Liz @pbucketsblurbs - Tumblr Blog

PYRAMIDS - chapter 6

Paige Bueckers x stripper!oc Warnings: themes of cheating, mentions of death/angst, descriptions of violence and other possibly disturbing things, slight violence warning, intimidating behaviour, mentions of substance abuse, sexual themes, mentions of sex work (PLEASE READ THE DISCLAIMER BEFORE READING) Wordcount: 13.3K A/C: she's baaackkkkkkkk (a lot of tension and storyline building in this one but the next one's gonna be crazy i promise) I RECOMMEND READING CHAPTER 3 BEFORE IF YOU CAN'T REMEMBER WHAT HAPPENED

-

2029, LOS ANGELES, CA

The blue eyes of Paige Bueckers rise high on a billboard ten feet tall, embellished with yellow and purple and palm trees. They shine with a demand, watching over the passing cars like God from above. No matter where you’re at, her eyes seem to follow your every breath, digging themselves underneath layers upon layers of your skin. Paige lowers the car window, resting her elbow where the warm breeze of June tingles. The weight of being watched crawls up her spine and she shifts in the leather seat where her thighs begin to stick. Carefully she tilts her head upwards, staring into herself. For a split-second the billboard stares back, knowing each private sin of her mind. As if it was all laid out on the front lawn. She holds her breath, rolling the window back up - her dad would be so mad for letting the AC escape.

The roads wind and curve above the coastline, cliffs smoothed by centuries of waves rising steeply from the ocean. The sun sets orange and pink warming Paige’s shoulder even through the windows. The same sun that warmed people for centuries before her existence. Paige had read somewhere that there was a time when the sun setting caused dread - there was no guarantee that tomorrow morning it would rise again. The golden hue might as well be the last rays of light the Earth will be blessed with. Now people know better, that by God’s design the sun will return and it will keep doing so till the end of time, centuries and decades after Paige and LA and basketball.

Paige’s hand tightens around the steering wheel as she trails the car in front, pushing up the sunglasses threatening to slide off. Every sunset reminded her of that ancient fear, a similar one buried deep in her spine. Each day came with the same threat and temptation, the looming dread of something awful about to happen, something that Paige hadn’t felt since Dallas - the sense of losing control.

“Where are we going Paige?”

A girl huffs on the passenger seat, nearly forgotten. She crosses her legs, and then again. She had always been impatient. Hesitating, Paige takes off the sunglasses, blinking until her eyes adjust to the golden light above the Pacific ocean.

“Don’t you worry your pretty lil heart out,” she hums with the car engine. Before the girl beside her can protest, Paige’s hand lands gently on the smooth, soft thigh. She’s so warm it only makes Paige’s palm more clammy. But the girl doesn’t mind. She leans her head on the seat with a satisfied smile, staring into the horizon.

“I’ll never get tired of these sunsets.”

Her voice settles somewhere in Paige’s heart. It smooths over the sharp edges of her thoughts. No fear could compare to the melody of her words. Even when she can’t relate to the girl speaking them.

Summers in LA are made of the stuff of dreams and movies that Paige grew up watching. Shade of the palm trees and the salt water in the air curling the blonde strands by her neck. Sunsets over the west coast. Paige could imagine a life built on the thrill of this, a legacy as the saviour of the Sparks and sandy feet and squeals of children. She could almost feel it at her fingertips, all she had dreamed of. Paige was so close to it - if it wasn’t for the sudden snowfall that changed everything. When did it ever snow in California? The sour taste of Amarelle cherries keeps tingling on Paige’s lips, no matter how many fruits she bit into.

Suddenly the girl’s hand lands on the back of Paige’s neck, grazing over the thin hairs falling out of her bun. Her thoughts are quickly disrupted as she makes a turn, hoping the girl would dig her nails in just a little bit. Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t come. The strokes remain gentle and sweet, as always.

“I love you,” Paige murmurs, choosing to enjoy the touch though it’s not quite right. No matter the distractions, this is the life she chose. And there’s power and control in that, in choosing something. Even if it didn’t fulfill you completely, because at the end of the day, what would? Paige is grown now. She could build a decently happy life just like this - and that is fine.

“I love you too,” the girl replies, moving with the car as it jolts with the breaks, parked by the coast with no others to surround it. No media, no people, no distractions. God knows it’s what Paige needs.

The couple walk along the water, the warmth of the sun already fading. Waves crash into the sharp cliffs in a neverending cycle. They both huff with the labor of walking on the pale, shifty sand, the wind covering their footprints behind them. The girl leans her cool arm closer to Paige, the wind much colder than either could have expected.

“You’re not gonna offer me your flannel?” The girl seems to joke. Paige knows better. She can hear in the tone that she will mope about it later.

“We’re almost there,” Paige sighs. Before the girl can protest she nods forward where the beach narrows, a white canopy of draped fabric decorated with an array of flowers in tones of yellow and orange. A table set for two and a heater in the corner.

“See?”

“Oh,” the girl sighs, blinking her eyes rapidly as if to take it in. She loosens her grip, nearly tripping over her feet.

Paige’s mouth twists into an arrogant grin. She might struggle with other parts of a relationship but this she is good at. She knows it. That speechless face beside her only made it better.

“Woah,” the girl lets out, letting the blonde lead her to the table as she scans the sight.

“When did you have time?” She asks when Paige pulls out her chair, covering her bare shoulders with a light blanket. The fabric blows in the howling wind with her long hair, the vanilla of her perfume intruding Paige’s nose.

“Baby, I always got time for my girl,” the blond sits down, the candles quickly going out with the breeze.

“But why?” The girl chuckles, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. There’s something in her shoulders, an unease? Or perhaps the cold.

“I need a reason to spoil you now?”

The girl hesitates, looking at the spread on the table. A charcuterie board, fresh bread, a range of fruit with the most expensive wine she had ever seen. Her chest tightens, eyes gazing over it as her brain scrambles for a reason.

“Are either of us gonna drink that?” She asks, tilting the bottle to view the label better. Chateau Palmer, 2017.

“Thought we’d be adults for once.”

The girl laughs, putting it down carefully. “You’re pushing 30, P.”

“Don’t remind me,” Paige groans. “Still feel 17.” Reaching over she opens the bottle for the pair, careful not to get any on her brand new shorts. It’s a struggle, but her companion doesn’t offer any help. Not because she doesn’t care, but because she knows better. Paige Bueckers doesn’t need it from anybody.

“I always do until I’m around an actual 17-year-old and I realise, like, wow I’m definitely not 17,” the girl says, letting Paige fill her glass. A slow smirk plays on her lips.

“I woulda had such a crush on you at 17.”

“God no, I was so nerdy,” the girl complains, covering her embarrassment by the blanket blowing all around her.

“I’m into that.” It’s not really true. Paige was always reaching out of her league even back then.

“No you’re not,” the girl says. They don’t argue, it’s the truth. She looks out into the horizon, where the turquoise waves flip onto themselves repeatedly, white foam disappearing into the sand stretching out as far as eyes can carry. A slight concern weighs her brows down when she looks at Paige again.

“You didn’t have to do this, you know.”

Shuttering at the taste of the wine, Paige sets down her glass. She doesn’t think much of the frown on the girl’s face, she looked disappointed half the time. Paige had learned to block it out.

“You moved all the way out here just for me. I owe it to you.”

The girl sits up, abruptly dropping all softness of her features. The gentle frown from before hardens, fine lines carving into her forehead. The ones that always knew trouble. “Owe it to me?”

Paige is stunned, not entirely sure where she went wrong as usual. She knew better not to ask either, better to try to fix it. “Well, yeah. Not in a bad way, I just had to do something for you, you know.”

The girl’s nostrils flare like always with the disappointment Paige brought her. There always seemed to be a little, but at times it grew unbearable for reasons the blonde never quite understood. The girl’s tolerance had been particularly low recently. Paige had told herself reasons why: moving, missing her parents, Paige barely home. She had never bothered to ask though.

“Babe-”

The girl stands from her seat, setting the blanket on the chair carelessly. Paige’s eyes follow as it slides onto the ground, rolling in white sand. As the silence stretches, she gets the nagging feeling that there’s something she should be saying, but she’s unsure. Not like she was good with words anyway. So instead she lets the sounds of the tides take over, but it doesn’t satisfy the girl.

“So you don’t actually wanna be here? It’s just ‘cause you owe me?”

It takes everything for Paige not to roll her eyes, tired of this game they had been playing since coming to LA. No matter what Paige did, it was somehow wrong, or not enough, or too much. She squeezes her eyes shut, deep breaths attempting to replace her desire to simply blow up.

