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When Orym opened the door to the bowling alley, the comforting musk of old cigarettes and waxed pine lanes washed over Imogen, taking some edge off her irritability. He held the door until she and Fearne passed through, ever the gentleman. A rockin’ oldies tune played over the speakers, and the worn carpet was soft under her feet. In a town that was constantly progressing and updating itself, this place stayed forever the same. Imogen smiled despite herself and started toward the shoe counter.
Fearne and Orym trotted over to the gang’s usual lanes – from over her shoulder she heard Ashton call out in greeting, following it up immediately with talk of food. Chuckling, Imogen looked over to see three pairs of shoes, in exactly their desired sizes, lined up neatly along the wooden counter. Maybe we’re here too much, Imogen thought idly.
“How’s it hangin’, old man?” Imogen said slyly. She couldn’t quite see Chetney over the counter – he was vertically challenged, as he’d say – but she heard an affronted hey! from somewhere behind it. A moment later he emerged, purple sweatband askew, fluorescent lights gleaming off the bald middle of his head. He took his place on the worn stool and playfully glared at Imogen.
“They’re hangin’ just fine, thanks for asking. And you best learn to respect your elders!” He pushed the shoes forward and waved off Imogen’s offer of cash. “You’re all paid up; the scary lady covered everyone’s shoes! Seems some people still have decency,” he said, pointing back towards her friends.
Imogen took the shoes from the counter and tilted her head. “Scary lady?” she asked, and looked over her shoulder.
Indeed, there was a stranger standing and laughing with Ashton and Fearne, and – Imogen wasn’t one to judge, but she could see why Chetney chose scary. She was tall, and gaunt, and almost impossibly pale; dark, lanky hair with a streak of white was pulled up partially and held in place by...was that a chisel? She wore a deep purple peasant blouse and high-waisted black jeans; bowling shoes already adorned her feet. Imogen stared, maybe a bit too long, but – this woman was beautiful. Her eyes were kind, and her smile, well. It was almost too big, but Imogen couldn’t look away.
She’s not scary at all.
The woman laughed, loudly, musically. Imogen blushed.
Here she was faced with a dilemma. Imogen wasn’t too keen on strangers, especially unexpected strangers. The alley was one of the few public places where she knew just about everyone. That was a huge reason why she and her friends were here so often, and though Imogen was sure they tired of their weekend bowling ritual, they never complained. It was the best way to disrupt her otherwise reclusive lifestyle. Imogen truly was lucky to have them.
So really, she shouldn’t be angry with them for bringing a stranger in; they were usually so accommodating. She should cut them some slack. But she couldn’t help but balk, just a bit, at the change in routine.
On the other hand…
Something about this woman gripped her, and the usual dread that accompanied meeting a stranger just...never manifested. Imogen wasn’t scared, didn’t feel the urge to run. In fact, she was drawn forward, and before she knew it her feet had carried her to her friends, who were, at present, fussing over their bowling names. The newcomer looked on, amused, and once again Imogen was left staring. She was even more stunning up close – Imogen’s eyes looked over her pronounced cheekbones, her large, dark eyes –
“Imogen! Smiley day to you, I didn’t see you come in!”
Letters stepped down into the seating area, carefully balancing two trays filled with bar food in bright red baskets.
The newcomer looked over her shoulder at the greeting, her eyes immediately finding Imogen’s. Imogen sputtered, and her cheeks flushed.
“Um.” The stranger turned that wide smile on her, and she felt bubbles in her throat. “S-sorry, I didn’t mean to – my name is Imogen,” she managed to say around stuttering breaths. An awkward beat, and she stuck her hand out, southern hospitality taking over where her brain had stopped functioning. “Nice to meet you.”
The woman gently took her hand and gave it a squeeze (her hand was so cold), smile growing ever more and – it was hard to tell, but Imogen could have sworn that she was blushing, too – “Hello dear, my name is Laudna.”
