the list Chapter 9, an austin & ally fanfic

Ally

Seven long days later and I still haven't seen Austin.

Just because I spent the day after we slept together trying to figure out whether he drove the Jeep or rode the motorcycle— both were parked in the driveway of the house to my right— doesn't mean I haven't been busy.

My days have been very, very busy. Unpacking. Scouting out the area. Talking to Gavin and his record label. Writing new songs. And looking for a car.

Busy.

And yes, this counts as a plan, but I can't help myself. Trish knows this too, which is why she's not judging.

I am who I am. Soon, maybe, I'll be a little less uptight, but I'll always be me.

Gavin did ask me out, and first I was going to say yes, but I couldn't. I knew I wasn't into him in that way. When I said no, he was cool with everything. Obviously he was about as into me as I was into him. Which was nothing past considering a possible friendship, but more than likely only the business relationship we were building.

You know what they say, anyway— don't mix business with pleasure. I think that's good advice to follow.

Still, even without dates, like I said, I've been busy.

Busy.

So it's not like I have been running out to my balcony to see if Austin's Jeep, which I figured out to be his vehicle only when Trish finally told me, is the one coming and going whenever I hear the sound of crunching gravel.

And it's definitely not as if I care that he quickly brought our night to an end. I have a life to start living. A list to check off. I'm very busy.

Busy.

Too busy to care what made him turn from hot to cold faster than the speed of light. Mr. We Are Going to Need Multiple Packs of Condoms needed only one, and I know it wasn't because he didn't enjoy himself. No one could fake the noises of pleasure he was making.

Whatever.

So what if it was the best sex I ever had.

I'm single.

In a beach town.

With a lot of half-dressed men.

Hot sex will happen again.

Right?

"You're not happy." Trish makes this observation over turkey sandwiches at The Cliff. It's her lunch hour and she asked me to meet her here.

"Why would you say that?"

She points to my food. "You're not eating."

That would be because the food tastes disgusting.

But I don't tell Trish that.

I pat my stomach. "Just watching what I eat. I have to wear that bikini. You know, item number one on the list."

She laughs. "You have to buy one first."

Nibbling on the gluten-free bread that tastes like nothing, I set it down. From afar it looked really good. "For your information, I'm doing that after lunch. And then I'm going to look at cars."

Trish is working on the Main Beach today, which is a ten-minute walk at most from our house, so I have her car to run errands. While I'm out, I'm grabbing a hot fudge, filled with dairy, sundae. Again, I don't tell Trish that. Pinkberry is where she'd direct me. Dairy free, made from coconut milk, vegan yogurt. Looks good. Tastes terrible. "It's to die for" are her words, not mine. Yet they might not be that far from the truth. I might die if I have to eat another one. Sure, I believe in balance. Eat healthy. Exercise. And a small cheat here and there. That is not Trish's philosophy. In fact, everything in Miami is so extreme.

Gulping her wheatgrass shot in one swallow, she sets the glass down. "Austin asked about you this morning."

Outwardly, I shrug, but inside my belly flutters. "And?" I ask nonchalantly.

"And nothing. That was all. Just wanted to know how you were doing." She wipes her mouth with her napkin.

"Oh, okay."

She stares at me for a long while. "Are you sure you're not upset about what happened with him?"

I poke my fork around my side dish of kale salad. Chips would have been so much better. "No, I'm not. I shouldn't be, right?"

She shrugs. "Did he make any promises?"

Choking down a bite of the bitterness, I set my fork on the table. "No, he didn't."

Trish puckers her lips. "Then you probably shouldn't be upset."

I sigh. "But he didn't even ask me for my number."

She laughs. "He lives right next door."

"Yeah, but still, it would have been nice for him to have asked me for my phone number after I spread my legs for him, even if he never intended to use it."

Trish laughs again. "Oh, you shouldn't get hung up on that— it happens to me all the time."

I narrow my eyes at her. "That's a lie. You're the one who never calls guys back."

"Well, you know me— it's all about having fun."

"Yeah, when I think about it, we did have a lot of fun."

"And besides, there's a bright side."

"And that would be?"

"He helped you check number two off the list— have sex with a stranger."

"That's true, but to be honest, forgetting about that night is harder than I thought it would be."

Trish frowns and pushes her plate aside. "Do you want me to talk to him? Find out where his head is at?"

My stomach flips at the thought, and it hasn't been doing well this past week. "No, Trish, that will only make matters worse. We're neighbors. I want us to be cordial, not awkward. Everything will be forgotten soon enough. One-night stands always are."

Her long curly hair blows in the wind from the open window beside us, and she ties it with the elastic around her wrist. "You're certain?"

