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There is nothing more attractive than a woman with great upper body strength. As all women who love women know well, that expertise translates well across all aspects of life. So every couple of days, it was only natural for Vi’s bar to see some variation of a push-up, pull-up, or hand-wrestling competition. With the Georgia Peaches around today, the bar was exceptionally lively. The dance floor had been transformed into a serial hand-wrestling competition set-up, rows of tables lined up with a mix of players and patrons, with Vi keeping score behind the bar.
It all started when Greta gave Carson a kiss on the arm before sliding out of the booth for another order of drinks.
“You guys are so cute it’s annoying,” Jo groaned, downing her third beer.
“Well, I’ve got to show some appreciation for these guns whenever I get the chance,” Greta said with a wink, giving Carson’s arm a squeeze for good measure.
“They're that impressive, huh? Shaw, you got the guts to accept a challenge from the state hand-wrestling champion?” Lupe asked, a corner of her mouth curling up into a grin as she propped an arm onto the table.
“You’re on,” Carson said, reaching across the table to grip Lupe’s hand.
“Make me proud, sweetheart,” Greta said, blowing a kiss before leaving for the bar.
And they were off, both players’ faces grim with determination, Carson’s hand shook for a second but managed to hold on, making Maybelle squeal.
“Watch out, Shaw, that was close,” Lupe said through gritted teeth.
“Yo tambien quiero hacer eso,” Esti told Jess, pointing at Lupe then at herself.
Jess shot the other girl an affirmative grin. “Sure,” she said, moving over to the other side of the booth to start another parallel game of hand-wrestling.
Carson and Lupe were stuck at a standstill, and at a nearby booth, heads were beginning to turn.
“I can take either of them easy,” a butch from Michigan in a pageboy hat said with a scowl, noticing the distracted glaze that had set over her date’s eyes.
The other girl, a brunette with hair so long it goes down to her waist in one tight braid, smiled. “Sure, darling. I’m sure you can.”
“Watch me,” the butch said, hopping down from her stool to approach the group.
“You wanna go too?” Maybelle asked, reaching out her hand. She didn’t want to be left out of the fun either.
The girl in a pageboy hat stared down at the slight, blonde woman before her. “Not with you, dear, I’d crush you.”
“Oh!” Maybelle drew up with indignation.
“You wish,” Jo replied, a scowl deep on her face. “Don’t judge a book by its cover, Maybelle here would beat me in a heartbeat.”
Pageboy Hat shrugged, glancing back at her date, who still seemed very wrapped up in the hand-wrestling pair that started it all. Dammit, she had a lady to impress. “Fine,” she said.
“Okay,” there was an edge to Maybelle’s voice now as she moved to a free table by the dance floor. “Let’s see how you’ll do then.” She knew she didn’t look like the average baseball player. She was tiny and blonde and sounded ditzier than she was. And she had been used to being underestimated her entire life. At some point, she’d realized it was kind of fun to pretend to be dumb. There was a lot more she could get away with that way, a lot easier to make the mean people around her seem like absolute fools.
“You’ve got this,” Jo said with a knowing smile.
“I know,” Maybelle said. Jo was such a sweetheart, a heart of gold with the cutest little cheeks to boot.
“I’m Reilly,” her challenger said, reaching out a hand.
“Maybelle,” she replied, giving Reilly’s hand a squeeze for good measure. Reilly’s eyes grew wide as saucers. Oh, Maybelle, thought, this was going to be fun.
Lupe was an excellent pitcher, but Carson could also swing a bat like nobody’s business. And so her mouth curled up with satisfaction as Lupe’s hand fell a bit to the side, then a bit more.
“Don’t look so cocky yet, Shaw,” Lupe gritted out between her teeth.
“Yet being the key word here,” Carson said, pushing Lupe’s hand all the way down onto the table with a firm bang. “Ha!”
“Dammit!” Lupe groaned.
“Woo!” The girl in the booth by them clapped her hands, shooting Carson a wide grin. She swung her waist-length braid over her shoulder. “That was so neat. I’m Lilian.”
“Hey Lilian,” Carson said, shooting a glance at Lilian’s date, head hung in defeat with Maybelle’s hand above hers. Rough.
“Hey Lupe,” Maybelle trilled, looking over. “I want to see if I can beat you now.”
A male patron in his soldier’s uniform had also made his way over. “That was some arm strength there, lady,” he said to Carson. “Mind if I give it a try?”
“Sure,” Carson said.
Carson beat the soldier without a problem, Jess beat Esti and Lupe beat Maybelle. Jess and Lupe paired up then, and the others were all issued challenges by other bar patrons.
“Ugh!” Jess groaned as her hand fell to the side.
