Ashley shuts the door as quietly as possible, though there is no maid here at night to disturb and no driver waiting in the hall, with his hat in his hand, to catch sight of her.
Aiden might be around, though it is unlikely after such a party and after such liberal consumption of alcohol. He'll have found a girl to warm his arms all night long, some quiet and pretty young thing, a charming lass who is bamboozled by the handsome line of his jaw. It could be the blonde who takes their coats at the club. It could be the brunette that hovered by his shoulder all night long. It could be reliable Kelly down the lane, married and bored just like most of Hollywood, casting falsely coy eyes to every man who strays.

But even with Aiden wonderfully absent, Ashley still practically tip-toes across the dark floors and silently navigates around the tables and chairs. She doesn't turn on a single light as her fingertips skim over smooth wallpaper and trip over sudden corners, as she goes deeper into this well-furnished home and further away from any lingering light of the moon.

And there, in the blackest part of the hallway, Ashley feels a small bit of the freedom she captured within Spencer's kiss.

There, in the shadows, Ashley allows her smile to open up like the petals of a nighttime bloom.

/ /

Ashley planned the leaving. She didn't want to stick around a bunch of check-writers and ass-kissers all night long. She didn't want to fashion that placid expression upon her face and look at Aiden like he might matter to her.

Ashley planned the beach.
If Spencer agreed to join her, if Spencer got into her car, if Spencer ended up liking the coolness of the wet sand and if Spencer enjoyed the sound of the ocean rolling in once the sun had gone down... and Spencer did all those things without hesitation, without question.

After that, though, Ashley didn't have a plan at all.
She craved time with the blonde. She thought about Spencer more than she truly should.
Ashley would hold her breath in an almost painful fit of anticipation every time she knew the woman would appear.
And all of this had built up in Ashley's brain, in Ashley's stomach, in all the places that the world tells her to ignore and deny. And it had built up to the point of bursting, water pushing at a flimsy dam, and Ashley would lie awake at night - restless and aching with want.

She wants Spencer.

That is as far as the process of planning went, though.

Ashley did not plan on kissing Spencer.
One cannot plan a kiss in real life. It is not like the films she is paid so well to act in. It is not a specially crafted moment, with men telling you how to turn your head and how long to hold the clench and when to sigh and when to pull away.

A real kiss just happens, without preamble and void of normal caution.

Ashley cannot even recall the last time she has kissed someone and meant it, away from cameras, away from reporters, and away from all those hidden ladies that are used to keep the evenings from growing too long.

But there was Spencer Carlin, her hair down and her ivory face so close and her tender voice like some kind of dream, and Ashley couldn't stop this moment from happening even if she desired to do so.

It just happened like real kisses do.

/ /

She gets up in the morning, just like every other morning, taking her breakfast out on the patio. The milk goes into her coffee. There are fresh slices of oranges to go along with her toast. The paper sits there, opened to middle and paused at some story about some accident, the edges of the pages fluttering in the breeze.

She sees Aiden through the French doors, the bleary movements of one who is still drunk evident even at a distance, and he rubs his forehead as he orders the house-keeper for something for his 'lousy headache' - taking his coffee black, as usual, falling onto the couch he picked out and she bought.

That breakfast is barely touched, though. And that story of some poor soul's tragedy goes unfinished. Aiden and his need to wallow is ignored this time around, too.
Ashley is in a state that she isn't sure she'll wake up from any time soon and this development should trouble her. This new distraction in the form of Spencer Carlin should worry her to the point of pushing the girl away - far away.

Instead, Ashley stares off into the lush green of nicely trimmed back-yard and sees nothing but Spencer's sweet grin from the night before.
The shimmering mirage threatens to cause Ashley to release a daytime smile of her own. She can feel it tugging at her like a kitten with a string.

Happiness and affection and that fabled thing called...