I nod and look out at the water down below. "Most positively."

"Okay then," she tells me, reaching under the table into her bag. "Two things. First, this is for you." She plops a black bag with the name Adam & Eve scrolled across it and an outline of half an apple around the last e.

My suspicion radar goes up immediately. "What is this?"

She dips her finger in the last of the tofu-something sauce on her plate and then sucks it off. "A gift."

Eyeing her skeptically, I peek over the bag but can't see anything beyond the red paper. Slowly, I poke around inside as if a giant anaconda might announce its presence at any second. When I've shifted enough tissue, I pull the item out slightly. The small box reads LELO Mia 2 Rechargeable Clitoral Vibrator. My jaw drops and I shove it back inside.

Trish sits in her chair and crosses her very tanned, short legs. "Number seven on the list," she says with a grin. "It's small and portable. And you can use the USB on your laptop to charge it."

Shoving the bag in my purse near my feet, I sit up and slurp the last of my berry smoothie. "Why, thank you, Trish, you shouldn't have," I say through gritted teeth.

Big, brown eyes sparkle in the sunlight with an innocence that would make any best friend want to claw them out. Okay, that wasn't nice.

The waiter takes our money for the check and I know lunch is coming to an end.

Almost afraid to ask, I do so only to get it out of the way. "Do I want to know what the other thing is?"

Trish checks the time on her phone and stands up. "We're going to the Underground tomorrow night. It's a dance club, so while you're out shopping maybe you should pick something up to wear."

Taking a deep breath, I blow it out. "Trish, I don't want to go out with Gavin. I already told you that. He's a nice guy; I'm just not into him."

All five feet, ten inches of her looms over me in her red shorts and white tank top. "Ally, I think I got that when you left him sitting at my table to go fuck Austin. Trent, you, and I will be meeting up with a bunch of people from the patrol."

"The patrol?" I question, knowing that means the people she works with.

"We go all the time and you don't have to worry, Austin never comes with us. Dance clubs aren't his thing."

"I guess karaoke is," I laugh.

She takes a step back. "Yeah, about that: next time you two talk, you should ask him why he ended up there."

I stand up and make sure the Adam & Eve bag is buried deep in my purse. "If you know, why don't you tell me?"

"I can't. I'm sorry. Besides, I have to run. See you home later."

And just like that, the Miami girl is gone.

And the New Yorker is left to spread her wings.

As I head toward the car, I eye the bag in my purse. Maybe I should say I'm left to get myself off.

Just my vibrator and me.

Austin

Behind my polarized frames I watch every splash, every screech, every ripple. From high in my tower I spend my day deciding if that person over there has been under too long, if that one across the way is doing the back float or is really in trouble, or if the one way out there is actually struggling or just learning to swim.

The decisions I make are crucial to saving people's lives, yet every day that has passed this week, this job has been feeling more and more just like that— a job.

That yearning I felt for a career before everything happened is starting to come back a little more every day. And for the first time, I find my anger toward my brother lessening. Not saying that's a good thing, though, because I'm not sure where that leaves us.

When I finally get home from a long day, I go straight to my room, hop in the shower, change, and walk out into the kitchen to grab some food.

Shocked before I even make it to the refrigerator, I almost barrel over in laughter when I see Dez at the sink. His notebook is tossed on the counter and instead of writing like he usually is, he's washing dishes, by hand. "Hey, bro, dishwasher broken?"

Blowing a handful of suds out of his face, he turns toward me. "No, I'm doing this for my health. What do you think?"

Laughter continues to roll out of me.

Setting the last of the dishes on the counter, he pulls the drain, and then flips me the bird. "By the way, I saw Ally over at the surf shop today when I stopped in to get some wax for my board. You shouldn't let her slip away."

Pushing up from the counter, I skip the food idea and open the door. "She was never mine to let slip away, bro. Have a great night."

"Moody fucker," Dez calls after me.

I, in turn, throw him the finger.

Just as I plop myself down on the lounge chair, my phone rings. I take a quick glance at the screen.

It's my mom.

She's called three times this week, and I have yet to return her call. Last week in New York was tough, and I just don't want to talk about it. Still, I should pick up this time.

"Hello," I answer.

The crackle of static and silence greets me. Then, "Austin?"

I stare out at the beach and try to absorb some of its calm. "Hey, Mom, sorry I haven't called you yet. I worked a crap-ton of hours this week."

"I know why you haven't called me, and it has nothing to do with work. I just wanted to hear your voice. How are you doing?"

Running a hand through my hair, I want to pull it. "After that family fiasco last Thursday, I honestly don't know."