A fig rolls over the plate when the girl sets down her fork, clinking against the silverware.

“Grace,” Paige sighs, reaching for the girl’s hand, the rings on her fingers catching the final light of the day.

“It’s just,” Grace starts, hesitating for a moment. Squeezing her hand encouragingly, Paige begs for more. It felt as if no matter what, they would never truly understand each other. Paige had come to terms with it years ago, but Grace still struggled with the hurt of the past.

“I’ve told you countless times I don’t need all this,” she waves around at the table. The pride Paige felt just moments ago is suddenly disappearing, sinking deep into the waves. “These grand gestures. I just want you.”

Paige stutters. “I thought you’d like it. It’s just something special.”

For some reason it seems to be the completely wrong thing to say. Grace’s hand is pulled back on impulse, leaving Paige’s fingers clammy and tingling.

“But I don’t want special! I want normal. I want you to be home when I get off work and cook me dinner, I wanna take a bath with you, I want you to be there when I wake up and when I go to bed and I want you to sit down and help with the wedding planning,” she speeds up, each word coming more rushed than the one before.

Paige’s jaw tightens, eyes threatening to water. All the work, the discipline, the reflection, pointless in a matter of seconds. The sensation tightens around her throat, suffocating her. It seemed nothing would be enough for Grace. Not because she was ungrateful, but because she knew the blonde too well. She saw through her - that their love didn’t stem from the irreversible, life-altering passion Grace longed for. It never had.

“I’m sorry,” Paige is quick to submit, letting the frustration roll over. It’s easier to accept you’re the bad guy than blow this up again.

She runs a clammy hand over her face, eyes aching suddenly. She could be better - needs to be. Grace is the choice she made years ago, when she crawled to her and begged to get her back, when she got down on one knee. That choice can not be shaken by just one kiss. Right?

“Are you?” Grace hisses, crossing her arms. Paige stops herself from spitting the same poison, though the words linger at the tip of her tongue - the ones that could break Grace apart.

“I really am. Baby, please believe me. The move has just been so overwhelming and the new team and everything. I’m sorry. Ion want you feeling alone.”

No amount of words will change the truth Grace knows. With the realisation she turns, taking long strides toward the car.

Paige swallows, accepting something she already knew. She looks at the table, and the tropical flowers set in a vase, the filled glasses and empty plates. The wind bites at her ankles as the sky darkens. She tugs at the golden crucifix by her heart. The sun has set.

The car ride is anything but comfortable, Paige too tense to even turn on music. She lets the car engine lull them into a restless silence. They’re shielded from passing faces drenched in laughter and muffled joy only present in the optimism of early summer. At a red light Paige follows the pedestrians crossing the street, blinking the watering of her eyes rapidly away. Grace curls herself further on the passenger side, as far from her fiance as she’s able. It was moments like these Paige wonders why she ever said yes to the proposal. It was clear their house was built on a flimsy, cheap foundation. Paige was determined to make it work, to change, but was she?

“So do you wanna have a movie night then, or…?” The voice is careful, barely audible over the traffic. Honking, fast breaks, the bass of some 90s song playing too loud.

“No,” Grace answers. Life would be so much easier if they could just fight and scream and fuck and it would be dealt with.

“Oh,” Paige nods slowly, pressing her back into the leather to distract herself from the trembling of her voice. “Gotcha.”

A sigh, filled with the years of dedication and work they had both put into this fills the car, Grace’s head tipping forward into her hands.

“Maybe tomorrow, my mood’s just ruined now,” she murmurs into her palms.

“I can’t tomorrow, I got practice,” Paige answers, hand tapping the steering wheel nervously. “And the day after I got that Calvin Klein event.”

Grace rolls her eyes in frustration, causing Paige’s jaw to tighten as she waits for the bomb threatening to go off. The timer seemed to close in on 0:00 with every word she spoke.

She waits for it, yet it doesn’t come. With careful courage, she opens her mouth.

“Grace,” she starts, biting her cheek. “I’m really trying to be good to you. And I don’t think I’m doin’ a bad job.”

The corners of Grace’s lips turn into a frown as she listens to the sincerity of Paige’s words, playing with the ring on her finger. She doesn’t have an answer.

“I’m really trying, okay?” Paige’s eyes flicker from the road to her fidgeting fiance.

“I know,” a small voice answers, turning her head away just as a warm tear rolls down her cheek. “I know you are.”

She remains quiet, spotting a pair of teenagers head over heels for each other talking on the curb, kissing between every sentence.

“It’s just, not enough sometimes.”

Paige hates the silence that follows, causing the words to echo in the confined space. She shifts in the leather seat, biting her teeth together to keep the thoughts in - those of Lana, and the shouting matches she preferred a million times over to the sad, hurt tone of Grace’s voice whenever she cries.

-

Lana stands there like a prop, countless hands of strangers landing all over her body to adjust every detail. Flash. Fingers dig into the band of her skirt, smoothing over the fabric. Flash. She stares into the mirror with a blank expression. Blinking her eyes, she adjusts to the flashing light.

“Too much flash,” the photographer groans, waving his hands around and causing havoc on the set.

“You’re perfect,” a man coos into her ear, tilting Lana’s head by her chin. Words she had heard from strangers’ mouths a million times before, but not like this. The man’s earring dangles with the shifting of his head, a dreadful decision caused by some sort of quarter life crisis. Martin? Marcus? Matt? Lana couldn’t bring herself to care.

“Can we try a different lip?”

At once fingers crowd Lana’s bored face. Brushes swipe, lipglosses are layered on, whispered conversations pick at her pale complexion. Lana knew better than anyone that at her best she was a mere ornament to other people’s desires. That hadn’t changed since Dallas. She just did it with more grace now as a favor for her husband.

“Let’s accentuate those beautiful eyes a little more,” the photographer hums, eyes scanning her from head to toe. She gives him the tilt of her lips she always did, the one men begged for. But the man, in his late thirties, already greying by the look of his well kept beard, merely looks away. Something pushes at her ribs, digging into them. Her feet shift with the weight of annoyed restlessness.

With an empty face Lana fixates on the flimsy table lined with food that was already cold when it arrived, the chicken lacking any flavor to it. She manages to ignore the tens of touches all over, tugging her clothes, brushing through her hair, making her perfect. She was promised a quick gig, but this was anything but.

“Don’t we look nice,” Marc’s chipper voice causes the hands to come to a halt, the people pulling back with polite nods for their creative director. He doesn’t get the same warmth from his wife.

“I’ve been here for hours,” Lana whispers angrily as he approaches, not softened by the man she loves. Her brows stay low on her face, fixed even when he leans down for the usual kiss on the cheek.

“Maybe I’m just not right for this shot.”

The sly amusement on the man’s face tips Lana’s frustration off. She bites her teeth together with a familiar annoyance of not being taken seriously by the men in her life. But then again, what woman was?

“That can’t be true Alisa,” Marc walks over to the photographer, skimming through the pictures on the screen. Lana doesn’t care to peek at them. “See, these are good.”

“Okay, so can I go home then?”

Marc chuckles, waving the crew off. “Why so grumpy?”

Wordlessly, Lana walks off the set, heels clacking with each determined step to get away. Before she can slam the dressing room door shut, Marc’s hand stops it and slides in, closing the door behind them softly.

“Baby, you can’t throw a tantrum in front of my employees,” he hisses quietly. The top digs into the back of Lana’s neck, sharp edge cutting her porcelain skin.

“You keep talking to me like that I’ll do worse,” Lana spits, kicking her heels off and shredding layers of clothing without any care for them, letting them scatter around the carpeted floor. All the way until she’s in matching nude underwear,

“What’s wrong with you?” Marc asks gently. It’s not meant the way Lana takes it, leaning over the vanity and rubbing her face clean of the layers of makeup packed on her skin. Under it all her own skin comes through, pale and reddened by irritation.

“I didn’t even want this gig,” Lana complains, makeup wipes turning black and beige as they pile onto the table. “I had a day off.”

“I thought you liked doing this stuff, honey.”

“I thought getting married meant I don’t need to work again. Like you promised.”

Marc sighs, placing a hand on her bare hip when she reaches her. Lana abruptly slaps it off without a single glance at his direction. There was a thunderstorm inside her, had been all week. Marc didn’t know what to do with it, all he wanted was to see his wife happy. Little did he know just letting her win made her even more irritable. She craved a good fight.

“I know,” Marc sighs. “I’m sorry baby, the model cancelled last minute. I just didn’t know what to do.”

