Free A Knight to Remember by Bridget Essex Page B

mean.   Maybe there’s no possibility that she’s gay.   She certainly gives off the gay vibe, and I’ve always congratulated myself on my impeccable gaydar.   But how can I be having these thoughts about someone who genuinely believes she’s from another world?
    Because she’s gorgeous and kind and chivalrous , I think in the back of my head.
    And, anyway, I realize, reeling myself in and depositing myself back on the sad, desolate earth.   I have Nicole.
    …Nicole.   Shit.   Shit.   I was supposed to call her, and then never did, and last night was terrible , I remember clearly.   Everything about yesterday was pretty darn disastrous.   I straighten, clear my throat, take a step back.   “Um, I’ve…I’ve got to call my…”   Virago looks up questioningly, and I falter.   “Um.   I have to call someone,” I tell her, and she nods, and I slime away, feeling like the worst traitor on the face of the planet.   Nicole is my girlfriend , I should have told Virago that I had to call my girlfriend , but…
    But what?   I don’t want Virago to know that I have a girlfriend?   I mean, for how much longer am I going to have a girlfriend?  
    And Virago’s not gay, Holly, would you stop drooling all over her ?
    I sigh, hit Nicole’s speed dial, and wander up the stairs and into my bedroom, shutting the door behind me.
    Of course she doesn’t pick up.   Of course I get her voicemail.   It’s Saturday morning, and she’s probably still in meetings, but everything around me just became so strange, that I realize, my heart aching inside of me, that I really needed to hear her voice just then.
    But she probably doesn’t even want to speak to me right now, what with Carly volunteering her to make a fool of herself on stage.
    Maybe she realized last night, too, that we have to end this.  
    “Hello, you’ve reached Nicole Harken,” her voice mail message says breezily.   “Please leave a message and I’ll return your call as soon as possible.”
    I breathe out.
    “Hey, it’s me…”   I mutter into the phone.   “Um.   About last night…”   I trail off.   I remember the way she looked at me yesterday.   She’d looked so angry.   So put out.   This isn’t really something that we can talk about over voicemail.   I swallow, try to think of something to say.   “Just call me back, okay?” I manage, and then I hang up.
    I rub my hand over my face in frustration, go into the bathroom, stare at my reflection in the mirror.
    God, I look terrible .   I didn’t take my makeup off from last night, and because of the rainstorm and the bath and everything else, I sort of look like a very deranged clown, the blue eye shadow creased with the glitter I’d applied for the Renaissance Festival now congealed next to my eyebrows and my eyeliner running down the sides of my nose.   My blonde hair is all tangled, and sort of standing up around my head like a puffy, messy halo.   I turn on the hot water, get my hands soapy, wash my face slowly and methodically, relishing the warmth against my skin.   It draws me back into the moment, helps me think.
    So yeah, I looked terrible, but it doesn’t matter if I look attractive or not, because Virago isn’t gay, and she thinks she’s from another world.   Okay, good.   I scrub at the eyeliner that leaked down the side of my nose.   And, anyway, I’m with Nicole.   I pause, wiping some soap off the tip of my nose.   But I’m not really with Nicole, because I have to break up with her, and if last night was any indication, I have to break up with her pretty darn soon.  
    I turn off the water, reach for the hand towel and rub my face vigorously with it.   I hang it back on the rail and grimace at my freshly scrubbed reflection in the mirror.
    I need to be completely honest with myself:   I’m really attracted to Virago.
    But she thinks she’s a knight , for Christ’s sake.
    I take another deep breath and stare at myself in the mirror as