Though none of the weekends that follow are quite as exciting as her first night of freedom, Lola grows excited for each and every one, and Frank doesn't seem to be growing tired of her company, so she takes it as a win. In fact, they grow close, much to the exasperation and slight terror of the women running the group home.
"Get out of my bed," Nikki comes back from the shower with his hair still wet, only wearing a pair of jeans, only to find Lola trying to discretely smoke behind a newspaper. It's been almost three whole months since that first night, and Lola's almost seventeen, and for the first time she feels like she has her whole life ahead of her.
"No way, you're by the window," she pointedly leans back, breathing a lungful of smoke through the mesh.
"Just smoke outside," he snaps, pulling himself up the ladder to sit by her, scowling, before shaking his head like a dog, flicking water all over her.
"It's cold outside, you asshole!" She fired back around the cigarette in her mouth, smacking him with the paper, unable to shield herself in time from the water he flicks on her, settling for this instead. In retaliation, Frank takes the cigarette from her lips and takes a drag, reaching across Lola to flick the ashes into the empty can she'd been using as an impromptu ash tray.
"Anything interesting?" He flicks the paper before putting the cigarette into Lola's waiting grip. After a beat, he leans over to the window to blow out the smoke, and Lola hums.
"I wouldn't know," she dismisses the question without any preamble, before grinning, turning to Frank, "who's playing tonight? They any good?" And she's shooting for casual, and failing pretty miserably. He drags out the moment, part of him likes to see her squirm, before finally shrugging, admitting he doesn't know the band. This isn't the answer she was looking for, and it shows on her face, the way her nose wrinkles and her lips turn down in a frown, and she stubs out the last remaining embers of the cigarette before putting the butt in the can itself and pushing the can to the corner of the bed.
"You complaining? You don't have to come," he offers, but Lola's only response is to flop dramatically onto the bed.
"God, of course I'll go," she paused for a moment, "how are you not wearing a shirt, it's fucking freezing, the window's open." She tossed the paper to the ground and rested her hands behind her head, gaze focused on the ceiling, pointedly not looking at Frank.
"I'm cold blooded, I don't feel it," she can hear him smirking, and without warning, she sits up, reaching out and taking his arm, running her thumb over the goosebumps forming there.
"Dirty fuckin' liar," she grins back at him, even as he flips the script, pulls her close and wraps an arm around her. It's easy contact, familiar, and Lola leans into it a little, one hand still holding his wrist,
"You run warm enough," he grinned, and there's an answer on the tip of her tongue, just behind her grin-
"God, you two are damn ferals; get away from each other, no touching," one of ladies who runs the home spots them on her way through to the laundry, and sounds as if she's already tired of whatever interaction this is about to yield.
"You gonna get the hose again?" Lola spits back, scrambling to her knees, leaning on the railing at the edge of the bunk bed, looking every bit as irritated and feral as the woman accused her of. Even so, the woman can see Frank's amused smirk, but not how he's looped a finger through one of Lola's belt loops, a quiet reminder to not pitch herself off the bed by accident.
"You bet I will!" She snapped, "if you two are within a foot of each other when I come back I'll spray you both." The woman warned, storming off to the laundry.
YOU ARE READING
Run to Paradise {Nikki Sixx | The Dirt}
Fanfiction" the girl is crafty like ice is cold. " Nikki and Lola met before they were Nikki and Lola, before Motley Crue, before they were even eighteen; they were just two shitty teenagers, looking to escape their shitty childhoods. So together they turn in...