Laudna. Her voice was just as captivating – a bit husky, but well-articulated, almost a bit posh. Her eyes were unblinking, tracing their own path over Imogen’s face, drinking her in. Imogen, for her part, blushed even more furiously under the attention, and prayed to the gods that Laudna hadn’t caught her staring.
Thankfully, mercifully, Ashton stepped between the two, wrapped an arm around Laudna’s shoulders – Imogen couldn’t help but deflate a bit – and looked cautiously at Imogen. She could see an apology in his eyes, but they affixed their typical smirk in place.
“Oh, good, you two met. Figured it’d be nice to have an even number for a change and quit making Letters bowl for both teams.” The apology in their eyes spread to their smile, now genuine, and Imogen softened. They aren’t out to hurt you, she reminded herself.
“I do hope it’s alright that I’ve tagged along,” Laudna added, clasping her hands together. “I so rarely get to meet new people, and I haven’t been bowling in ages.”
“Oh – of course, of course it’s alright! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to – I was just surprised, is all,” Imogen said, tongue tripping over her thoughts. “It’s kind of our weekly ritual, we’ve been coming here for years. I’m just not used to strangers – not that I’m not glad you’re here!” Imogen looked at Ashton for help, for any kind of lifeline out of her own bumbling.
Ashton bit back a chuckle and gestured with their chin towards the tables. “Why don’t you go help Letters grab some drinks? I’ve got a feeling we’ll all need ‘em.”
Imogen nodded gratefully. “Great idea. I’ll do just that.” She glanced at Laudna once more before marching over to Letters. They barely had time to put the last basket of fries down on the table before Imogen grabbed their arm and dragged them towards the bar.
“Easy there, Imogen! These folks will go feral if I drop their fries.” He glanced at her, taking in her flustered demeanor. “Y’alright there, Imogen? You seem distressed.”
“I’m alright, Letters, it’s just – I didn’t know Ashton was bringin’ a friend, is all.”
Their eyes brightened as they looked back over their shoulder. “Oh, Laudna! Yes, she seems a bit unsettling at first, but she’s real genuine. Melted Ashton’s heart of stone, after all. You know how tough he can be.”
They reached the bar, and the lumbering bartender, affectionately known as Pretty, started their drinks, needing no instruction – they really were here too much. Imogen, unsure of what Laudna liked, ordered another of her own choice, a maple bourbon sour. A bold move, but maybe it would play in her favor? Maybe Laudna would enjoy it, even be impressed by her taste.
Letters’ voice interrupted her thoughts. “You okay there, Imogen? You’ve been staring at that tray for a full thirty seconds.”
Maybe she was overthinking it.
“Sorry, lost myself in thought for a minute,” she replied, puffing air past her lips. She squared her shoulders, grabbed the tray, and made her way back to their friends.
Letters narrowed their eyes, muttering a quiet, “Well alright,” before following after her.
The game began, with their old team setup – Fearne, Orym, and Imogen, facing off against Ashton, Letters, and – well, once upon a time it was Dorian, but he’d had family issues to take care of back home, so now Laudna took his place.
And, for once, Imogen didn’t particularly miss him.
She tried to socialize, to join in on the jokes and drinks, but honestly, Imogen was struggling to pull her attention away from Laudna. From her curious accent, to her unabashed sense of self, to the macbre sense of humor – every bit of Laudna had Imogen hooked. The bone structure didn’t hurt, either. In fact, she found herself wanting to run her thumb along that jawline, pull her in, and –
A clap on Imogen’s shoulder shook her out of her fantasy. “You’re up, boss,” said Orym. He squeezed her shoulder and shot her an easy smile before joining Fearne on the bench.
Oh, right. Bowling.
It was a pretty even match of skill, when all was said and done; Imogen and Ashton were the most experienced bowlers, and Orym could hold his own against Letters. And then there was Fearne, who often swung the ball with both hands from between her legs. Or employed (well, attempted) any crazy trick shot the gang could dream up.
