Who: Alice Ayres and Oliver Wood When: 9 November 2012 Where: Oliver’s home, Orange County What: Tea, biccies, Jaffa Cakes and more... Rating: R (to be on the safe-side for language and sex) Status: Complete
Not knowing anyone in Orange County was still very surreal. Even in Glasgow with its urban grime and contemporary graffiti people seemed far more familiar with one another than in California. Los Angeles, the City of Angels, where the sun shone brighter in November than during the height of a Scottish summer and yet people’s hearts were cold to strangers.
As Oliver prepped a kettle for tea, he pondered this conundrum.
In America, people drove everywhere in large SUVs. In fact, the only people he ever saw walking were doing so for exercise, arms pumping and bottoms wiggling with determination to burn off their foamy lattes. No one walked for the sake of walking, and certainly not to the store. How could a person when the blocks were miles long and the shops spread out across six lanes of busy traffic?
Americans read trashy magazines and spent most of their time watching mediocre television when their eyes weren’t glued to their cell phone screens. Americans ate huge helpings of food, never looked at one another in the elevator and killed each other with firearms. Guns were illegal in Great Britain, with few exceptions, so people killed one another with knives. Even in murder, the Scots were more intimate with their victims than any of Oliver’s Orange County neighbors had been with him.
How strange, that.
Balancing a few cups in a single hand, Oliver brought dishes, sugar and milk out to the garden patio, setting out tea for two at the small wooden table. He had cups, saucers, fixing and biccies, and even if this Alice girl never showed, he wouldn’t mind taking tea alone. Anything to be outside in a normal routine before Monday.
Alice Ayres didn’t really have any one place in the world she thought of as home. She’d been born in Queens but due to her mother’s vagabond spirit, been moved around the States until she’d been able to call thirteen of them home at some point or another. It was a habit that her daughter had taken up as well; once she’d seen her high school sweetheart in bed with another woman, she’d booked a flight as far as the money in her checking account would take her. After four years in London, she went back to the States, taking a cheap flight to Miami and working until she could hop a flight to the one place she’d never lived but always wanted to - LA. She wasn’t really sure why she wanted to live there, but it was as good a place as any.
As soon as she’d arrived in LA she’d settled into the familiar routine of sleeping in a bus stop until she could find a job at a club that wasn’t too seedy and let her cash out her tips immediately. Then she got an apartment that was pretty close to work, and everything was well. Or so she thought. She hadn’t counted on how much she’d need a car in the city to do anything.
And that was why when she showed up outside Oliver Wood’s home it was in the back of a pickup truck driven by an elderly man in faded overalls. It stopped long enough for her to put away her book and hop out of the bed, worn backpack in tow. It was the backpack that held everything she needed in her life so she could cut and run at a moment’s notice. It also held some tea and coffee and even a box of Jaffa Cakes that she’d snuck in from London. She had an addiction, so it was telling that she was willing to share.
When she thought she spotted him, she immediately blushed and waved. “Is that Oliver Wood? The glamorous, handsome, dashing footballer? Here? Where’s the paparazzi?” She couldn’t help teasing him; it was her default reaction to men she fancied.
Lifting his head from the table, Oliver’s eyes landed on Alice. She was beautiful, at a glance, but then again so was most of Orange County. Too much of anything, even beauty, could be horribly disappointing.
But Alice wasn’t. She had sharp, high cheek bones and full lips without a hint of Botox. Her skin was a gentle sun-kissed canvas, smooth and natural. Oliver noted the surprising lack of make-up which so few southern Californians were confident enough to sport. He liked that, and held up his hand in a motionless wave. Verity’s number, though faded, was still stained against his skin.
‘Hi,’ he said, ‘I buried them in the vegetable patch this morning. They were asking too many questions.’
“Well, you’ve dove right into the green movement, you’re already making your own fertilizer!” She laughed as she moved toward him, noticing his injured arm. Not wanting to make too much of a fuss, she simply ignored the elephant in the room and walked over to greet him. Since she spent her whole work day in six inch heels, her feet were happily clad in a pair of beat up Chuck Taylors.
“I come bearing Jaffa Cakes and coffee. I know, I’m wonderful.” She couldn’t help but grin at him. He had the sort of smile that made her go all giggly. At least she knew it.
