Chapter 8 #2
CJ furrows her brow, like she doesn’t believe her, but she presses on regardless.
‘I was just going to ask how you’re finding it.
You know, a week in. Settling in? Got everything you need?
’ She’s wearing barrel-legged jeans slung low on her hips, a thin sleeveless T-shirt falling over her voluptuous chest and flat stomach, the armholes big and low so part of her torso is exposed, all tight abs and the suggestion of side boob.
Ash glances down, impressed by CJ’s body, but knows this probably isn’t an appropriate thing to do – or say – and pulls her eyes away.
It takes a lot not to take a second glance.
Or third. The woman is just so damned fit. Must be all that tennis.
‘Yeah! Great! Lovely, thanks!’ Ash answers, and she’s aware it comes out a beat too fast, a volume level too loud.
But can she stop? Can she hell. On she goes.
‘I mean, obviously, you know, we had that … thing’ (she isn’t looking at CJ’s side boob, nope, not at all) ‘that first day, or second day, or whatever, so that wasn’t great, but then Luis has been friendly – we’re just on our way out, actually, to this park he knows – and I’ve met the other residents here’ (still not looking), ‘urm, Carley, I met her, the South African? And Jeremy, I played table football with him’ (OK, just a quick look down.
CJ doesn’t have an ounce of fat on her, she’s like, an actual athlete, it’s impressive, honestly) ‘and then yeah, you know, just chilling, been to the museums and oh, god, well, I met this woman? Mona? Just when I was out on Sunday, and, well, I’m sorry you had to deal with all that, you know, it’s not like me at all to drink until I’m sick, but the wine’ (OK, stop looking now, just focus on CJ’s actual face, focus!) ‘at the restaurant, it just kept coming, and we were talking, and laughing, and you know how sometimes it’s easier to talk about things with a stranger than somebody from back home or whatever, I guess it was kind of like that, and—’
CJ reaches out a hand to Ash’s shoulder, her hand small but her grip firm, her touch warm and comforting, like slipping into a gently heated bed on a cold night, when it makes you want to go, ahhhh. ‘Babe,’ she says. ‘Take a breath.’
Ash halts her speech – what was that? Those words, pouring out of her like an exorcism.
She can’t even remember what question CJ asked her, but shit, Ash had acted like it was an invitation for her life story.
They look at one another, CJ’s full lips upturning at one corner, the beginnings of a smirk, and Ash can see she comes in peace.
It relaxes her, and so she smiles too. The invisible ice is broken.
‘I just meant like, is your shower hot enough,’ CJ clarifies, and Ash laughs.
‘You make me nervous!’ Ash says, before she can stop herself. Her hand shoots up to her mouth. ‘I mean, not nervous, it’s just. Well …’
She’s gone from speaking in endless sentences to incomplete ones.
‘I’ve got resting bitch face and wasn’t very nice the night you checked in?
’ CJ supplies, and Ash throws up her hands.
That’s it exactly. Ash pulls a face, confirming CJ’s theory.
‘Yeah, well, you were three hours late and hadn’t let us know,’ CJ presses.
‘You messed up my entire evening. I was pissed.’
‘Oh my god,’ Ash says. ‘It never occurred to me to call to let you know. I’m so sorry. Oh, wow. Maybe I deserved the cold shoulder, then. So it’s me who is the arsehole?’
CJ shrugs, doesn’t quite laugh but is softening for sure. ‘How about neither of us is, and we just start over?’
Ash takes a big breath. ‘Yes,’ she says. ‘Ohmygod, yes. Great.’ She sticks out a hand. ‘Deal.’
CJ shakes it. ‘Welcome to Lisbon,’ she says. ‘Anything you need, just ask.’
Ash nods her head, can feel her breath coming back to her, heart rate slowing.
CJ and Ash stand, fingers interlocked, palms touching, the pair staring at one another, Ash’s cool gaze upon CJ’s dilated pupils, lump in her throat so big that as she tries to swallow she lets out an audible gulp. Fucking shameful.
But then, ‘I like your eye make-up,’ CJ says, hands still clasped. ‘It makes your eyes look really …’
Ash wants to say thank you before CJ has even concluded her compliment.
‘Really pretty,’ she settles on. ‘You’re cute.’
‘Oh!’ says Ash. ‘That’s. Well. Yes.’ She’s creating a CoLab obstacle course with the random words she’s dispensing, Jesus.
‘Highly strung, though, aren’t you?’ CJ comments, face creased with a sort of fascination.
‘Guilty,’ is all Ash can say.
CJ winks. ‘That’s cute, too, I guess.’
Then she walks away.
There is nothing that can rival the compliment of a woman to another woman.
Men are easily fooled with cheap tricks: short hemlines, a low-cut top, hair down instead of up.
Eliciting a compliment from a man is straightforward enough, even if he doesn’t fancy you.
But a woman? A woman knows the right thing to say and the right way to say it: what man would know to compliment eyebrows, or notice the new finish to a foundation?
A man could never understand the subtle art of balancing a feminine silhouette with a baggier trouser and a more fitted top, or explain why sometimes a beautiful outfit needs dressing down with an ugly shoe.
And so it is with CJ calling Ash cute. If a bloke did it, Ash would find it infantilising and gross, but that CJ called her cute?
Ash positively floats out of the building towards Luis’s moped across the street, feeling like the sexiest, most beautiful version of herself – and Luis has clocked it.
‘Let me help you with this, stunning, stunning Ash,’ he says, getting a shiny red helmet from under his seat for her.
She steps towards him and he brushes her hair back over her shoulders with a gentle sweep of his hand, making the hairs on the back of Ash’s neck prickle to attention.
Her whole body feels so buzzy right now.
She can practically hear the blood whooshing around her body, the pumping of vital life in her veins.
She is Ashley Jane Davies, she is cute, she is crazy, and she is being touched by a man who makes her believe in God, because his face is no accident.
He is somebody’s work of art. He was designed, and no doubt for pleasure.
Ash looks at him, feeling powerful, feeling sensual and fully herself, and she doesn’t fucking look away.
Instead she stares, unrelenting, at Luis’s angular-jawed, Roman-nosed self, and before he can clip the fastening under her chin Ash takes the helmet off and moves to hang it back on the handlebars.
Then she turns around, notes Luis’s wry grin of anticipation, the fire in his eyes, and takes a step towards him.
He gulps, just like Ash did for CJ, and Ash pushes back her shoulders, tilts her chin up, reaches out a hand to Luis’s chest and pushes him back towards the wall of the building until he hits it with a thud.
He seems thrilled, excited by the way she is taking charge, and Ash savours this moment of being so fully in command of herself, of this situation, of her goddamn sexual hunger, before pushing her face up against his, the length of her body alongside him, her tongue finding his, his hand in her hair, her fingers tracking his stubble, kissing, and kissing, and kissing.