficult. The woman appeared disappointed, and it looked like she might try to convince Leigh otherwise, but she said, “All right.”

  “Give me about an hour?”

  “Of course, but I won’t say take your time.”

  For the second time, she watched the woman walk away. “You’re gonna get laid.”

  Leigh hurried home and parked her truck in the garage. She showered and grabbed the first thing in her closet, walking through the front door of the restaurant in fifty minutes. She stopped just inside to let her eyes get used to the darkness and sensed movement beside her.

  “I hope you don’t do everything this fast.”

  Leigh wondered if everything Tammy was going to say tonight would have a double meaning and decided to come right out with it.

  “Your seduction has worked, Tammy. Any more and I might think you’re desperate.” Even though Leigh was a little out of practice, she cruised Tammy’s body with her eyes. “But if you expect me to do anything other than fall asleep in my plate, I have got to eat.”

  Tammy smiled happily. “I love a woman who knows exactly what she wants and says it. Shall we?” She held out her hand, indicating for Leigh to lead the way to the hostess stand.

  “You’re gonna get laid.” Leigh felt Tammy’s eyes on her ass as they walked to the table.

  Dinner was enjoyable or, more accurately, the food was good. Tammy turned into someone who could do nothing other than talk about herself. She was an investment banker, and Leigh wasn’t sure if Tammy was salivating over her chest or how much money she made every month in commissions. She pitched a couple of deals Leigh’s way, and it was all Leigh could do not to go to the ladies’ room and not come back.

  As Tammy droned on about something, images of Peyton flashed through Leigh’s mind. By the end of dinner, Leigh found that she had pretty much compared the two women on just about every item. Tammy was tall, Peyton was taller. Tammy had long, dark hair, and Peyton’s was short. Tammy eyes were brown, Peyton’s an unusual aquamarine. Tammy’s hands were smooth and manicured; Peyton’s nails were short, unpolished, and had a few small scars. Tammy’s smile was forced, but Peyton’s filled her face. Tammy was dull and lifeless when she talked, yet Peyton seethed with energy when she did. Tammy was nothing more than a pretty face and a hot body. She had nothing interesting to say. Leigh suspected there was more to Peyton than that, and she suddenly wanted to discover all of it.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “God damn, that’s good.” Peyton set her coffee cup on the table in front of her. She’d run her usual five miles this morning and, after a quick shower, had made herself four slices of thick-cut maple bacon, two eggs over medium, two slices of wheat toast with strawberry jelly, and a full pot of coffee. She was always up early enough to sit and enjoy her home-cooked meal and not scarf it down in a noisy prison cafeteria. She had fixed herself the same breakfast every day since being released from Nelson, grateful to be away from something they called bacon but was almost unidentifiable, and if she ever saw another bowl of oatmeal, it would be three lifetimes too soon.


  Good food at Nelson was virtually nonexistent, decent food, spotty at best, and a delicious cup of hot coffee was only a dream. The prison was required to serve nutritionally balanced meals, but their definition of nutrition was spelled fat, carbs, and processed. If inmates arrived at Nelson thin, they got thinner. If they walked in carrying a few extra pounds, they had several dozen more as they walked out. Food was a necessity to live and a hardship to eat. Peyton had quickly lost twenty-five pounds and had worked off an additional fifteen over the next few years. She’d kept it off by exercise and willpower, both, along with time, in abundance at Nelson.

  She made a note to get her hair cut today. The Sport Clips she went to closed at nine, and she’d stop by there on her way home after work. Before Nelson, Peyton had worn her hair long and straight, like all her teammates. On match day, they would take turns French-braiding it, and they had matching blue and red bows in their hair.

  During Peyton’s second week at Nelson, an inmate grabbed her hair and used it to drag her across the floor. She screamed, more from pain than from fear. She often wondered what would have happened if a guard hadn’t stepped in and broken it up. The offender went to solitary and Peyton straight to Ruth Grayson’s cell.

  Ruth, a forty-two-year-old woman from Wisconsin, was a lifer. She’d killed her husband and his girlfriend when she came home from work early one day and found them in their bed. To make matters worse, the girlfriend was eight months pregnant, causing them to be very creative when it came to inserting Tab A into Slot B.

  Ruth had established herself as the resident beautician. She didn’t have a license or go to cosmetology school, but in prison, you couldn’t be too choosy. A basic haircut cost five cigarettes, a cut and curl, ten, and anything with chemicals was a carton. Peyton walked in with hair down to the middle of her back and a full pack of cigarettes and walked out with eleven left and leaving all but an inch of her hair on the floor. Her mother gasped in shock when she saw Peyton the first time.