Disclaimer: I don't own 'em…
Monday
"Is it true?"
I could tell from the blank expression she wore that she had no idea what I was talking about. I merely smiled and topped off my coffee before heading back to my lab.
Leaving that question hanging in the air like that would drive anyone nuts—especially her. She prided herself on her ability to solve puzzles, but how could she solve a puzzle that she only had one piece to?
I had barely set my coffee down on the table I had files spread out on before her shadow was cast from the door.
"Is what true, Sidle?"
Her arms were crossed over her chest and her head was cocked to the side. This was classic Catherine. I delighted in the fact that three simple words could occupy her thoughts and distract her to such a degree.
I just smiled and nodded in her direction before picking up another case file to review.
An exasperated sigh escaped her as she turned on her heel and stomped away from "my lab." I knew from experience that she'd spend hours—and possibly days if I could draw this out—obsessing over my question.
Tuesday
"Cath, I'm shopping for a new toaster-oven. Do you have any recommendations?"
It was a hot, steamy day and we were on our way to a crime scene. The air conditioning on the Denali was broken and with the windows down, it felt like we were slowly baking in a mobile convection oven.
Large dark shades covered her eyes, preventing me from accurately gauging her reaction to the question as she turned to me and most articulately said, "Huh?"
"Toaster oven. I need to get one. I thought maybe you could tell me which one was the best to buy," I offered innocently.
Her eyes were now back on the road as she stole a sideways glance at me and asked, "Why would I be able to recommend a toaster oven for you?"
I just shrugged and wiped the sweat from my brow.
Wednesday
"God, these shoes are killing my feet," I moaned as I pulled the boots off and rubbed them through my sweat stained socks.
Catherine was touching up her makeup in the mirror on her locker door. A fresh layer of lipstick coated her lush lips before she puckered and winked at herself in the mirror.
As she shut the door to her locker, she looked down at my boots and said, "If you'd wear something more sensible than army boots once in a while then your feet might not bother you nearly as much."
"Care to go shoe shopping with me, Cath? I've been dying for a pair of Birkenstocks."
I pulled a clean, dry sock onto my foot and waited for a response.
"Birkenstocks? Are you sure you wouldn't be a little more comfortable in a pair of Doc Martens?"
"Nah, I think I want some Birkenstocks. What's wrong? Don't you like Birkenstocks?"
I was now standing and a grin was plastered across my face from one ear to the other.
Catherine just shook her head as she pulled the door open and disappeared from the locker room.
Thursday
I was standing in an empty lab, gripping my imaginary club, looking down at my imaginary ball, and taking a practice swing when the chuckling behind me made me take my eye off the ball.
"Cath. How long have you been there?"
She leaned against the door frame and flashed a thousand watt smile in my direction.
"Long enough to know that you should lay up before you get to the water hazard on the 10th hole, Tiger."
"Thanks." I pretended to line up my next shot, even exchanging my current club for an imaginary wedge in my bag. "How about we get 18 holes in on our next day off together?"
I looked back at her winked and took my imaginary shot, following the imaginary flight of the ball with my eye.
She just shook her head as she walked down the corridor.
I rushed to the door and shouted after her retreating figure, "We could play tennis if you're more comfortable with that."
Friday
"Whatcha looking at there, Sara?" Greg stared over my shoulder at the paper in my hands.
"I'm thinking about moving. My place is starting to feel a little cramped. That and I have nothing else to spend my money on."
I put the paper down on the couch and pushed myself to my feet, brushing against Cath's shoulder as I made my way to the coffee pot.
A fresh cup in my hand, I turned to the strawberry blonde and said, "Do you have any contacts down at the U-Haul rental place? Maybe you could get me a discount or something if I do move."
Greg turned bright red and exploded into a fit of laughter before excusing himself and running down the hallway—hoping to escape Catherine's wrath once she caught on.
Fortunately for him, she was clueless.
"Sorry, Sidle. I haven't moved in years."
I couldn't keep my eyes off of her curves as she walked away.
Saturday
I rang the doorbell and waited patiently. Her truck was in the driveway and I could hear the television in the background. I'd overheard her telling Nick that Lindsey was going to a slumber party tonight and decided to drop in on her.