“I have a million things to do at home after this. And now I’m just a placeholder for some other girl.”

“That’s not how it works," Marc whispers, eyes fixed on the reflection of his wife, bare-faced and beautiful.

“- And I just needed today off. And everyone was annoying me on purpose, they kept changing my hair and the clothes and the makeup.”

Marc crosses his arms. There are people struggling, starving, and here is his spoiled little wife complaining about the dream life of thousands of women. It would be hard for anyone to take it seriously. “You’re right. Sounds exhausting.”

Lana turns finally, eyes locked on Marc suspiciously. “Are you making fun of me?”

“Not at all,” Marc answers, though the amusement on his face says the opposite.

“You’re the most annoying man I ever met,” Lana huffs, pushing Marc off as she walks past to wrap a robe around her half naked body.

“How about I make it up to you? I got that event tomorrow, should be nice,” he coos, walking over and untying the robe she just tightened, letting it fall open and brushing his strong, sure hand against Lana’s abdomen. “You can wear that black dress I got you.”

His hands drift to Lana’s backside, squeezing affectionately. Men could be so stupid, Lana could feel herself being handled and it only made her angrier. As she’s about to completely flip, a sudden knock interrupts the pair.

“Coming!” Lana pushes Marc off, the robe barely hanging on her shoulders.

“It’s just me baby, open up,” a deep, familiar voice carries through.

Sliding the door open Lana finds a bald headed man, leaning against the doorframe with a bouquet of pink roses. The suit pants he’s wearing sit a little too tight and could use some ironing. Yet Lana couldn’t be happier at the sight.

“How’s my little bird?”

The hardness, the frustration and the pit in her stomach suddenly dissolve, an elated smile taking over as she squeals with excitement, jumping into his arms.

“Johnny,” Lana breathes, tightening her grip on his shirt. She melts into him, like she did all those years ago, basking in the scent of his cheap cologne and the smell of home. Flashes of the past, of glitter and poles and snorted lines play in Lana’s mind. Somewhere behind her Marc sighs repeatedly, his usual patience not stretching to the man embracing his half-naked wife. Still, Lana holds on just a little longer to the one piece of Dallas she has left.

Marc clears his throat causing the two to slowly let go. Lana’s expression softens, letting her gaze land on her old friend, with a few fine lines now decorating his small forehead.

Johnny grins with ease, swinging his head towards Marc. “You got your beautiful wife working on a day like this?”

“Johnny,” Marc smiles politely, offering his hand. He shifts uncomfortably when Johnny grabs it with a loud slam.

“Put some clothes on. I’m taking you out to dinner.” Johnny demands, smacking his lips with a gum in his mouth, skimming through the rack of clothing for the photoshoot. Marc still rubs his hand, the sting vibrating up his arm.

“Johnny, sorry,” the man hesitates, nostrils flaring. “We got plans.”

With a pointed look, Lana’s eyes narrow, her mouth tightens into a straight line. All while Johnny plays oblivious to this, his hands flopping open eyeshadow pallets lined on the vanity. Her brown eyes flare, flames flicker in them like a warning - startling enough to make any man fold.

Marc’s jaw tightens for a second, only softening with effort. “She gotta be home by 9. We got a big day tomorrow.”

“Yes boss,” Johnny turns with a smirk, leaning his hand against the vanity. “Put your clothes on Alisa.”

With no hesitation Lana drops the robe on the floor and begins to undo her bra. It’s not like Johnny hadn’t seen her naked before - in fact he had seen more than most. He had seen the rock bottom and the withdrawls. There was no reason to play shy. He knew the girl from before she ever stepped on a stage. Lana had revealed more of her soul to him than to most people.

“Hey, whoa,” Marc’s brows rise in horror, quickly wrapping the robe around her bare, pale chest. “Let me and Johnny leave first. We’re leaving.”

Practically dragged out of the door, Johnny’s attempts at hiding his amusement are feeble. He pushes sunglasses over his deep-set eyes, biting his tongue.

“I’ll wait outside in the car princess,” he waves and they’re both gone.

Throwing on the first dress she can, Lana hops on one leg to put heels on. Lazily she runs her fingers through the curls, not lingering over the vanity to cover her red skin. She doesn’t mind with goodbyes or smiles, leaving the set too quick for anyone to spot her. Parked by the street she easily spots Johnny in a navy blue convertible, arm resting on the side and a cloud of cigarette smoke clouding him. When Lana approaches, he reaches over to open the passenger side door, patting the seat beside him.

“Daddy’s strict huh?” He laughs before inhaling deeply.

“Daddy’s jealous,” Lana points out, taking the cigarette from his hand and puffing it twice before passing it back. Some passing people make disgusted faces, as if they don’t have vapes in their hands. Typical Americans.

“Didn’t you quit?”

“Post shoot cigarettes don’t count. I’m perfectly good otherwise.”

Johnny huffs out a laugh. “Oh yeah, you’re a real angel.”

He checks the mirror before merging into the crowded lanes by countless storefronts. Stubbornly the buildings give way, the air cooling and the roads widening with the drive.

“He good to you?” Johnny says over the sound of traffic and the hum of air. Lana pulls down her sunglasses as the golden rays of the sun inch below the coastline, blinding her.

“Yes,” Lana simply says, looking out into the sparkling waves in the distance. More than any man she had ever known, really. She exhales. “He wants to have a baby.”

Johnny wipes his mouth, throwing the cigarette bud somewhere onto the road carelessly. “Uh oh.”

“Yes. Uh oh,” she admits, pushing sunglasses down to her eyes. She grabs a bottle of water from the expensive leather purse sitting on her lap, digging through it restlessly.

“You gonna do it?”

Finally, Lana pulls out a packet of pills, shaking them in the air. “No. Not yet.”

Johnny snorts, seagulls screech, the sun scorches their skin. The girl swallows the pill, her lifeline, her secret. “And what would that baby do all night while you’re out drinking or too lazy to cook or clean?”

The words ring cruelly in her ear, causing her head to snap. Echoes of Paige’s voice still at the forefront of her mind wrap its claws around her neck. An irrational frustration grows with the howling wind as she eyes Johnny.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” She spits out, the sunglasses hiding her ice cold gaze.

“Ion mean it like that” Johnny yells over the breeze, one hand on the wheel. He’s seen worse from her. “You’re strong. About the strongest lady I know. But I just can’t see you enjoying it.”

She swallows, dry lips turning into a pout. She could do it, she could be a good mother, to raise someone better than her. It’s just that she didn’t want to. Maybe that’s what Paige meant too. Not about what she is able to do, but about what’s best for her. Though she had never really understood what was best for Lana.

The car comes to a halt at a red light. Lana tries to ignore the boys in a yellow Ferrari beside them, eyeing her hungrily when the nagging feeling of being watched in a completely different way swoops deep in her stomach. Slowly lifting her gaze, she’s met with the ocean blue eyes of Paige Bueckers, ten feet tall above her on a billboard. Of course.

Lana sinks in her seat, pushing the glasses deeper onto her head. Like it might hide her from her line of view. Her eyes stay fixed on her lap. It’s not enough, Johnny’s already chuckling.

“You two got a weird way of finding each other,” He nods towards the picture. Lana’s shoulders nearly lift into a shrug but give up halfway, as if it doesn’t affect her enough to finish. The red light remains like a warning, leaving the two trapped under the shadow of the billboard.

Lana looks back to the shore, but the blue waves only remind her of the stare coming from above.

“You seen her?”

The question lands too clean. It digs into her very bones. She shifts on the seat. Lying to Johnny was not something she could easily do. Instead, she keeps her eyes on the horizon. At last the light turns green, and the tires carry them far from Paige’s demanding face. The only image she had seen of the blonde in weeks. Lana’s stomach churns. Dallas Paige would’ve been knocking on her door an eternity ago. The radio silence since their kiss made her uneasy.

“Does Marc know?”

“Know what?” She asks calmly.

He keeps pressing. “About Paige?”

“What is there to know? She was a client I had.”

Johnny steps on the gas, running a large hand over his bald head.

“But you’ve seen her here?”

“No,” she blurts out, taking off her sunglasses, struggling to adjust to the light. His eyes flicker over curiously. “I mean yes. Yes. A little bit.” Her words come out clumsy, the accent suddenly thick and heavy again. She stutters out a breath, blinking rapidly. “I went to a game.”

Johnny’s mouth twists into a smile, an amused chuckle escaping him. “Goddamn that girl was head over heels for you.”

