Chapter 2 - Trouble #2
Shit. The lab is filled with computers. There has to be some kind of security, right?
"Hey!" he yelled, slamming his fist on the doorframe and shoving his face up against the glass, trying to see in. "C’mon, asshole! My bag's in there. Let me in!"
He could see the jerk watching him from inside now. Hip leaned up against the lab assistant counter, one hand curved over the narrow lip running around the top as if he was… as if he was pressing something. Smirking, as if he found all this amusing. As if he thought Ashton was a joke.
Fingers numb with rage, Ashton fumbled for his phone, punching out a text that by all rights should've broken the screen.
WTF DUDE??!??
[ Logan ]:
Sorry man
I REALLY need to do this paper
TELL HIM TO LET ME IN
[ Logan ]:
Calm down, Ash
Get yourself that breakfast
I'll bring your bag back to the house myself
YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE
[ Logan ]:
.
..
…
Go home Ash
You'll thank me for this later
Ashton seethed, the inferno churning in his chest blown all the hotter as he watched that total jackass strut around the lab counter. He dropped into his chair as unconcerned as you please, taking out his phone as if Ashton wasn't even there.
"I fucking hate you!" Ashton shouted through the glass, vision going red as the bastard cupped his ear and made a scrunched up Huh? Face, then laughed, slapping the countertop in front of him as Ashton shoved repeatedly against the door handle, trying to get it to work.
He yelled in frustration, stalking out of the little entrance area created by the double set of doors, pacing around in a tight circle.
Fuck that guy. And fuck Logan too. Coward. Assigning him and Oz to the same room was a mistake. Now that stupid nerd's gone and ruined him.
It was a lost cause to stay here. Even he could see that, watching as a trio of students approached. Of fucking course they didn't have any problems getting into the lab, that jackass probably laughing his butt off even as…
Ashton spun on his heel, considering the softly closing door. Quickly he scanned around him for —
Ah, there — a pair of tall goth girls he'd usually be making a pass at. Just now he was studiously pretending to ignore them, head down. Walking casually behind them as they tapped their IDs against the sensor, the light turning green…
"'Scuse me, sorry," Ashton mumbled as he barged past them and back into the lab, slapping his hands on the countertop right in front of the asshole with the pink hair.
"Call security," the bastard said to the other guy at the counter, who'd already put down the thick book he'd been reading and picked up the ancient handset phone sitting between them.
"Oh, you are so fired!" Ashton hissed at the jerk, slamming his finger down on the phone's receiver and hanging up. "Do you know who I am?!?"
"?Un idiota buscando su pueblo?" the guy muttered, and…
Okay, I know 'idiot'. And pueblo is 'house', right? Wait, no; I think that's casa, so…
"Listen up, 'idiota'," Ashton spat. "If you don't — "
"Is there a problem here, Dylan?" asked a tall man wearing a badge pinned to his shirt that read 'Randall Foye'. He was thin and pale, with a bland tie and mustache combo that couldn't have screamed 'middle manager' more if he'd had a megaphone and an amp.
"Yes!" Ashton and the asshole Randall had named Dylan — which was a stupid name — yelled simultaneously, before glaring at each other.
"I kicked this guy out — " Dylan started, but Ashton didn't allow him to finish.
"I left, jerk, but my stuff was still inside. He wouldn't let me come back and get it. Instead he trapped me in that entryway. Even laughed when I called for help!"
Look, if there was one thing Ashton was good at, it was knowing how to spin a story. He should; it was practically genetic.
"Is this true?" Randall asked the jerk who'd locked Ashton out of the lab.
"No!" Dylan protested sharply, then huffed. "Well, I mean… Sort of? But not like he said it!"
Randall glanced at his employee uncertainly, then back at Ashton. He tilted his head, and instantly Ashton relaxed, smiling.
Oh, this is gonna be a cakewalk.
"You look vaguely familiar…" Randall said slowly, obviously trying to put the pieces together.
Ashton stuck out his hand. "Ashton Navarro. Maybe you've seen my mom, Angela Navarro, hosting Wake Up San Morado! or my grandfather, Antonio Navarro, on the evening news?"
"?Ellos saben que eres mentiroso?" Dylan muttered, too low, too fast, too unfamiliar for Ashton to even attempt to follow.
So he didn't bother, ignoring it. Because from the way Randall's face brightened at that, Ashton didn't need to hear him answer to know it'd clicked for him.
Just like he didn't need to see Dylan's scowl that it'd clicked for him too how quickly this was getting away from him, but Ashton let himself bask in its glory all the same.
"He's lying, Mr. Foye," Dylan said, urgency thick in his voice. "And look at him, he's drunk. We were trying to call campus security to — "
"Security?" Randall laughed nervously, eyebrows shooting up into his thinning hairline. "Over a missing bag? I'm sure we don't need to bother them for that."
He ended the sentence with a nervous chuckle that only served to darken Dylan's expression further.
"I’ll get the security feed from the cameras, if you want," Dylan offered. "Or ask Joey," he continued, gesturing at the suddenly wide-eyed and recoiling guy seated at the help desk next to him. "He’ll back me up."
This 'Joey' looked as if he'd rather be just about anywhere else but there right then, and Ashton smirked.
"I'm confident there's no need," Randall said, flapping his hand dismissively in Dylan's general direction, looking up at Ashton. "Right, Mr. Navarro?"
"I just want my bag," Ashton replied smoothly. "And to make sure Dylan here doesn't go around trapping anyone else in the entry way like he did to me."
"Oh! Well, um," Randall looked at the man in question, flummoxed. "I'm certain that was merely an accident. Dylan, why don't you apologize to Mr. Navarro, then we can all put this behind us."
"But sir," Dylan protested, looking delightfully mutinous. "That's not even how the doors work. I couldn't have — "
"Dylan," Randall rebuked him sharply. "Please apologize. Now. And then get Mr. Navarro's bag, so he can be on his way."
"Yes, please," Ashton's cheeks were starting to hurt from all the smiling. "I'd be very grateful."
Dylan snarled, the sulky, "Sorry," he growled out, barely audible.
It was so damn tempting to pull a, 'Sorry, what was that?' the same way Dylan himself had mimed through the doors earlier. But one glance at Randall's face told Ashton that'd be overplaying his hand, so he swallowed it down quickly.
Instead, he watched smugly as Dylan slunk off to fetch Ashton's bag. Returning it with a graceless, "Here," Dylan let it fall.
Ashton's hand shot out just in time to catch it by the shoulder strap before it hit the ground.
"Thanks," he said as he slid in on his back, injecting as much bright chipperness into the word as he could manage, rubbing it in that little bit more.
Damn, but what Ashton wouldn't give to have been able to stay; to be a fly on the wall for the whole dressing down Dylan was getting as he left.
Ashton had only caught a part of it, Randall's voice following Ashton out of the building with words like 'irresponsible' and 'better judgment' ringing in his ears.
Ashton whistled as he stepped into the sunlight once again. Feet automatically turning for the student union, he decided that, yeah — he would get that breakfast after all.