"Austin, honey, I think it's time you let your anger go. It's not good for you to carry all that resentment around."

My eyes shut and I squeeze them closed tightly. "I try every day, Mom. I really do."

She sighs. "Tell me what's new there."

"I'm still a lifeguard, if that's what you are asking."

The hiss of static makes me think we've lost connection, but then she's back on the line. "You know I don't care what you do as long as you're happy."

"That's just it, I'm not happy. There's hundreds of businesses here that I look at and think, I can fix them, make them better."

"Then do it, Austin."

"You know I can't. That takes capital, and I don't have any."

"Yes, you do. Stop being stubborn. Your grandparents left you that money. The trust fund is yours to do with what you want. It has nothing to do with your father."

"I'm not ready to go down that road."

"Then you're not ready. It's okay."

I look over toward the house next door. "I met a girl on the plane ride to Miami who turned out to be Trish's best friend. She moved here from New York."

"Really? Small world. What's she like?"

"She's really cool. She's a songwriter and her music is actually amazing."

"She sounds fascinating."

Fascinating. That's a good word to describe her. Especially since I still feel amazing after being inside her. Okay, I need to can the sex thoughts when I'm talking to my mother. I try to blink them away and then quickly change the subject. "Yeah, anyway, other than that, nothing new."

"Well, I have some news."

"Oh yeah, what?"

"Josh and I are getting married the weekend after Labor Day. I know it's quick, but we both want this. I'd like you to come back for the ceremony. It will be small. Just his family and mine. I hope Cassidy will come."

Drawing in a breath, I let it out. "I'm happy for you, Mom."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. You deserve to be happy."

"And so do you, Austin," she says.

Yeah, the problem is it's been so long, I don't know what that means anymore. Then I think of Ally and the fun we had. She made me happy.

The rest of the conversation is spent talking about the wedding plans and Josh. Josh is a cool guy and I'm glad she found someone who makes her happy. She deserves it.

Once I get off the phone with my mother, I stare out at the ocean for the longest time before deciding to see what Ally is up to tonight.

The sun is about an hour away from setting by the time I peek over Trish's fence. No one is outside, but I know they're home. I spotted Trish's car in the driveway. Well, spotted is a loose term, since I looked.

That dick move I made with Ally has been eating at me all week. After going at her guns blazing and then ceasing fire faster than a gun draw at the O.K. Corral, I probably owe her an explanation. I'll just lay it all out there, tell her I know she's a nice girl and didn't deserve that. That I'm in a bad place right now. In this case, the whole "it's me, not you" thing is the complete truth.

There's one bit of happy already bleeding through the bleakness that is my life— it's the weekend and for the first time in months, I'm off until Monday morning. Therefore, talking to Ally should be easy. Tons of time. I can ask her out to eat. Take her to a movie. Something, anything, to atone for my shitty treatment of her.

If I'm being honest, I thought we might run into each other sometime during the week, either outside or in one of our driveways, or perhaps on the beach, but we never did. I even tried to get some info from Trish, but her lips were sealed tight.

Looks like going next door is the best way to talk to Ally, and I am going equipped with things that should make her smile— her book and iPod. She left them both on the plane and even though I tried to catch her to give them to her, I couldn't. She really is fast.

Beer in one hand, a bottle of wine in the other, my backpack with her things on my shoulder, I take the pathway around to the patio and knock on the kitchen door.

It swings open and Trish stands there, still dressed in her lifeguarding clothes. "Just get home?" I ask.

She steps aside to let me in. "About an hour ago, but I decided to crash and watch some television before motivating. I have to be at work early in the morning, and I'm already exhausted."

Peering through the galley kitchen into the family room, I see no sign of Ally. "What are you watching?"

She grabs a beer from the six-pack and heads toward the couch. "Just turned on The Walking Dead. Come watch with me."

Trish, Dez and I have watched every episode together— twice. Another round couldn't hurt.

Putting the wine in the refrigerator and dropping my backpack on the counter, I grab a beer for myself and follow her. "Sure, why not."

Flopping on the couch, she looks over at me. "Feel like ordering a pizza? I'm starving."

Dinner. That is perfect. That should get Ally out here. "Yeah, sure," I tell her and make the call.

About thirty minutes later, the pizza arrives, half veggie, no cheese for Trish, the other half pepperoni, sausage, and double cheese for me. "Trent not around tonight?" I ask, grabbing a piece from the box and taking a bite.

Trish puts a slice on her plate. "He's coming over later."

Still she says nothing about Ally, nor does she ask her if she wants to come eat with us. Just as I'm about to suggest she call her down, the kitchen door swings open.

Holy fucking shit.