Lana’s nails dig into her palms. She crosses her legs restlessly, waving a hand as if the breeze wasn’t blowing her with cool, coastal air.

Johnny’s blue eyes travel to the girl, the one he had built up from rock bottom. A sort of pain flashes in his eyes. He doesn’t speak. Instead he reaches over and pets Lana’s hair, just once, making a wish for her.

The pink roses sit in the backseat, petals flying off as the car accelerates. The silence of the drive bothers neither of them, though Lana can’t seem to get comfortable. As they park the sounds of LA only become a distant hum, the cliffs cocooning them into a nest of golden white sand. Lana kicks off her heels, letting her feet sink into the warmth with each step, Johnny trailing behind with the flowers in his hand.

The water bites her ankles as she lets the waves wash over them and the golden anklet there. Shivers climb up her legs all the way to her spine, forcing her eyes shut to rid her mind of the intrusive thoughts of Paige’s mouth.

“God she’d love it here,” Johnny murmurs from somewhere behind. This is how they did it, year after year. Without looking each other in the face.

“She always wanted to go to the coast,” Lana answers, her voice getting buried in the sound of the waves breaking against glistening rocks. “She felt trapped in Dallas. Always.”

“We should’ve just left.” Johnny's voice softens in an unfamiliar way. Lana swallows, feeling a knot form at the base of her throat that made it hard to breathe. The salt sticks to her tongue, brown eyes blinking rapidly to stop them from watering.

“Can’t change it now Johnny,” she says blankly. Somewhere in the far distance a child’s laugh echoes along the Pacific. Her mind flashes with imagery of the good times - it felt like yesterday yet entire lifetimes had happened. She would have never known at the time that it was Dallas she ached for years later.

“Guess not,” he sighs, handing over the flowers. “She’s somewhere else now.”

“She’s nowhere,” Lana mutters, letting her finger brush over the soft, delicate petals. “She’s dead.”

LA begins to dim, the sun giving out its last signs of life as it sparkles over the coast. A tear rolls down her cheek, falling directly on a single rose. The petal is so gentle it folds from the weight.

“Remember that one birthday she had to work?”

Sniffling, her mouth twists into a smile. “When the security guys couldn’t get those creeps to leave but she dragged them out by their ears?”

“She was so mad at me for making her work,” Johnny chuckles, looking at the ground. “Lexi had spirit.”

The last rays sparkle the brightest. Lana opens her mouth to speak, and closes it again.

“She was the sun,” she finally gets out, the words trembling.

She throws the flowers into the waves, watching them float into the nothing that Lexi had become. She could just remember the feeling of endless possibilities that had disappeared with the realities of adulthood. Lana waits for the familiar pull that only seemed to exist in Dallas, the one that lurked in dark corners and followed her every move, trying to reach for the way Paige used to feel. It’s only fragments, a voice in the hallway, the sound of her groan. It’s all there is.

“You ever think of going back?”

She stares into the horizon, sinking deeper in the sand with each wave washing away.

“To Dallas?”

She exhales with purpose, letting the wind mess up her hair.

“It doesn’t exist anymore Johnny - Whatever you miss- we miss. There’s no Lonestar, or Lexi, or anyone. There’s nothing to go back to.”

The roses ride wave after wave, the bunch slowly breaking apart and each flower going their own direction, some orbiting each other deeper into the ocean. Eventually, they all disappear into the tides all on their own.

-

Lana’s jewelled fingers wrap around the stem of a cocktail glass as the tattooed bartender slides it forward. Her eyes linger on his, the blue of his gaze stirring something within her. She’s used to playing these games, letting the flimsy strap fall off her shoulder while batting her lashes.

“Let me look for my card,” she hums an octave higher than normal, feeling his stare fix on her cleavage. Clumsily, Lana digs through her purse.

“Don’t worry sweet thing,” he says, the southern accent reminding her of the clients she used to serve. “I got it.”

She feigns shock, giggling just to please the man. This used to get her as high as the coke. The starved eyes, needy hands on waists, words drenched in lust.

“Thanks,” she winks, quickly making her way out the second she gets away with it. The rooftop bar is filled with people on a hot, June evening. Their chatter carries all the way down to the street, the music being swallowed by loud laughs and gossip. With every step Lana takes more heads turn. She lets the fabric hike up her thighs, putting bounce in her walk. Angry wives tug at the sleeves of their ogling husbands yet Lana feels nothing.

“How much was it?” Johnny asks, looking at the exaggeratedly large fruity drink in her hands, lounging in the shade of a paper umbrella.

“It’s on the house,” Lana grins, wrapping her lips around the straw.

“God you still got it,” he sighs, eyeing her. Not in the hungry way other men did. More in a way that he saw the best and the worst and still loved her. “All these men would kill for you. The women want to be you.”

“Stop Johnny,” she shakes her head, waving him off with her hand. The movements come clumsy from the countless drinks already in her system.

“Marc is the luckiest man in the world,” he shakes his head, finishing his whiskey. He hadn’t even crossed Lana’s mind.

“I’m the luckiest woman in the world,” Lana blurts out, devoid of any emotion as she sucks on the pink straw.

Johnny chuckles, drunk, clumsy and loud. “You don’t need to bullshit with me.”

“Who says I’m bullshitting?” Lana asks innocently, lifting her brows.

A sudden tap on her shoulder forces her attention elsewhere. A buff man already grey and certainly rich grins down at her, cleaning his throat. She stares through him, fighting the urge to roll her eyes, preparing herself for a cheesy line she had heard countless times. Somehow this made men want her more.

“I don’t usually do this,” a lie, certainly. “but you are one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen.”

His compliment almost tickles the parts Lana’s itching for. She tilts her head, leaning forward to accentuate the dress barely covering her chest. His eyes drop inches below, widening with his imagination. So predictable, so boring.

“Is that it?” The words come off blunt, slightly amused. Yet, she pushes further, her heel pressing into the man’s calf in an attempt to chase something. It never comes.

“Baby, let me take you out,” the man stutters, words like a plea.

Lana tilts her head again, as if to ponder it over. The hopeful face of a man past his prime nearly makes her feel bad. Nearly. Usually she’d make them work a little harder, but right now her mind feels like a tunnel. “Sorry,” she sighs, leaning back and pushing her left hand forward. “I’m married.”

He doesn’t back down, puffing his chest like it might make her swoon. “Of course you are. But I work in private equity, sweetie.”

Her attention peaks, suddenly inching closer with a rise of her eyebrows. The arrogance washing over his face shows he sees it well.

“I could show you so much-”

His words become nothing with the laugh that cuts through them. A swish of blonde long hair and suddenly Lana’s mind is gone, squeezing the bench tightly. Her eyes hunt the crowd towards the direction of the sound, heart galloping against her ribcage. She sees it, the blonde pony swishing in the air, the broad shoulders. Her stomach drops, the feeling she’s chased all this time arriving quicker than expected. Brushing the man’s hand off her, she cranes her neck, reaching for a better view..

She thinks she sees her, a bright red drink in her hand. She’s nearly getting up from the seat when the feeling evaporates. The spark in her abdomen turns into an empty void. She bats her eyes rapidly, her drunken mind taking long to process the reality that it’s just someone else. The man is still talking, slurring and tripping over words.

“So whatchu say?”

Lana’s chest heaves. With effort and reluctant eyes, she snaps her gaze back to the guy, suddenly incredibly bothered by his existence.

“I say bye bye,” Lana snaps. The startled man furrows his brows, shocked by her sudden coldness. She doesn’t seem to notice, carelessly spinning back on her seat to her companion and the emptied cocktail glass. She checks the phone lying on the table, skimming through the notifications from her husband.

“You’re still cold,” Johnny smirks. The flimsy table tilts with Lana’s elbow hitting it carelessly.

“I’m not cold. I’m slavic.” She stares at the black screen. Maybe if she thinks hard enough it will happen.

“You okay?” Johnny asks, leaning forward to catch a glimpse of the screen.

Feeling caught, Lana’s cheeks flush pink. She sits back up, shoving her phone into the purse filled with lipgloss and perfume.

“I need a drink.”

“You’re in a bad mood,” Johnny points a finger towards her. “You need a bag.”

“Oh shut up Johnny,” she scrunches her nose in disgust. “You know we stopped that.”

“I know,” he sighs, watching the remains of his empty glass swirl around before tipping it desperately into his mouth. “I didn’t pay for all that rehab for nothing.”

Lana’s lips flip onto a pout, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Hey,” Johnny reaches over, tapping her hand. “This used to be your favourite part. All these eyes on you, all these guys.”

