"I was kind of surprised you called me, though," she says, breaking the silence. "You looked kind of poleaxed when I gave you my card—"
"It was the gas," I interrupt.
She smiles and goes on as if I hadn't said a thing. "And I was just kind of fishing, anyway. There aren't too many gay heroes out there, so I didn't really expect to get lucky here."
I cough, once, quickly. "Ah, um... Well, I'm not really a 'full' lesbian, so to speak. I'm bi."
It's hard not to wince, to close my eyes and hunker down against the ill wind I fully expect to blow. There were a number of lesbians I knew, mostly in college, who immediately thought poorly of any woman who professed to be bisexual. They thought of me as a BUG, Bi Until Graduation, as if I hadn't known who I was – and who I was attracted to – since I was 13.
Instead, she just says, "So was my last girlfriend," and holds my hand a little tighter. "I just hope you don't go right into a string of guys after this, too, or else I'm going to earn a reputation for turning girls straight."
I laugh with her, but my stomach knots up immediately at the idea of being included in her list of girlfriends. When she talks about going back to guys I can't stop Nefarious flashing across my mind. In a very physical way, I want Lucila Martinez, and more so in an emotional way now that I'm getting to know her. But there's the cackling specter of my villainous mastermind ex-sort-of-boyfriend hanging over my head and making me feel like shit, like my desire for her is some kind of rebound and not an honest interest.
God damn it, I hate being one of the Good Guys sometimes. Guilt is a heinous bitch.