Chapter Text
Crowded. That’s Ramona’s first thought when she walks through the door of Little Gem. One of New York City’s most popular lesbian bars, she anticipates the line around the corner and $15 cover fee.
It’s a new environment for Ramona. She’s unfamiliar with bars as it is, much preferring the glorious peace of solitude. But she’s definitely not used to lesbian bars, never even stepped foot in one. She likes the atmosphere, the abundance of rainbows and the collection of rubber ducks hanging from the ceiling. Each wall is painted a different color, decorated with abstract artwork of naked figures and pictures of queer icons.
People swarm the bar or pile into chairs along the walls. There’s a busy corner dedicated to dancing by an old school jukebox, giving an energy more likely to be found in a club than a bar. All the spaces in between are filled with dozens of lesbians and queer people talking and laughing and flirting.
An empty barstool opens up, miraculously by all accounts, and Ramona is quick to take a seat.
That bartender is hot. That’s Ramona’s second thought of true substance.
Captivating smile dancing across full lips, curly hair a pretty blend of blonde and brown, effortlessly captivating in the bar-branded shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbows.
There’s another other bartender, shorter and with darker features. He says something to the tall one and gestures towards where Ramona is sitting. She looks at Ramona, eyes piercing even from afar, and it’s all Ramona can do not to shrivel under her gaze.
The bartender makes her way over, spreads her hands over the countertop, and smiles. She looks at Ramona with gorgeous green eyes, eyes that could stop traffic or maybe the world from spinning on its axis.
“What can I get you, beautiful?”
That accent. British, but smoother around the edges, almost sweeter. Up close, Ramona can make out the smattering of freckles painted across the woman’s cheekbones, no doubt brought about by strong summer suns.
Ramona swallows. “Uh, I’ll have a drink.”
“Mhm,” the bartender grins, “of anything in particular?”
“Right. Um, surprise me?”
“You got it.” She raps her knuckles against the wood before going to make the drink.
Ramona watches with unwavering focus. She’s immediately spellbound by whatever potion the other woman concocts. It’s frustratingly hot, the way she pours it into a cocktail glass and slides it in front of her.
“Hoping you like tequila?”
“Who doesn’t?”
She smiles and takes Ramona’s card. “Opening a tab?”
“Please.”
Time flies by with Ramona’s attention only a bit drawn to the bartender. Ramona likes the way she throws her head back when she laughs, the coy way she plucks tips from drooling customers.
She spends the evening casually nursing the few drinks she’s given while making conversation with the people that sit next to her or come up to chat. Everyone is friendly and outgoing, and Ramona, who would normally find it absolutely nauseating, is rather endeared.
She doesn’t realize how late it’s gotten until she hears last call. She gives herself time to finish her last drink. The warm blanket that the alcohol wraps around her mind isn’t as suffocating as it usually feels. The faint buzz that blurs the corners of her mind is a welcome one. She’s only a few sips from heading home when the unmistakable presence of perfection steps in front of her.
“Hey there,” the bartender greets.
“Hi,” Ramona says, unsurprised by the tipsy drawl to her own voice. She’s grateful for the confidence the few drinks have given her.
“This your first time here?”
“How’d you know?” Ramona laughs, even though she knows amateur is written across her forehead.
“Well, I haven’t seen you here before.”
“Maybe you just don’t remember me.”
“Oh, I’d remember.”
If the words spoken in that accent weren’t enough, the woman’s brazen gaze is enough to make Ramona flush hot with something. And just like that, the air is plucked from her lungs like a peach from a tree. Ramona never really learned the art of flirting, and she certainly isn’t accustomed to flirtatious banter with someone who looks like this.
Thankfully, she’s spared.
“What’s your name?”
“Uh, Ramona. What’s yours?” Ramona asks, then her eyes go wide. “Wait, am I allowed to ask that?”
“You are allowed to ask that,” she chuckles. “It’s Oona.”
Oona. It’s pretty. Elegant. Not like Ramona, all clunky and awkward.
“Oona. Hi,” Ramona mumbles. She bites the inside of her cheek and draws random shapes in the condensation of her glass.
“Oona, closing time!” another bartender shouts.
Oona throws a drawn out okay over her shoulder before turning back to Ramona. “Gotta kick you out now. Sorry.”
“No, that’s okay,” Ramona says. She slides off her stool and leaves a cash tip on top of her signed receipt. “I’ll, um, see you around?”
Oona waves. “Bye, Ramona.”
As she walks out the bar, Ramona thinks she might actually start to like her name if it keeps tumbling out of those lips.
- - - - -
She’s not sure what brings her back that next weekend. It could be the vibes of Little Gem, the energy, the glory of being surrounded by other queer people.
