Oh, La-la!

Chapter 20. Ash

I stretch and yawn, waking up slowly. For a moment, I’m a little disoriented, waking up in a strange bed, but then I remember last night and smile. I reach over to find Kayla’s side of the bed empty and cold, and frown before remembering her getting dressed at some ungodly time this morning saying she was going to class. The woman is driven, there’s no denying that, but I wonder if I can convince her to spend another night with me so we can wake up together and spend the morning in bed.

Yesterday morning, waking up with her in my arms felt so right and I can’t wait to recapture that feeling. I have to admit, though, she had a point saying it was probably a bad idea for us to walk into the office together. I don’t know why I hadn’t thought that through, but the whispers and looks were not subtle at all. Brett was the worst, glaring at me all day. We’ve never gotten along- I don’t like his work ethic or how he talks to women, but yesterday felt like he had a personal vendetta against me. It was all I could do not to confront him. I was bummed when Kayla said she had to skip lunch, I needed time alone with her. I needed to kiss her and hold her again to prove to myself this was real. I got her a sandwich at lunch and dropped it by her desk. Her look of lust was almost as good as spending the lunch hour making out. Almost.

I got the idea of getting her flowers before our date, thinking finding a florist would be easy. Turns out it was a lot harder than I had anticipated. I’d almost given up when I spotted flowers sitting in a display outside a little grocery store. Most of them were wilted after sitting outside all day, but there was a single red rose left that looked pristine. It was better than nothing, so I grabbed it. Kayla’s reaction made it all worthwhile. She had been so flustered, she couldn’t even look at me, and the blush staining her cheeks was adorable. I still can’t quite believe that no one has ever thought of giving her flowers before. I’m thinking about doing it at least once a week. The next time, though, I’m going to give her a bouquet in a vase. Putting the rose in a wine bottle was ingenious thinking, but the woman needs a proper way to display the flowers I’m going to shower her with.

I had planned to exercise some restraint. We would go out to dinner, maybe a few drinks, and then we would go back to her place and spend the rest of the night making love. That was the plan anyway. I should realize that I’m like a damned teenager around her. The kiss we shared in her kitchen was scorching. I barely managed to not take her right there on the countertop like an animal. Somehow, I got myself under control, nearly impossible after seeing the glimpse of emerald green silk under her skirt. We managed to make it to dinner in one piece, but we skipped drinks, and went back to her place. I barely had time to appreciate the bra and thong set in rich green silk with black lace trim before they joined our pile of clothes on the floor. The memory makes my d*ck twitch in anticipation of enjoying another night buried deep inside her.

I get up and pull on my jeans before wandering into the kitchen to see what she has available for breakfast. I cook myself some eggs and sausage, and clean up the kitchen. I’m not really sure when she’s going to be back. I sort of remember her saying it would be a couple of hours, but that’s not the most exact timeframe. I peruse the books on her bookshelf again, avoiding anything that looks like it may have examples of genitalia, and choose a book with the most worn-looking spine. It’s so cracked and faded, part of the cover missing, that I have to turn to the title page to find the name of the book. I know it’s possible that she bought it used, but I can’t help imagining it may be one of her favorites that she’s read over and over again. It’s a sappy romance, of course, but it’s well written and the story is actually pretty engaging. Plus, the s*x scenes are hot! No one tell teenage boys that this what romance books are like. They’ll never get anything else done!

I'm still curled up on the couch deeply invested in the heroine of the story when I hear the lock click on the front door. Without looking up I call out, “Welcome back!” as Kayla shuffles in and drops her bag and shoes by the little table next to the front door.

“Want a juice?” she asks as she heads for the kitchen.

“No, thanks,” I call back. When I get to a stopping point in the book, I slide a business card I found in the back pocket of my jeans between the pages as a bookmark. I’ll never admit to enjoying the book with anyone but Kayla, but I need to find out what happens.

She joins me on the couch, juice in hand, a small, nervous smile playing across her lips. “Romance? I thought that was too cheesy.”