Straight down my center of vision stands Ally in a bright green bikini, looking hotter than fuck. Looking more sunburned than tan, she plops a bag of shells on the floor and looks right at me, catching me licking my lips.

"Hey," I call out, trying to keep my voice normal but feeling like my rising cock took all the high notes and left me with nothing but a squeak. Oh, for fuck's sake, I'm not fifteen.

"Hi." She smiles, and her nipples instantly pop through the fabric of her top.

There goes my cock, even higher. I should have gone with denim instead of gym shorts.

"Hey there, Dawson." Trish sets her plate down and wipes her hands. Then with a raised brow and a flirty tone, she asks, "How was your walk?" There's some kind of hidden code in the way she speaks the words. What, I have no idea.

"Great, really great," Ally answers and stops to wash her hands at the sink.

With her standing like that, I get the full profile. It's enough to suck the air from my lungs and make me shift in my seat. That body. She's really short, not Trish short, but short. And fit. Really fit. And that hair. Her brown hair is long and wavy with chestnut highlights at the end. Carefree. She's not plumped, or primped, or primed like most of the girls I know in New York. Nothing fake about her. Everything about her is just so natural. Flawless is the word, I think.

Once she's wiped her hands on the towel, she grabs a glass and gets some water from the dispenser. Drinking it, she walks toward Trish and me and stops to lean against the entranceway into the family room. "What are you two doing?"

This close, all I can see is that smooth skin I had my hands all over a mere week ago. With my eyes glued to her, I'm the first to speak. "We're just catching some old episodes of The Walking Dead and eating pizza. There's wine in the fridge. Want to join us?"

Trish is quietly volleying her gaze between Ally and me with keen attention.

The room is set up with the couch facing the television and a chair on either side of it. Passing by me, Ally casually sits in the chair opposite me, which happens to be at the greatest distance from me as well. "Thanks, but I can't. I'm meeting Eric Sullivan for dinner, and besides, that is not my kind of television."

That mixture of red and green haze blurs my vision. Nothing like this had ever happened to me before last week. I'd better think about seeing an eye doctor.

Clapping her hands together, Trish practically jumps out of her seat. She's this excited that Ally has a date? I really need to get her on my side here. Wait, I don't have a side. "He called you back?" she asks.

Ally looking equally excited makes my body go cold. "Yes, can you believe it?"

Relief washes through me as I recall who he is. "Eric Sullivan, the owner of Sullivan Records?" I ask. By the way, he's older, married, with grandkids I think. Phew, nothing to worry about.

"Yes, that's him, and he's looking for someone to manage the record label full time. He thinks I might be just the right fit," Ally answers, finishing the last of her water.

Trish picks her plate up and sits Indian style on the brown leather couch. "Managing? I thought you were trying to sell him your songs and work with the artists."

Ally nods and sets her glass down. "I was, but he's not interested in that."

There's a concerned look in Trish's eyes, as there should be. "You want to work for yourself, be hands-on, remember? Managing someone else's business isn't going to help you meet your goal."

Before adding my two cents, I wait for Ally to respond. No sense putting the cart before the horse if I don't need to.

Leaning forward, Ally pinches a piece of pepperoni that has fallen to the side of the pie. "No, it won't, but Eric isn't looking for a songwriter right now. He does, however, have a job that will help me learn how to get what I want someday."

After a few tiny bites of her vegetables, Trish makes a face at Ally. "Not to sound like Debbie Downer here, but what's the rush to get a job? I thought you were going to take the summer off and kick back."

I assume by Trish's comment that she's not charging Ally anything to live here.

When Ally eats the piece of pepperoni in her hand, I have this urge to lick the grease from her fingers. Shit, I have to shift around in my seat again. She swallows and looks at Trish. "I don't know, I just feel like this is an opportunity I shouldn't turn down. You never know where it could lead."

"Not so sure about that," I finally pipe up. "If you're looking to learn the ins and outs of the artistry market, Eric isn't your guy."

"How do you know that?" Ally asks.

"He's third generation and looking to get out. I know he's talked to a few potential buyers since I moved here. He's a nice guy, but if he's looking to hire a full-time manager, that tells me he won't be around much. He has a place in the Bahamas and already spends a lot of time down there."

A piece of broccoli falls to Trish's plate and she picks it up and eats it. That's just nasty. "Austin knows everything about business in town. He's like the walking, talking Chamber of Commerce," she tells Ally.

Walking, talking sex God has a better ring.

"Thanks for letting me know, Austin. It's good information to have when I talk to him tonight." Ally smiles and that smile does something to me.

God, I want this girl.

"Anytime." I grin and think I should have said something along those lines last week when I kicked her out of my bed instead of the "see you around" vibe I gave her.