‘Jaffa Cakes!’ Oliver’s baby-blue eyes popped wide with excitement, his smile ear to ear. ‘Those may be the sexiest words I’ve heard since landing at LAX.’ But his excitement at biscuits was cut short by the sharp whistling of the kettle inside. Making his apologies, Oliver excused himself and ducked back into the house, but not before pulling out a chair for the young lady.
Having tea in the front lawn may have been a little out of the ordinary, but given that Oliver had invited a complete stranger to his home, he thought it perhaps more appropriate. He didn’t want her feeling uncomfortable.
When he returned to the table, it was with a tea kettle in one hand and a small hot pad clutched between his fingers on the other. Though awkward, Oliver managed to chuck the hot pad on the table with his injured arm before setting the kettle on top of it. ‘This isn’t completely strange for you, is it?’ he asked at long last, finally settled at the table.
She’d sprawled into the chair and arranged the biscuits on a tray before he returned. Her legs were curled up underneath her and she couldn’t help but grin at how dogged he was about not being helped. He wanted things to be as normal as possible, and Alice figured she could indulge him.
“Oh, not totally. At least we’re having tea.” She couldn’t help but laugh at the situation. “It’s not every day I have tea with my favorite sports star, though. Which means you’re really lonely. I figured you’d have a fan club the moment you left the house.” And if he didn’t know why, she’d ask him if he owned a mirror.
‘You’re favourite sports star?’ Oliver repeated, one brow arching upward, the other pressing down. He’d heard the line a hundred times if he’d heard it once. Some fans said it because he truly was their favourite. Some blurted out words they didn’t even realise. Those were the mental stalker ones. Alice didn’t seem like the latter, but he did wonder if she was being completely honest. ‘You must not watch a lot of sports.’ “Just footy and rugby, really. Enough to know if they didn’t have you, they’d be screwed for penalty shots. I don’t know who they’d send out if you weren’t around.” She wrinkled her nose, nibbling on the corner of a Jaffa cake to disguise her fangirl delight. “So you’re just out here for a little bit, then?” She really hoped this didn’t mean that he was quitting.
Matching Alice’s nibblings, Oliver picked up a cake and bit into it; the flavours of home brought out a bit of a wicked groan. ‘Mhmm. Aye,’ he replied through the mouthful ‘Just for the surgery and the rehab. Best doctors in the field, or so I’m told.’
One perfectly groomed eyebrow raised up, and Alice responded by gently kicking Oliver under the table. “Oi, don’t do the sex moans around me yet, you just met me!” She couldn’t help but laugh, leaning back and swinging her legs over one of the arms of the chair. “Well, you’re healthy and driven. If anyone can spring back in perfect form it’s you. Besides, you want it. You’re not depressed or beat up.”
Swinging her legs girlishly, she cocked her head at him. “What’ve you been doing in your newfound free time?”
‘Nothing worthy of report,’ Oliver said as he rubbed his shin beneath the table mockingly. Alice was feisty and forward. Verity had been shy but spunky. In the last two hours Oliver had flirted as many women, which was two hundred percent more than he’d even given a second glance at over the last six months. Maybe Orange County had its benefits.
‘A lot of visits to the hospital. Bout to move in there, so I suppose I should get familiar.’ Popping the rest of the Jaffa Cake into his mouth, Oliver reached for tea kettle and began serving. ‘Well, I know you’re not native to the area.. What’s your story? How did you wind up here, entertaining a charity case?’
“Oh, I grew up all over the States but Mom and I never got around to here. After I left London, it seemed like the most logical place to go.” She shrugged, putting one lump of sugar into her tea. People never seemed to know how to react to her lifestyle - being a waif, letting life drift her wherever she was needed. There’d be time to settle down, but that time wasn’t anywhere near her. “Though I’m sort of wishing I knew how to drive. This place is rubbish if you don’t know how to drive.”
‘I cannea drive anyway,’ Oliver chuckled and indicated his shoulder. Back in Scotland, Oliver had a garage full of classic cars and motorbikes. He was something of a fanatic when it came to cars, the prize among them a Vincent Black Shadow, C Series, 1949. The bike had been purchased from an estate sale his first summer after signing with the Celtics. In terrible need of repair, Oliver had bought several books on auto repair, studied up and refurbished the classic motorcycle until it was spotless. The motorcycle now sat beneath an off-white canvas in his Glasgow garage, untouched in over a year. A bike like that was meant to be ridden.