Maybe it’s the bartender.
But it’s someone different who mixes her drink this time and the bar is too overcrowded to even hope for a seat, so Ramona finds herself wandering around the space. All in all, it ends up being a busier night than the last. She’s approached by more people, drawn into more conversations by queer New Yorkers made friendlier by alcohol. They ask about her job, share pictures of pet cats, compliment her style. It’s nice in a way that Ramona never thought it could be.
Before she knows it, hours have passed and she’s far too many drinks deep. She’s only pulled away by a text from her sister.
come meet us at planet rose!!!! i wont even make u sing i promise
Ramona can’t help but roll her eyes. She knew Annie would end up at a karaoke bar. Even though Annie will no doubt push a microphone upon her, Ramona finds a spot at the bar to wave down a handsome blonde bartender and ask for her check.
She doesn’t notice Oona snatching the bill from her coworker, or the gracious wink she gives him as she makes her way towards Ramona’s side of the bar.
“Hi, Ramona.”
You remember my name, she thinks.
“Of course I remember your name.”
Ramona freezes. “Oh, fuck, did I say that out loud?”
“You did, yeah,” Oona giggles. “Here’s your card.”
Ramona adds another generous tip to the receipt sliding it back. When she looks up, Oona sports a smirk, like she has something she’s desperate to say.
“What?” Ramona asks with a smile.
Oona leans further over the bartop and urges Ramona towards her with the beckoning motion of her finger, and Ramona is a fish on a hook.
With faces only a few inches apart, Oona whispers, “you know that like eight different women tried to hit on you tonight, right?”
Ramona pulls back in shock. “What? No they didn’t.”
“Yes they did. I literally watched it all happen.”
Ramona doesn’t pick up on the way Oona falters at the end, tipping her own hand too heavily with the blatant confession that she’s had an eye on Ramona all night. All she can think about is her interactions throughout the night. She had some good talks with different people, but it was all friendly in nature.
“I’m pretty sure the vibes around this girl,” Ramona gestures to herself, “have been strictly platonic.”
“‘Kay, let’s break it down, then. One woman asked to buy you a drink, which you declined because it was ‘too nice of an offer.’”
“Well –”
“And that redhead you were talking with? Yeah, when she said, ‘wanna get out of here?’ The appropriate response would have been, ‘yes.’ Not, ‘no thanks, it’s raining out.’”
Ramona groans, dropping her face in her hands and shaking her head. The tips of her ears burn furiously. “Wow, I’m so glad you got to witness my profound idiocy all night.”
“Relax, babe,” Oona comforts, her amused lilt of her voice everpresent. She tugs at Ramona’s wrist to get her arms to fall and to look up. “I liked it. I thought it was cute.”
Ramona sucks in a breath. “Cute. Not exactly what I’m going for.”
“It’s working for you, though.”
“Dude, how do you do that?” The words tumble out as if independent from Ramona’s brain. She didn’t give herself permission to blurt it out, but she’s well past the point of being able to care.
“Do what?”
“Flirt! Schmooze. Mesmerize.”
“Oh, is that what I’m doing?” Oona asks, grinning ear to ear.
“Yeah, and I get it, you’re a bartender, charming customers is part of the gig,” Ramona’s ramble is interrupted by a drunken hiccup. “But you’re like, really good at it.”
For a moment, Oona turns bashful. A pretty pink blush creeps onto her cheeks.
“Practice, I suppose?” comes Oona’s answer, and Ramona nods as she processes.
“Practice. Okay, I need more of that. I thought that’s what I was doing when I was coming here, but every time I try, all I can think about is how I’ll do it wrong. I’m, like, bad at being gay.”
“You can’t ‘be bad’ at being gay, Ramona,” Oona says kindly.
“So I just need…. More practice.”
Oona nods. “Sounds like it.”
A smaller figure sidles up next to Oona, the same bartender from Ramona’s first night. He wears a crop top and perfectly styled hair, and eyeshadow that Ramona could never dream to look as good in.
“Hi there, gorgeous. I’m Sully,” he greets, enchanting and full of joy.
“Hi, I’m Ramona.”
“Ramona,” Sully coos. “Love that. So, listen, while you are most certainly a cutie, I’m going to need this one here to actually come do her job.”
“Boo,” Oona pouts.
“Have fun doing your job,” Ramona sings.
“Well, I’ll see you next weekend, yeah?” Oona asks as she steps backwards. "When you come back and try again?”
If Ramona didn’t know any better, she might think that Oona sounds almost hopeful.
- - - - -
“Okay, I love that you went back there again and that the hot bartender flirted with you.”