"He knows a lot about managing a business, too, Ally," Trish offers up. I can't figure her out.

Ally watches Trish plucking the veggies off her pizza one by the one with the same look I'm giving her. "That's great," she says to me. "I might have some questions for you as soon as I figure out if going out on my own is the career path for me."

I raise a brow. "I could be like your teacher."

"Teacher?" Trish laughs, choking on a pepper.

"Yes, teacher. I rather like the sound of that."

Instantly, Ally's cheeks turn pink.

Trish rolls her eyes and stands up. "Blah, blah, blah. Enough of this boring conversation. You two are way too grown up for me." She looks at me and raises the hand with her empty. "Another?"

I relax in my chair, relieved this situation isn't uncomfortable and feeling like Ally and I might be able to move forward. Maybe with the whole no-strings-attached kind of thing. "Sure, I'll take another."

Alone in the room together, I'm about to ask Ally if she wants to go out to eat tomorrow night when she stands up. "I need to take a shower and get ready, but it was good to see you, Austin."

And just like that she's gone. Blowing me off like, well, like the asshole I was, I guess.

Something inside me doesn't feel right, but at the same time I know it's my own fucking doing.

Pizza finished, beer gone, and the Walking Dead episode just ending, I'm slouched in the oversized chair when I hear the creak of the stairs from the small hallway behind the couch.

Trish, who is now lying on her back on the couch, rises to look over it. "Oh, my God, you look fantastic. I'd hire you."

The earth seems to be shifting a little beneath my feet and I wonder if they are even still on the floor.

Ally is a knockout. She's dressed in a tight black skirt and a top that shows her curvy body. The room is still shifting beneath my feet. I'm beginning to wonder if we're not experiencing an earthquake here. I'm having trouble staying upright.

"Austin, doesn't she look great?" Trish prompts, and I can tell she's up to something. Either she wants me to feel like I might have ruined the best thing that could have happened to me or she wants me to go after the best thing that could happen to me. The jury is still out on which.

Either way, the smoldering look I cut Ally can't be helped. "Yeah, you look great."

"Thanks, you two, wish me luck," she says and opens the door to the driveway. And again, just like that, she's gone.

You two?

Now, I'm a part of a you two?

"Pinkberry or another episode?" Trish asks.

"I'll pass on the Pinkberry shit, but we can watch another episode if you want," I mumble, intending to wait around for Ally's return anyway, so I can ask her out.

"Hmmm." Trish points the remote at the television. "You're in a mood tonight."

Perceptive girl.

Well into our third episode, Trish has turned over and is fast asleep on the couch. It's after ten and Ally still hasn't returned. Opting to leave her a note, I grab paper and pen from the kitchen and head up the stairs to go into her room. I've been in here a million times helping Trish lug shit. That was before it was Ally's room, though.

I look around.

Everything is so neat and organized.

But I already knew by her personality it would be. What surprises the ever-loving shit out of me, though, is the vibrator plugged into her laptop.

The image of watching her getting herself off with that little thing is hard to push aside. That sweet pussy is all I can think about now. Five fucking minutes is how long it takes for me to move toward her desk.

Just as I set my paper down so I can write my note, I hear a car engine in the driveway.

Shit.

Wish I'd gotten her phone number and texted her now.

Hauling ass down the stairs, I have no choice but to sit in the chair and pretend to be sleeping. If I don't, when she walks in, all I'm going to do is smirk at her. The door opens, and I hear footsteps.

Needing to rouse myself before she escapes up the stairs, I'm just about to pretend to open my eyes groggily when I hear wet smacking sounds, like kissing.

My eyes fly open at that.

Trent is leaning down over Trish. "Hey, babe, sorry I'm so late."

She sits up and rubs her eyes. "No, it's fine," she tells him and wraps her arms around his neck.

Grabbing onto her ass, he lifts her up. "How about I take you to bed?"

My cue to get the fuck out of here. I clear my throat.

Trent swings around with Trish in his arms. "Sorry, thought you were sleeping, dude."

Bolting to my feet, I nod in his direction. "Don't worry about it, man— it's late and I should be going. Thanks for the company, Trish. See you around, Trent."

"Okay, Austin. See you tomorrow," Trish tells me and then ducks her head to find Trent's lips.

Grabbing my backpack, I hightail it out of there and over to my house. I spend the rest of the night in my room waiting to hear the sound of another car engine in the driveway of the house next door.

It's after midnight before that sound comes.

Deciding stalker doesn't fit my personality, I opt not to run outside.

No.

I have something so much better in mind to get her attention back on me.

Tomorrow can't come soon enough.