‘But aye, I know what you mean. Walking anywhere is impossible here. There’s too much space, so everything is just spread out. It’s not very efficient.’
“I need to learn, I’m thinking of getting a Vespa or something.” She grinned toothily, hunching her shoulders together against a chill. “Can you imagine? Down here? People would think I was driving some sort of alien craft or something!” Alice wasn’t malicious, but she did delight in good natured troublemaking.
'Get a motorcycle,' Oliver suggested instead, 'I don't think a Vespa has enough gas in her to get round even one of L.A.'s city blocks. Are you cold?' “I’m always a little cold.” She smiled, then cocked her head at his idea. “I’ve always liked the way motorcycles look. Huh. That’s a good idea” She smiled at him and took a sip of her tea. “Smart and talented. Lucky boy.”
'I try,' Oliver replied, his eyes still watching Alice. 'Did you want to move inside? Or I could get you a blanket?' From a hosts standpoint, he hated to think that she might be uncomfortable, even in the warmth of Orange County. But, Oliver was used to girls running cold and he really shouldn't be the judge of weather considering the temperatures he was used to.
Alice shook her head. “I don’t want to impose upon you, it’s fine. Really, the tea will do wonders. I’m just too thin.” Squatting in the bus station for a couple of weeks hadn’t done much to help with that, either. But she had a job again and soon her hips would fill back out. “I haven’t had tea with a mate in - ugh, it’s been three months I’ve been back in the states.” Her nose wrinkle showed her distaste for the country in general; in her heart she was an ex-pat. But she hadn’t wanted to stay and after her work visa expired, hadn’t bothered trying to get another.
‘I’ve been here less than a week and already I’m of me rocker.’ Though he spoke good natured, Oliver couldn’t have been more serious on the subject. He was terribly homesick. For his mates, his mother’s cooking, for football, the snow that was starting to blanket the land, being able to walk from one place to the next without getting in a vehicle. Oliver longed for gloomy days and overcast mornings, because even drenched in gray the sky in Scotland was more pure and fresh than the clearest afternoon in Southern California.
It wasn’t just the weather, either. Nothing about the States reminded him of home. People drove on the wrong side of the street. No one stopped to enjoy the late afternoon, like he and Alice were doing now. There were no rolling green hills or indeed any natural plant anywhere within the city limits. Everything was landscaped, planed and pruned until it fit well within it’s perfect little trim in the perfect little plastic lives of the natives. ‘Fuck, I’m a gloomy arse, I’m sorry,’ Oliver laughed, shaking off the thoughts. ‘I’m here with a beautiful woman drinking tea and all I can think about is getting back to the dark, cold, sludge covered streets of Glasgow!’
“Of course you are,” Alice grinned. “You could be in the dark, cold, sludge covered streets of Glasgow having that tea with me! That would be better, yeah?” She couldn’t help but laugh. She was homesick too. “At least you have something to miss, though.” She didn’t really have a family or a home - she was an only child whose single parent had passed on. She didn’t even know if her father was alive to reconnect with at all, and even if she’d wanted to, she didn’t know where to start looking anyway. “And it’s not permanent, is it? You could always fly your family over to visit you for Christmas.” When Alice wanted to help someone, it was hard to stop her scheming.
Which was why she scooted her chair closer to him and ruffled his hair. “Don’t worry, you being gloomy is kinda cute.”
‘Ge’off!’ Oliver proclaimed cheekily, but he made no move to duck his head out of the way. He only smiled. Making friends in America would go a long way to curbing some of the homesickness, and perhaps a visit from his parents would as well. Of course, that would take convincing his father to get on a plane. ‘In any case, at least I’ve a reason to be gloomy. You, on the other hand, shouldn’t have to be cold. So either let me get you a blanket, or a jacket, or let’s get your petite arse inside where there’s no breeze.’
“I’ll have you know my ass isn’t petite at all. The rest of me is, but my ass is pretty normal. But fine, we can go inside.” She stuck out her tongue at him before standing up and helping move the kettle and her cup into the house. “You don’t pick up anything with your sore arm or so help me, I’ll box your ears.” Sure, he was cute, and if she had her druthers she’d at least snog the guy, but he was a lot more adorable than she’d counted on. “Oh, and promise me one thing. Don’t take up baseball while you’re here. I swear, it’s the most boring sport ever.” And his skills would be wasted!
