Edge of Seventeen (Part 2)
Title: Edge of Seventeen (Part 2)
Author:xjekkix
Word Count: 1463 words
Summary: A chance encounter leading to a chance romance.
Rating: PG-13.
Disclaimer: This is not real.
The phone rings. Lindsay desperately wants to play hard to get. She sits on her hands, stuffs her phone beneath a cushion but it just keeps ringing. In a burst of movement, she dives at the cushion and presses the accept button.
“Hello?” she says, out of breath.
“Hey, did I catch you at a bad time?” says Samantha’s voice.
“Oh you know. Just busy, always busy. I’ve hardly got time to screen my calls otherwise I probably wouldn’t have answered.” She realizes how quickly she’s speaking and stops while she’s ahead.
“Uh huh…did you still want to come hang out while I jam?”
Again, Lindsay wants to say no - she wants the girl to have to chase her but it’s all she’s been thinking about since morning. She can’t get the image of those long ethereal fingers brushing guitar strings out of her head. Guilt washes over her as her mind explores what else they are probably good at.
“Yeah, I think I could make some time for that,” she says, grinning to herself. She gives the girl directions to her house and tells the girl not to rush. “I’ve still got to get ready.” But she doesn’t. Coincidentally, she’s been more than prepared for this phone call since the moment she stepped in the door.
Lindsay waits just inside the door, a hallway window leaving her a perfect view of the driveway. She doesn’t want to wait outside. It’s windy, and besides, it would seem too eager.
The shiny black Porsche pulls up the street, stopping in front of the house. Its driver gets out, looking again infinitely different than before. Her hair is pulled back tighter than it was. A white tank top hugs her subtle curves and loose fitting jeans drag beneath a pair of black canvas sneakers. But it’s her face - lightly done with makeup - that throws Lindsay off. How could she have thought this smoking hot woman was a boy?
She’s still staring out the window - now at a pair of kneecaps - when Samantha knocks on the door. Jumping up, she nearly hits her head on the knob, but instead pulls it back with such force she’s sure it will leave a dent.
“Hey!” Lindsay says enthusiastically, a hand behind her head. She looks frazzled.
Samantha puts on a satisfied smirk and steps back. “Ready to go?” Lindsay nods and tries not to trip down her front steps.
As she climbs into the passenger’s seat, she looks around cautiously. She’s come and gone as she pleases for years now, rarely with any parental guidance but she feels like she’s doing something bad - in a very good way. It feels like sneaking out to see that boy with the fast car and even faster hands - rebellious and irresistible.
Samantha closes the door behind the girl and settles into the driver’s seat. The moment she accelerates the car, a reverberation sends jolts of pleasant sensation all through Lindsay’s body. Her mother would not approve of this one bit - she, however, heartily does.
“Wow, I feel like I need a cigarette after that,” Lindsay says, giggling. Samantha scoffs, pulling away from the house and onto the quiet street.
“Got a nice boom, eh?” she says, affectionately patting the dashboard. Lindsay listens, hanging onto her every word as she talks cylinders, horsepower and the like. Several times she’s forced to bite her lip, oddly aroused by the girl talking cars.
“So, your buddy is okay with me tagging along?” Lindsay asks, crossing her legs in a ladylike manner. She’s impressed by how much room the car allows when it looks so compact from the outside.
Samantha shrugs. “Never asked him, but I’ve brought people before. It’s like playing a free show, for him. He loves it.”
“Oh. Have you brought other girls before?” Lindsay asks, realizing until now that she’s assumed the woman’s sexuality simply because of her boyish attire.
Samantha says yes nonchalantly, but glancing sideways at the girl. An awkward silence ensues until they pull up in front of a side street apartment building. It’s nothing special - a little seedy, in fact. Samantha hops out.
Lindsay follows moments later, her hands wrapped protectively around her own shoulders. “You have friends that live HERE?” she says, her tone of voice dripping with disgust and utter disbelief.
“Mhmm,” Samantha says casually. “This guy’s in my band. He’s paying his way through college, so for now this is his humble abode.” She says this, sounding proud.
