: cherry lips

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Zadie Atwood was suffering from an unusual affliction. As she flitted around her small apartment in downtown Los Angeles, she couldn't stop rearranging the cushions on her couch. She kept checking herself in the mirror, blotting her mauve lipstick, fixing her hair to make sure it looked effortlessly tousled, long blonde locks falling around her shoulders. She had spent half an hour (a record for her) choosing what to wear, discarded outfits thrown onto the floor and finally kicked under her bed... she had settled on an oversized white shirt, barely buttoned up overa  black lace lingerie set. In short, she was nervous. It might have been normal for most people to feel at least a little trepidation when inviting a handsome stranger over to their house, but not so for Zadie, not usually. Usually the only emotion she would feel would be impatience, and the only effort she'd go to would be a quick rinse of her mouth with mouthwash. But here she was, fresh hair, makeup touched up, outfit carefully picked. She hated herself for it. Taking one final glance in the mirror, she decides to slip some little black shorts on under the shirt. There, that was a little less... desperate? Hating herself still, she contemplates getting changed once more. In fact, she contemplates cancelling, feigning covid. Before can reach her phone there's a knock at the door, and she fixes a grin to her face that makes her seem more confident than she feels as she opens the door. "Howdy cowboy."

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Jesse's green eyes flicker up to the mirror. Spiced and rough hands pat down the freshly trimmed beard. A spritz of cologne follows. He runs a hand through the long, top portion of his hair and shuts off the bathroom light. The confidence that he usually carries feels intact; he feels not one bit nervous of how his appearance might look to Zadie. That was his general attitude. Not even seeing a beautiful girl would make him shake in his Lucchese's. Opting out of the cliche 'cowboy' look, Jesse fastens a belt to a pair of black jeans. No boots in sight, instead some easy to put on vans. Keys and wallet fall into their place in his back pocket and a piece of chewing gum slides between his teeth. Los Angeles didn't feel as strange to him. It took a bit to get used to; coming from cornfields and cattle to only seeing buildings and cars everywhere. Though he missed the wide open spaces, it felt right to be here in this current time. No longer waking up at the crack of dawn and not having to feel the heavy weight of his sister's death on his chest. The ranch brought unfriendly reminders. Los Angeles gave a feeling of hope and redemption. Even if temporary. He pulls one last hand through his hair and locks the car door. It's weird not to hear the clicks of his boots hitting the stairs, he notices. He gets to her floor and raps his knuckles to the wooden door.  In a few seconds, Jesse's met with a smile from the blonde girl he'd been looking forward to see. Zadie was a tough one, he gathered from the encounters they had at the bar. The chase was something he enjoyed though, gave a lot of excitement. Watching her try to act uninterested whenever he threw a compliment or attempted to flirt, only encouraged him more. "Blondie," his southern drawl sounds extra raspy in his greeting to her. She opens the door wider for the pair of them to enter back into the apartment. She strides ahead of him which gives him the chance to check out her long, tanned legs. A smirk of approval pulls at his mouth. "Did you get all dressed up for me? I dig it, if you did.."  The bottle of tequila on the counter catches his attention. "Glad to see our friend tequila is ready to play."

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Zadie had been born with main character syndrome. Even being one of five girls, being the absolute middle child as the third born, and being certainly neither the prettiest nor the least pretty, she had never struggled with her own sense of self worth. It had been early on in life that she realized she was different to her peers, not in any significant way but enough to know that she'd never conform. Growing up in extremely small town conservative Texas, she had always been brash and bold, and she'd been unapologetic about that fact. It had been an unattractive trait to most of the boys she grew up with. So, when it came to Jesse, who reminded her so much of those boys, she was always surprised by how open and non judgemental he was. Her fingers fumbled over the lock of her front door as she went to open it, though she quickly recovered, tilting her head to one side and letting her golden locks cascade down her shoulder. His voice sends a shiver down her spine, though she works hard to act nonchalant as she opens the door wider for him. It's strange to see him in her space. She feels very slightly shaky and she hates herself deeply for it, trying to maintain her composure as she leads him in to her cosy (read: tiny) living room. "You think this is dressed up?" she teases, glad she kicked her rejected outfits under the bed, out of sight. "Cute." She nods at him to sit on her couch, taking the tequila and pouring two hefty glasses. "Any ice? Lime?" she asks, before speaking more generally to the room. "Alexa, play my hook up playlist," she says matter of factly, the robot responding in turn and letting Two Weeks by FKA Twigs fill the apartment from unseen speakers. She hands him the glass, slumping down on the couch beside him with her own glass in hand. "It's weird seeing you outside of the bar."