I laugh, it certainly feels like a guilty pleasure. “You have quite a collection. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all!” her smile is a little more relaxed as she settles back into the cushions. “Since you didn’t do the unforgivable and dog- ear the page, I feel like I can trust you with one of my babies. What do you think of it?”

“It’s surprisingly good,” I admit. “I don’t know what I was expecting, but it’s compelling. And hot!” I waggle my eyebrows at her, making her snort. My eyes scrape over her, taking in this new side of her. I’m so used to her being incredibly polished, professional. Now, however, she’s wearing baggy jeans covered in stains of every color, a white tank top, and an oversized flannel shirt, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. She’d piled her hair in a messy bun on top of her head and secured it with a large clip. It was different from what I’ve become used to seeing on her, but I like it. “I like this look. It’s very grunge.”

She c***s her head to the side and scrunches up her nose. “Grunge?”

“Yeah, you know… Kurt Cobain… Nirvana?”

“Oh yeah! ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit,’ right?”

I nod, a little surprised she doesn’t seem to know what grunge is, but I suppose not everyone was into the Seattle punk scene. “How was class?” I ask, changing the subject.

Her lips twitch in a small smile. “It was fine,” she says. “I didn’t get nearly enough done, though. Smash and Tone were much more interested in hearing all about you.”

The names ring a bell. “Those are your friends from high school, right?” I say, jogging my memory. She’s mentioned them a few times. “Are they artists, too?”

She takes a sip of her juice before setting the glass aside and shaking her head. “Not really. Not the same as what I do, anyway. But we typically take a class of some kind together when we can and it was my turn to pick. After high school, we all started going our separate ways, and it was like losing touch with a part of myself. So now, we take turns picking a class we can all take together. Last semester, Tone had us take a pole dancing class. Don’t get your hopes up!” she says with a laugh when my face betrays my thoughts. “I’m terrible. And before that, Smash made us take another self-defense course, although I’m pretty sure my mom put her up to it when I moved in here.”

"So, I have to ask,” I say slowly. “Smash? That’s not her real name, is it?”

“No, oh my goodness, no! Her parents love her, I promise,” she laughs. “Her real name is Ashlynn. We were total nerds in school, so sometimes the popular girls would try to get a rise out of us. Smash has always been big. Not, like, fat, but she’s really tall and solid. Athletic. And she’s got a huge personality to match. She’s a force!” Her voice is filled with so much love and admiration of her friend, it makes me automatically like this person I’ve never met. “Anyway, one of the giggly girly groups started calling her Smashlynn. Smashlynn Ashlynn. Because apparently being popular doesn’t mean being clever or original,” she rolls her eyes and I stifle a laugh. “Smash just owned it. Told us to start calling her Smash and thanked Tiffany- she was sort of the leader of her dumb*ss clique- for giving her an awesome derby name,” she finishes with a chuckle, clearly remembering what must have been a fairly tense interaction.

I'm lost again. “Derby?”

“Roller Derby,” Kayla nods. “She’s really good, too. She plays in the local league and they kick ass!”

My eyebrows feel like they might be reaching my hairline. I’ve seen a few roller derby matches on TV, and I have some idea of what Smash might be like. Now I’m really looking forward to meeting her. “And I’m assuming Tone is short for Tony?”

Kayla blinks at me a few times. “No, actually his real name is Raymond.” Now it was my turn to blink at her. No matter how I think about the name, I can’t figure out how to shorten it to ‘Tone.’ Kayla smiles. “His mom got really sick when we were about sixteen. She’s ok, now, but there for a while no one knew if she was going to pull through or not. His dad had to work three jobs to make ends meet because she couldn’t work anymore, so it pretty much meant Tone was her emergency contact.” She pauses to take another sip of juice and sighs. “Most of the teachers were ok with it. You know, he always had his phone on, just in case. Mr. Hansen, however, insisted it be on silent. That was history class, and we had it after lunch, so Tone always forgot to turn his phone back to silent.” She chuckles quietly at the memory, and glances at me out of the side of her eye. “Tone also had a ton of boyfriends at the time. Smash and I were worried he was going to get hurt, but he must have one hell of a guardian angel. For whatever reason, one of them would always call or text him during history. To this day, he swears it wasn’t planned, but I’m not entirely sure I believe him. It happened so much that Mr. Hansen wouldn’t even stop writing on the white board. He’d just bellow out, ‘Ring tone!’ Eventually, it stuck, and got shortened to Tone. He’s a DJ now, a really talented DJ. DJ Tone.”

