It's two in the morning, and she really should be asleep: classes, sets for the Bellas, the internship, and Hell all await her. The latter is pure flawless perfection, but it's Hell all the same—teasing smiles and intimidation, looks she's certain she's not supposed to notice but does anyway. She's positive it isn't anything meaningful, but with a head full of confusion and worry for the future, she's not sure anymore.
She rolled onto her side, pulling the covers over her head, deliberately facing away from the phone on her cluttered nightstand, as if doing so will delay the coming morning. A light flickered on in the hallway, and the door knob gave a squeaking, stubborn jiggle, then weight shouldered into the door to force it open. Beca's phone vibrated loudly on the wood for nearly a minute before stopping, a blinking neon blue light taking its place. No way she was answering it this time of night.
"Still awake, short stack?" Amy called, bumping into the closet door with a muttered curse. Her shoes thumped against the wall; seconds later, the bed springs dipped, and she groaned in relief.
"Trying not to be," Beca replied from under the covers.
"Did you know you've got a text? The indicator light is blinking."
"It's probably just Jesse, and I'm not ready to talk to him."
Amy turned onto her side and propped her head in her hand. "Why? It's been awhile since you've been broken up; it may be time to just say hello and clear the air... though at this time of night, it's probably drunk dialing."
"Things, stuff, junk," Beca muttered into the downy pillow, then flopped over to fetch her phone. She tucked it behind her pillow so the flickering light wouldn't bother her or Amy.
"That's not a real answer."
"Yeah, I get that. I've got a lot on my mind, and he's some of it, well, half of it."
"And the hot German blonde is the other." Amy laughed, only half serious.
"What? No, dude. Get out of my head." Beca chucked a spare throw pillow at Amy, which landed with a half-hearted thunk on the floor between their beds.
Amy laughed again and threw a pillow back which landed with a soft "oof" on Beca's face. She whispered something that Beca didn't quite catch. "Lesbihonest. She got under your skin, and you love/hate/want to fuck the smirk off her face."
Beca moved her lips to refute her best friend, but no words or sounds came out. The girl was right, though she wasn't entirely ready to admit that, not out loud anyway. "Aaaaaaammmmy. Why?"
"You're the one who's attracted to her... well, maybe not the only one. But still, you should deal with that, if you want to."
"How would I even?" Did she really just say that? Of course she did.
"DSM has a show at TPAC in Nashville this weekend. You could go. Climb her like a tree." Amy's phone buzzed, and she tapped at the screen for a moment.
Beca huffed, cheeks burning as she imagined just that. "Wait, that wasn't one of our venues. How did they? I mean, do I even want to know how you know where they're performing?"
"Mmm, probably not. But you should take the weekend without Red or any of us and just go. You need time to yourself and maybe get to know the blonde bombshell." Amy reached for her phone again, its tiny screen illuminating the darkness and revealing the knowing smirk on her face. She tapped for another little while.
"I'll think about it."
"There's a ticket reserved for you at will-call, if you decide to go. Which I think you should. Drive over Thursday night, come back Monday. You don't work on Fridays, and you could easily beg off Monday, with your classes too."
Beca sat bolt upright. She hadn't told anyone about the internship yet except for Jesse. "Do you just know everything?"
"Pretty much. Better not to question it," Amy quipped. "Check your phone, too. I heard it vibrate again. I don't want to hear that damn thing while I get my beauty sleep." She laughed and rolled over to close her eyes, pulling the covers up to her chin.
"All right, you dork. I will, even though I really don't want to."
"Ignoring a problem won't make it go away, short stack."
"Yeah, yeah. Whatever." Beca answered, taking the phone from beneath the pillow and unlocking it. She quickly dimmed the screen and swiped over her messages. She'd been right: three messages from Jesse, who said he'd made a mistake, he missed her, and wanted to talk. Well, that was his problem. He'd ended it, not her. The next message was from a number she didn't recognize.
I can fuck you better.
The person had probably texted her by accident, but she answered anyway.
