Beca Mitchell doesn’t go out to bars on weeknights.
Not that she could really be considered the biggest party animal in general. Even as a college student, Beca was never really one for parties. She’d attend, she’d enjoy herself, but she tended to check out early, and she’d never get too crazy.
So, her self-imposed rule about not going to bars on weeknights is really not in place for any particular reason. Beca is not worried about jeopardizing her job—a job she doesn’t even like. She simply does not go to bars on weeknights because she just...doesn’t.
However, she really had needed to do something last night—something, anything, to peel Amy from beneath the dangerously stacked nest of snotty tissues haphazardly covering their small, two-seater couch.
“You’re kind of scaring me,” Beca had frowned, forcing herself to keep the look of utter disgust from her face as she’d flicked a couple tissues aside in order to perch down on the edge of the least occupied cushion.
Amy had simply glared at her, eyes sullen and red, hazel irises completely void of their usually bright Fat Amy light.
Normally, if one of them has to tempt the other into a night out, it is decidedly the other way around. Amy loves to be out of their small apartment, she loves to socialize and have fun. Beca, on the other hand, is generally happy in her own company, happy to sit cross-legged with her laptop perched in front of her, working on some new music mix or other.
That’s Beca’s dream job: music. Not leading a museum tour group and repeating the same information day in and day out. But her job pays the bills, and that is really the main thing…
More on that later, though.
The point is, Beca did go out last night, and as she blinks her eyes open to take in the sight of an unfamiliar room—tangled floral bedspread absolutely not hers—perhaps she is currently living through a reminder as to why she made her rule in the first place.
“High School Musical, Amy? Seriously?” Beca whines exasperatedly, head tipping back in a way that mimics a child not quite getting their way.
“Karaoke was your idea,” Amy points out with a very nonchalant shrug of her shoulders. There is a pitcher of alcohol—a cocktail of some variation—taking center stage at their small table. As Amy takes her seat back, it doesn’t surprise Beca when she proceeds to then pick up the pitcher before her previous cup has even emptied fully; Amy has definitely taken more than her half share, but Beca doesn’t really mind. Amy needs the distraction.
“Right, for you,” Beca retorts with an indignant glare.
Amy responds with another small shrug, focus mostly on the alcohol she is pouring into her cup. “I didn’t even want to go out.”
In reality, it hadn’t taken too much convincing. Amy has been wallowing in the pits of her recent breakup for weeks now, so when she’d declined the idea of going out to dinner or to a show or something, Beca had pulled the card she knew would always work with Fat Amy—karaoke. Even in one of her more dismal moods, Amy rarely says no to karaoke.
And it is not as if Beca hates it, either. She doesn’t love the idea of all eyes on her as she stands on a makeshift stage and belts out some cheesy karaoke hit to a room full of strangers, but she likes to sing, so it is really not too taxing for her to do so. Of course, she would much prefer to be at home, but this outing is necessary, so Beca is not regretting it.
Well, not too much, anyway… Amy’s questionable choice in duet for the two of them is definitely causing her to second-guess her decision to some extent.
“Whatever,” Beca grumbles defeatedly, reaching out to retrieve her half full cup of whatever cocktail they are drinking. She takes at least a slight bit of comfort in the fact that the bar is not overly crowded tonight; just a few nameless faces drinking and doing their own thing. Her roaming gaze falls on Amy, the sight before her causing Beca’s brows to tug tightly together. “Hey, Ames, come on,” she frowns, reaching across the table to grab Amy’s phone from her hand.
Admittedly, Beca is normally glued to her phone. She wouldn’t usually make a big deal about anybody else doing the same thing, but Beca knows that Amy is texting Bumper, or looking through his social media, or just generally torturing herself in some way.
“No, stop!” Amy protests, quickly tugging the phone from Beca’s reach. “We’re texting.”
Inhaling a slow breath through her nose, Beca stares at her roommate with an unconvinced expression. “Yeah?” She questions, taking a long gulp from her cup. Unlike many drinks, the sickeningly fruity taste of this one does not get any better the more she drinks. “How’s that going?”