Lana rolls her eyes. “The guys are boring now.”

Johnny leans back observing, unsure whether to keep his mouth shut. He begins to speak but quickly shakes it off, only irritating her more.

“What?”

“Nothin’.”

Lana shifts forward, tapping the table impatiently.

“I don’t wanna offend you,” he shrugs, leaning his elbows on the rattling table.

“Please, like you could offend me,” she rolls her eyes.

Johnny kisses his teeth, leaning back to give her some space.

“It’s not the guys, it’s you. Somebody ruined it for you.”

For a second she feels lost, like they’re two people having separate conversations. But then it clicks, and the alcohol in her breath is making her nauseous. She glances over her shoulder, pretending to look for something, slender fingers playing with the thin stem of the glass.

When she turns back her eyes glisten. She purses her glossed lips, clearing her throat to delay the moment.

“She was always so strange,” her voice is barely audible, smaller than was typical for her. Like saying it out loud would make it true. She tilts her head, refusing to meet Johnny’s sympathetic eyes.

“Whatever, who cares,” Lana mumbles with frustration. “It’s done. It’s been done. But definitely now it’s done, over for good. She stopped looking for me.”

Johnny doesn’t seem at all shocked by this drunken revelation. “That’s getting under your skin?”

“No,” Lana’s words come quick, defensive. “It’s just weird.”

For once the silence that follows feels uneasy, between them. With a loaded sigh, she climbs down from her seat.

“We need more drinks.”

-

The room spins. Or seems to at least. Lana’s entire world feels like a cruise ship stuck in a storm, swaying from side to side. The echoing sound of her heels causes a headache. Her bra digs into her armpit. The nude satin dress, too tight around her ribs, the sheer fabric making her appear nearly nude. Usually she would love an outfit like this. But she feels bloated, and the satin clings to her sweaty skin.

She’s swallowed by dread when she sees the room, high ceilings and white walls, stylish people lingering in small groups by tall tables without a single seat. Lana could already feel her knees growing weak, the lack of sleep deepening the grey under her eyes.

“I should’ve worn that skirt,” Lana whispers leaning into her husband, stumbling like a baby deer over her legs. Like a magnet, she pulls in gazes from around the room. Hopeful smiles surround her, people eager to make small talk or to just catch her eye. She doesn’t bother returning them.

“No, the dress is way better,” Marc hisses, yanking her arm to pull her along. He had been in a mood all day. Jealousy didn’t suit him in the slightest. Still, there he was - jaw tight and snapping at every word coming from his wife’s mouth. He runs his hand over Lana’s waist, fixing the tight fabric. It would be sweet if Lana wasn’t so on edge.

“Champagne?”

The drink still fizzles when Marc thanks the waiter, handing one of the glasses to Lana. The taste in her mouth turns sour as the sharply sweet smell makes its way into her nose. Carelessly she pushes it against the grey cotton of his shirt, nearly spilling it over.

“You drink it.”

He pushes it back, slightly harshly.

“If you don’t want it then at least hold it and pretend you’re fine,” he whispers, waving quietly to someone behind her. “See, I told you they got oysters.”

“I’m going to vomit if I have to put an oyster in my mouth.”

“Shh,” he hushes. Something he only did when angry at his misbehaving wife.

Lana can feel the looks burning into her back, men with wives ogling after her as usual. It didn’t matter she looked a mess - no mascara and a smudged red lip on her frowning mouth, frizzy hair from the hot shower this morning. She knew it was beauty like this that made men weak in the knees. It felt achievable even to lesser men. This way she was just at their fingertips, just how she liked it. Marc didn’t mind this, he knew who he married. Yet today his hand wraps around her just a little tighter, claiming her as his the moment they step in the room.

“Where are you going?” Marc questions the second Lana pulls him towards the tall wall at the back, lined with mirrors.

“I need to fix my lip,” she yawns, pushing his hand off. He’s quick to return, digging his fingers harshly into her side.

“It looks fine.”

“I need to fix my lip,” Lana repeats, rolling her eyes.

He trails behind, frustrated eyes keeping a close watch. She doesn’t care, letting the sound of her heels attract even more attention as it bounces off the blank walls. Leaning over with her mouth parted, she dabs the lipstick carefully on.

“Are you done?” Marc huffs impatiently.

“Marc!”

In the reflection a man approaches them, pulling Marc into an awkward hug. She doesn’t bother to turn around, not even for the compliment.

“Lana, don’t you look stunning,” he grins, opening his arms wide for her. The girl brushes fingers through her frizzy locks. Just managing to raise her hand, she waves it lazily.

“Hey,” she spits, knowing it was pushing Marc’s buttons. Her eyes remain on the reflection staring back.

Slightly flustered, Marc pulls the man into a conversation. Something about the stock market. Nothing she would ever care about. Lana smooths over the fabric of the dress, deciding that she was right - she should have worn the skirt.

Lifting her gaze from the nude pumps her stomach drops. The floor disappears from beneath her legs and for an instance she’s freefalling through space, all the way to the deepest pits of hell. With wide eyes, she stumbles, catching herself by the grace of the cocktail table beside her.

The mirror reflects a beaming, champagne sipping and wide shouldered Paige, clad in a matching linen set. She waves her hands around, explaining something animatedly. The group surrounding her leans into every word coming from her lips.

Lana rubs her eyes to rid them of the image, surely just a mirage of the badly slept night. The blonde’s sudden disappearance had caused her to go insane. How embarrassing. She repeatedly blinks, adjusting to the light again. She’s still there, laughing carelessly. Lana’s frozen. Paige seems so unbothered.

At once Paige’s story comes to a clumsy stop. The sentence slows, losing its thread. Her ocean eyes drift towards the mirror to the reflection of a red-lipped girl. Their eyes lock.

The tall room shrinks suffocatingly. It feels more like a prison, a cage too cramped for them both. Lana’s ears go red. The hardness on her face softens. People around Paige lean forward expectantly, waiting for the story to continue. Lana waits too, for a gesture, a smile, a nod.

When an older lady pokes the blonde’s arm, her bright eyes flicker away without lingering. Shaking her head, she laughs off the interruption. With ease Paige picks up the conversation, never looking back. The Paige she knew in Dallas would have never averted her gaze.

She swallows sharply, exhaling through her nose and yanks the glass from Marc’s hands, startling the two men.

“Give me this,” she breathes, downing it all with a few long sips.

“Alisa,” Marc whispers, brows lifting with horror. “Not here.”

The brown, tired eyes staring back flare with a warning. A danger Marc knew to avoid or he might truly be in trouble. He lets it go, harshly parading his wife around the room like some sort of prize.

With each boring conversation she sips more champagne. Every how are you and great weather pushes her towards another glass until a welcomed buzz runs through her system. Even then her eyes scan across the room of strangers, looking for one blonde engraved on her brain. Before she realises, she’s taking notes of her every move - who she speaks to, how often she laughs, the way she’s becoming the gravity of the room. Everybody wants a piece of Paige Bueckers.

Lana’s on her fifth glass when thick heels clank against the hardwood floors. A tall, devastatingly beautiful woman causes everyone’s heads to turn.

“Oh gosh, I’m so so sorry,” her voice echoes across the gallery. She hurries past everyone, past Lana too, into the arms of the blonde.

“I’m so late.”

Paige’s cheeks flush, gaze flickering to Lana for the first time since the mirror. It only lasts for a fleeting second. When she turns back there’s a grin on her lips. She’s wrapping an arm around the girl’s waist and pulling her in for a peck. Nothing like the one Lana and Paige shared just weeks ago. Still, envy sits heavy in her abdomen. Not because of Paige. But because of how easy it looked. That was never enough for Lana.

She reaches for another glass when Marc’s hand grips her wrist. She doesn’t need to look to know he’s disappointed. She lets it go, eyes fixed on the stranger. She’s all limbs, blending in with the group of people without effort. She knows exactly when to laugh, when to be quiet, how to put Paige on a higher pedestal.

Lana jumps at the sudden yank on her arm. Marc blinks at her demandingly.

“Are you okay?”

Staring back she waits a beat too long to answer. “Yes, fine.” The words come sharp, bothered. Not unusual for a woman like her. Her eyes flicker to the couple 10 feet away and the firm hand that brushes along the woman’s spine. Suspicious but unbothered Marc turns back. Spotting another coworker he drags his tipsy wife after him. 7 feet away. Paige still doesn’t look.

“Oh, Alisa,” an older man Lana can’t seem to remember the name of smirks, leaning forward for a hug. She grimaces, feeling herself cocooning into her shell. Ever so aware of the blonde’s whereabouts she feels her stomach flip.