Laudna, well –
“Heads up!” shouted Ashton, scooting out of the way as Laudna’s ball shot backwards from her fingers into the seating pit. It thudded against the wood of the approach before it rolled onto the carpet at their feet.
“Oh, goodness, I am so sorry – again – inadequate grip strength, I’m afraid!” Laudna chirped from the lane, fiddling with a long strand of dark hair and pulling it in front of her face. She chuckled nervously. “As I said before, it has been ages.” Imogen couldn’t help but smile.
Ashton plucked the ball from the ground and returned it to Laudna, placing it gently in her fidgeting hands. “Don’t sweat it. It took Letters ages to figure out how to even hold the thing.”
Fearne, who had been until this point suspiciously quiet, looked from Laudna, to Imogen – oh, she had definitely caught Imogen staring, earlier – cocked her head and gave that mischievous grin of hers. Oh, no, oh no.
“You know, Imogen is just the best at bowling, I’m sure she’d love to give you some pointers. Right, Gen?” she asked, her face the picture of innocent – but Imogen could see the slightest waggle of her hips, Fearne’s biggest tell that she was up to no good.
Imogen was about to protest, but Laudna’s face lit up as she nodded. “Oh, that is a lovely idea! You know, I’ve been watching you,” she said, looking to Imogen earnestly, “and you do seem very capable.”
Well, shit.
Imogen, cheeks red for the umpteenth time tonight, rose to her feet. “S-sure, of course I can! Um,” she hesitated at the step-up to the approach, unsure of how...close she could get. “D’you mind me invading your personal space a bit? I feel like it’ll be easier for me to – to show you, I guess.”
Laudna clutched the ball with one hand and offered the other to Imogen. “By all means, darling.”
Once again, Imogen took Laudna’s hand, still cold, in hers, and stepped up to her level – after nearly tripping over herself at the endearment. Imogen laughed, a little breathless, and straightened. If Laudna noticed her slip, she didn’t say a word.
Get it together, Imogen Temult.
They spent the next few minutes adjusting Laudna’s form, figuring out her best spot to approach and release, fixing ther angles – and Imogen could’ve sworn that when she rest her hand on Laudna’s hips to twist them every so slightly, she’d felt a sharp intake of breath – ever so quick, ever so small, but there. Suddenly she felt very warm, and she couldn’t stop herself from wondering just how nice those cold hands would feel –
Imogen abruptly disengaged and stepped back, clasping her hands behind her back. She cleared her throat of its sudden lump. “Alright, I-I think that should help? I hope? And, y’know, hold on to the ball this time.” Before Laudna could say anything else, she fell back into her seat, sitting on her hands. Next to her on the cushioned bench, Imogen could feel an aggressive waggle, and she could feel Fearne’s eyes on her. She did not give Fearne the satisfaction of looking back.
Laudna, seemingly oblivious to Imogen’s internal crisis, squared her shoulders, squinted in focus, and made her approach. The ball stayed firmly in her hand as she swung her right arm back (Orym and Ashton still flinched). The arm swung forward, a little hesitant, and the left foot slid forward, stopping just before the fault line while the right slipped back, and she let go. Her release was a little high; the ball landed with a hearty thunk on the lane before making its way towards the pins. Imogen couldn’t help but spring to her feet to watch – it wouldn’t be a strike, she could tell, but –
Ball met pins with a crash, and six – no, seven! – pins ricocheted off the lane, the ball, and each other, before settling into the pit. Their friends whooped and cheered her on while the remaining pins were lifted and the sweep bar cleared their fallen brethren. Ashton raised his bottle and saluted Laudna – then threw a wink at Imogen.
Suddenly, Imogen was struck with the thought that maybe he and Fearne were scheming. But she didn’t have time to dwell, because without warning she was enveloped in a cool but firm embrace.
“Oh, Imogen, it worked!” Laudna gave her a squeeze, then pulled her head back to look at Imogen. “You are quite the teacher! I may have some hope yet.” Her expression softened, then, almost bashful. “Thank you, darling. That was very kind of you.”
