Memoirs of a Spashley Addict
Disclaimer: I do not own South of Nowhere
Premise: This will be a collection of non-related oneshots (500 words or less) written for my very own SaveSpashley Creative Writing Campaign. Future additions will be posted in accordance with the theme changes throughout spring and summer. Visit the campaign section of savespashley (dot) com or PM me to find out more.
Submission: April 11, 2008
Theme 1: PostSecret Challenge
Secret Tagline: Spencer: "Was Ashley's suggestive touch unwelcome? …not exactly."
Setting: Season 1 teaser "Spencer's Bedroom."
Not Exactly
When I first came to the City of Angels, I could tell things were vastly different from small-town Ohio: the sights, the people, the atmosphere. Everything seemed huge to me, diverse and intimidating. Then, after spending the afternoon braving the streets of L.A. with my new friend, well, it was still huge and diverse, but it didn't seem so intimidating anymore. Maybe it was because I was beginning to get used to it. Or maybe it was because Ashley just had a way of making it more spontaneously fun than touristy.
Sitting on the floor of my room, I flipped idly through a magazine as I leaned against my bed. I laughed to myself as I recalled a particular experience at a local café. We had stopped there for smoothies, and while I grabbed us a table, the cute guy behind the counter had begun not-so-subtly hitting on my friend. I was hardly surprised: Ashley was a gorgeous girl by any standard. What I didn't expect was how quickly she had seemed to brush him off in favor of chatting with me.
I, of course, couldn't help but tease her about it all the way back to my house. I playfully tossed my words behind me as Ashley freshened up in my adjoining bathroom. "Did you give him your phone number?"
"No!" she called back in exasperation.
"He was so in to you, and covered in tattoos!" I drawled in a singsong voice.
"Whatever."
I grinned at my friend's bored tone. Glancing over my shoulder as the brunette reentered my room, I chuckled and threw a casual elbow up onto the edge of my bed. "What, you're not in to that?" Turning back to my magazine, I felt the bed move as the older girl crawled onto it.
"Uh, no," Ashley murmured quietly as she flopped onto her stomach behind me. One hand came to rest lightly on my bicep. Her other hand trailed down my arm to gently entwine our fingers. "Not exactly."
Admittedly, I had become engrossed in a photo-rich article about Angelina (oh, and Brad), so Ashley's cryptic meaning was slow to register with me. When it finally clicked, I looked at our interlaced hands, my mouth falling open. I suddenly became acutely aware of several things: the warm softness of Ashley's skin on mine; the faint scent of her waterflowers body mist; her brown eyes locking onto my profiled face; her tiny smirk as she watched comprehension dawn on me.
Now, I had learned from the moment we met that she was a very forward person, but the shock was unavoidable. The only other times I had encountered this subject was during brief discussions (read: preaching lectures) in church group back in Ohio. Was I startled by her candor? A bit. Did I care if my new friend was gay? Of course not.
What I was scared of was the answer to the other question running through my mind: was Ashley's suggestive touch unwelcome?
…not exactly.
End.