we run on gasoline.

She didn’t know why she was here. Hell, she didn’t need to be here. There was some rule that whatever happened in townie beach towns stayed there. You’d fly out for the weekend, and that would be that. Have some fun, no one asked questioned, no one kissed and told. It was done just as quick as it had started, and yet, there she was-- patent leather shoe pressed down hard like she hated the floorboard of her car. 

Maybe it would have been easier if she knew off the top of her head where her own boyfriend was, if the asshole knew how to pick up the phone. Maybe If she hadn’t of purposefully booked three gigs in a row, on the beach and hour and a half away from her house, but all of those were ifs, ands, and maybes that didn’t matter. All that did was the note she left and the bags she packed like she was running away. 

Booked a few shoots, see you whenever

It was short, it was sweet, there was no emotion attached, notes for kidnappings were more personal, but Riley Mason was never known for being all that emotional, in her real life, or in the tabloids. 

As she drove, she couldn’t get him out of her mind. His fingers separating strands of her hair like they were made to do exactly that, Likes flashing on and off, shadows defining his face. The closer she got, the worst it was. She’s change a lane and and her mind would go to his hand on the small of her back. She’d pass someone and his lips were on her jaw-- it was a problem. What happened in Santa Monica, stayed in Santa Monica. Or at least, that’s what she kept repeating in her mind like they were words to live by. 

Another half hour, and a few more not so unwelcome flashbacks later and she was pulling up to the first stoplight in the city. A smart person would have gone to her hotel room, checked in, let people take pictures of her as she passed by because they were in awe. She would have lived her life, the studio would have gotten everything together, it was their job, she was just the talent. Instead however, her hands were guiding her to his shop and well-- it was all too familiar, like the world’s smallest star she’d made him ink on her foot right below her ankle bone. Something to remember him by she told him, because in her mind, at the time-- it was the last time she’d ever see him. 

“Do I look like someone who knows how much food people eat?” She eyed him for a long time, “I’ve never even celebrated Thanksgiving, dude.” 

Their gaze may have only lasted for a few mere seconds, but it was enough to make Tanner’s pupils dilate. Unfortunately, it was something that always happened when they made eye contact with someone incredibly attractive– that, and well, they typically flushed to the extreme.

For someone who tried to make it obvious how gay and out there they were, their confidence was quick to shrivel up, eyes flickering their focus down onto the cup of hot chocolate in their hands. And with a bit of an inhale, a mumbled, “wow,” was released.

“What?” Riley looked down to the food on her plate, “I know. It looks amazing. That or maybe she was starving and nothing else mattered and it looked extremely disgusting. “Just-- don’t judge me. I’m staving.” 

           Skye was walking home from her dad’s place when she decided to take a detour and swing by the lake. It wasn’t really on the way, but it had been a while since she had been there, and with the sun hanging low above the trees, casting long shadows and bathing the area in a picturesque glow, she figured it would be well worth it. She wasn’t surprised to find another person down there, enjoying the view, and after a few moments of silence, she turned to them with a light smile. “Do you think the water is too cold for bathing now?”

“Uh--” Riley paused, looking from her dog to the girl, “I think bathing in a lake is disgusting.” Anyone who wanted to take a bath in public was disgusting but she thought that was a given. Apparently not. “And on top of that, why would you want to get in when someone died in there? Seriously.” 

“You’re missing the point here. I am not going to bring them anything they’ve asked for. Whether I’ve fucked with it or not. Because for the briefest of seconds, they’re going to think I did what they wanted me to do, and be so happy, and I don’t want them to have that single minute of joy.” 

“Well, I don’t want to be grossed out so spare me the details. I’ve lived this long not knowing, I can probably live the rest of my life being okay.” She said with a sigh, “like yeah, but only because they are fucking assholes. I’m thinking about quitting to be honest. 90% of them hate me so why would I want to work there?” 

“I mean, I already told them that as I was leaving. Yelling it out the door, the poor kid’s went red, there was a whole scene.” The brunette laughed, it was too much, but they shouldn’t of asked her to do something she didn’t really want to do.  “Maybe I could just never go back. Who even wants to work somewhere where you think half of them hate you.” 

“Or you’d keep it on a shelf like you do.” She said with a shrug, not listening to him when he said he didn’t have any. She didn’t care, that version of the story didn’t fit in her narrative, and he was really freaking weird anyways. So to her, it all seemed exceedingly plausible. “Why would you forget something you’re talking about? That you brought up? Seriously. Is there something wrong with you?” 

“Yeah I know. It’s why I am not getting them for them.” She thought she’d made that clear, but apparently she hadn’t. “You can. It’s literally caused by fecal particles getting in your eyes. Putting your face near a toilet is quite literally asking for it to happen to you.” Riley rolled her eyes, like that was obvious and everyone should have known. 

“Freudian what? Am I supposed to know what that is?” Riley questioned, clearly not knowing what it was at all. “I don’t want them to trust me anyways. Then I can just sit there, and them do everything for me, because they’re not sure if I’ll actually do it or not. It’s a win/win for me.” 

There was, however, a fairly decent laugh that escaped him as she didn’t catch the socks. It wasn’t even a bad toss. But whatever, it was his turn to chuckle. “Mhmm–” But maybe he chuckled too soon, after all, she then hit him with a comment that made his jealousy meter rise. Because the thing is, some of his workers probably would. Riley was hot, some of them were assholes and about to be plastered. The idea of it wasn’t an off one. “If they wanna keep their job, they won’t. So try not to cry over your bruised ego tonight, babe.”

[ time skip ]

After maybe an hour roughly, everyone had finally arrived and settled themselves in. Philip had nabbed a table with Riley, and a few of the others. Chatting along for a while, shooting the shit, and greeting everyone in the venue could only go on for so long before he was craving a drink. 

Philip had excused himself to make a drink pick up, ordering a few pitchers to be placed on practically every used up table– it was going to be on his tab anyways. “Soon.” He mumbled out, lazily flopping down into his seat again, “The booze is on its way, and if you didn’t want beer, then that’s too bad. Go up and get your own, not my problem.”

At the table, Riley more or less remained silent. She didn’t really know the people he worked with, and she didn’t know how much was too  much with them, sussing out the table as it were. Listing to how the talked-- she wanted them to at least like her, just a little. 

But sooner rather than later, Philip was getting up and leaving. Shortly after he was back “When do I ever drink beer?” She asked with a sigh. The answer was a lot, but never out of a pitcher, and never communal. Getting up before he had a chance to answer, she made her own way tot the bar, getting a vodka and red bull, only after, returning. “See look.” She sat down, “a real drink.”