“Fine,” Amy shrugs, eyes down on her screen again. She taps out whatever message she may be sending with sheer focus, but somehow still manages to engage with Beca to an extent. “He said he’s gonna call soon.”
Still unconvinced, mostly because Beca has never really liked Bumper, and has never really considered him good for her best friend, she continues to study Amy’s distracted expression. “And what’s that gonna do?”
Although Amy opens her mouth to respond, she is cut off by the sound of their names (kind of...you’ll see) echoing from the microphone on stage.
“Next up, Amy and… uh, Shawshank? Singing Disney’s Start of Something New.”
Beca’s lips purse as she glares across the table to an already-standing Amy. “Shawshank? Real funny,” she mutters, pushing back her seat and ignoring the quiet chuckles echoing around her.
Beca does not want to sing a High School Musical song—mostly because that requires admitting to actually knowing a High School Musical song—but this evening is about pulling Amy from her funk, so Beca can push her pride aside for three minutes and do what Amy wants to do.
Straightening out the clingy fabric of her striped shirt, Beca ignores the few brief stares that turn her way as she heads for the small stage. She hears the sound of Amy’s footsteps trailing along behind her, and without the distraction of music blaring out around them, she can hear the faint key sounds coming from Amy’s phone as she taps ferociously at the screen.
“Shawshank?” The karaoke DJ questions as he hands over a microphone. His lightly graying brow is raised slightly, and Beca can see the amused smirk he isn’t even attempting to hold back.
“Yeah, that’s me,” Beca grumbles, ignoring the snicker he lets out in response.
Beca is really not paying much attention to Amy by this point, so it isn’t until she stands center stage and glances over toward her friend that she sees she is scurrying back down the three small steps up to the stage, phone pressed to one ear and finger plugging the other.
“Amy!” Beca hisses, partially embarrassed to be the only one standing up here with the title of their shameful Disney song displayed in large letters on the portable screen behind her, and partially concerned, because Beca knows that no good will come from Amy and Bumper’s conversation.
A couple people, DJ included, glance toward Amy, who is completely ignoring Beca’s attempts to capture her attention.
Lips pressed into a thin line, Beca decides that it is probably no use—when does Amy listen to anyone, anyway?—and resigns herself to the fact that their duet is not going to be happening. Not that she is exactly complaining about that part, of course.
“Hey, sorry, my friend is—” Beca begins explaining to the DJ, though a new voice behind her catches their attention mid-sentence.
“I can be your partner.”
Whirling around on the spot, Beca glances down to see an unfamiliar redhead standing before her, hopeful eyes wide and excited. All Beca does is stare at first, brows knitting together, before finally realizing what is going on. “Oh, no, it’s—”
“It’s fine!” The stranger promises, already climbing onto the stage. The DJ hands over the second microphone without question nor protest, before disappearing toward his laptop to get their track started. He is just doing his job, Beca supposes. “Really,” she persists with a reassuring smile, “I love this song. I’ll be Troy, you be Gabriella.”
Beca wants to protest, to insist that they really don’t have to do this, but the opening instrumental has already begun to thrum out around them, the first lyrics already appearing obtrusively on screen.
And then the mystery redhead begins to belt out the opening lyrics, and what is Beca supposed to do now? Leave?
It is against everything in her, the fact that Beca not only joins in with the performance, but also sees it right through to the end, but for some reason, perhaps to save face, she does it. She finds herself mentally thanking every deity when the music finally begins to fade out, of course.
“That was fun, huh?” The redhead comments casually once their performance is over, handing her microphone back over to the DJ. She flashes him an appreciative smile, before a quick departing one to Beca. “You’re a really great singer.” Then, without so much as giving her her name, the stranger hops expertly down from the stage, leaving Beca to stare, bewildered, and to mentally question what the fuck has just happened.
As it turns out, perhaps this evening’s outing really had been a pointless idea, because Beca has barely seen anything of Amy since the karaoke ghosting incident. They really could’ve stayed home, and Amy could’ve spent the whole time talking on the phone with Bumper there, while Beca hid out in the comfort of her small bedroom with her laptop, coddled by a pair of comfortable sweatpants.