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It was a different atmosphere for these two. Their usual interactions occurred on Zadie's territory; behind the bar and pervy men beside him trying to get a glimpse at the blonde. And here they were again on her turf. Zadie could hide beyond the countertop that separated them, however tonight was different. It was dangerous for sure, especially some of the thoughts he had. Visions of the trouble and the chemistry that poured between them, frequented those treacherous thoughts. Two months had passed by since he left the ranch and he still found himself shacking up on his mother's. It didn't bother him. Annemarie and her new husband were too busy to mind Jesse taking up a little bit of space. Life had taken a complete three hundred and sixty for him. Head was above water and that's all that mattered. Now, it was taking things day by day. Jesse finds himself checking out her quaint  space. Perfect amount of area, even it being tiny. Though what he was realizing, that's how life was in Los Angeles. Teeny spots but full of life. He wouldn't admit it, but he was envious of her. Chasing her own life and sticking it anyone that got in her way. Jesse makes himself comfortable on the couch after her lead. One of his legs bending to where his ankle is on top of his knee and arms spread out across the top of the furniture. "I'll take ice and lime, please and thank you." Large hands grab the glass and he makes a point to slightly brush a finger against the skin of her wrist  "Your hook up playlist, that's a little forward, yeah?"  His lips touch the glass but his right eye drops to give her a wink. The proximity is perfect between them. Jesse needs her to feel comfortable and not force whatever this is. Though there's definitely tension, the whole bar and world could feel that.  "What do you find so weird about it?" It's strange, he'll admit. A good sense of different. He can physically hear, not having to shout a little bit over some tacky music. "I'm not having to fend off the creeps who want to hit on you, it's nice." A chuckle escapes his mouth and he feels it in his chest. The tequila felt warm each sip. His eyes wander down to those tan toned legs again, before they're back looking in her eyes. "Should we do an actual shot? We talked about some deep shit. Might be useful."

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She fetches ice, her slender fingers dropping a few cubes in each glass, not caring as the tequila splashed onto the counter. She squeezes half a lime into each, grabbing her salt shaker for good measure as she goes to join her handsome friend. And god, was he handsome. Jesse might have been the most stereotypically handsome man she had ever seen in the flesh, so much so that she'd been genuinely shocked when he walked into the bar, even in a place as populated with beautiful people as LA. She had been even more shocked to hear that he wasn't a model or actor, no, no, he was a ranch hand. She had spent ten minutes looking round the room for Ashton Kutcher, convinced she was being punked.  As if on cue, FKA Twigs fades out, replaced with 'Sexy Boy' by Air. She snorts at how on the nose that is. Her skin comes up in goosebumps where his fingers brush against it, and even from that briefest touch she can tell they're tough, the hands of a working man. It makes her feel a little dizzy as she sits beside him. She sees his eyes wander the room and takes a sip of her drink. "Don't read too much into the decor," she says, gesturing around the room. "I just rent here, my real place is in San Francisco." His lips touch the glass and she can't help but be jealous of her own glassware. She smirks at him, offering a little shrug. "Would you rather I put on my book club playlist? Maybe my running playlist? I wouldn't want to make you feel uncomfortable."  She mulls over the question. It was strange not having other people around, his friends joking around, or her business partner telling her to stop drooling. The tequila burns her lips as she takes another sip. "You look different to me. Must be the lighting," she says, though she knows it's not that. He had confided in her and it had subtly changed the way she thought of him, still seeing him as a smouldering cowboy, but one with more depth than she'd probably given him credit for. "Great suggestion! Here," she says, sliding over two shot glasses. "I have other options if you don't want tequila. In fact, I pretty much have a fully stocked bar - pick your poison."