Pretty sure you have the wrong number.
Several minutes passed without a response, so Beca sank back under her covers and snuggled into the feather bed. With her eyes closed, she focused on breathing deeply, the scents of wildflowers and rain, exhaust from the city, and lingering stale alcohol from living on Sorority Row wafted in through the open window. Just as her breathing evened and sleep settled into her limbs, her phone buzzed. She didn't want to shake the blessed relief to respond.
Morning came all too soon, harsh sunlight cast on the two resting forms. Amy curled with a fluffy pillow between her thighs, deeply asleep and oblivious to the world, while Beca unwound from her ball in the center of her bed—pillows askew and nearly off the bed, navy blue sheets tangled between her legs, and her phone somewhere not immediately in view. She groaned quietly and scrubbed at her face to wipe the sleep from her eyes. Even a pot full of coffee wouldn't be enough to ease the heavy exhaustion from her limbs today. She sat on the edge of her bed, feet dangling a few inches from the floor, for the longest time just staring at the fat, fuzzy sheep on her pink pyjamas. Anything to put off the day ahead. She really needed a couple days off from life and all its responsibilities. Perhaps she would take the weekend.
She dragged her feet along the carpet to the door, opening it slowly as not to disturb Amy. She gulped down a cup of coffee, took a hurried shower, and rushed out the door. Only as she loaded the car did she bother to check her messages. Two more from Jesse, one of which was an apology that she promptly deleted before moving on to the reply from the stranger the night before.
I do not believe so.
Beca slid her laptop bag under the front seat and carefully placed two large travel mugs of steaming coffee into the cup holders.
Then who are you?
What's the fun in simply telling you? The reply came just as the engine purred to life.
The fun would be in knowing.
Boring.
Beca put her phone in the holder on the dash and pulled into early morning, bumper-to-bumper traffic... everyone rushing to work while she left early to give herself enough time.
Not boring. If I know you, we can skip past all this and get to the fun.
After her shift at the record company, she opened her messages, setting her bag down beneath her desk. Just a lecture today, and an easy one at that. The professor—a tall man with greying curly hair and glasses too heavy, too dark for his face—always wandered in a little late, though no one ever seemed to mind.
But this, darling, is part of the chase. And who doesn't enjoy a game of cat and mouse?
Beca pursed her lips to bite back a laugh. She wasn't much on sports or games, but sometimes the thrill of the chase was as enticing as the endgame, as long as it was with the right person. Jesse had never done this.
Certainly not me.
Play a game with me: figure out who I am, and I will illustrate why I will fuck you better.
Do I get clues or do I just pull names out of my ass?
The professor began to talk, and she took notes, ignoring the vibrating phone in her pocket despite the growing curiosity. Halfway through the class, the guy stopped talking and rushed out the double doors with a hurried apology. Perfect opportunity.
So feisty. Now that I would like to see. You get three clues.
Tell me who you are and maybe you'll get to see it. Beca teased, a smirk upon her lips as her fellow students gathered their things to leave.
Get it in two guesses, and I will send you a photo that's worth your effort.
Ugh, not fair, dude.
More than fair. Besides, what is life without challenge, a little mystery?
A boring one. What are my clues?
First clue: You know me, though not my name.
That could be anyone because she wasn't good with names unless she'd known them a while. Beca gathered her things and left, figuring the professor wasn't coming back. Hours passed while she mixed songs for work and for the Bellas, then started an essay.
What, no response?
Because that clue is effing impossible. You could be literally anyone I've ever met and never put a name to.
Are clues not supposed to be difficult?
Well, yes, but you do want me to figure it out, right?
I do, but I also want to torment you a little. You are fun to play with. Second clue: I have something of yours. ;)
If you're paying attention, that is a two-part clue.
Beca went back to the music program on her laptop to tweak a line that was bothering her when she suddenly had a horrified little thought: what if her mystery person was Jesse? And he'd borrowed someone's phone? In her dramatic way, she tossed the phone on the bed away from her desk to focus on the essay once more, but she didn't get very far: her thoughts kept returning to the clue she'd been given:
Someone she knows who likes to play and has something of hers...
