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Jane | Sonnet | Lara
A Girl Like You Next Door
Tue Jan 17, 2006 11:24

“Let’s go!”

Janey eyed Nigel with something close to amusement dancing in her gaze. It was so like Indiana Holmes to infect the entire table, minus Benny, with dancing fever. She grinned as Sean and John (one would never get over those two names together, let alone the men who owned them) abandoned them for the dance floor - both wearing identical black jeans and denim shirts. Sean had dared to wear cowboy boots, also black, and she couldn't see what John wore. Probably military. But back to the important bits. After downing half of her current margarita, she decided that his idea was a good one.

"You're on. You get me a guy, and I'll get you a girl."

And then the music stopped. Well, the live entertainment anyway. An announcement came over the PA system about Miss Sorensen taking a half hour break, and that the sounds would be provided by the club's resident DJ. Well. That changed things just a little bit. Janey snagged a passing waiter and borrowed the woman's pen and order pad, scribbing something quickly across the back of it. "Can you take that to Miss Sorensen, please?" Swallowing a grin at the sudden look of panic crossing Benny's face, she blithely allowed Nigel to help her out of the booth, sauntering side by side with him onto the dance floor.

Predictably, the first few songs were techno mixes. At least she'd opted to wear her version of a 'little black dress', emphasis on little. It was sleeveless, velvet and barely reached mid-thigh, which is why she'd opted to bundle her hair into a sexy little twist, held together with about a gazillion pins. Laced boots instead of high heels gave the micro dress an added zing, and left her legs bare for people to admire. Sexy without being slutty, that was the key. So was finding a rhythm with Nigel, who didn't seem too fond of the techno. At first they shuffled around each other, just two more bodies in the crowd. At least he could dance, which was more than she could say for the majority of club hoppers around them. At least one teenager looked like he was having some sort of seizure.

I used to travel in the shadows
And I never found the nerve to try and walk up to you
But now I am a man and I know that there's no time to waste
There's too much to lose

And then the Smithereens came on. Since Janey adored music from the eightees, it was easy to perk up and really begin dancing. One leg curled around Nigel's briefly, eliciting a grin. Yes, dear. I've decided to play. Bodied swayed, the beat continued to pump, and Janey lost herself in the music.

Girl you say anything at all, and you know that you can call
And I'll be right there for you
First love, heartbreak, tough luck, big mistake
What else can you do

It went downhill from there, from a literal perspective. With the pulse tapdancing at the base of her throat, energy peaking for that day, the blonde soon lost track of when she and Nigel stopped being seperate people and became dance partners. The man could swing! She didn't know where he'd learned the energetic dance from the fourties, but it was a mutual knowledge - her dad had taught it to her as a child and John had help complete her education in that regard. So being twirled up into the air and sliding through the history teacher's legs was no small effort; Janey wasn't a delicate petite. Then again, she also wasn't Dolly Parton.

They were suddenly too close, her dress felt too tight. A trickle of sweat slid down her spine, or maybe it was the cold hand of logic trying to rear itself. Pressed flush against him, her arms around his shoulders and his hands ... well, they were very firmly, and possessively some might have noted, splayed across her ass. Tingling all over, a phrase she'd ever attributed to just one person, and he'd been out of her life for several years. Well, now she could attribute it to one of the Holmes clan. How embarassing was that?

"Nigel, I think it would be best if--"

She'd lifted her chin just one inch to speak, and Nigel had taken the opportunity to kiss her. Fully. On the mouth. With tongue. Nevermind that her toes had curled, her belly had warmed considerably and she'd forgotten where she was for a whole second. Shit. Blue eyes fled from his gaze to seek out someone else, a stranger willing to be used and forgotten in a single night. But the professor's breath was warm against her neck, reminding her that there was someone there willing and able to do the deed. However, she didn't think he'd be willing to be forgotten.

"It would be best if we left."

He finished the sentance for her, eyes strangely hypnotic. So serious a voice, words carefully chosen. Almost as if he was in pain. It didn't make sense until she moved, and ... oh. Oh! And then he kissed her again, blanketing everything in fog of lust that rolled in far too quickly for her trembling senses. Held against his side by one very strong arm, she found herself escorted out of the club and right into a New York rainstorm. Behind her, the sounds of Edwyn Collins filled the air.

I've never known a girl like you before
Now just like in a song from days of yore
Here you come a knockin', knockin' at my door
And I've never met a girl like you before
You give me just a taste so I want more and more

Daylight flooded the room through half open curtains, but that didn't much matter as she'd taken a room on the top floor. What did matter was the headache careening around her skull. Nnngg. Why in the hell had she let herself get so drunk the night before? All she could remember was drinking and dancing, until she shifted away from the light and found herself face to face with a sleeping Nigel. A nude, sleeping Nigel.