And there, Imogen saw it – a hint of a blush, she hadn’t been seeing things before. Laudna gave another small smile then pulled away, retrieving her ball for her second shot. Imogen, rooted to the spot, stood, dazed, until Fearne gently pulled her down onto the bench once more, patting her hand before shooting her a wink.
Imogen opened her mouth to – scold, or protest, or cuss her out, she didn’t know – but Fearne simply held up a finger, wagged it, whispering, “Ah, ah.” Followed by a boop to Imogen’s nose. Satisfied, she hopped up and blew her a kiss, before walking over to Ashton and plopped herself into his lap. Imogen sputtered, miffed, but the anger vanished as quickly as it came. She could never stay mad at her friends for long
The rest of the game, and the subsequent two they played right after, went smoothly, Imogen’s ultimately winning best two out of three – but she barely noticed, due to the fact that after their, um, private lesson from the first game, Laudna and Imogen had become somewhat inseparable. Now that the hurdle of first conversations had been cleared, they simply hadn’t run out of things to talk about. It was strange, yet enthralling – Laudna was so different from her, so outspoken and chipper, so open with her and her friends. And yet, as they talked, Imogen gathered that, just maybe, Laudna was just a little bit lonely – not unlike herself. Of course, Laudna never admitted it outright, but Imogen could read between the lines; she avoided talking about her past, didn’t speak of any family nearby. And sometimes, Imogen caught her looking around at all her – their – friends, eyes soft, smile a little disbelieving. Imogen’s heart arched.
Soon enough, when Fearne and Orym, of all people, couldn’t quite stand up straight, or speak without slurring, the gang decided to call it a night. Imogen existed in that strange state of being where her body desperately wanted sleep – two whiskey sours usually did that – but her nerves and her mind were abuzz, reluctant to say goodbye to Laudna, hoping for something that would stretch their time together, even just a little.
And Imogen didn’t know if gods existed, but later she would swear they heard her desperation and felt pity on her.
Ashton slid over to her, then, and gestured with his thumb over his shoulder, where Fearne and Laudna were chatting animatedly – and a little tipsily on Fearne’s part – while Letters and Orym loaded their ball bags into Ashton’s truck.
“So, listen – turns out Laudna actually lives closer to you than to me. I’ll make you a trade – you run her home for me, and I’ll take these chucklefucks home?”
Imogen was pretty good at reading people, and she knew that Ashton knew that she knew they were full of it – but, being the hopeless gay mess she was, Imogen felt herself nodding.
“That makes sense, of course I can.” She hesitated. “Hey, Ashton?”
They spun around on their heel, shoving their hands in their pockets and grinning at her. “Yes, Imogen?”
She just bit her lip and shook her head. “Thanks for a good night. You’re a good friend, y’know?”
He gave her a mock salute, then spun back around and whispered something in Fearne’s ear. She glanced at Imogen, waggled her eyebrows, and proceeded to make a big production of flopping into Ashton’s truck, urging Orym and Letters to hustle – using some line about her whiskey and milk combo upsetting her stomach. Ashton rolled his eyes affectionately, before turning to Laudna. Imogen couldn’t hear their conversation over her heart pounding in her ears. Laudna, after a quick glance her way, ducked her head and whispered something to Ashton. And even in the dark, Imogen could see that same beautiful blush.
She made a note to send Ashton a nice bottle of something strong, later.
Before she knew it, she found herself behind the wheel of her own truck, Laudna in the passenger seat, fiddling with the radio without any real aim. It seemed she was a fiddler when she was nervous. It was all the more endearing to Imogen, and she didn’t have much room to talk, being the famous sputter-er that she was.
“Y’all good over there? You seem antsy,” Imogen asked, trying to sound casual. She kept her eyes forward to focus on the little light her headlights provided. She really oughta change those, soon.