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Comfort is what he feels the dynamic between them is. They've grown up in similar backgrounds. Ranchers tends to be a rare lifestyle choice in this day in age. Although to Jesse, it wasn't a lifestyle or even particularly an option. But a destiny he was running from. "You rent here but have a place in Los Angeles? How much time do you spend in each location?" He's not shocked. You can always tell a successful and composed woman, he reflects to himself. The music that is playing in the background seeps back into his ears. Almost forgetting that it was even there, from being invested in conversation. It's a sexy vibe. Making sense for the steamy playlist title she's given it. A thought of how many times it's been played floats into his head. He shakes it away; it wasn't his concern nor his business to inquire about. "I'm comfortable with the playlist." One hand smoothes over the stubble on his cheeks, feeling the pricking of a post shave.  Tequila tastes of bad memories. The feel of it is what he craves and loves. Cold hitting his throat with each sip but warmth taking over as it goes fully down. "I'm sure it is the lighting. You're used to seeing me in the dimmed lights." Smirking, Jesse decides he enjoys tormenting her. Seeing her cheeks turn a shade darker. "Am I uglier in the full light? Be honest. I can take it."   Zadie gestures over to a bar cart that's filled with all sorts of liquor. The bartender's collection impressive, as his eyes move quickly to claim a suggestion. "How about a whisky shot?" Whisky is what they shot back home. Felt only fair and familiar. "This is what me and the other  ranch hands would shoot back after a long hard day." He slides a little closer to her after making the final decision. "Unless you'd prefer something else, that is... Have a favorite poison?" (NOTE: i'm sorry this is crap. but i have post 3 in a row brain. forgive me!)

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Masculinity pours out of Jesse's every pore and Zadie hates how intoxicating that is to her. She was a tomboy, a woman who had spent her whole life being told she was unladylike, and yet here she was revelling in a man that was just, so... manly. She sips on her tequila, shrugging off his question around her living arrangements. Her place in San Francisco was still co-owned by Holden, though she had no idea if he ever went there, if he was there right now, if he even remembered that little corner of the world they used to share. "I don't spend much time there these days," she says, and it's true. Since her ex had attempted to take his life all those months ago, she couldn't shake the fear that she'd turn the key, open the door and there he'd be, hanging from the rafters. She smothers a shudder. Banishing the thought, she focused instead on cheerier things, like the well over 6 foot cowboy currently sat on her couch. He insists he's comfortable with the playlist and a smirk curls at the corner of her lips, a hint of her usual confident self returning as the alcohol did its job. "Oh you are? I should warn you, it's a long playlist. Goes on for hours. If you get tired I can always cut it short." She feels more herself and it shows as she sprawls on her couch beside him, her body turned to face him with her head propped up by a lazy hand, her arm resting on the back of the couch. She can't keep her eyes off him, drinking in every little detail. She considers his face seriously, tilting her head as she pretends to think. "Hmm. Yeah, you're pretty hard to look at." She doesn't trust herself to say anything else, too dangerously close to throwing herself at him, especially as he inches closer. She gets to her feet. "Whisky. Of course you're a whisky man! And, surprise surprise, I'm also a whisky girl." She hears herself sounding ever more Texan, booze and country company bringing it out of her. She fetches a bottle of Laiporgiah, its overwhelming smokiness engulfing them as she opens it up and sloshes it into the glasses. "Single malt. Can't beat it." She clinks his glass, knocking it back in one as she gracelessly slumps back onto the couch, painfully close to him now. "Tell me Jesse Hubbard. What are you doing here? Honest answers only." NOTES: LOL I AM SO SORRY I'M SO LATE WORK AND LIFE HAVE BEEN RELENTLESS!! but il them so.