“You look more beautiful every time,” he winks, nodding her over. With a determined gleam and a slight buzz Lana’s frown flips into a smile. Being ignored like this would not continue, not for long.

“Oh stop it,” Lana waves, giggling loud enough for the sound to bubble in the air. It’s what they always fell for. Paige would recognise that sound in a heartbeat. Yet her eyes remain fixed forward. So stubborn.

“I’ll keep telling ya, if you ever get tired of Marc you know where I’ll be.”

Lana’s eyes drift to the wife, unpleased and groaning at the remark. She brushes it off easy, she never cared much whether men were taken or not. She wraps her arms tight around the guy, desperate for the burn of Paige’s gaze. It’s not there.

“Oh, I’ll remember that,” she murmurs into his ear, pushing further on purpose.

A sudden screech causes half the room to snap their heads towards the sound. Lana too jumps back.

“Marc,” Antonio screams. The tall androgynous man in a linen blouse and painted nails waves them over. Lana freezes. Her eyes lock on the broad back where Paige stands, pretending not to notice. The cage shrinks even further. She doesn’t move.

Lana can’t help it when she’s being pulled over, a firm grip on her wrist forcing her movements. Only when the group of people make space for the couple does she feel the weight of Paige’s vicinity. She stands opposite. 4 feet away. This close Lana can see the tight line of her lips. It’s too close.

It’s a big scene, the flamboyant man getting under Lana’s skin. He jumps excitedly, hugging them both. Yet Lana can’t help but keep her eyes on the blonde, pushing for a glance back. She just needs to be noticed. Paige’s eyes remain stubbornly on the ground, as if there’s nothing more interesting than her brand new shoelaces.

“Alisa, you look fabulous. It’s giving messy french girl,” Antonio grins, running his hand over her hair. The empty void in Lana’s stomach deepens. She needed to find a way, something that would cause a reaction.

“Messy?” She teases, letting her voice rumble with mischief and seduction. “No no, never messy.” The group laughs, even the girl beside Paige. This sets something off, a tingling in Lana’s spine.

“I’m not even French,” she rolls her eyes. Giggles erupt everywhere yet Paige is stuck on the floor and her shiny leather shoes.

“Silly Americans, you think this is a French accent?” They all howl. Marc’s hand rubs Lana’s back. This is the woman she married, the funny center of attention who could charm anyone.

“Guys, everyone. This is Marc and his gorgeous, Ukrainian wife, Alisa,” Antonio introduces the pair, flailing his hands around them. “Marc is one of the creative directors for Calvin Klein.”

Lana’s still trying to find her footing when hands are being thrown her way for shaking. She offers smiles too politely, even accidentally introducing herself to someone twice.

“Marc, nice to meet you.”

Her ears perk up. Over her shoulder she catches a glimpse of her husband’s hand sliding into Paige’s. The rings on her fingers, the hauntingly familiar golden chain tugged into her shirt, a sweet smile. Irritatingly sweet.

“Paige,” she answers. For a second she fears Marc will remember her from that one night out. But even when his eyes narrow with focus, he shrugs it off. Elated, Lana’s posture straightens. With her shoulders pushed back and a well played confidence she reaches for the blonde’s hand just as unbothered. Paige seems to shrink in response, exasperatedly gulping air.

“I’m Alisa.”

Lana’s voice is smooth, the sound rising higher than naturally. Her acrylics scratch along the blonde’s palm which Paige offers before her mind can catch up. The blonde hairs on her arms rise. The warmth of her fingers spreads all the way to Lana’s toes causing the room to tilt. She grips just a little too hard.

“Yeah, uh, Paige,” the words are hushed, as if they’re sharing a secret, whispering into each other’s ears. The blonde’s face flushes pink, something familiar sparking between them. Flashes of Dallas, glitter and snow take over her mind. For a second Paige isn’t there at all. She’s back at Lonestar watching Lana under the flashing lights.

It’s Grace’s laughter that pulls her out of the vision. The grounding force someone like Paige needed. Not the thunderstorm standing in front of her. She pulls back her hand too abruptly, fighting to break free from Lana’s spell. But before she can Paige feels her nails on her neck, pulling on the gold chain to tug it out of her shirt. She hates herself for the way it makes her feel.

“Nice cross,” Lana mumbles. She’s tipsy, blinking slowly and her accent more distinct than usual. Her slender fingers brush against the crucifix, heavy eyes flicking back and forth to Paige. It takes all her discipline not to join Lana’s game. There were no winners in this one, Paige had learned that years ago.

“Thanks,” she mumbles, forcing the words out with an embarrassing struggle. Lana doesn’t appear half as affected, yet she flexes her fingers before turning, gaze lingering on the blonde. Paige can’t tear herself away. The sight of her like this, the dress making her look near naked. The fabric clings to her body obscenely, causing Paige’s pulse to stutter. Cold sweat trickles down her back as she forces her eyes shut, pushing out the thoughts rummaging her brain.

“Hi, I’m Grace.”

The girl’s voice is so earnest, so curious that guilt nearly snaps Paige in half. She’s leaning forward, eager to know more about this beautiful, funny stranger. When Lana sees her, really sees her, her movements stop mid action.

“Grace,” she hums, feeling out the name and the familiarity of the word. She blinks once, twice, Grace standing there with her hand extended.

It takes a beat too long for Lana to come out of it. When she does, the unease on her face melts into a charming grin.

“Grace, beautiful name,” she coos, enveloping Grace’s hand with two of her own. “Wow, look at that.”

Lana pulls at the girl’s fingers, feeling it before her eyes dare to flicker down. The gold band and the two carat diamond decorating Grace’s hands. Grace blushes, letting Lana study it. The champagne and something familiar bubbles in Paige’s gut. She puts the glass down. The lights seem too harsh, the walls too snow white. Every word becomes a blur as she struggles to catch up with her mind. It was too much.

“Oh thank you,” Grace giggles, wide eyes shimmering. Paige is unsure whether it was the guilt or embarrassment over Grace’s naivety that caused it, but she felt like she might be sick any second.

“We’re taking it slow with the wedding plans,” she adds, still allowing Lana to hold onto her. “Well, I am. This one is barely home.” She elbows her fiance.

The moment Lana’s brows rise and her chestnut eyes lift to the blonde Paige knows it’s neither of those things. Clumsily she leans into her fiance, tugging at her linen shirt for more air.

“I see,” Lana’s gaze drags back, locking on Grace hungrily. She breathes in her features. Green eyes, long lashes, dark brows and a soft smile.

“You’re so beautiful,” Lana says, still holding onto the girl’s hand. “If she’s ever bad to you, you come straight to me.”

Stunned, Paige clears her throat, her composure crumbling even worse the minute she sees it - the goosebumps rising along Grace’s skin. Oh God, she’s right in her trap. She’s too naive to spot the danger. Paige’s stomach drops.

There’s a giggle, a familiar flustered look on Grace’s face. The same one she got whenever Paige touched her. The blonde wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her in tightly. It only seems to rile Lana on. Of course it does.

Lana leans forward, running soft fingertips up Grace’s arm all the way to her long neck. Shamelessly she brushes her finger behind Grace’s ear, every shiver from the girl only pushing her deeper.

“Pretty,” she sighs, ever so carefully holding the dangling, shimmery earrings between her fingers. The image makes Paige’s stomach stir, the smile on Lana’s lips, Grace’s doting face - the tenderness of the touch.

“I love your lipgloss too, where-”

“Babe, did my package come today?” Paige abruptly asks, though her eyes are not even on her fiance. They remain on Lana when both girls turn to her, a sick satisfaction on Lana’s face.

“What package..?” Grace questions, brows furrowed in deep confusion.

It’s a feeble excuse. Both girls stare at her so intensely Paige has to look away. She’s fixed on the light wood of the floor, tempted by the sight of Lana’s ankle in her peripheral vision. When her gaze lifts she sees the entire, silenced group of people all staring at her.

“Why are you standing all the way over there?” Marc suddenly asks, reaching over for his wife. “Come here.” At last Lana’s gone, feet away from her and most importantly, Grace. Relieved, Paige leans in and kisses the top of her head, the image of Grace’s hands in Lana’s replaying over and over.

“Nevermind babe, it’s fine,” Paige murmurs, hoping the scent of her fiance’s hair might hide the smell of cherries. Still, Lana haunts every moment. The lilt of her voice bubbling in the background of boring conversations, the sight of cherry red lips in her peripheral vision. At first her appearance was only irritating - now it was beginning to drag Paige underwater.