. . .

Yeah, that about summed it up. Janey sat up, bedclothing protecting her ... oh, heebus. No clothing on here, either, but she could see a variety of interesting garments strewn across the floor. Pale brows furrowed as she took the night's events step by step. Get roped into babysitting Sean, check. Go to the club an old college friend is playing at, check. Dance with Nigel, check. Wind up frenchkissing him in the rain, check. Take him to her hotel room and have mad sex all over the bed and floor . . . check?

The movement of his arm scared the shit out of her, sliding across her lap to tug her frame closer to his. "Hey, beautiful." Oh god. Sexy, sleepy man voice. Whimper. Giving up for a few minutes, Janey yawned and slid back down next to him, head nestled against his chest. You know, it would be so easy to get accustomed to this. Somehow, though, she doubted that Nigel was a serial monogamist, like she was. Eyes slid shut, body quite willing to play along and go back to sleep.


The phone scared the shit out of her for the second time, chiming its blaxon from the sidetable. Without a thought, she lunged for it, but lost her battle to keep her frame covered in doing so. "Hello?" Jane Louise Blue, this is your wake up call. A driver will be downstairs in a black Mercedes in thirty minutes. He will take you to the airport, where you will be given tickets and board the designated plane. I will call you again in twenty four hours with more instructions. ~click~. Life was so unfair. Sigh. Hanging up the dead reciever, Miss Blue snerked for a moment and then rolled over to look at Nigel.

"Hey, sexy. I've got to go to work. Take your time waking up, order room service if you want. They'll bill the charges to me." Evading a squeeze and prying eyes, the blonde slid out of bed and sauntered into the bathroom for a quick shower. Really quick, as she now had less than thirty minutes to get ready. Gone was the giggling sexpot of the night before, when she stepped out of the bathroom ten minutes later. In her place was a woman that John would have recognized.

Cool, calm, able to toss on jeans, a tshirt and tennies within five minutes flat and then go through a military duffel, making sure that her passport and coded contact list were there. Gun, check. Handcuffs ... gone. One glance toward the bed found them, hanging wistfully on Nigel's side. Oh, bother. They really had gotten kinky. She rescued them, and then relented enough to plant one last, freshly showered kiss on her lover's lips.

"I'll call you sometime."

An hour later found Miss Blue settling into the first-class seat of a 747 as it taxied down the runway at LaGuardia, she'd been the only passenger to arrive late and get through airport security without a hitch. Sometimes it really helped to have high NSA clearance.

Now my hands are bleeding and my knees are raw
Now you've got me crawlin', crawlin' on the floor
And I've never met a girl like you before
You've made me acknowledge the devil in me

He'd touched her. Intimately. Yet, he hadn't, Devon had kept his hands to himself. This entire situation was becoming more complicated by the minute, Sonnet decided. She stood naked in her bedroom, eying a bra in frusteration. A real bra, not the sports thing that she'd taken to wearing over the past week or so. Those were relatively easy to slide into, even with a bandaged arm. Real bras, however, required a bit more flexibility of wearer, something she didnt have.

The shower shut off across the hall, and pretty soon she could hear her new roomie heading off to deposit his clothing. Well, shit. Tossing the bra down, she rummaged through her underwear drawer without really looking and took the next few seconds to tug on whatever it was she'd found, one eye always on the door. Knock, knock. Just in time, too.

“Sonnet? Would you like some help?”

Oh, sure. Let him in and it would be all over for her. You were not supposed to fall in lust with someone who would shortly be your partner! "Im uh ... no, no. It's okay. I'm fine." Turning around, she reached over to grab the bra with her good hand, figuring that if all else failed, she could stay in here until her mom showed up. But no, life wasn't that easy. On reaching for said item, she overshot her balance and slipped on a gun magazine that she'd been reading the night before. Several very nice weapons were available on a discount for police officers, and she was highly tempted.


Right into her own hamper, which was berefit of laundry - Mother had taken it on herself to do several loads yesterday and then sat down to watch a few of those daytime soap operas. Most women did it to keep up on their favorite characters. Isabel did so because her first writing job had been on "Sunset Island", one of daytime tv's longest running soaps. To this day, she occassionally got fan mail sent to the offices - her era had been the juicy one with murders and affairs that actually made sense.

"Sonnet, are you --- Ah."