"Sara?"
I smiled and stood there with my hands behind my back.
She stepped to the side and motioned for me to come in. "Not that I mind you dropping by, but what's up? Is everything okay?"
She shut the door and stood there waiting for an answer.
I produced the bottle of wine from behind my back and held it out to her.
"I asked you earlier this week if it was true and you never answered me. You know how I am when I don't get an answer to a question."
She walked into the kitchen and I followed her. She opened a drawer and pulled out a corkscrew, making quick work of the foil around the mouth of the bottle.
"I still don't know what you're talking about, Sar. Is what true?"
As she stood on the tips of her toes to reach the wine glasses she had in the cupboard, her shirt rode up, exposing the small of her back and revealing a small, tasteful tattoo—an infinity symbol in rainbow colors.
Unable to control myself, I reached out and touched the skin—my fingers moving over the sideways eight as I moved closer to her. I could feel the hitch in her breathing through my fingertips just as much as I could hear it.
My body, now firmly pressed against hers, I bent down to her ear and said, "I wanted to know if it was true that the only difference between a straight girl and a lesbian is a really good bottle of wine."
My hand moved from her tattoo around to her stomach and pulled her flush back against me as I kissed a spot beneath her ear.
She brought her hand up to the back of my neck, holding me in place and through ragged breaths managed, "I don't think we're going to need the bottle of wine to find that out."
She turned in my arms and my hands immediately went to her ass, lifting her and sitting her on the countertop. I was still kissing and nibbling at the skin on her neck and her breathing had becoming irregular as she fumbled with the buttons on my shirt.
I pulled back and looked at the bottle of wine that had been left to breathe on the counter. "It's a really good bottle of wine, Cath."
She pushed me away from her and grabbed the wine glasses. I picked up the bottle of wine and followed her into the living room.
"You know, all of your little lesbian clichés were quite humorous this week. The toaster oven, Birkenstocks, the U-haul."
She poured each of us a glass of wine before settling back onto the couch, her legs tucked under her.
"I was trying to find out if the rumors were true. And you didn't help one damn bit. I gave you every opportunity to make a move and you didn't take the bait—not one single time."
She took a sip of her wine and sat the glass down. "Oh come on, Sara. We all know that you're Grissom's girl. How can I take your little questions seriously after watching you chase after him for the last two years? Hmmm?"
She stood and flipped off the lamp that was beside the couch. "Lock the door on your way out," she said as she walked up the stairs, presumably to her bedroom.
She stopped on the landing at the top, "And Sara?"
"Yeah?" I asked looking up at her.
"You were wrong. That's not a really good bottle of wine. It's a fucking amazing bottle of wine."
I reached the front door and locked it before walking up the stairs. I was going to find out just how amazing that bottle of wine was.
Sunday
Unwilling to open my eyes yet, I slid my arm to my left and found only an empty bed. The sheets were cold and so was I.
I moved to sit on the edge of the bed. Memories of the night's activities flashed through my mind with ferocity. I was still aching and throbbing from Cath's relentless fucking. I had been fucked and fucked very well. No man had ever come close to pleasing me like she had.
I lost track after the eighth orgasm and somewhere between two and three in the morning, I'm certain I either blacked out or suffered a mild stroke. The bite marks on my lower abdomen told me that she hadn't stopped when that happened because those certainly weren't there before then.
"It must be true," I said aloud.
"What must be true?" she asked as the bathroom door opened and she came out, freshly showered.
"What they say about straight women and a bottle of wine."
She cocked her eyebrow before moving to stand between my legs, "So you're back to being a straight girl now? You didn't seem so straight last night when you were begging me to, and I quote, 'fuck your wet hole with my tongue'."
I blushed as she repeated only one of the phrases I had hurled at her during the night.
I leaned my head against her stomach and fluttered kisses against the soft skin there as my hand snaked up the inside of her thigh.
As my fingers became ensconced in the warm, wet cocoon of her centre, I realized that I could have bought a ten dollar bottle of wine and probably would have had the same luck.
"Baby, I was a willing convert. Let me show you."