“I think I’ve seen his name on the marquee at that club on 5th Street.”

“Yep, that’s him,” she beams at me. Clearly proud of her friends’ achievements. “He works there every chance he gets. I think he’s got a crush on the bartender. Although, with Tone, if he doesn’t have a crush on someone, I know he’s sick.”

“You love them,” I say. It’s obvious how much they mean to her.

“Yeah, I do,” she says a little wistfully. “They’re my family.”

“So, what’s your nickname?” I ask, curious.

She gives me a startled look. “Who says I have one?”

I smile at her. She’s so transparent sometimes. “Your two best friends have nicknames that have superseded their legal names. What’s yours?”

The corner of her mouth twitches and I’m practically on the edge of my seat waiting for this. “La-la,” she says quietly.

“La-la? There must be an epic story behind that,” one that I can hardly wait to hear.

“Not really, no,” she confesses. “Smash’s older sister- she’s like ten years older than us- had her first kid, Olivia, just after we started high school. When she started talking, she couldn’t say Kayla, so she just called me La-la. Now I’m Auntie La-la,” she says with a shrug.

I can admit, at least to myself, that I’m envious of her friendships. It would be amazing to have that sort of long history with people. “So, why are you still fidgeting?” I had thought distracting her with stories of the people she loves would have distracted her, but she still feels like this little ball of nervous energy.

She stops tapping her juice glass and looks at me with guilty eyes. “Was I?”

I c**k an eyebrow at her and smile. “You are, yeah. What’s gotten you so worked up?”

She puts her glass down on the table again, and huffs out a breath. “I’m really bad at relationships,” she blurts out. “I’m selfish.”

I try to fight back my laughter, but it bursts out of me and I wrap my arms around her, dragging her against me. “Selfish? Honey, you are so far from being selfish it’s almost a worry.”

“That was when we were just friends,” she says lamely, not sounding like she believes it herself. “Relationships are different.”

I pull back from her just enough to look into her eyes and gently tuck a lock of hair that had pulled free of her bun behind her ear. “Then we’re not in a relationship,” I smile when she pouts up at me. “We’re friends who sleep together.”

“Ash, I’m serious!” she pleads, nervously chewing her lip.

“So am I,” I try to sooth her. “I know we’ve moved kind of fast. If it’s too much, let me know and we can slow it down.” It’s a thought I fervently hope she doesn’t have. Now that I’ve held her, moved inside of her, I think it might kill me to not have her next to me.

“It should be too fast, right?” she asks in an uncertain tone. “I mean, this is crazy, isn’t it? But… it feels good.”

“Hmmm…” it does feel good. It feels amazing, and so very right. “Well, we started as friends,” I muse, “so we already knew all the bad stuff about each other. Maybe that makes a difference?”

“Maybe…” she narrows her eyes at me. “What bad stuff?”

I laugh and hug her close again. “I’ll tell you what. You might think you’re bad at relationships, but I’m fantastic at them. Long term is my default setting. So, together we should average out to be at least good.”

“You make it sound so easy,” she mumbles into my chest. She takes a deep breath and sits up. “How about I get changed into something less… grunge? And we go grab brunch?”

“I thought you don’t eat breakfast?” I ask.

“I don’t,” she smirks at me as she stands up. “But at brunch, there are mimosas, so I definitely eat brunch.”