Please note: I do not own Girl Meets World
Somebody asked me if I am a RUCAS fan and I honestly never gave it much thought but since I've been writing stories about them I guess I am. I like their dynamics. But that doesn't mean that I cannot write stories about other character or "ships".
Give me ideas people and you might just see it posted here.
WARNING: May contain some Mature theme.
P.S.: A shout out to Snowgirl01 - since you asked nicely...this is for you :)
xxxxxx
Riley Matthews looked at her watch for the second time in as many minutes as she strode along the corridors of the court house as fast as her designer heels would allow, her perfectly styled hair bobbing along behind her, reminiscent of a shampoo commercial. She'd learned to be a master of emotional disguise a long time ago. In fact, based on her last couple of weeks, she was practically a Jedi master.
Turning the final corner, she automatically checked her jacket and inhaled deeply. With seven won cases under her belt and a Champion of the Earths Award on her desk, Riley rarely got nervous. She just wished that today she were a little less hungover. She could still taste the smoky atmosphere of the bar over twelve hours later. What had she been thinking? To err may be human, but for the media it's divine. And last night must have been the icing their cake was waiting for.
…
"Let's go. You've got a high profile case to present tomorrow afternoon."
"I've always got a high profile case to present. Come on, just one more for the road."
"That's what you said three mojitos ago. I don't think the road can possibly be thirsty anymore, and if I knew you at all, and you weren't my boss, I'd say you were trying to avoid going home." Jason stopped himself wondering if he'd just overstepped the mark. After all, he was only a researcher, admittedly a researcher full of beer, but while the office hierarchy may have apparently been suspended once they got to the bar, he suspected Riley could pull rank any time she felt like it.
"Quick. Better call the papers." Riley assumed her best tabloid voice–over tone. "I can see it now. 'Riley Matthews in midweek alcohol binge at Midnight Cowboy. Addicted to sex and drink. What on earth has happened to the girl next door?' I'll add it to my scrapbook."
Jason laughed. "Come on, it's not that bad."
"It's pretty bad." Riley willed herself to feel drunk. How could she have polished off over five cocktails and still feel this sober? "I've been all over the papers."
"Let's get you into a cab. I don't want to be responsible for you having to present tomorrow's case in shades."
"Okay. You win." Decision made, Riley wished she could click her kitten heels together three times and be transported directly to her bed. "But you'd better watch yourself. I am a marriage–breaker after all."
"Don't believe everything you read in the papers."
"I don't. I just wish everyone else didn't."
"And I'm not married."
"That's because you're only twelve," Riley teased.
"Twenty–three."
"Same difference."
"But I have got a serious girlfriend."
"Don't worry, I'm not interested."
"I didn't mean that."
Riley was amused to see Jason was suddenly flustered.
"It's just…I meant you're only four years older than me."
"Three."
"The Herald said you were twenty-seven."
"Fantastic. Not only am I a moral–free zone but they're aging me, too."
"Stuart said you were twenty-eight according to another article."
"And if I know Stuart, I'm sure there's an office sweepstakes in progress. If they can't even get my age right, how on earth are people supposed to believe any of the other crap they write."
It was true — there was a sweepstakes. They'd only put five bucks each, and there were only eight of them playing, but it was the principle of the thing.
"I'm twenty-six. And only just," Riley clarified.
Damn… He'd been sure she was twenty-seven.
"Just out of interest, is the general consensus in the office that I did or didn't sleep with Marco Gomez?"
Jason blushed, stalling.
"Well? Seriously, I'm interested."
"Didn't…But plenty of the girls think you're mad not to. Apparently he's got an amazing six–pack."
"And an ego the size of South America…and a wife, of course."
Fact: She'd been out for dinner with Marco Gomez, erstwhile financial god, rich, and now national love rat at a time when his marriage was practically on the rocks — but only in an attempt to persuade him to grant her favorite charity the much needed funds.
Fact: He was a smooth–talker and flirtatious, and she had passed up on his invitation to his hotel room after a lengthy drinking session. And if anyone had bothered to study the photo of her leaving sheepishly at 2 a.m., it was obvious that she can't get away fast enough.
Yet now that he'd publicly gone back to his wife, suddenly it was supposedly all her fault that they'd split up in the first place. Pure fiction. And while she knew that today's tabloids were tomorrow's cat litter liners, now every time someone profiled her, this story was going to surface to haunt her. Her word against his. And, in the eyes of the tabloids, she was guilty until proven innocent. Which was ironic because she's a freaking lawyer.
Checking her phone for messages, Riley was appalled to note that it was past midnight. They'd only gone for a quick drink after work in the name of team bonding, and now it appeared that she and Jason were the only two left.
As they reached the pavement, Riley momentarily lost contact with her left shoe and grabbed hold of Jason's arm for balance. Flashbulbs exploded. Her wobble captured by a handful of hungry press photographers who were only there for the A–listers in the private bar.
Yet now, accidentally, Riley had handed them the next installment of their version of her life on a plate.
…
"You're cutting it too close Ms. Matthews…" Stuart, her colleague, whispered to Riley. "Opposing counsel requested this mock trial to tear down our arguments. They even brought a revered member of the community as part of their team."
Thank God for Autopilot. Riley smiled at Stuart, sat on the chair and pulled out her papers from her briefcase. Her mind was still wandering. And it wouldn't be long now until the evening papers hit the stand. But with or without a picture of her and Jason? That was the trouble with August. Quiet news month. Silently she prayed for a real breaking–news story. She wasn't talking world–troubling or life–threatening, just a small economic downturn, a cross–dressing politician, a royal pregnancy…anything to bump her out.
"…We should ask the judge for a briefing so we can talk to their supposedly expert on animals. I don't like going into this unprepared."
Automatically Riley took in the information from Stuart, turning to face the judge and the opposing counsel.
"Allow me to introduce you to Dr. Lucas Friar."
Externally her hesitation was barely perceptible; emotionally she was on Code Red. The name was far too familiar. She wished she'd made time to read the research notes this morning.
As Lucas took his seat, Riley caught his eye. Her stomach felt like it was single–handedly in the process of completing an Olympic gymnastic routine. He hadn't gone to fat. Riley caught her breath. The teenager she had known at John Quincy Adam high school had become big and muscled and heartbreakingly gorgeous. He had his hair cut short, piercing green eyes and a mouth that would have sent her imagination into overdrive under other circumstances, but somehow she was just introduced to her former ultimate crush in the courtroom.
She didn't even know he'd actually become a veterinarian. She hadn't seen him for nearly twelve years. But when your ultimate crush leaves you for your best friend there is only one way to take it: badly.
"Dr. Friar."
"You can call me Lucas, Riley."
Of course she could. She'd called him Lucas the whole time they'd been together in school. But in those days he'd been claiming to like her. And what was six letters between friends? Even when they were a d, an a , a t, an i, a n and a g?
"OK. So, Dr. Friar, how long have you known that the water contamination in some of the farms will eventually impact the smaller cattle breeders?"
…
