When chance encounters in the studio transform into cozy coffee dates, leading to spontaneous rendezvous, simmering jealousy, and perhaps even love.
RENEÉ RAPP X FEMALE OC
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RENEÉ
"Free at last," I proclaimed, raising my iced matcha in a half-hearted toast across the small rustic table that seemed to wobble with more enthusiasm than I felt. The coffee shop hummed with indie music and the clatter of keyboards, a haven for the local hipsters and freelancers of LA.
"Girl, you act like you just got out of Alcatraz," Alyah quipped, her eyes crinkling with mischief as she sipped on her chai latte. "What's next? Gonna run wild through the streets?"
"Wild?" I snorted, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "I'm thinking more along the lines of Netflix binges and not having to share my pizza."
"Right, because nothing screams 'single and ready to mingle' like pepperoni breath and binge-watching true crime documentaries alone." She wagged a finger at me, the silver rings on her hand catching the morning light. "But mark my words, Renee, your heart will go all 'boom-boom' the moment some hot piece of—"
"Stop," I cut her off, cheeks flushing with the heat of a thousand suns, but my protest died in my throat as my gaze snagged across the street.
"Speaking of which..." Alyah's voice trailed off into a knowing smirk as she followed my line of sight.
Frankie, in all her athletic glory, was stretching on the sidewalk—a symphony of muscle and movement under the soft fabric of her workout gear. She bent forward, touching her toes with a grace that made my mouth run dry, and when she straightened up, those piercing green eyes of hers scanned the horizon, oblivious to the world around her.
"Earth to Renee," Alyah sing-songed, snapping her fingers in front of my face. "You're drooling on the reclaimed wood."
"Am not," I muttered, tearing my eyes away from the spectacle, only to sneak another glance. Frankie was wearing a tank top, revealing her toned arms and a glimpse of inked skin—a private gallery I itched to explore.
"Look at you, going all heart-eye over Muscles from Manchester." Alyah chuckled, leaning back in her chair, her expression somewhere between amused and triumphant. "Guess you've got a type. Strong, silent, and can probably bench press both of us."
"Shut up," I mumbled, but the warmth spreading through my chest wasn't from embarrassment—it was something else, something that made me want to cross the street and strike up a conversation about anything, everything.
"Go say hi," Alyah urged, her grin devilish as she nudged my shoulder. "Or are you scared?"
"Scared?" I scoffed, playing it cool even as my pulse raced. "Please, I'm Renee Rapp. Fear is not in my vocabulary."
"Then prove it." She arched an eyebrow, a challenge laid bare between us.
"Fine," I said, standing up with a confidence I didn't entirely feel. My legs carried me toward the door on autopilot, Alyah's laughter following me like a mischievous shadow.
"Go get 'em, tiger!" she called after me, and I couldn't help but throw her a mock salute before stepping into the bright LA sunshine, my heart thudding a reckless beat.
"Here goes nothing," I whispered to myself, crossing the threshold from familiar to unknown, from acquaintance to... well, who knows what. But whatever lay ahead, I knew one thing for sure—I was definitely not just looking for another pizza-sharing partner.
FRANKIE
My sneakers slap the pavement in a steady tempo, the kind of beat that gets my heart pumping and clears my head. The morning air is crisp, the kind that fills your lungs with a cool rush and chases away remnants of sleep. I've always preferred LA before it fully wakes up—streets less crowded, the world still groggy and rubbing its eyes.
I pause at my usual spot, where the sidewalk meets the crosswalk, and drop into a deep lunge. It's part routine, part necessity—I can't afford any injuries screwing with my studio sessions. Fingers pressed to the ground, I stretch, feeling the pull in my muscles, the satisfying ache that screams, "Yeah, you pushed it today."
A group of early birds flutters by, coffees clutched like life preservers. Some shoot me curious glances, others outright stare. I'm used to it by now; the tattoos peeking from my tank top, the blonde hair chopped short in defiance of the typical LA glam. I don't mind the attention, but it's background noise, static against the clarity running gifts me.
"Nice form," someone calls—a guy with a smirk that thinks it's charming. I flash him a quick smile, 'preciate it,' but it doesn't falter my focus. My playlist had cut out miles back, leaving me to the rhythm of my own breathing and the distant hum of the city stirring to life.
"Keep it up!" another voice pipes up. This one's different—softer, feminine, tinged with a laugh. It's closer, too, maybe from across the street? But I don't look up, not yet. I switch legs, stretching into the burn, letting the endorphins flood my system. Let them look. It's just Frankie Campbell, doing her thing—running her race, setting her pace.
I rise, rolling my shoulders back, and finally glance across the street. There's a coffee shop there, windows steamed up, signs of life inside. And two girls at a table near the window—one doubled over with laughter, the other... well, she's watching me.
Not just watching—there's something in her gaze, a kind of intensity that feels like a spotlight. It takes me a second, heart skipping an unexpected beat, to place her. Renee Rapp—the name echoes in my head, a reminder of a flirtatious confidence that could trip me up if I'm not careful. Her friend nudges her, egging her on, and despite myself, I'm curious.
"Go say hi," I can almost hear the friend say, and I stifle a smirk. Not my style. I'm the observer, the listener, the quiet force behind a mixing board. But as Renee stands, I can't help but wonder what it'd be like to be more than just observed.
"Here goes nothing," I mutter, under my breath this time. I bounce on the balls of my feet, ready to resume the run, yet a part of me stays anchored to that spot, to the possibility of Renee's approach. I shake my head, chasing away the thought. Focus, Frankie. Music, running—that's the dream.
With a final glance at the coffee shop, I take off again, the city buzzing around me, alive with potential and promise, and my pulse dances to a new, wild rhythm—one that has little to do with the run and everything to do with the thrill of the unknown.
RENEÉ
I took a deep breath and smoothed my hair, ready to make my move on Frankie. But just as I stepped forward, she bolted in the opposite direction. I stood there, feeling like an idiot, as Alyah snickered beside me.
"Rejected before you even got up," she teased.
"Shut up," I shot back, feeling embarrassed but determined not to let it ruin my day. "I'll catch her later."
