Locked Out

Kenna James steps toward the shower, towel clinging to her skin. The phone rings. She answers, already annoyed. "You’ve got some nerve calling me after what you did," she snaps. The excuses pile up on the other end. She rolls her eyes. "So why the fuck are you really calling?" The answer stops her cold: her necklace. "You seriously rang to beg for jewelry?" Kenna spots the gold chain on the counter, grabs it, storms to the back door and hurls it into the yard. The door slams behind her. The towel catches in the latch and won’t budge. She tugs once, twice, harder. It’s locked in. She tugs again; the fabric won’t give. Naked and trapped in her own hallway, dread slides down her spine. "Perfect," she mutters. "No choice," she says out loud. "Front door to the neighbors, borrow clothes, call a locksmith, done." Heart hammering, she bursts outside and sprints across the lawn, hands trying to shield what they can. She reaches Veronica Weston’s porch and knocks. Veronica opens the door, eyes wide, then softens into amusement. Inside, they sit. Veronica shrugs off her robe and offers it. Kenna’s breath stalls as bare breasts and smooth stomach flash into view. The garment hangs between them. They talk. Break-ups. The sting still fresh for both. "So how’d you move on?" Kenna asks. Veronica hasn’t, not completely. Friends keep telling her the cure is new skin against hers. Kenna nods, the same advice echoing. "Have you been with anyone?" Veronica murmurs, sliding closer. Kenna shakes her head. Desire sparks between them. "Then why not now?" Veronica whispers, leaning in until their lips meet. Kenna smiles against the kiss. Getting locked out might turn out to be the luckiest thing she’s done all week.