Late Wednesday night, Beca packed a small, grey duffel with clothing for the weekend (a dress for the concert in a bag to hang above the back passenger window), her books because there would be down time and it was a smart idea not to procrastinate on the projects due at semester's end, and made a hotel reservation close to the concert venue. Her phone buzzed against her hip.
Figure it out yet?
Maybe. I have two guesses: one wild and not remotely possible, and the second I hope like fuck it's not because I...
She took her bags to the trunk of her Volkswagen along with her work for the weekend, tucking everything neatly away, then hung the bag with her dress behind her seat. She'd have to go to class tomorrow and her internship, fuel up, grab snacks for the road because she'd get in late even without stopping for dinner. She kind of wished she'd be meeting someone there or bringing a friend. But Amy was right, it was better to take this weekend off, alone.
I want to know both, for different reasons. I hope I am the former and not the latter, because otherwise that means this is... Nevermind. Tell me the first. I like wild guesses.
You can't be... I mean, can you?
I don't know. Because you didn't tell me your guess. Just do it, you chicken. ;)
Please don't laugh if you're not.
Pinky promise then.
First, are you from DSM? Beca typed, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. This felt risky, dangerous even. Could be fuel for someone's fire.
You are cheating. Why am I not surprised?
Because you know me better than I expect. Fine… I really want you to be but it's such a long shot. Are you The Kommissar?
Beca threw herself onto her bed face down and hid beneath a wide fluffy pillow, as if she could feel the laughter and judgment from her mystery person. The phone buzzed from the other side of the bed, but she ignored it. Maybe after a few minutes of hiding she'd feel brave enough to read the answer. What if it really was Jesse? It didn't seem like something he would do, but she'd been wrong about all sorts of things lately.
She peaked at the awaiting message, her cheeks burning.
Yes, and no.
If you are, how are you not? How is this even real? I took, like, the longest shot ever with that guess. It was more wishful thinking than an actual answer. Beca paused a moment then added: Then tell me, show me. For fuck's sake. And I believe you owe me two things. Pay up.
A picture appeared on the screen. The woman before her looked very little like the Kommissar in her soft makeup, her golden halo of hair loose around her bare shoulders, dark-rimmed glasses that suited her face, and a smile that stole Beca's breath. She saved the picture as her background-no way she wouldn't want to look at her face as much as possible.
I also said I would make it worth your time.
Another photo appeared a minute later: the woman lay in the nude on a wide hotel bed, pristine sheets folded neatly off to the side. Her arm lazily draped across her breasts so only the soft curves were visible. Beca's mouth fell open as her gaze travelled down her body, toned abs with a soft, tempting navel that she wanted to tease with kisses… her mons hidden from view behind a propped leg, but the sight of the woman's creamy thigh was enough to do her in. Her legs went on forever, ending in a pair of the sexiest, black strappy heels she'd ever seen. Beca couldn't help the moan that escaped her lips.
Beca typed before she even really thought about what to say. You are so fucking beautiful, and you could do anything you want to with me.
That is quite an offer, Tiny Maus. Are you sure?
I could have worded it better, but I don't regret saying it. Gonna tell me your name, gorgeous?
Luisa. We can get better acquainted on a date.
When? Where?
What are you doing this weekend?
Going to your concert at TPAC.
Really? Tickets have been sold out for weeks. However did you manage?
Yes, really. Fat Amy got it for me the other night. She just does things that seem impossible and she knows everything. No lie. I'm starting to think she's a witch.
Or she's… ficke… fucking my co-leader, Pieter. So when are you arriving? And where are you staying?
I'll leave Atlanta around 5 tomorrow evening, possibly earlier if I skip classes. I should get in around 10 if I don't stop for food. Booked into Sheraton Nashville Downtown.
I shouldn't tell you to ditch class, but ditch class. Come to dinner with me.
Fuck yes. I mean, yes.