Sawyer uses the point of her shoe to kick the cigarette out of her hand, "Nuh-uh. Back inside."
Natasha springs back up, then bends down to pick up the quarter-smoked cigarette. Before she can grab it Sawyer twists her heel into the butt and leads Natasha inside. Natasha tries to protest but Sawyer's hand is broad and insistent on the small of her back.
Sawyer goes to the bar to get another drink. Natasha walks closely behind her, her mouth is level with Sawyer's shoulder blade. She wants to pull the lace down and bite it, leave a red mark on her tan skin. Natasha's just been chewing on an ice cube that she picked out of Sawyer's empty glass, and she breathes cold air on Sawyer's shoulder as a warning shot. She leans up to do it again and feels the stretch in her calves. Sawyer turns and gives Natasha a slow smile and then swings back around to the bar, hitting Natasha in the face with her curls.
Natasha grabs Sawyer's ass with her two hands and groans as she squeezes, "Man, if you would come home with me I would fucking pound that keister."
Sawyer puts her obnoxious Valley girl voice back on.
"I can't," she whines. "I'm on my period."
Natasha smiles with both rows of teeth, "Oh girl, I got my red wings a long time ago."
Sawyer screech laughs and slaps the bar with both hands. She turns and leans down to kiss Natasha. She brings her hands to the back of Natasha's neck, rubs the cords there. Her forearms are heavy on Natasha's shoulders. Sawyer's lips are soft and sure, and her wide nose squashes against Natasha's sharper one.
Natasha firmly grabs Sawyer's waist, pulls her in. Natasha isn't used to kissing someone taller than her. She has to lean up to push her tongue as deeply into Sawyer's mouth as she wants to. She wants to make Sawyer's knees buckle. She is so focused on getting Sawyer to submit, that she doesn't notice her own little humming noises she's making into Sawyer's mouth.
Sawyer starts pushing Natasha away. Her mouth looks slick and swollen. She brings her fist up to her mouth and bites her thumb coyly. The club lights flash across her face.
Natasha pants lightly, leans their foreheads together. Her stomach suddenly sinks. She says, "I've got an awful feeling that your last T left 10 minutes ago."
"Shit!" Sawyer checks her app, "Fuck, I'm not paying for an Uber."
"Stay at mine."
Natasha isn't quite sure why she suggests it. If there's something worse than showing a hot girl that your house looks like something off Hoarders, it's explaining that it looks that way because you only used to clean on a massive speed bender and you try and avoid that now.
"Will I wake up with your pussy in my face?" Sawyer asks.
"No," says Natasha. "This isn't your childhood home. Honestly, in my place you're more likely to wake up under a pile of small plastic hands and glass eyes."
"I have literally lived with costume designers for the last seven years. Take me home."
As they get further from the bar, Natasha notices that Sawyer is drunker than she thought. She is weaving all over the pavement, criss-crossing her legs and waving her arms about. Usually, Natasha finds drunk people irritating; the only thing more repulsive is someone on coke. But somehow, Sawyer is endearing herself to Natasha even more.
"This place is so...cute! So different from Chicago," Sawyer gestures at the timber clad New England style houses with their porches and their little gabled windows.
Natasha lights up another cigarette and wanders behind her, watching her ass. Sawyer stops under a street light and starts tap dancing. Natasha stalks towards her. Without speaking, she twists her fist into Sawyer's long hair. She twists and twists until Sawyer has to bend her knees and her neck. As soon as she bends enough that she's shorter than Natasha, Natasha gives her one hard kiss and removes her fist from her hair. She steps back.
"You know," Sawyer breathes, "The reason why I can't take someone home when I've been drinking is because I wake up like 'fucking god, I fucking met my fucking wife! Call a U-Haul! Call the fucking cat sanctuary, we need a black one and a tabby!'"
Natasha chuckles and strokes Sawyer's forearm softly.
"Well, I'd hate to feel responsible for cats getting excited about getting adopted and then not getting a new home!"
"That's so sad," whines Sawyer, and she looks like she wants to cry. Natasha gives her a quick kiss to cheer her up.
Natasha's place is a Boston style triple decker, with peeling turquoise paint over the timber cladding and a little porch with white balustrades. She's got the top, attic apartment and she pulls Sawyer up the metal outdoor stairs at the rear of the house to her own front door.
"Jesus, Natasha," is the only thing Sawyer really says about the mess in Natasha's apartment. She spends a few minutes looking at the wall of old drawings that Natasha's hung up. Sawyer hums appreciatively while she follows the line work with her finger. She plays with the magnet that she got Natasha from New York. Natasha feels like her heart is in her mouth.
The only light in Natasha's living room is from one bulb hanging overhead. Sawyer grimaces at it. She puts the torch on her phone, slides it across the floor underneath Natasha's sofa until