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He feels the tingle of what he assumes is jealousy. Jesse wasn't ever programmed to dream of something else. A new house, an apartment in a different city, even being an entrepreneur. It's always been about the legacy and the curse of his last name Hubbard. It wasn't since the passing of his sister and the heaviness of the situation that made him began to ponder of 'what if.' He nods his head as he listens to her speak about the San Francisco property and it's lack of use. San Francisco wasn't a place he envisioned himself to like. Los Angeles turned out to be a bit of a transition for the country man. The other California city would be a total culture shock. There's obvious chemistry between the two. His eyes focus on her, watching as her lips drop to answer to him and as they form words. And while he wishes they could be scanning her body more, even just the direct eye contact brings forward the heat. She's teasing him now, about the playlist going on for hours. Dirty thoughts instantly making things a big more cloudy for him. "Let me ask you this, have you ever actually listened to all the way through?" A bold statement, but dangerously flirty. He knows what the question is going to lead to. But curiosity slightly kills him. Zadie's got the look and bite of a wild cat. Jesse smiles when she's real agreeable to whisky. A little shot of home, honestly for the both of them.  She walks away and it gives him the opportunity to sinfully check her out. Just without her knowing. Although, how could she not feel his lust-filled eyes gazing upon her? Zadie is back in a flash on the couch beside him. Filling up a shot of his favorite brown liquor.  "It smells like heaven," Jesse murmurs right before their glasses clink and the whisky strikes the back of his throat. The zing of the alcohol feeling too good as it's going down. It doesn't go immediately to his head but recognizes the familiar buzz. "It was a good choice, Ms. Bartender"  he slowly drawls out. She's closer to him now. He feels the brush of her thigh against his own, when she asks question. "You want the honest truth, huh?" He speaks in a serious manner now, but his hand finally sneaks across to break the no contact they've been struggling with. His palms connect with her upper thigh. "It felt good to have an honest conversation, it's been a while for me. I wouldn't mind to speak more about that." Jesse admits. "But I'm also selfish. And you've been driving me fucking crazy." (NOTE:omg you're fine!!! I LOVE THEM TOO!)

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Zadie is glad her sister/roommate is out of town, giving her the full run of this tiny apartment. Casting her eyes briefly around the room, thoughts of what she'd like Jesse to do to her on every one of these surfaces flit through her mind. Alcohol has blurred the edges of her reality, conspiring with the warm glow of a single lamp to make her feel like they were in their own little world. He asks her a teasing question and she wants to jump his bones all the more. She laughs, throwing her head back as she does, before meeting those gorgeous eyes once more. "Are you questioning my stamina, Hubbard? You'll live to regret that." She gives him a little wink as she leans over and sloshes more whisky into the glasses. The smokiness of the amber liquid rolls over her tongue, burning her throat. She feels like she's in heat. The sexual tension hangs so heavy between them she can barely breathe, the promise of skin on skin contact tantalisingly present. She grins at being called a bartender, enjoying the simplicity of an easy to understand job title. Usually she was flitting between projects and businesses, working on digital strategies, building brands. Doing things her parents simply refused to acknowledge as real work, since they just couldn't understand what her day looked like. Bartending was nice; she was helping a friend, it kept her busy, and it provided her with a rich supply of eye candy. His hand finds her thigh and it sends a frisson of excitement through her, her skin coming up in goosebumps under his palm. His hands feel faintly rough-- real working hands.  She's a little surprised by what he says next, but not unpleasantly. Sexual intimacy was Zadie's first language, whilst emotional intimacy, that was hard. But he made it seem easy. "We can do that," she says, placing her hand on top of his and giving it a little squeeze. But what he says next brings her to the very edge, her desire to be on top of him hitting an all time peak. "Little old me?" she asks with a tone of faux surprise, feigning innocence as she flutters her eyelashes at him. She edges closer to him, unfolding her legs and stretching them across his lap. Settling back into the couch, she takes another sip of whisky, just about managing to hold herself back. "Talk to me. Maybe, just maybe we can talk so much and for so long that it'll end up being the small hours of the morning, in which case you'll just have to stay the night."