“Humble for who? The homeless?” Lindsay says under her breath, trailing far behind Samantha and her guitar. She expected the girl to have richer friends having been raised by an English socialite - and yes, she’s done her research.
Samantha buzzes up to the apartment. The lobby inside is no less sketchy than the outward appearance; Lindsay can only hope the man’s apart is less humble.
They stand on opposite sides of the mirrored elevator, trying to ignore the hideous background music.
“So how long have you been playing?” Lindsay asks, pointing to the girl’s heavily stickered guitar case
“Not long. Mostly taught myself too but my step-dad helped.
“Mick, right? From Foreigner?” Lindsay says, smiling excitedly. Samantha laughs a little.
“How do you know so much about me?” The elevator doors part, so she steps aside and motions for Lindsay to go ahead.
The redhead shrugs and curtsies cutely as she steps out. “I’ve got my sources.”
After knocking twice, the girls wait until a young man answers the door. He’s tall with a bit of a baby face and messy sandy brown hair - Lindsay thinks he’s kind of cute.
He smiles and gives Samantha a one-armed hug, using the other to shake Lindsay’s hand. As they enter his apartment - surprisingly tidy for that of a bachelor - she wonders if the man is attracted to Samantha. She wouldn’t blame him if he were.
Samantha introduces him as Luke, and right way opens her guitar case. As she does so, she watches him offer Lindsay a chair. She watches carefully to see how they respond to each other. Lindsay touches his arm - she can’t tell if it’s innocently or a bit flirtatious - but she feels unexpectedly jealous. There’s something women find enticing about a passionate musician, she thinks, and Luke is the definition.
She busies herself tuning the guitar - a hand-me-down from her stepfather - while she continues to watch the two talk, from the corner of her eye.
When Lindsay suddenly looks at her, still listening to Luke, Samantha doesn’t know what to do. Caught red-handed, she smiles and laughs it off nervously. But, she wonders, why should I be embarrassed? She caught me looking at her because she was looking right back.
She strums away mindlessly as Luke takes his place on a chair beside her. Samantha’s eyes are still locked on Lindsay’s. The girl epitomizes poetry, eloquence. It’s that light in her eyes, the one that makes Samantha feel like she’s under a spotlight in this average, cozy apartment. Everything the girl does deserves to be immortalized in song; and so Samantha puts that thought in the back of her mind for later.
Lindsay sits there, totally enamored with the woman. Samantha plays a song she’s never heard before; something slow and melancholy. While Lindsay prefers music she can dance to, she listens intently anyway. In fact, she’s pretty sure that even if the girl were playing classical piano music - which she despises - she would be hard pressed not to consider the song her new personal favourite.
Samantha sets her guitar down for a moment while her friend steps out of the room to take a call. It’s obvious that she feels at home here, and politely asks Lindsay if she’d like a drink.
“Sure, I’ll have a beer or something. Whatever you’re having.” Lindsay lowers her voice as she speaks, trying to sound more grown-up. Samantha hands her a glass of cold iced tea instead.
“How old are you anyway?” Samantha asks, watching the feisty redhead carefully.
“Old enough, thank you very much.” Samantha stands, crossing one ankle over the other, her expression unconvinced. Lindsay looks back at her, guilt written all over her face. “I’m seventeen.”
“Uh huh. Not quite old enough in this country. But good try.” Samantha sips from her own glass, also filled with iced tea.
“Why? How old are you?”
“Older than you,” Samantha says, grinning smugly.
“I told you. Now you have to tell me,” Lindsay says tauntingly.
Samantha crosses her arms. “It’s not important,” she says, knowing it is important - very important - to her at least. It worries her to think of their nine-year age difference and guesses Lindsay would feel the same way if she knew.
“Fine. But I’ll find out eventually. I just have to ask around."
Author's Note: I know y'all are perceptive when it comes to details, but for the story's sake, I've written Samantha's Porsche in a few years earlier than she bought it. I love the Cadillac but it doesn't have quite the same effect. If there are any other details you guys pick up on that you think should be changed, just drop me a message!