Currently, from what Beca can gather from she and Amy’s brief exchanges since karaoke-gate, Amy and Bumper are currently going back and forth between one hanging up on the other and seeing who cares enough to call back. Beca doesn’t understand these petty relationship games, she really doesn’t. Perhaps that is because she has never been in any kind of serious romantic relationship herself, but whatever, that’s totally not important.
By now, Beca is pretty much used to sitting at the bar alone. Despite the deep frown wrinkling her face, she is grateful for the fact that Amy has taken her latest call outside—her repetitive conversations with her ex-boyfriend are not really something Beca needs to listen to, anyway.
Beca is more entertained by the bottle of beer she is currently nursing, gaze drifting down toward the time displayed on her phone screen as it lay on the bar beside her.
It takes a moment—and an obvious clear of a throat—for Beca to even realize that the voice is addressing her. A quick glance to the side has her gaze landing on the same mystery redhead to have come to her rescue before.
“Wow, your friend’s really good at ditching you tonight, huh?” She says somewhat lightheartedly. Though, Beca can see the obvious look of sympathy etched across her pale features. The redhead soon flashes Beca a warm smile, before helping herself to the empty bar stool beside her. “Mind if I sit?”
Despite her question, she has already positioned herself atop the stool anyway. Regardless, Beca shakes her head in response, offering the other woman a polite smile.
“I’m Chloe,” the redhead says, glancing briefly toward the almost empty bottle Beca’s fingers are loosely wrapped around. She brings her gaze, mesmerizingly blue now that Beca is really looking at her upclose, up to Beca’s face again. Her expectant expression prompts an eventual response.
“Hey,” Beca greets coolly in return, genuinely appreciative of the company. She twists her body to better face Chloe. “Nice to meet you...again. I’m Beca.”
Chloe responds with another warm smile and a brief nod of her head toward Beca’s drink. “Can I buy you another?”
“Oh, uh…” Beca begins, glancing down toward her bottle, “I mean, it’s totally okay, you don’t have to, like, pay me back for the weird duet thing or anything.”
Chloe’s soft giggle catches Beca’s attention, and she cannot help but notice a slight rosy glow to her pale cheeks, even under the bar’s dim lighting. Chloe’s tongue pokes out to lick over the part in her glossed lips, before she says a little more directly, “Beca, can I buy you a drink?”
Admittedly, Beca is not used to strangers in bars hitting on her, but there is something in the way Chloe stares at her, gaze peeking from beneath a perfect fan of mascara-coated lashes, that tells Beca perhaps that is exactly what is happening.
For the shortest of moments, Beca tilts her head slightly in questioning, almost as if she is studying Chloe, though she cannot help the way the corners of her lips tug up into a small smile. Eventually, Beca gently nods her head. “Yeah,” she agrees without need for Chloe to further convince her, “Yeah, okay. Sure.”
Beca had meant it before, she really does not get hit on much by strangers in bars. It is decidedly incredibly out of character for her to even entertain it at all, much less for her to find herself in her current position pressed up against the front door to Chloe’s apartment—Chloe, a complete stranger only a matter of hours ago—fists grasping at the light fabric of Chloe’s navy colored romper as their lips press hungrily against one another’s. Chloe reaches around Beca to fumble blindly with her key in the lock, and Beca barely even gives herself the chance to breathe between desperate kisses.
“I don’t normally do this,” Beca murmurs without pulling away, as if Chloe is in any position whatsoever to judge—they are very much in the same boat, after all.
“No?” Chloe breathes, finally managing to twist the key in the lock. Her arm wraps tightly around Beca’s back to keep her upright as she pushes open the door, the sound of fast breathing circulating the air around them as they shuffle into the apartment, until Chloe is pushing the door closed with her back. “Me either.”
Beca doesn’t even need to verbally respond. As cliche as it may seem, her body is definitely doing the talking for her. Her heart hammers so hard against her chest that she is sure it is about to explode right out of there any moment, and her hands shake with anticipation as long fingers push their way beneath the open fabric of her leather jacket.