‘No chance of that, happening,’ he assured her; the quick back-and-forth wit felt like a little slice of home, the more they talked and Oliver liked that. He liked her. Maybe the girls in California weren’t so bad after all.
Grabbing his own tea cup, Oliver followed Alice inside the house. He guided her with a nodd of his head across the foyer and into the large front room, the Jaffa Cakes and biccies balanced on top of his brace. At times, it was as good as a shelf. ‘I mean, if I’m not even allowed to pick up a tea cup, I can’t imagine throwing a ball. Wouldn’t want my ears boxed.’
“Oh, I mean even when you’re better, darling.” She grinned and ruffled his hair again, having to tiptoe to do it. She was 5’3” in her stocking feet, something that had always served her well at work. “Baseball’s just boring, and if I’m going to ogle you on television, I’d rather do it when you’re doing something interesting.” Her grin was rather wicked at that point, and she sat down on his kitchen counter.
“So, are you in the habit of inviting strange women into your home all the time?” She couldn’t resist teasing him; it was far too easy. Oliver set his tea cup down on the counter next to her; up there, they were roughly the same height.
‘Only recently,’ he admitted. Images of stockings, skirts and the foyer wall flashed through his mind, leaving just as quickly. ‘I find it much more satisfying being ogled in person, than on the telly. It’s just not the same,’ he grinned.
‘What about you? Do you make a habit of having tea with complete strangers?’
Leaning forward, Alice grinned. “Just the handsome ones.” Her hands went into his hair again, only instead of ruffling it, she tugged gently, pulling him closer so she could snog him properly.
Yes. The girls in California were not that bad after all.
Stepping closer to the counter, Oliver slid his hips between Alice’s legs dangling over the side of the marble. The kiss was certainly a surprise, but Oliver had been kissed enough times in his life to know how to properly respond. Somewhere, distantly in his mind, Oliver could sense his mother’s scowl; she would have been so disappointed in him that week. A new girl everyday, a ten hour joy ride on a deathtrap and not a single letter home. Apparently some things were better in the States.
‘Well... alright then.’
Alice wrapped her arms around Oliver’s waist out of habit, her hands still in his hair. Somehow it all felt entirely too familiar, and she smiled against his mouth. “Just all right? I must be losing my touch.”
‘Mhmm..’ Oliver interjected, closing his eyes and pressing an open kiss against Alice’s lips. They were soft, relaxed, welcoming in a way Pansy’s had not been. The difference made him smile. ‘Maybe you just need some more practice?’
“Are you offering to teach me? Hopefully I won’t be as awful at it as I am at footy.” She sighed contentedly as he kissed her again, finding him delightfully warm. He also tasted like the squidgy bit of Jaffa cakes, which made her giggle.
‘Oy, no laughing. This is serious business,’ he said, trying to contain his own smirk. ‘Come on. Chin up.’ With a single finger beneath her jaw, Oliver tilted Alice’s chin until her lips were angled up. Even on the counter, he was slightly taller. Oliver trailed his lips across hers, side to side, up and then down, close enough to tickle but not to be a kiss. Not yet.
“You taste like the squidgy bit!” She grinned when he smirked, playfully snapping her teeth toward his jaw. But when he was sort of bossy, tilting her head back, her eyes went softer, a bit more demure, and she could feel her eyelids flutter closed as she exhaled a shaky breath.
Seduction was like dancing, and she did both of them (simultaneously, usually) on a daily basis. But Oliver Wood might have been just a tiny bit better at it than she was, and it made her heart thud loudly in her ears.
‘I promise there’s nothing squidgy about me,’ joked Oliver, breathing over her mouth. He knew quite well that she was referring to the Jaffa Cakes but that didn’t mean he couldn’t twist her words. If she could tease him, he was going to tease back. ‘Care to explore that for yourself?’
Alice just grinned and leaned back to tug off her t-shirt, tossing it behind him with a bright smirk. “I suppose I could.” Her fingers ran lightly over his chest and she resumed the position she’d been in before, kissing his neck. “For the record, it wasn’t a bad observation. It’s good, promise.”
‘I’m going to hold you to that,’ he replied, but his voice was barely a whisper as his eyes studied Alice’s body, a her pink bra the perfect reflection of her personality, vibrant and energetic with a hint of casual class. So much for giving his shoulder a rest.