Love Like Wildfire

Chapter III

  Four more games. Two pitchers down. Borderline obnoxious laughter from all three, echoing in her ears, in her head. The pool table swam with the colours of the cue balls. Aims were off-kilter. An audience from the table beside them, the men watching curiously at the girls' antics. A misstep, banging a hip against the corner of the table without a notice.

   A touch, a graze, a glance. Creamy skin just out of reach. Thoughts tried to process, partially formed, before a distraction chased them away. The men stepped up, offering to play teams, their words muffled and vague. Time skipped forward. Hands on her hips, guiding her movements, assisting her striking. A warm body. Bright brown eyes, a handsome smile. Movement, advances, and a turn of the head, mumbled words of rejection, something about a boyfriend, and then laughter.

   Cold. Cold wind. Biting her cheeks, her nose, her fingers. Her coat shrunk, pulled around her shoulders. A whistle sounded in the distance, a screech of tires, a flash of yellow. Something knocked her in the head, spilling laughter from around her, collapsing into cracked leather seats. The smell of tobacco and peppermints invaded her senses. The headrest of the seat in front of her was support for her rocking body, the girls beside her howling in drunken vitality. The city sped by, blinding lights, outlines, sights, smells, feels. The car came to a stop, the door opening with a bitter stab of the elements. The ground met her feet, unsteady, quivering beneath her. A hand grabbed hers, leading, stumbling, climbing. A comforting, knowing hand.

   Familiarity. The elevator button felt glossy and smooth under her fingertip, lighting with vibrance. Time dragged by, and then silver metal doors slid open. Inside, and moving up, sinking to her haunches, nearly falling over, trying to talk. Blonde. Blonde hair brushed her face, hands grabbing her arms, lifting, rising. A moment of clarity, brilliant baby blue eyes staring into her, seeing her, a glittering smile.

   Mollie.

     ~&~&~&~

   "Frankie! Mollie!"

   At once, Frankie jerked up in bed. And regretted it immediately. Her head rushed to catch up with her body, and when it did, it brought a nagging headache right behind her eyes. There was a shuffle that prompted her to open her eyes at the exact moment a figure ripped open the blinds of the window, and she cringed away at the light that blinded her. Beneath her hand, she felt a down comforter, warped around her legs, warm and cosy and beckoning her to lay back down and sleep off the growing headache.

   "Get up, you tossers!" a voice commanded. Something soft whipped Frankie in the face, wrapping around her head. Grabbing it, she identified it as her top from last night, and without a thought, pulled it over her head, groaning, unable to speak. It sort of felt like she had chewed on cotton. "We're gonna be bloody late!"

   "Late? For what?" Frankie croaked, moving her hands over her comfortable bed for the edge, feeling very much like a sick, blind person. She swept her legs around, bare skin meeting a cool environment that she reflexively retreated from. Where the hell were her clothes.

   "Get dressed! Get up! — Mollie!"

   Something... or someone shifted in the bed beside her, moaning tiredly. Opening her eyes again, Frankie looked over her shoulder inquistively.

   Sunshine blonde hair splayed dishevled over multiple pillows, an angelic face scrunching up in attempts to remain asleep despite the voice screaming at her to wake up, to get up and get dressed, because they were going to be late.

   Late for their airplane home.

   "Shit!"

   Leaping out of bed and out of staring at Mollie, Frankie found her jeans on the floor, tugging them on. She'd worry why she was half-naked in bed with Mollie later, thought she couldn't ignore the flutter in her stomach at realising she had slept beside the beauty as such. God, last night was a blur. So much for not drinking and having a relaxing night. That went right out the window.