Devon, blast him, was standing inside her room now, obviously alerted by the sound of falling female. Clad in ... Sonnet blinked twice and refused to blush ... a yellow towel, and only a yellow towel, the well built male was looking at her with a strange mixture of worry and laughter in his eyes. Unappreciated, thank you very much.

"Here, lets get you up."

Striding over, he bent down and carefully gathered her into his arms, something that she absolutely, positively, would not enjoy and cradled her against his bare chest. Oh, snap! Sonnet was enjoying it way, way too much. Especially when he so tenderly settled her onto the bed, and stretched out at her side. Hell, Devon even reached over and turned on her cd player (lucky piece of machinery!) to Enya, her current favorite singer. So beautiful the Irish voice, so soft the bed, that it proved impossible to resist snuggling against her partner and falling asleep.

[One Hour Later.]

"Do you think we should wake them up, darling?"

That was the first clue Miss Tennyson had that something was amiss. Cracking open one eye in confusion, she stared at her mother hovering in the doorway to her bedroom, flanked on one side by a handsome black man in his late fifties. A man she knew almost as well as her mother. The NY police chief.


Quite forgetting that she was not, in fact, wearing a bra, the injured cop sat up and knocked her elbow against Devon's head, waking him up as well. The shock on both faces was probably rather comical, but she didnt see any humour in the situation as it stood. Sleep-fogged brain tried to catch up to current events, finally prompting the theft of a sheet from Devon, in this case his towel ... or at least half of it. It was for purely demure reasons that the two huddled so closely together.

"Devon, do rescue your towel and get some clothing on. I will assist my poor daughter in dressing herself."

Yes, there was a definate glint of something neferious in mother's gaze. Oh god.

Two hours on stage definately guaranteed a small thirty-minute break. Lara slumped behind her guitar, fingers stilled against the strings and just enjoyed doing absolutely nothing for a few seconds. Not that she didn't enjoy performing; on the contrary, she loved it. Needed it. A euphoric drug that her mother swore had been implanted in her at birth. But for now, she'd take a drink and some rest.

"Miss Sorensen, someone asked me to give this to you." The waitress looked vaguely uncomfortable delivering the note, which made Lara suspect it was from a fan. Oh, well. Her agent swore fame was just around the corner, and while the singer was in this for the music, she knew that publicity was part of the package. Something her dad had never truly wanted. Eyes flickered down to read the scribble ... in rather familiar handwriting.

Dearest Laramie ~ Please look towards booth eight, near the support beams on the left side of the dance floor. You will see a handsome young man, built nicely, who very much wants to meet you and is currently too shy. His name is Bennet and I will vouch for him. I owe you one. Will call soon. ~Janey Blue.

Well, wow. The blonde had been her roomie in college, but both had been so busy that a real reunion had been put off. And off. And off. Re-reading the instructions, Lara obediently sent her attention in the requested direction, and indeed found a man, somewhere around her own age, sitting alone in said booth. Currently eying his drink thoughtfully, or so said the droop of his head.

Alright, Janey dear. You do owe me one. Setting her beloved instrument against the back wall of the stage, the raven-haired singer prowled off the platform and wandered through the dancers, looking out of place in comfortable jeans and a black sequined tanktop. The target didn't even glance up, speaking in a surprisingly mellow voice. "I'm fine with this drink, thanks. No refill."

"That sounds like a good song title. You're Bennet, right?"

Lara grinned when his head jerked up, and gestured towards the space next to him. "I was told you were a fan by a good friend. It's nice to meet someone who appreciates my music. I'm Laramie Sorensen, just to set the record straight, but you can call me Lara." Tucking herself into the booth, she let her hands fold themselves against the table and waited for a waiter to notice her. When one arrived, the singer prudently ordered plain water. "I'm performing, so I can't drink. Would you mind if I relaxed here for a few before I head back to get ready for my second set?"

He nodded again, having not uttered one single word aside from the initial gasp. Well, so maybe Janey was right. Bennett was shy. So she sat there, in silence, watching him rack his brain for something to say. Finally, just to put the poor guy out of his misery, she broke off a piece of the order sheet still in her hands and jotted down a phone number.

"That's my agent. I'll let him know you'll call if you let me know your last name. Fair is fair, right?"

"Holmes. Bennett Holmes."

Wow. He really did have a nice voice up close. Kind of like molasses and caramel rolling around in a woodpile.
"See you around, Bennett Holmes."

And with that, she rose from her seat and headed back to the stage. Eventually the DJ wound down and stepped out of the spotlight. Lara had been t

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