It is done with seemingly no effort at all, the way Chloe pushes the garment off, and begins to lead them, lips still working firmly against one another’s, toward what Beca assumes is her bedroom.
If Chloe has roommates, they are either not home or they know to stay out of the way, because nobody disturbs them as they fall hastily into the bedroom together, an unfamiliar air of genuine, desperate passion engulfing them both.
“Do you need water?” Chloe murmurs breathlessly against Beca’s lips as she guides her toward the bed. Beca’s fists are still gripping onto the fabric of Chloe’s romper, and she tightens her fingers as Chloe pushes her backward onto the mattress, ensuring Chloe is pressed tightly on top of her.
“I’m good,” Beca mumbles, finally releasing her grip on Chloe’s clothing. It is the first time since they climbed from the cab that their lips part from one another’s, and Beca can see how invitingly swollen Chloe’s are as she stares up at her through hooded lids. Beca’s chest rises and falls quickly, elbows keeping her unsteadily elevated.
Chloe seems to take a moment to sweep her darkened gaze over Beca’s face, lingering a moment longer on her lips, before shrugging off her own jacket and reaching up to bunch long, red curls over one shoulder. “How drunk are you?” Chloe murmurs as she leans down to push her parted lips to the sensitive skin of Beca’s neck, with Beca’s head tipping back to accommodate.
“I’m not,” Beca answers honestly, eyes instantly fluttering shut with the feeling of Chloe’s tongue flickering over soft skin.
“Good,” Chloe mumbles barely audibly, now too wrapped up in the way her teeth graze gently down onto the patch of skin beneath them.
This is so not Beca. Random hookups with a stranger she met in a bar? So not Beca. But she is not complaining, not even slightly. There is something about this particular stranger that both excites and soothes her in the most incredible way, and Beca is just...really not complaining.
“You’re so hot,” Chloe breathes unintelligibly, words muffled by the way her lips begin their path further downward. She pauses briefly, though only to lean back and easily peel off Beca’s tight-fitting shirt. Chloe allows herself a moment to take in the sight before her, teeth sinking into her bottom lip as Beca reaches behind herself to unhook the clasp of her bra.
Chloe’s romper is fastened with buttons right the way down the front, so Beca reaches out with shaky fingers to begin fumbling with them as Chloe leans back in to reconnect full lips to Beca’s now invitingly exposed collarbone. The gentle pressure of the way she sucks, tongue instantly soothing any amount of pain before it even gets the chance to make itself known, causes a soft whimper to sound from the back of Beca’s throat. Chloe doesn’t even stop as she helps Beca peel off the romper once the buttons are unfastened the whole way, she just continues to lower her lips downward until she is kissing over the hill of Beca’s breast.
Truth be told, Beca isn’t entirely sure what to do with her hands—again, this is very new to her—but that doesn’t stop her from reaching behind Chloe’s back to unclasp her bra, too. By the time she has peeled the garment away completely, Chloe has begun to pepper kisses toward Beca’s already stiffened nipple, until she can wrap her lips around the pebbled bud.
“Fuck,” Beca hisses quietly, the feeling of Chloe’s pointed tongue flickering over the peak of her nipple causing a fast spread of heat to rush between her legs. Her hands are exploring the smooth, unclothed skin of Chloe’s back, though Chloe makes quick work of reaching around to wrap her fingers around Beca’s wrists, until she is lifting her arms up and pinning them onto the mattress above her head.
Beca is still not entirely convinced that this is not a dream. It is like something from a fantasy, an entirely dirty one, the way Chloe guides her further up the bed, bare knee pushing its way between Beca’s trembling thighs.
“I wanna go down on you,” Chloe murmurs as she releases Beca’s nipple from between her lips with the most delicious pop.
Whether she is asking for permission or simply stating her intentions, Beca doesn’t know. She just knows that the way Chloe is evidently not afraid to be verbal is really, really fucking hot, and Beca quickly nods her head as she leans back into the plush pillows. Chloe’s lips have begun to cause a path of goosebumps in their wake as they move further down Beca’s body, kisses so invitingly hot and wet against her prickling skin.
