South of Nowhere One Night

It's not the first time she has done a thing such as this – such as this lazy stroll past the bar, her fingertips sliding over the wood and catching patches of condensation from beer bottles.

Such as zeroing in on a woman, taking in the slope of their neck or the way their spine is held, and then slipping up behind them.

Such as saying sweet things and dirty things, letting those words linger in a woman's ear and travel downward.

It's not the first time. Probably won't be the last.

It's easier than involvements, easier than entanglements.

It is simple and clean at the end of the night, at the time when the dawn puts out a hazy light but is still hiding behind clouds and cityscapes.

It is easy and simple and clean, like when you wipe a wet cloth over a foggy mirror.

With the morning, all is new again and you just walk away.

It's not the first time. Probably won't be the last.

And they all have nice eyes, they all have shy smiles, they all have naughty and desperate thoughts tumbling out of their not-so-sober lips.

And she scoops them up, right in the palm of her hand.

And she presses her arm firmly about their shoulders and she leans in close and suggests a cab.

And they always agree to any and every notion – with a laugh, with a smirk, with their faces flush and their bodies warm.

It's not the first time. Probably won't be the last.

Ashley will ask for a name, but not to remember them.

It is just so she knows what to call out, what to murmur, what to moan.

And if she forgets, it doesn't matter anyway.

This isn't love. No need to learn about a family or a job or a life.

This isn't love at all.

It's just one night.

///

Kyla always said that, one day, it would all fall apart.

One day, someone would step in and – without meaning to – would wreck Ashley's world.

And Kyla hoped to be there, not out of malice but out of a rare chance to say 'I told you so'.

And Ashley always laughed then, patting her sister's shoulder and forgetting the conversation.

That 'one day' is never going to happen.

Ashley isn't the kind of girl to be contained and to be captured.

She is not the kind of girl to be trapped and to be caught.

Every kiss is wonderful and every touch is bliss, but none of it is as good as the moment she walks away.

Crisp air and somewhat silent streets, coffee from the bagel shop that opens at six and the sound of her own shoes on the sidewalk – not even the best sex is as good as it is to be independent of another.

Ashley Davies isn't the kind of girl to settle down.

No white picket fences in her gaze and no adopted children from China on the horizon.

She spreads out, just like a cat, in her king-sized bed.

She drinks all things from the carton or the jug, all the glasses she ever bought almost useless.

If she wants sushi at two in the morning and to listen to Coleman Hawkins, then she does so.

That 'one day' is never going to happen.

Ashley isn't **that** kind of girl.

And Kyla keeps on saying that, one day, it will all fall apart.

And Ashley keeps on laughing.

///

But the date is etched into her head, chisel to stone.

And it is a death, that's exactly what it is, the death of who Ashley is and who Ashley has always been.

And the sorrow is all her own to bear – one solitary person at the funeral of herself.

January the twenty-fifth.

And she probably can tell you the time, the actual seconds on the clock.

She can probably tell you what outfit she had on and what song was being blared out.

Ashley can probably tell the whole world every single thing about that night – from the roll of blue eyes, not impressed, but the amused chuckle that came out anyway.

From the way the woman stunted each and every line out of Ashley's mouth and only grinned at Ashley's annoyance and ordered another round of drinks for them both.

From the way the woman smelled, scent getting lodged in Ashley's nostrils and growing more insistent – _citrus and cinnamon, just like Christmas_ – whenever the woman got close.

From the way those blue eyes danced, so damned pleased with themselves, and Ashley wanted so badly to walk away – _challenge or not, the night is not young anymore_…

January the twenty-fifth.

And she can tell you the exact moment, where the space between the woman taking a breath and Ashley catching it against her own skin blurs and then the woman is kissing her.

And they are kissing and kissing, like it is some new thing and like it is going out of style and all those other clichéd lines.

"Didn't think you were interested."

"I'm very interested. Just wasn't interested in your tired tactics."

"They've worked on a lot of women before you."

"Of that I have no doubt."

And Ashley can tell you the exact moment, the one where they look at each other and lips are still swollen and the woman offers to drive and Ashley actually goes along with the idea.

Ashley actually allows this woman to lead them out of the bar, into the rain-slicked town and into a plush car – leather and wood and chrome.

Ashley actually allows this woman to lead them upstairs to a nice apartment in a nice building, with doormen and tinted windows.

"Nice view."

"Of you, I agree."

And Ashley actually laughs out loud, feeling a combination of dread and excitement as the woman comes to her side… as Ashley watches the woman slowly undress in the reflection of the windows… as the woman wraps around her and places the palm of each hand underneath the bottom of Ashley's shirt.

And Ashley shudders like she actually means it, an almost painful ache welling up inside of her and it snakes along her body, pooling in her stomach.

It is decadent and terrifying and Ashley won't ever forget it.

January the twenty-fifth.

It's etched into her very soul.

///

There is sex and there is that other thing – that other thing that everyone wants and thinks they will get one day and that everyone builds their dreams upon.

Ashley knows this is neither.