With a tug on her sleeve, Paige resurfaces. Her head snaps impatiently. Slightly startled, Marc’s eyes widen.

“I-I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude and interrupt. You just look so familiar. Do I know you from somewhere?” He asks carefully. Paige only stares until Grace elbows her for a response.

“Oh, I play basketball for the Sparks,” she awkwardly nods.

“Ohh, for the WNBA?”

“Yep.”

“Alisa watches that sometimes!” Oh.

Across the group Lana’s eyes widen, her smooth exterior cracking just for a moment. “I do not.”

Marc snorts. “I catch you sometimes. I don’t know why you try to hide it.”

Paige nearly trips over her own feet. She knows Lana never cared about basketball - not at all. Not when it extended beyond her. What irritates her most isn’t Lana, but the way she still dug her way into Paige’s life. It made no sense. Years had passed. Entire lifetimes had been lived between then and now. Yet the tight reins Paige had been holding onto were beginning to slip, leaving the skin of her palms raw and bloody.

“Excuse me.”

On the verge of splitting open she rushes off, leaving behind countless confused faces - all but one.

Long legs take long strides to the buffet table, not registering the shrimp and bruschetta laid out for service. She can’t make sense of what’s happening. Everything’s too loud, too sharp, too close, too hot-

“Hungry?”

It’s too much. That voice is somehow the last and only thing she wants to hear. She can’t answer. can’t even turn around, facing forward.

“I’m just looking for a drink. They only got this crap?”

Lana steps beside her, swirling the champagne in her glass around. She sips it, seemingly unaffected compared to the blonde digging fingernails into her palms. The heat radiating off Lana's arm itches against her, even though she’s inches away. It makes Paige dizzy.

“You forgot how to speak?”

Paige exhales loud, forcing air through her nostrils. Whatever control there was had slipped the second Lana stepped in the room.

“Ever think I don’t wanna talk to you?”

Lana lets out a single laugh, pushing her arm snug against Paige. “Now now, no reason to be so rude.”

Paige moves further, every cell of her being fighting against it.

“What do you want?” She whispers, staring straight ahead.

The smug smile on Lana’s lips drops. She turns, leaning into the buffet table.

“You disappeared.” The words aren’t sad or regretful. Just annoyed.

“Been busy,” Paige huffs, piling shrimp onto her plate mindlessly. Realising she hates shrimp, she begins putting it back one by one with an immense fury.

“With your fiance apparently,” Lana says loud enough to make Paige lift her gaze. Her blue eyes land on hers. First warning. Lana knew this well enough.

“Stop. This ain’t some joke,” Paige stutters at the sight of her. It kills her not to clean up the smudged red lipstick by the corner of her mouth.

“Shh,” Lana hushes amused, nodding toward the group. “You need to be a better actor or sweet little Grace is gonna realise this isn’t quite right, hmm?”

Dragging her eyes back to the group, she finds Grace standing a little further from the group, not quite fitting in. She swings back and forth, sipping on champagne until her eyes find Paige’s, lighting up in an instance.

“Don’t talk about Grace,” Paige whispers, smiling stiffly back.

“You’re acting like I forced you to kiss me,” Lana says hurriedly, covering her mouth as Grace closes in on the pair

“Don’t leave me again,” Grace hurries over, clasping her hand on Paige’s. The blonde pulls it back, wiping it on her pants. “Could you get me some shrimp?”

With trembling hands, Paige begins to pile shrimp onto a plate once more, leaving Grace and Lana with their eyes locked. With a smile, Lana stretches her hand forward, bringing it to the back of the girl’s neck. By the time Paige turns back, Grace is more flustered than before, blushing profusely.

“I was gonna say earlier, your hair-” Lana lets her fingers dig through her locks, brushing through all the way to the ends. The girl bats her eyes, glossed lips parted, just as affected as the men in the audience used to be. It made Paige furious, she hates how easily Grace folds for Lana. Worst of all, she understands exactly why.

“Fuck, so stunning,” Lana lets her voice rumble, hoarsely carrying itself to Grace’s ears. She visibly melts, enough to lose all train of thought.

“Th- thank you,” Grace stutters. After lingering Lana finally lets go and grabs her empty glass.

“Nice to meet you both,” she smiles politely. As if nothing ever happened, Lana walks off. Her eyes linger on Paige over her shoulder, until she ends up in the arms of her husband. Grace, far too flustered to notice, begins to giggle.

“Oh my gosh,” she covers her mouth, leaning closer to Paige still staring after someone else. “Was she flirting with me?”

Paige doesn’t answer. She barely hears it, fixed on the view of that nude dress and the way it hugs the curves of Lana’s waist. Grace’s words turn into a distant mumble.

“That is seriously the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen,” Grace says, looking after her. “Right?”

There’s a beat, a moment where Grace’s words fall for deaf ears. It’s all worsened by the ease which Lana seems to operate, making the room bend for her.

Paige nods thoughtlessly, quickly altering it to a shake of the head. “Not my type.”

Grace snorts. “Seriously?”

“Nah,” Paige’s eyes finally break free, glancing at the sweet girl beside her. Fuelled by guilt, she leans down and kisses her cheek.

“But that was pretty hot right?” Grace whispers, wrapping her long arms around Paige’s neck. Her lips tickle against the blonde’s ear, nose brushing against the warm skin there. Misreading Paige’s odd behaviour for lust, she presses flush against her fiance.

“You like watching two beautiful women flirt for you like that?”

Paige’s throat goes dry, a desperate cough coming out. Yet the girl doesn’t budge, breathing into her earlobe. The blonde is far too distracted to feel anything.

“I think I need to go to the bathroom,” Grace winks. The intent doesn’t quite reach Paige, whose eyes follow the way Marc’s hand lingers on Lana’s hip.

“Paige?”

“Yeah?”

“Come with me.”

Before she can stop it from happening, Grace is dragging her through a tall, dim corridor decisively. Only then, bundled underneath flashes of Lana she recognises the meaning a minute too late. Grace is already pulling her into a bathroom, locking the door behind them.

“What are you doing, honey?”

Grace has that look in her eye, the one Paige knows well. The girl gulps for air, chest heaving with the spark Lana ignited. Her hand slides up Paige’s arm, feeling the broad frame, her soft face. She tilts Paige’s face and presses her lips on hers.

Paige stumbles slowly backwards, eyes wide open as she kisses back. Her palms land on the cold ceramic of the sink behind her thighs, clinging onto it. Grace, already humming with every kiss, gets on her tiptoes and opens her mouth further. Conflicted Paige tries to get into it, shutting her eyes at last. But with the darkness comes images of Lana, the ones that haunted her sleep.

“You liked that, huh?” Grace giggles, bumping her nose into Paige’s.

Paige’s exhale shakes as she pries her hands from the ceramic, unsurely wrapping one around her waist. She lets her thumb brush against the fabric of her skirt, unable to shake the pressure in her chest. She felt disgusted in herself. In all of this. In Lana, most of all.

“Paige?”

“Oh,” Paige hums surprised, shutting her eyes tightly like she was supposed to before kissing. “I just like you, baby.”

By the sound of Grace’s whimper it seems to be the correct answer, her mouth attacking Paige’s neck. She lets out a heavy breath, staring at the pitch black tile like a black hole opposite of them. It’s so dark she can almost see their shape reflected from it, but it’s blurry and contorted. Why, why was she thinking about a damn wall or space or anything when there was a girl she loved sucking on her neck?

In a desperate attempt she grabs Grace’s hair and forces her mouth back to hers, slipping her tongue out. It meets Grace’s, warm and wet and pleasant enough. The girl melts into her, pressing her chest into her. Her fingers slip down, reaching Paige’s hand by her skirt and yanking it below the waistband. This makes the blonde lose her rhythm, quickly turning the kiss clumsy, tongues in all the wrong places at all the wrong times.

“Sorry,” Paige pulls back to whisper. Without beating herself up, she slips back in with her mouth wide open. The second her lips close against Grace’s, her teeth sink into the slippery tongue fighting for access into Paige’s mouth.

“Ow,” she jumps.

“Fuck, sorry,” Paige pulls back, nostrils flared with frustration.