In case Beca’s explicit permission was not already obvious, she reaches down to pop the button of her jeans, and she isn’t sure, but she thinks she can feel Chloe’s lips curving upward into a smirk as they press to the soft, sensitive skin of her hip.
Maybe if she actually knew Chloe, Beca would be a little embarrassed by how obviously wet she knows she is, how obviously wet she knows Chloe can see she is, as Chloe begins to tug down her jeans and panties. But, given the current situation, Beca is really not thinking about that. It is difficult to think about anything other than the incredibly hot woman pushing her trembling thighs apart to position herself between them.
That first touch, the first flicker of Chloe’s flattened tongue against Beca’s aching clit, somehow feels so long overdue. It is almost like, when they’d been sitting at the bar together, giggling about nothing of real relevance, Beca had been subconsciously waiting for this progression already. Now that it is here, now that her thigh is draped over Chloe’s shoulder, and Chloe’s tongue is moving so expertly against her, it is a million times better than Beca had even imagined.
“God,” Beca breathes, unable to resist a downward glance to where Chloe’s lips are wrapped around her clit. She can see the way Chloe’s eyes are closed, long lashes fanning from her lids, and holy fuck, this girl really is like something from Beca’s wettest, wildest dreams.
She can only look for so long before her head is naturally tipping back into the pillows again, Chloe’s lips sucking a little more harshly at Beca’s swollen clit. The moan to erupt from the back of her throat is louder this time, and Beca cannot help the way her hips begin to move naturally, pushing herself further into Chloe’s mouth.
Beca can feel the vibration caused by the way Chloe moans softly against her in return, thighs spreading further as Chloe slides two fingers between her legs. Slowly, they tease at Beca’s entrance, before they sink deeply inside of her, with Beca whimpering in immediate reaction.
“Too much?” Chloe breathes unsteadily, pulling back momentarily. Beca isn’t looking at her, but she can sense the way Chloe glances upward, so Beca quickly shakes her head, tongue licking over her lips.
Tips of her fingers curving to brush against tight, clenching walls, Chloe leans back in to press her tongue to Beca’s aching clit. The way she just knows the exact way to touch her, the exact time to point her tongue and flicker it a little more harshly against the swollen flesh is honestly incredible, and Beca has to reach an arm up above her to grip tightly onto the pillow.
Her other hand moves unsteadily down her body until she can tangle slender fingers through Chloe’s now messy locks. Beca’s grip tightens naturally, and she has a feeling from the way Chloe moans softly against her, the way her fingers push harder into Beca’s dripping cunt, that she likes the slight force.
Beca is really not timing this, she is entirely lost in the moment, but it seems to happen pretty quickly, the way the pace of Chloe’s fingers picks up as they pump desperately inside of her. Beca can hear how wet she is, she can hear the way Chloe’s fingers sink quickly inside and just as quickly pull part way back out, until Beca can feel her final release beginning to build in crashing waves of pleasure.
She comes with Chloe’s fingers inside of her, with Chloe’s swollen lips wrapped around her aching clit and flattened tongue pressing down against her, moving in a way that has Beca on the verge of screaming. She doesn’t even try to hold back the way she moans loudly, openly, and Beca knows she is dripping onto the mattress beneath her as Chloe slides her fingers the whole way back out of her pulsing cunt.
Like she is addicted to the taste already, Chloe doesn’t hesitate to use her tongue to clean Beca up. Beca’s whole body trembles, still increasingly sensitive to Chloe’s touch, and she whimpers through the feeling of Chloe’s tongue taking in her release.
Chloe does not feel like a stranger. Beca’s fingers continue to grip onto her hair, even as she begins to move back up Beca’s body, and Beca doesn’t feel any kind of embarrassment in the way she uses her grasp to guide Chloe’s mouth back to her own. She can taste herself on Chloe’s lips, dripping from her tongue as it pushes through the gap in Beca’s to move lazily in sync.