“Good try, hermano,” Lupe said, giving Jess a firm pat on the shoulder. There was a tap on Lupe's shoulder. She turned to find Esti, eyes wide as saucers and a grin across her face, reaching out with a tentative hand.
“Okay,” she said, wringing out her hand to prepare for another round.
Thirty minutes in and practically everyone in the bar had gotten involved. Carson dominated on Vi’s chalkboard, followed by Lupe, Maybelle, and Jess. Reilly had skulked off with a huff, her date Lilian hovering over Carson with the occasional shoulder touch.
Greta watched across the room, a drink in hand. She was fully aware of what that Lilian girl was up to, had used those same tactics before. Her eyes narrowed, her grip tightening on her glass as Lilian hovered closer, placing her hands on Carson’s shoulders.
“You’re one of my favorite patrons,” said a voice over her shoulder. Greta turned around to find Vi polishing a glass behind her. “But if you break that glass,” Vi said, nodding at the drink in Greta’s hand, “I’m still making you pay for it.”
“Don’t worry,” Greta said, plastering her most innocent smile onto her face as she set down the glass on the bar. “Watch this for me, will you?”
She made her way to Carson’s table, swaying her hips from side to side, grinning in satisfaction at the way Carson’s jaw went slack when she met Greta’s eyes. Greta slid into the chair across the table, pushing up the sleeve of her black flower-patterned dress so it wouldn’t get in the way. “Do me next, Shaw,” she said.
“Oh. Okay,” Carson said, her mouth falling into a small, perfect O as she caught on to the innuendo. Then she blinked, gathering herself and taking Greta’s hand in hers. “I will,”
There was a competitive glint in Carson’s eye, so irresistible that Greta found herself planting a small kiss on the back of Carson’s hand.
“I know you’re trying to distract me. It won’t work,” Carson told her, pressing her lips against Greta’s hand in response.
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that if I were you,” Greta said with a wink.
“Oh, now this is going to be fun,” Lupe said as she came over to the table.
Jo poked her head over. “Maybelle’s going to want to see this,” she said before peeling off to the other side of the room to summon her roommate.
“Okay,” Lupe said. “Three, two, one, start!”
One might say that Greta was intimately familiar with the other woman’s hands. She knew that Carson’s hand was just a bit smaller than Greta’s, palms callused and just a bit dry. She had a cut on her pinkie finger from a bad slide a couple of days back, and her index and middle finger were capable of wonderful things. She had the grip and persistence of a monster, and it took Greta roughly five seconds to realize that while she could hold Carson off for a bit, she would most definitely lose if this stretched on.
She hazarded a glance up at her lover and competition. Carson was biting her bottom lip, and in her eyes was a hard glint of competitiveness. The lines of her arm muscles stood in stark relief under the dim bar lights, a green vein running up the inside of her forearm.
“Go, Carson, you got this!” Lilian squealed behind them. It took Greta everything she had not to roll her eyes. And that was when the idea struck.
“Go, Carson,” she echoed. Then she leaned forward on the chair and pressed her lips against Carson’s.
She felt Carson lean back in surprise, then push forward with the excitement of a horny twelve-year-old boy who had just found out what making out meant. Which was really Carson in a nutshell, and as far as Greta was concerned it was the most adorable thing ever. And, in this case, useful. As Carson’s eyes fluttered shut for a split second, Greta pressed her arm down, hard, and the back of Carson’s palm fell against the wooden table with a hard thump.
Greta sat back down in her chair, felt Carson gasp against her lips at the sudden loss. Then realization dawned on Carson’s eyes as her eyes fell onto the table.
“That’s cheating!” she said, throwing her hands up in the air.
“No it’s not,” Greta said. “You just got distracted.”
“What can I say,” Carson said, a smile spreading across her face. “You’re very distracting to me.”
From the corner of her eye, Greta watched Lilian melt into the background. She felt a quick pang of guilt. Poor girl. She was sure Lilian was alright as a person, and it wasn't like she could blame the other girl for having eyes for Carson.
“You see that girl there,” she said to Carson, nodding at Lilian’s retreating back. “She was totally going all lovey-dovey eyes at you.”
“Oh,” Carson’s brows rose in surprise. “Ohhhh.”
Greta laughed, booping Carson on the nose. “Ohhhh it is.”
Carson chuckled, pressing Greta’s hand against her lips again, holding it there. “But you know I only have eyes for one girl in this bar, right?”
Something warm took root in Greta’s chest, growing bigger with every heartbeat. “Would you like to get distracted some more?” she asked.
“Let’s get out of here,” Carson said, pulling on Greta’s arm.
They slipped out the back of the bar hand in hand, weaving through the streets of New York on their way back to the Peaches’ house. For some more hand wrestling maybe, and for the many other fun things two girls could do with good upper body strength and talented hands.