There is sex and there is **this** – this thing they are doing, seemingly random and yet… sometimes so far from random, so far from accidental… there is sex and then there is this.

And Ashley doesn't know what **this** is.

But there is sex and there is this… _other thing_… and she stops thinking it over when a tongue dips down inside of her and her thighs tremble and her fingers fist into blonde hair.

But there is sex and there is this… _other_ _thing_… and she cannot form thoughts anymore, tripping over her own breathy exclamations and over her own fast orgasm.

But there is sex.

And then there is **this**.

_Whatever this is_…

Blue eyes pummel into her fluttering gaze and they are as hard as they are lovely and Ashley suddenly feels so fucking tired – as if she has not slept in years and this is the first soft place she's landed in all that time.

But there is sex and there is that other thing and there is **this**… and nothing more.

Ashley gets dressed slowly and Spencer kisses her – almost tender and right between the shoulder blades – before pushing Ashley out the door.

///

All the times they don't meet, Ashley prowls and catches and consumes.

And red-hair lightens in the shadows. And dark eyes turn cooler in ecstasy.

Ashley knows that she is in trouble now.

And it scares her, but she never turns away when Spencer beckons.

All the times they don't meet, Ashley wakes up as late as always and eats her take-out and peruses the music magazines.

And flashes of a devious smile haunt every corner. And afternoon sunlight looks a lot like soft skin.

Ashley knows that she is in trouble now.

And it scares her.

But it falls at her feet whenever Spencer presses close, whenever Spencer kisses her cheek and says something wicked, whenever Spencer does anything at all.

Ashley knows that she is in trouble now.

And it scares her.

But Spencer is biting her shoulder and they are rocking against one another and Ashley decides that fear feels a lot like bliss.

///

Spencer's eyes flare up and Ashley knows that look.

It is passion. It is domination. It is possessive and it borders on ownership.

And Ashley likes it, so she hikes up this girl's skirt a little higher and ignores this girl's mewling of pleasure.

Because Ashley's gaze is across the room and on Spencer… and Spencer is watching all too well and Ashley's breathing goes into overdrive…

She pushes past this girl's underwear and Spencer grips the edge of the bar and Ashley grinds her teeth together in order to not moan.

She pushes inside of this girl and Spencer's glare is so deadly and Ashley feels her knees buckle with so much want.

Spencer's eyes burn hot and Ashley loves that look.

It is desire. It is uncontrollable. It is all for the two of them and it borders on…

"Fuck…" Ashley hisses out, this girl grinding onto her four fingers and her own hips sliding against this girl's thigh and nothing but Spencer in Ashley's line of vision.

_It borders on… it borders on…_

Spencer stalks over and drags Ashley away.

Spencer pushes Ashley past private doors in this club.

Spencer slams Ashley against a wall and the woman is like a wave between Ashley's legs and that girl is nothing but a vague memory – _just a thing, not a person_ – and Spencer is sinking teeth and nails so deep into Ashley's skin and Ashley is dizzy with the want coursing through her veins.

"Don't do that again…" And Spencer is as harsh as she is forgiving, lips that bruise and hands that console, a beautiful contradiction and Ashley can barely think to agree.

But agree she does, over and over and over, all night long.

_It borders on… it borders on… love…_

///

How they ended up back at Ashley's apartment, well, Ashley doesn't know.

And her body is sore. And her head feels heavy.

But more than that, more than that…

Ashley's heart is pounding, a timpani drum in this silent room.

All because it is morning and those daylight fingers are breaking out in the sky and Spencer is still in the bed, body like a winding road… and Ashley is still in this bed, too.

They are in this bed together and Ashley can feel every place where they come into contact.

The way the arch of Spencer's foot is nestled against her ankle.

The subtle pressure of Spencer's knee upon her thigh and the soft coasting of Spencer's breath over her neck and the fine strands of Spencer's blonde hair sticking to her forehead… they are in bed, together.

And Ashley's heart is pounding.

How they ended up like this, with Ashley's own hand upturned and lightly smoothing over Spencer's stomach… how they ended up like this, sleepy blue eyes on wide awake brown eyes on some nameless morning… how they ended up like this, kissing each other when someone should be leaving by now…

And Ashley's heart is pounding.

And, somewhere out there in the world, Kyla is saying 'I told you so'.

///

"Want some coffee?"

"Sure."

"Then we can talk."

"About?"

"I only know your name."

"And now you want to know more?"

"…Yes."

"…Okay. Ask me anything."

And with Spencer sitting there, sipping from a cracked mug and in nothing but an over-sized shirt, Ashley realizes that – for the first time – she wants to know everything about someone.

And her heart pounds.

And it borders on love.

And it scares her.

Whatever **this** is… it scares her and she has never been this kind of girl… it's always been just one night and nothing more…

But Spencer quirks her eyebrow and it is not a cold gesture, it is inviting and it is challenging.

As if this is truth and dare… and you have to choose both, say something pure and take a risk…

And Ashley knows everything is changing, that Spencer is changing everything in Ashley's life – slowly and surely.

_It's not the first time. Probably won't be the last._

///

END


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