“It’s okay,” Grace giggles easily, only glad her tongue isn’t bleeding. “Relax, baby.”

she kisses along her neck, slower this time. Finding her pulsepoint she sucks, hard enough to make Paige’s shoulders tense up even more. She didn’t want to go to a game with a damn hickey, she wasn’t 19 anymore. It drives her crazy, the arousal that’s just at her fingertips but blocked by the repeating visions of Lana touching on Grace, making her laugh, the sway of her hips, her puckered lips, Lana, Lana, Lana, Lana-

“Wait, gimme a sec-” Paige whispers, unable to stop imagining her. It’s like she’s in the room, petting Grace's hair and urging the girl to keep going. Better yet, it’s as if Grace is her - Lana’s perfect tongue licking along Paige’s ear. It’s only then her boxers dampen.

“Wait, babe,” the blonde huffs. Still no stop. At last, Paige pushes Grace off on the verge of blowing up. “Stop.”

Grace stumbles back, eyes burning hopefully and quickly dimming. Paige wipes her mouth, like it might rid her of the disgust she felt for herself and the puddle between her legs.

“I just need a second,” she murmurs, staring at the ground.

“Are you okay?” Grace asks softly, studying her fiance with a pout.

Paige’s vision feels blurry, her heart beats so loud at first she thinks it’s an earthquake. “Yeah, yeah, sorry,” she mumbles, mind skimming for an excuse. “I just wanna wait till we get home.”

Paige doesn’t want to look up, doesn’t want to face the excitement withering away from Grace’s face. She doesn’t want Grace to see the horror in her own eyes, the awful realisation that it’s not Grace who she wants right now.

“My tummy hurts,” Paige lies, really putting on the act by furrowing her brows and placing a hand on her stomach. “Ouchies.”

“Aw baby,” Grace immediately coos, stepping closer and rubbing on her stomach too. “I get it, don’t worry.”

“I’m sorry,” Paige sighs, finally daring to meet her eyes. She looks sad. This is exactly what she craved, rendezvous in public bathrooms, passion so strong it couldn’t be contained. Paige couldn’t deliver it.

“Don’t be,” Grace smiles, giving her lips an easy pick. Paige purses her lips back against her.

“I love you,” Paige hums. That part is true. It’s the decision she had made, to love her.

“I love you too,” Grace murmurs, letting go of Paige’s hand. “Wanna get back?”

“You should go first, I need to pee,” Paige says, turning around and beginning to wash her hands for no reason, scrubbing the soap between her fingers.

“Okay, I’ll be with Antonio,” Grace says, smacking Paige’s butt on the way out. When the door closes Paige finally lets out the dizzying breath she’d been holding. Her knuckles turn white as the ceramic as she holds onto it, glaring into the image of herself. For a second she considers shattering it, letting blood ripple all over the white linen on her. She dreams of taking a sharp shard and digging it deep into her muscle, into her bones to rid every part, memory and neuron that Lana had infiltrated.

Outside the door, past the thick brick walls of the long corridor Lana studies the painting opposite her - a blonde angel barely visible for the intense light coming from an unknown source. The longer she stares, the clearer her contorted, painful face appears. The edges blur into a pure white, clear as snow.

She picks at her cuticles, restless hands looking for something to do or itching for a drink. A silent hiss spills from her lips when blood spills, stinging across her finger. Mindlessly, she takes it in her mouth, letting the metallic taste mix with her spit.

Averting her eyes at the sound of a lock, Lana watches the bathroom door open and Paige stumbles out. Their eyes meet immediately, at last locking for a moment that nears satisfactory. Lana lets her hand fall back beside her, watchfully waiting for the blonde to move.

With a decisive sigh, Paige tears her eyes away, desperate to get away. But Lana feels the endless void return the second her blue eyes are out of view, the dread of not being wanted. She knows better, she’s too grown. Watching Paige Bueckers walk away without a word, a look, nothing - it doesn’t sit right.

Paige is already past her when she blurts: “Your fiance is really cute, is that the same girl you were with in Dal-”

With a sharp movement Lana’s back hits the cool brick hard. The smirk on her face falls. There’s a thud, a firm hand on her, a tension teetering on the verge of exploding. Lana wasn’t one to get scared easily. But Paige’s eyes, black and lowered, look angrier than ever gazing down at her. Suddenly she feels small, nothing compared to the blonde before her. There’s no escape. For a moment Lana thinks that she should scream, the sound of her blood rushing booming in her ears.

Paige is furious, clenching her face so hard that her jaw is turning sharp enough to slice through her. Her laboured breathing becomes heavy, nostrils flaring with each exhale. Lana sobers up at once. Paige’s hand presses into Lana’s left hip, causing the girl to jump. Paige had been intense, explosive, jealous, but never dangerous. At least before. She leans down, breathing cool, minty air into Lana’s face. All she can do is bat her eyes and let the brick dig into the arch of her spine.

Cold fingers slowly grab the light fabric of Lana’s dress. Lana is almost about to reach and push the hand away, but Paige’s other hand comes to her wrist as if reading her mind, pinning it against the wall. A room full of people just a few feet away, anyone could walk in at any moment, but Lana can’t say a word, knowing her voice would tremble a little too much. All she can do is look up at the blonde towering over her and wait.

Paige inches downwards, parting her pink lips ever so slightly. The need builds suddenly, the burning in Lana’s throat that can only be put out by the taste of her spit, the one glistening just inches away. Her brows furrow, and mouth falls open. Fear blurs into something heavier, Paige’s fingers digging into her skin painfully.

“You think it’s a joke?” Paige suddenly speaks, her lips just inches away. Lana can only stare down at her mouth, distracted,

“Look at me.” The demanding voice snaps Lana’s eyes upwards, into the darkness emitting from Paige’s. The blonde holds Lana’s dress in a fist, gathering the fabric and letting the hem rise with it, revealing a smooth, silky thigh. It trembles. Lana’s eyes nearly roll back, if it wasn’t for those lips.

“You think that’s a joke? Touching some other woman like that in front of me? Flirting with her, looking at her like that?”

The words don’t process right away, Lana’s mind struggling to keep up with her body. When it hits her, Paige is already inching closer, the sharp tip of her nose pressing against Lana’s. It wasn’t Grace Paige felt jealous over. The realisation makes Lana tremble in her heels.

“You think I don’t know what you’re doing?” Paige tilts her head, her fingers grazing Lana’s outer thigh leaving fire at its wake. Lana can feel how she’s losing herself, submitting to this version of Paige she never knew a little too easy. There’s a burn between her legs she can’t stand, bucking herself closer. Just a single touch, one graze would be enough. Her eyes turn watery, tears threatening to spill for the sheer need of Paige’s fingers where she needs them most.

The blonde’s eyes flutter shut, nose grazing Lana’s cheek, then the corner of her mouth as her fingers squeeze her inner thigh. Lightheaded, Lana inhales with effort, stomach flipping with each exhale. A silent whine comes out, beyond her control. She shuts her eyes, wetting the glossed lips with her tongue. Sound of cutlery and distant chatter carry all the way from the gallery. But here, in this hallway, all they can hear is heavy breathing.

“You want this so fucking bad, huh?”

Lana can’t help herself, nodding against Paige’s nose, grazing her lips against the ones just inches away, barely getting a sense of them. She needs it more than anything, more than water, more than she ever had before. The blonde struggles too, savouring the feel of Lana’s milky skin. With each moment she can feel the control slipping, the reins becoming looser. It’s terrifying enough to cause her grip on Lana’s thigh to loosen.

With a stuttering breath she listens to the frustrated sigh coming from the girl, the way she pushes her front flush against Paige. It’s nearly pitiful, the desperation, the act she had put on for tens of people before. Paige had seen her do this for countless men, the way she’d melt into them with such ease it nauseated her.

But for Grace? She showed the soft touches and careful lingers, the ones Paige thought belonged only to her. The ones that made her feel like she was the only person in the room, in the entire world - the once that made her fold as fast as Grace did. Turns out there’s nothing special there, that she can manage it with anyone. Dozens before her, maybe even hundreds.

Fluttering her eyes open, she stares at the woman pressed into the wall, a million thoughts running through her head, none of them enough. Her touch on Lana’s thigh softens and finally halts.

“You don't even care who it is, huh?” Paige mutters bitterly. There’s a beat, a moment when the blonde lets go. Lana opens her eyes, startled by the coldness in the blonde’s words. “You’d let anyone do this to you.”

Blinking rapidly, Lana’s legs still shake when the humiliation settles uneasily in her core. The shame makes her face as red as the lipstick on her lips.

“Wouldn’t you?”

Paige doesn’t want an answer, and she doesn’t wait for it. Before Lana can comprehend, the blonde is gone, and so is her touch from her thigh, and the embarrassment rushing through Lana. A sudden cold, reminiscent of winters in Chicago, covers her thigh, exactly where Paige’s hand left its mark.

-

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