Beca keeps holding on as she pushes her body up against Chloe’s, no intention of parting from their desperate kisses, even as she rolls them over until Chloe is on her back and Beca is straddling her thighs. Her body aches in the most incredible way, pussy still dripping as Beca grinds her hips down into Chloe’s, and there is a distinct feeling of power coursing through her body as she hears Chloe whimpering beneath her.
Chloe is not a stranger, certainly not as Beca’s hand slips between their bodies, sticky and pressed against one another’s, to slide the tips of her fingers beneath the thin fabric of Chloe’s panties. She can feel Chloe’s arousal, the way it soaks through her underwear, against the back of her hand the lower she pushes down, and Beca cannot help the way she moans quietly against Chloe’s lips as her fingers slide against the wetness already dripping from Chloe’s cunt.
To know that she has gotten someone so turned on by them going down on her strikes a whole new feeling of power, sets off a wave that Beca rides through to the very end, until her fingers are sunk the whole way inside of Chloe’s dripping cunt, tips curled to press against tightened walls.
No, Beca doesn’t know Chloe, but she does know she gives off a certain air of authority, of genuine confidence. That authority seems to fall slightly as Chloe comes undone beneath her, as Beca pushes tight circles into her aching clit, until Chloe comes just as hard as Beca had only moments ago.
It is a whirlwind experience for Beca, one that she is grateful to have not given herself the chance to really question, because any other time, it is unlikely Beca would’ve even entertained such an event. Adrenaline and indescribable desire are to thank for Beca’s tryst with the just hours ago perfect stranger, and while she does allow herself to come back into her own mind once Chloe leaves the room to grab them both a bottle of water, she feels a shy smile tugging at the corners of her lips upon her return.
By now, Beca has the pillows propped up slightly behind her, comforter covering her also now propped up body. She is still naked, but holds the covers over her chest—unlike Chloe, who is happy to walk around her apartment in nothing but the wet panties Beca has just fucked her in.
Beca doesn’t know what is supposed to happen now, she doesn’t know if she is supposed to get out of Chloe’s bed, say an awkward goodbye and disappear to her own apartment, but Chloe doesn’t seem to be hurrying her out of there.
Quite the opposite, in fact. There is a look of genuine comfort on Chloe’s face as she slips onto the mattress beside Beca.
While Beca opens her mouth to say something, she can’t quite find her words, and instead just lets out an awkward chuckle as she accepts the water bottle from Chloe. She can feel the way her cheeks have heated up, she knows there is an obvious tinge of red overtaking them, but Chloe doesn’t seem to mind.
“It’s okay,” Chloe reassures softly. Despite Beca’s slight embarrassment, it is incredible how easy it is to take comfort in Chloe’s encouragement. And, man, she is grateful for the fact that Chloe is at least less awkward than she is. “I told you, I don’t normally do this either.” Chloe uncaps the lid from her water bottle, eyes on Beca the whole time. “I had fun, though.”
“Yeah,” Beca agrees with a small nod of her head. Her lips are still curved into a small smile that Beca is sure she is not going to be able to wipe away for days, and a part of her feels embarrassed by it, but she can tell that Chloe is not judging. “I did, too.” She pauses, simply eyeing Chloe as she sips from her water bottle, before asking pathetically, “So, uh… What now?”
Chloe responds with an already familiar giggle, the same one Beca had heard when they’d been seated side by side at the bar earlier. She pulls her water bottle away from her mouth, resting it on her bare knee. “Well, you can leave,” she waits no more than a brief beat, before adding in a tone that Beca perceives as almost hopeful, “Or you can stay the night.”
Beca knows the right move to make. She has work in the morning, she knows that she should really not spend the night in another person’s bed. That doesn’t seem to matter to her, though, even less so when Chloe leans over to push a small yet lingering kiss to Beca’s lips. A shiver vibrates through Beca’s body as Chloe whispers a soft, “Stay.”
Instantly, Beca’s cheeks heat up further, but she doesn’t even hesitate to kiss Chloe back, nor does she take the time to think about her response. Instead, she simply nods her head, teeth sinking down into her lower lip as Chloe pulls back just enough to let Beca speak. “Okay,” she agrees, bashful smile tugging back onto her lips, “I’ll stay.”
