Chapter 11- Breathe
Anxiety can be defined as a feeling of worry or unease, typically about an imminent event or something with an uncertain outcome. Now, take this emotion, this complicated, enigmatic, smorgasbord of a feeling, and multiply it ten fold, being sure to envelope into its rocky depths a dash of insecurity of the most volatile variety and you have, concocted quite precisely, the exact emotion that careened through Spencer's nerve stricken veins as she sat timidly in the corner of Weston's Starbucks, idly nursing her second fresh cup of coffee in the last twenty minutes.
Today was a beginning—the beginning. Because today, after all, Ashley returned from her weeklong island adventure. It had been seven days—Seven long, uneventful, twenty-four hour stretches of agitated longing—Not that Spencer would have described it this way. No, left to her own devices, Ms. Carlin would've been sure to employ diction denoting anything but stir-crazy mind set that had quickly become her lifestyle. She would highlight the assortment of parties she attended, club's she frequented, and women she sweet talked, being sure to omit from her account of the week's events the times she left said attended parties, the number of club's she chose not to frequent, as well as the spectacular dullness of the women she courted, women who, sixteen short days ago, would've been granted the privilege of having their underwear hung from stakes of her four post bed.
No, Spencer Carlin was changing, and that week was indisputable proof of this. But, be sure, this is not to say she lost her edge.
"You're late."
"You're early."
"I'm on time," Spencer stated coolly, the playfulness of her tone not lost on Ashley, "Punctuality isn't your strong suit, is it, Ms. Davies?"
Ashley smiled, the corners of her mouth pulled genuinely into the honest grin Spencer hadn't even realized she'd missed, "Much like remaining in your vehicle when driving through a major intersection isn't yours, Ms. Carlin."
"Or, did I imagine that incident?" She continued, faking curiosity, "Did I dream that you ran across the street, dodged a speeding jeep, and then verbally, later physically may I add, assaulted me outside of my vehicle a week ago from today—"
"So, you're dreaming about me?" Spencer interjected smoothly, though she was, indeed, incredibly curious.
Ashley grinned, the bridge of her delicate nose crinkling in a way that made Spencer's heart melt like a bar of chocolate in the California sun, "Hardly."
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"So, was Nantucket as deliciously waspy as your remembered?" Spencer asked wickedly, tracing a finger idly around the rim of her just finished coffee.
Ashley had just finished ordering her drink, the neophyte who five days ago had had the unfortunate pleasure of fucking up Spencer's order actually whipping up Ashley's in record time, though Spencer's unnerving glare in his petrified direction probably had something to do with it.
"Please," Ashley sighed incredulously, "like the vineyard's any better."
"Besides," she continued, eyeing the expensive designer glasses perched on her perfectly kempt blonde head before allowing her gaze to descend, "You're about as waspy as they come."
Those last words left Ashley's lips more slowly than the others, her mouth not quite in sync with her eyes, the same ones burning not so innocent trails down Spencer's sexy conservatively clad exterior.
Ms. Carlin looked good.
Now, be sure, Spencer was no stranger to the lustful stare currently dancing its way across her physique, and, to be fair, the moment only lasted for a mere second, if even that, but there was something about the way Ashley was looking at her, something about the way her burnt mahogany orbs skated and skidded across her skin, caressing her in a way so intimate she felt her heart smolder, blurring the line between sexuality and tenderness.
Then it was over.
"And who ever said that was a bad thing?"
It was Spencer who spoke first, incredibly uneasy with the intense change of events, slipping Ashley out of her daze.
"No one," Ashley muttered awkwardly, devoting her once inappropriately aimed attention at divvying her morning croissant in two.
The air had changed—It was suddenly thicker and so incredibly dense. Spencer could feel the once playful banter that had, only moments ago enveloped them slipping away like a wet dog would through a child's eager fingers. She needed that.
"I missed you,"
This time it was Ashley who spoke, her voice soft and gentle, devoid of the sarcasm and playfulness usually characterizing it.
It wasn't much—As a matter of fact, it was only a simple and honest recognition of a week's worth of emotions composed and comprised into three incredibly simple and honest words, yet, the phrase so carried so much meaning on its small purposeful back, a sort of significance Spencer couldn't quite shrug off, that she had no other choice than to look it straight in the eye, much in the same way Ashley was looking at her.
"I mean, the daily events characteristic of life become a little less dull when devoid of half naked women sprinting across major streets in your direction," Ashley continued playfully, sensing the other girl's uneasiness with the intensity of the previous moment, "go figure, right?"
Spencer smiled, "I was not half naked,"
"You so were!"
"Please, it was a work out outfit," Spencer parried matter-of-factly, countering Ashley's unbelieving smirk with her playful one.
"You work out?" Ashley deadpanned before breaking out into a wicked smile, combing her memory for the countless instances in which Spencer was extremely after breath following little to no movement.
