A Masc for Purim by Roz Alexander

Author:Roz Alexander
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Bisexual romance, lesbian romance, contemporary romance, jewish romance, holiday romance, purim
Publisher: Alexander Siblings Books
Published: 2022-03-09T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Liza

Present Day

WHEN CARRIE IS DISTRACTED by the entrance of the contortionist, I pull my phone out of my small wristlet and text Beth.

“Wow, remember how it’s the Year of Me? I think I might have asked for the wrong thing.”

She, of course, writes back right away. When has she ever put away her phone?

“Haha! What do you mean?” her text reads.

“My ex has shown up.”

“Carrie is there?” But, of course, Beth knows who I’m talking about. We swapped life stories over chocolate cake, and what is my life story if not that break up?

“Yes. She’s here.”

“Are you avoiding her?”

“I’ve already made out with her.” I decide to not text the other sordid details. Beth will just have to learn those in person some other time.

“You WHAT?!” she texts back, and I can practically hear her screech.

“If you saw her, you’d understand.” A flicker of hesitation flares through me, but I hit send anyway. It’s the truth. Carrie is hot. I promised myself that I would make friends and tell them the truth. And this is at least part of the truth.

“I don’t care how hot that bitch is,” Beth writes back, and I literally laugh out loud, catching Carrie’s attention.

Carrie forgot her mask somewhere, probably on Tali’s desk, and the exposed flesh has a magnetic pull my eyes can’t resist. In the dancefloor’s lights, the fine lines around her eyes make her so cowboy-hot I feel like I might die.

Carrie opens her mouth, probably to ask me why I’m on my phone instead of watching a woman in a very sexy costume contort herself into pretzels, but I wave a dismissive hand at her.

She raises an eyebrow but shrugs and looks back at the stage. I feel a tiny bit guilty, not to mention like a teenage girl texting about my crush instead of just talking to my crush, but too bad. I need to tell someone what’s going on to feel less surreal.

“She wants me back.” I hesitate again before hitting send because writing it out seems so unbelievable. Like some sort of fairytale I would tell myself at night to feel better about the loneliness. But, even in my wildest dreams, I was always too hurt to ever believe that I would allow her back in. Now, in real life, I find that most of the hurt has gone, replaced by unending hunger. A desperate need to see if it might be different this time.

“Okay. We’ll be there in a few minutes,” Beth texts back, and I groan quietly to myself. Ugh.

“Beth, no. You’re busy! Maddy needs you! Don’t come down here. I mean it,” I send in five separate, rapid texts. But there’s no response. So now I regret texting her. Not that it won’t be nice to see her. I just didn’t mean to ruin her night.

Then again, I don’t think Beth has ever done anything she doesn’t want to do. So I stop worrying. I take another look at the woman who’s trying to open the door to my heart once more.

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