Okay, so maybe this is why Beca even made her no going to bars on weeknights rule in the first place, she thinks as she quietly tiptoes around Chloe’s bedroom, pulling on the same outfit Chloe had haphazardly taken off of her last night.
On weekends, Beca hates her body clock, the fact that it just knows to wake her up way too early as if she has somewhere to be. That is one of the problems with a Monday to Friday job; there is really no such thing as a lie in on weekends, because your body is just annoyingly used to the early weekday mornings.
This morning, however, Beca is grateful for it, because she hadn’t even considered setting her alarm last night. She had awoken naturally, albeit a little later than usual, but still with enough time to make it to work if she forgoes picking up breakfast on the way.
Chloe, on the other hand, has the luxury of still sleeping peacefully. A part of Beca considers waking her, feeling that it is impolite to just ditch this way, but the other part cannot help but think that Chloe really does look so peaceful. Besides, the idea of an awkward goodbye is really not appealing to Beca in the slightest, so against probable better judgment, she chooses to slip out of the apartment—the door unlocks with a latch from the inside, thank God—quietly.
Not without leaving a quick note, of course, on the back of a crumpled receipt from the depths of her purse:
I have to go to work, didn’t want to wake you.
Thank you for last night, I had a lot of fun.
Beca had hesitated briefly before scribbling her number at the bottom of the paper, and cannot help but feel a slight sense of nagging loss upon finally exiting Chloe’s apartment building. It is a feeling she cannot quite describe, but undoubtedly, it is there.
She decides that the ball is in Chloe’s court now, though, and that random hookups really don’t have to lead to anything more. Plus, she has work to focus on now, so Beca pushes on her game face, and hopes that nobody comments on her somewhat disheveled appearance once she makes it to the museum—hopefully on time.
(As it turns out, apparently, Beca Mitchell is of no real importance when it comes to her work, because nobody seems to notice that she is slightly more flustered this morning than usual, or that she is wearing the same shirt she had worn the day before.)
Beca doesn’t even like her job. In fact, Beca has really never liked her job. It is not what she wants to do, leading tour groups around a museum, and especially not the current group she finds herself thrust in charge of for her first tour of the day.
The majority of the group looks hungover, one of them even complaining about how she doesn’t even want to be here, but Beca has a duty to put on a happy face, to remain enthusiastic and feign an air of upbeat energy to keep the group engaged as best as she can.
Beca doesn’t even like her job, but it pays the bills, she tells herself as she stops at the first exhibit and finds herself witness to a group of fully grown women acting like unruly children climbing a priceless statue, despite Beca’s attempts to protest.
The money is worth it, she continues to mentally convince herself, expression falling the longer she stares helplessly at the scene before her.
As she watches one of the women in her group stick out her tongue and pretend to lick the butt of the statue, it hits Beca that, God, it is totally not worth it.
It also strikes her glaringly that she really should’ve just called out this morning in favor of staying in bed with Chloe all day.
Not that Beca should really be thinking about that, of course. Last night was fun—really fun, in fact—but it really was just a random hookup. Chloe shouldn’t be on her mind, not really. But she is, and Beca doesn’t even mind the fact that she is exhausted after a late night as she trudges lazily toward the break room during her lunch hour, because fuck, it was totally worth it.
Admittedly, Beca isn’t really expecting anything as she pulls her phone from inside of her locker; she proceeds to check the notifications mostly out of habit.
There are a few text messages to scroll through, a couple emails that Beca is sure will be of no real relevance. One specific string of messages, all sent consecutively within the space of the same minute, catches her eye, though, and Beca’s brows raise as she unlocks the screen to quickly scroll through to it.
Hey, it’s Chloe :)
I had fun last night
Listen, what if I wanted to see you again?
What if I wanted to see you again tonight, in fact?
Beca doesn’t even realize her teeth have sunk down the way they have into her bottom lip as she reads over the messages, nor the way her mouth has curved into a bashful yet somehow excited smile as she begins to type out her response.
Yeah? Hm, what if...