Free Mistaken Identity (Women's Fantasies) by Giselle Renarde

 
     
    “I swear to god, it was this big !” Charlotte held her hands about a foot apart.
    Brenda smacked her friend across the table. “Keep your voice down. Next thing you know, you’re gonna have one of those frat guys sitting in your lap.”
    All three of Brenda’s friends indiscreetly ogled the young men at the bar.
    Karenne chuckled. “I hope they do more than just sit.”
    “You guys are terrible, lusting after kids practically still in diapers,” Q’isha said—finally, a sentiment Brenda could agree with. Then she pointed subtly across the restaurant. “Now those two! I could sure go for a tall drink of that.”
    “What, both of them?” Karenne asked. “The man and the woman?”
    Q’isha shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”
    Charlotte ’s eyebrows just about flew off her forehead. “I didn’t think you had it in you, Quiche.”
    Brenda turned in her seat to get a better look at the pair. The man sure was a dish: dark skin, black hair peppered with greys, strong jaw, sophisticated in his starched white shirt. The woman was younger, Asian, slender, with long arms adorned in shimmering bracelets. Brenda’s admiration lingered along her wrists before cascading down the lengths of her dark hair. Her full red lips wore a stern, cold expression, but it looked good on her.
    The girls razzed Q’isha for crushing on a couple, but Brenda tuned her friends out when the woman across the restaurant met her gaze. Her distant, sullen expression transformed into a glorious smile.
    Brenda returned her smile tenfold. She couldn’t help herself. Something about her gorgeous, gleaming hair and the strong prettiness of her face made Brenda’s stomach burble.
    Warm all over, she blotted her neck with her black linen napkin and tossed it on the table. “I’ll be right back.”
    Without waiting to see if they’d heard her, she slipped out of her chair and marched toward the bathroom. The low lights made it difficult to see her reflection in the mirror, but maybe that was for the best. When she pictured herself, she saw a girl of nineteen, slim and fresh, gleaming skin and tight curls, flesh always wanting, always at the ready.
    Who was that woman in the mirror? Brenda splashed water across her face, but the bags under her eyes didn’t melt away. The wrinkles didn’t tighten. She was still the same, albeit somewhat cooler.
    The bathroom door opened behind her, and she straightened over the sink. Stiletto heels click-clacked against the slate floor, and Brenda felt each step like a puncture wound—in her skin, in her heart. She knew who was there, even before she turned around.
    “You’re making this very easy,” the incredibly tall, gorgeous girl said. “I should thank you for that, I suppose.”
    Brenda’s breath caught in her lungs. She didn’t know what to say, so she just nodded.
    “You know who I am, then?” the woman asked.
    Gazing down at her bejewelled purse and designer dress, Brenda searched her foggy mind. A celebrity of some sort? A model, most likely. “I’m sorry. I’m sure I recognize you, but I can’t quite put my finger on your name.”
    The woman laughed, showing a gleaming white set of teeth. “Well, I wouldn’t expect you to know my name. How about you call me Green, huh?”
    “Green?” Brenda asked, with a nervous chuckle. “Okay, sure.”
    “So, you’ll join me without a struggle?” Green raised one of her expertly-plucked eyebrows. “My partner is pulling the car around as we speak.”
    Brenda’s heart raced, because… wait, what was going on, here? She’d never been hit on by a woman. Or by a couple. This certainly was presumptuous. Even if Brenda was tempted, or at least curious, how could she leave without telling her friends?
    “I don’t know about this,” Brenda stammered.
    “Getting cold feet, are we?” Green slowly lifted the sparkling flap of her purse. “I would advise you to come quietly. No need to make a scene.”
    When Green pulled handcuffs from her purse,