Laudna started at the attention. “Oh! Oh, I’m sorry, dear. Honestly, I got lost in my thoughts for a moment.” She chose a radio station at random, and a gentle male voice floated over the speakers, accompanied by soft strums and rhythmic bass.
So I will not ask, dear, where you came from...I would not ask and neither would you…
Laudna, satisfied, rested her hands in her lap and looked out the window. Out of the corner of Imogen’s eye, she saw Laudna’s eyes...well, go somewhere. After all the liveliness and animated conversation of the night, it seemed Laudna was finally able to retreat, just a bit. But not in an awkward way. In fact, Imogen rather enjoyed the comfortable silence. She smiled to herself and hummed along with the song, occasionally stealing a glance at the captivating woman in her passenger seat.
Soon, sooner than she wanted, Imogen was pulling into Laudna’s neighborhood – which was, indeed, fairly close to Imogen’s own. She knew the area very well, in fact, and...well, she wasn’t quite ready for this time to end. So she was gonna throw out one last-ditch effort to prolong the moment. It was a long shot, but, hey. Why put all of Ashton and Fearne’s hard work to waste?
“You know,” she started, hesitantly, “There’s this perfect spot, just up that hill, it has the best view of the town, and the-the stars, and...I dunno, we could do a little stargazin’? It’s such a clear night, it’d be a shame not to take advantage. If you’re interested, that is.”
Laudna turned those soft eyes on her. “I would like that very much, Imogen,” she whispered.
With a grin, Imogen turned the wheel and headed north.
The brisk air nipped at Imogen’s skin, but she didn’t mind; she tended to run warm, anyway. Laudna was unperturbed by the chill, focused on finding a soft patch of grass to accommodate them. Imogen popped open the the truck’s tonneau cover and grabbed her emergency blanket – faded blue, tattered and frayed – along with a couple of pillows she’d thrown in, just in case. Never knew when you’d need to sleep in the car.
Or gaze at stars with a charming stranger. A hot, charming stranger.
“Hold on, Laudna, I’ve got a blanket – don’t wanna get grass on your – well. Anyway, here.” Imogen laid the blanket down, straightening the corners, before offering Laudna a pillow. Laudna took it with a demure smile.
“How very chivalrous of you,” she replied, and when Imogen looked up from the pillows, she met Laudna’s smoldering gaze, and promptly forgot what it was she was supposed to be doing. Her mouth must have been agape, because Laudna chuckled, melodic and pleased, before she plopped down onto the ground, pillow supporting her tailbone. She put her weight on her arms behind her, glancing up and Imogen and patting the space next to her.
“Care to join, darling?”
Sucking in a breath, Imogen sunk down onto her own pillow, fingers automatically clutching at the soft blanket. Get it together, girl.
Laudna gave a contented hum, and turned her eyes to the stars. Imogen’s eyes, though, stayed on her for just a moment longer. She watched as Laudna traced over the sky with her long finger, pointing out the constellations by name, each and every one.
After she’d gone through about five or six, she must have registered Imogen’s silence; her lilting monologue hesitated, her hand fell slightly. She turned to Imogen, then, concerned. “Is everything alright, dear? You’re terribly quiet. Does astronomy bore you?” She tilted her head. “Though I have to say, it was odd of you to suggest stargazing if that’s the case.”
And, well, Imogen couldn’t help herself. She was set to burst. Turning fully to Laudna, she took a breath, before –
“Can I kiss you?”
Finally, it was Laudna’s turn to sputter – adorably – before releasing a breathy laugh and giving Imogen her warmest smile yet.
“Alright.”
Imogen needed no further encouragement.
It was soft, tentative, and a little cold – but it was perfect. Imogen pulled back, face redder than ever before, and her smile grew to match Laudna’s. And they kissed once more, and again, and again, as the moon, watchful, hung full and bright, lending its light to their perfect, enchanting evening.
Later, with Laudna curled into her side, Imogen hummed happily as she traced the other woman’s arm with her fingertips, deliberating which top-shelf liquor to gift Ashton and Fearne as a major thank-you.