Author:xjekkix
Word Count: 1463 words
Summary: A chance encounter leading to a chance romance.
Rating: PG-13.
Disclaimer: This is not real.
The phone rings. Lindsay desperately wants to play hard to get. She sits on her hands, stuffs her phone beneath a cushion but it just keeps ringing. In a burst of movement, she dives at the cushion and presses the accept button.
“Hello?” she says, out of breath.
“Hey, did I catch you at a bad time?” says Samantha’s voice.
“Oh you know. Just busy, always busy. I’ve hardly got time to screen my calls otherwise I probably wouldn’t have answered.” She realizes how quickly she’s speaking and stops while she’s ahead.
“Uh huh…did you still want to come hang out while I jam?”
Again, Lindsay wants to say no - she wants the girl to have to chase her but it’s all she’s been thinking about since morning. She can’t get the image of those long ethereal fingers brushing guitar strings out of her head. Guilt washes over her as her mind explores what else they are probably good at.
“Yeah, I think I could make some time for that,” she says, grinning to herself. She gives the girl directions to her house and tells the girl not to rush. “I’ve still got to get ready.” But she doesn’t. Coincidentally, she’s been more than prepared for this phone call since the moment she stepped in the door.
Lindsay waits just inside the door, a hallway window leaving her a perfect view of the driveway. She doesn’t want to wait outside. It’s windy, and besides, it would seem too eager.
The shiny black Porsche pulls up the street, stopping in front of the house. Its driver gets out, looking again infinitely different than before. Her hair is pulled back tighter than it was. A white tank top hugs her subtle curves and loose fitting jeans drag beneath a pair of black canvas sneakers. But it’s her face - lightly done with makeup - that throws Lindsay off. How could she have thought this smoking hot woman was a boy?
She’s still staring out the window - now at a pair of kneecaps - when Samantha knocks on the door. Jumping up, she nearly hits her head on the knob, but instead pulls it back with such force she’s sure it will leave a dent.
“Hey!” Lindsay says enthusiastically, a hand behind her head. She looks frazzled.
Samantha puts on a satisfied smirk and steps back. “Ready to go?” Lindsay nods and tries not to trip down her front steps.
As she climbs into the passenger’s seat, she looks around cautiously. She’s come and gone as she pleases for years now, rarely with any parental guidance but she feels like she’s doing something bad - in a very good way. It feels like sneaking out to see that boy with the fast car and even faster hands - rebellious and irresistible.
Samantha closes the door behind the girl and settles into the driver’s seat. The moment she accelerates the car, a reverberation sends jolts of pleasant sensation all through Lindsay’s body. Her mother would not approve of this one bit - she, however, heartily does.
“Wow, I feel like I need a cigarette after that,” Lindsay says, giggling. Samantha scoffs, pulling away from the house and onto the quiet street.
“Got a nice boom, eh?” she says, affectionately patting the dashboard. Lindsay listens, hanging onto her every word as she talks cylinders, horsepower and the like. Several times she’s forced to bite her lip, oddly aroused by the girl talking cars.
“So, your buddy is okay with me tagging along?” Lindsay asks, crossing her legs in a ladylike manner. She’s impressed by how much room the car allows when it looks so compact from the outside.
Samantha shrugs. “Never asked him, but I’ve brought people before. It’s like playing a free show, for him. He loves it.”
“Oh. Have you brought other girls before?” Lindsay asks, realizing until now that she’s assumed the woman’s sexuality simply because of her boyish attire.
Samantha says yes nonchalantly, but glancing sideways at the girl. An awkward silence ensues until they pull up in front of a side street apartment building. It’s nothing special - a little seedy, in fact. Samantha hops out.
Lindsay follows moments later, her hands wrapped protectively around her own shoulders. “You have friends that live HERE?” she says, her tone of voice dripping with disgust and utter disbelief.
“Mhmm,” Samantha says casually. “This guy’s in my band. He’s paying his way through college, so for now this is his humble abode.” She says this, sounding proud.