"Fuck you!"
Spencer's parry might have been more spiteful had she not been fighting so valiantly to mask the grin fighting its way past her pursed lips.
"You wish," Ashley spat wickedly.
The double meaning of the brunettes words were not lost on Spencer in the least, and as she leaned forward, closing the two foot gap that separated them, she let herself bask in the scent of citrus like ginger that seemed to radiate of the other girls skin before whispering cockily, "Please," Goosebumps rose like freckles across Ashley's heated skin, "When you're this good, you don't have to."
Ashley couldn't breathe—As a matter of fact, she couldn't think which probably made Spencer's next muttered words so surprising, "Go out with me tonight."
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Since Harvey's opening fifteen days ago, the two tiered night club had transformed itself into a glorified hot spot, the likes of which happened to attract such socialites as the two brunettes and blonde who graced the VIP section that Sunday night.
"Donny," Kate shouted, struggling to speak over the music before motioning a finger towards her empty glass.
Kate felt like a third wheel—A terribly welcomed yet still sufficiently unwanted third wheel. It was a strange emotion and one she hoped to never harbor for a long time.
"So…" Ashley tried, glancing at Kate awkwardly before letting her gaze shift comically to Spencer who sat on the other side of her best friend.
Yes, that's right—Kate was perched in the middle.
"This is nice," Spencer tried, nursing her tumble of Bailey's eagerly.
The tension was making her nervous—She needed to get drunk.
Just as Ashley and Kate were falling into some semblance of a normal conversation—after all, how ordinary can a verbal exchange be when the sexual tension between two girls is being awkwardly infiltrated by an unintentional cock block? Not very usual—Spencer felt a thin pair of arms snake their way around her waist, only to feel a husky voice buried in the crevice of her ear.
"Spencer Carlin," the girl began, "God, it's been too long."
Now, remember, in each and every one of Spencer's conquests she was always the user, the abuser, "the one who got away"—As a matter of fact, she made it her unfortunate but entirely necessary business to make sure each and every girl she bedded was aware of this increasingly important tid bit—In other words, Spencer called the shots. Keeping this in mind, whoever it was that had so rudely invaded her personal space, whatever one night stand's voice was richoetting between the walls of her ear drum, was incredibly out of line—So out of line, in fact, that it made Spencer snap.
"Don't touch me."
"But, I thought—" The girl stumbled over her words, nervous and flabbergasted, embarrassed and weirdly ashamed.
"Wrong," Spencer finished for her, downing the rest of her drink smoothly, "And I'm not interested."
In that moment and some how between Spencer telling of the random, she, for the life of her, couldn't remember and polishing off her fourth drink of the night, Ashley had sidled up to her, running her delicate hand down the other girls arm before lacing their fingers loosely, the intimacy of the touch not lost on either of them.
"And you are…" The other girl quipped, the odd traces of jealously laced into the fabric of her tone.
"Currently?" Ashley began, the beginnings of a wicked smirk playing its way across her lips, "Watching you play fruitlessly for a girl who's clearly not interested in you. In the next twenty seconds, however, I have every intention of removing you from my line of sight and getting to know Spencer here a little better on the dance floor."
Spencer was again impressed—Deliciously and quite brilliantly taken a back. It seemed no-name, the past benefactor of Spencer's late night affections, was as well as she opened and closed her mouth, clearly at a loss for any sort of come back.
Ashley only smiled and watched satisfactorily as the other girl slinked away, no doubt embarrassed or ashamed—most likely both.
"Ashley Davies," Spencer began incredulously.
"Dance with me."
It wasn't a question nor was it a request. No, this was a command and for once Spencer Carlin found herself taking orders.
Their movements began slowly, cautiously, as if both were testing the weight of the situation, abashedly checking the temperature of the water before jumping in. Then they were moving, molding, melting into one another, shifting with the bass, swaying with the harmony, fingers linked and arms entangled, Spencer's back pressed impossibly close to Ashley's front, the heat emanating from both their bodies almost stifling. The air was trapped in Spencer's lungs as she reached an arm back, allowing the tendrils of her fingers to get caught in the waves of Ashley's hair—She felt everything. The other girl's breath, short and ragged on her shoulder, her hand skidding lazily, wildly eagerly under the hem of shirt, mapping out the contours of her stomach. Everything burned deliciously—She was lost and, to be honest, she never knew it could feel this good. This was new—This was unexplored emotional terrain of the most untamed and intimidating variety and as she questioned taking a step back, as she pondered the safety of ending whatever this was right now, she felt Ashley's lips, soft and supple run along her earlobe, she felt her part the edges of her mouth bestowing upon her the one word she didn't know she needed to hear, the one syllable confection of a motto that kept her right there, smoldering in the heat that was Ashley.
It was a whisper that only she could hear.
"Breathe."