"What are you looking at?" Aiden's gruff voice interrupts Ashley's train of thought and she is not sure if that is good or bad thing. Her eyes blink, as if clearing away a cloud of musing, then her gaze cuts to him and it is much less joyful.
"Currently, a very pathetic man." Ashley bites back in a way she has perfected, cool and calm apathy for another human being. She rarely gets to display that ability on the screen, since she is always the 'nice' girl in those nickel-and-dime shows.
At home, however, the claws can come out and Ashley isn't ashamed to say that a part of her relishes this chance to play against type.
Especially because it is not an act at all.

"Where did you disappear to last night?" Aiden asks, drinking his coffee and keeping his bloodshot stare on Ashley's face.
Aiden knows about her nights, not with faces or names, but he knows that she is not at all interested in affairs with the male population.
Most men would be appalled with the real Ashley Davies. They would shake their heads and beg God to take her life instead of leaving her the languish in a world of sin.
Aiden Dennison, however, is as morally bankrupt as they come.

But just because he knows about such things does not mean Ashley is eager to share something so potentially life-changing as a night with Spencer with him.

"I got bored and decided to come home. Where did you disappear to last night, hmm?"
"Did you leave with that Carlin girl?" Aiden questions, moving right past her own inquiry.
"That, much like everything else about me, is none of your business, Aiden."
"Be smart, Ashley. We've got a good thing here."

She has to laugh at that comment because, really, they don't have anything at all.
They have lies. They have anger. They have double-talk and bitterness. They each have a hollowness where there should be something solid, deep down in their souls, and Aiden keeps on finding meaning in being attached to Tinsel-Town royalty.
Ashley used to feel the same exact way.
But now there is this yearning for more, taking shape before her very eyes, and she is as terrified as she is desperate to see where this new road may take her.

That is what real kisses will do to you, though.

They make you see only the approach and not the after-math. They fill you up with so much passion that you think you can live on feeling alone. They create a lovely muddle of your mind and you forget things like judgment, things like scandal, things like exile from this world you live in.

And as much as she wants to drown in emotion, Ashley pretends she can keep her head above the water-line. Ashley pretends she can ward off this swell of love and still keep Spencer close. Ashley pretends that she can manage all her worlds and stay at the top of each one as they spin.

It will be the greatest performance of her life.

/ /

"You won't... uh, tell anyone... will you?" Ashley's voice is no longer confident or even terribly warm. It is just a subdued kind of sudden terror.

But Spencer's hands are sure against her shoulders and that soft smile is like a safety net, patient in its ability to catch Ashley as she plummets.

"Ashley, I know better than to tell anyone about this, about us. I am used to keeping such things to myself."

Ashley releases a held back breath and looks down at the ground, feeling shy, feeling exposed, feeling like she should run away and feeling like she should kiss Spencer again.
She is feeling too much. She is feeling everything at once and it is unsettling.
Unsettling but wondrous, too.

"So... I am not the first to snatch Ms. Carlin's attentions then?" Ashley asks this with a grin, though, and Spencer returns the gesture.
"Not the first, no, but certainly the most alluring."
"Oh really?"
Spencer sort of rolls her eyes and reaches out for Ashley's hand, which Ashley freely gives over.
"As if you did not know! I... I couldn't take my eyes off of you when Glen introduced us that night... Like a moth to a flame..."

Ashley is once again struck with a need she cannot ignore, so she pulls Spencer to her and wraps the woman up in an embrace. Ashley feels those arms encircle her, feels the press of palms to her back and running up into her hair. She inhales the scent of Spencer's skin, something wonderful and fragrant along the slope of Spencer's neck, and places her lips close to Spencer's ear.

"I am causing you to wax poetic." Ashley whispers and enjoys the shudder that subsequently rolls through Spencer's body.
"You are the cause of a great many things, Ashley Davies." Spencer whispers back and Ashley closes her eyes as she holds on tighter, willing and wishing the rest of the world away.

"As are you, Spencer Carlin... as are you..."

/ /

To Be Continued...