“Humble for who? The homeless?” Lindsay says under her breath, trailing far behind Samantha and her guitar. She expected the girl to have richer friends having been raised by an English socialite - and yes, she’s done her research.
Samantha buzzes up to the apartment. The lobby inside is no less sketchy than the outward appearance; Lindsay can only hope the man’s apart is less humble.
They stand on opposite sides of the mirrored elevator, trying to ignore the hideous background music.
“So how long have you been playing?” Lindsay asks, pointing to the girl’s heavily stickered guitar case
“Not long. Mostly taught myself too but my step-dad helped.
“Mick, right? From Foreigner?” Lindsay says, smiling excitedly. Samantha laughs a little.
“How do you know so much about me?” The elevator doors part, so she steps aside and motions for Lindsay to go ahead.
The redhead shrugs and curtsies cutely as she steps out. “I’ve got my sources.”
After knocking twice, the girls wait until a young man answers the door. He’s tall with a bit of a baby face and messy sandy brown hair - Lindsay thinks he’s kind of cute.
He smiles and gives Samantha a one-armed hug, using the other to shake Lindsay’s hand. As they enter his apartment - surprisingly tidy for that of a bachelor - she wonders if the man is attracted to Samantha. She wouldn’t blame him if he were.
Samantha introduces him as Luke, and right way opens her guitar case. As she does so, she watches him offer Lindsay a chair. She watches carefully to see how they respond to each other. Lindsay touches his arm - she can’t tell if it’s innocently or a bit flirtatious - but she feels unexpectedly jealous. There’s something women find enticing about a passionate musician, she thinks, and Luke is the definition.
She busies herself tuning the guitar - a hand-me-down from her stepfather - while she continues to watch the two talk, from the corner of her eye.
When Lindsay suddenly looks at her, still listening to Luke, Samantha doesn’t know what to do. Caught red-handed, she smiles and laughs it off nervously. But, she wonders, why should I be embarrassed? She caught me looking at her because she was looking right back.
She strums away mindlessly as Luke takes his place on a chair beside her. Samantha’s eyes are still locked on Lindsay’s. The girl epitomizes poetry, eloquence. It’s that light in her eyes, the one that makes Samantha feel like she’s under a spotlight in this average, cozy apartment. Everything the girl does deserves to be immortalized in song; and so Samantha puts that thought in the back of her mind for later.
Lindsay sits there, totally enamored with the woman. Samantha plays a song she’s never heard before; something slow and melancholy. While Lindsay prefers music she can dance to, she listens intently anyway. In fact, she’s pretty sure that even if the girl were playing classical piano music - which she despises - she would be hard pressed not to consider the song her new personal favourite.
Samantha sets her guitar down for a moment while her friend steps out of the room to take a call. It’s obvious that she feels at home here, and politely asks Lindsay if she’d like a drink.
“Sure, I’ll have a beer or something. Whatever you’re having.” Lindsay lowers her voice as she speaks, trying to sound more grown-up. Samantha hands her a glass of cold iced tea instead.
“How old are you anyway?” Samantha asks, watching the feisty redhead carefully.
“Old enough, thank you very much.” Samantha stands, crossing one ankle over the other, her expression unconvinced. Lindsay looks back at her, guilt written all over her face. “I’m seventeen.”
“Uh huh. Not quite old enough in this country. But good try.” Samantha sips from her own glass, also filled with iced tea.
“Why? How old are you?”
“Older than you,” Samantha says, grinning smugly.
“I told you. Now you have to tell me,” Lindsay says tauntingly.
Samantha crosses her arms. “It’s not important,” she says, knowing it is important - very important - to her at least. It worries her to think of their nine-year age difference and guesses Lindsay would feel the same way if she knew.
“Fine. But I’ll find out eventually. I just have to ask around."
Author's Note: I know y'all are perceptive when it comes to details, but for the story's sake, I've written Samantha's Porsche in a few years earlier than she bought it. I love the Cadillac but it doesn't have quite the same effect. If there are any other details you guys pick up on that you think should be changed, just drop me a message!