After a busy night of trying to force Ramona to be her duet partner, Annie recuperates curled up on an armchair with a large glass of water and a mug of hot coffee. Once she learned that Ramona had spent the first part of the evening at Little Gem, she could hardly wait to hear more about it.
Ramona laughs from her spot on the couch, upside down with her legs over the back cushions. “Dude, I told you, it wasn’t like that.”
“From what I’m hearing, it is absolutely like that.”
“No, she was just being friendly. I’m so certain of it.”
“Just like you were so certain that no one at the bar was hitting on you?”
“Annie, there’s no way. Trust me, this is like… the most gorgeous girl you’ll ever see in your entire life.”
“You are the most gorgeous girl I’ll ever see in my entire life.”
“Ew, gross, we’re sisters,” Ramona grimaces.
Annie reaches behind to grab a pillow and throws it with all the force she can muster. “Stop, you know I hate those jokes!”
“I know, that’s what makes them so funny.”
“But seriously,” Annie says, “even if the hot bartender wasn’t flirting with you, it sounds to me like there were plenty of people there who were. Why don’t you go back next weekend and see who you find?”
Ramona blows out her cheeks. “This is all your fault, you know.”
“My fault?”
“Yeah. If your maturity and bravery hadn’t rubbed off on me, I wouldn’t be out… socializing.”
Annie leans back, her chin turning up proudly. “You know what? I will happily take the blame for that.”
- - - - -
The following Friday, Ramona only manages to make it a bit before closing. Little Gem is far less crowded than it’s been before and electing to take the night easy, she chooses to nurse a beer over the next hour.
And she tries. She talks with a pretty stranger about their music taste. An older woman with halfcut hair asks about her tattoos. No one really stands out, and neither does Ramona’s own confidence in her ability to flirt with them.
As she gets ready to leave, Ramona glances over to the bar. Oona is wiping down the counter mindlessly, but she’s looking directly at her with a cheeky grin. Ramona makes her way over sheepishly.
“Any success tonight?”
“I think you were wrong,” Ramona shakes her head. “I think you can be bad at being gay.”
“No,” Oona cries, “I saw you, you were crushing it! They seemed into you, I know they were. Don’t give up now.”
“I don’t know,” Ramona sighs. “I’m realizing I can’t practice something that I don’t even know how to do in the first place.”
“But, like, surely you’ve hooked up with people before.”
“It’s a short list.”
Oona shakes her head and chuckles, but turns more serious an instant later. For a second, Ramona senses a more earnest energy about her, and she doesn’t dare interrupt.
“Hey, listen.” Long fingers, adorned with rings of varying styles and sizes, come to cover Ramona’s own. “I think I might be able to help you out here.”
“What do you mean?” Ramona asks, tilting her head. “Do you, like, have a study guide?”
Oona laughs like it’s a joke, and Ramona laughs with her, pretending that it was meant to be.
“No, no, not a study guide. I take more of a… hands on approach.”
It takes a moment, but then Ramona understands the implication, and she can’t help the drop of her jaw. “Oh. You mean…”
Biting her lip, Oona gives Ramona’s hand a squeeze. “Come back tomorrow night. I’m off at eleven.”
Ramona does as she’s told.
- - - - -
The fourth time Ramona visits Little Gem is the first time she doesn’t leave alone.
“Ramona.” Sully’s greeting is a song.
“Hey, Sully, right?”
“Yes, ma’am. Oona went to drop something in her locker, but she told me to give you this.”
Ramona should expect the shot of tequila Sully places in front of her. She throws it back eagerly, not sure how to feel about Oona knowing she needs a little bit of liquid courage to pursue whatever this is about to be.
She makes casual conversation with Sully between his work with customers before Oona emerges from behind her.
“Hey,” Oona greets. She kisses Ramona’s cheek and wraps her arms around her shoulders. “I’m happy to see you. Did you want another drink or should we get out of here?”
“No, I’m ready to go,” Ramona answers, even though she has no clue where their next destination is.
Linking their hands together, Oona leads Ramona out of the bar with a sweet skip to her step. Ramona tries not to love the way Oona keeps them attached, even when the crowds make it challenging.
She’s grateful for the cooler, invigorating summer air that waits for them. Stoplights and windows illuminate the city. Sounds of honking cars and chatter all blurs together as Oona escorts her to a secluded spot against the wall and reaches into her pocket.
“Smoke?” Oona offers.
“Yeah, thanks.” Ramona takes the cigarette and welcomes Oona’s lighter. She feels Oona watch her intently at her first drag. Ramona wonders if she’s earned an upper hand here. That is, until Oona takes the cigarette from Ramona’s lips and places it between her own, and Ramona follows the motion like it’s hypnosis. Oona grins wickedly, like she’s wholly aware of the effect she’s having, and it doesn’t embarrass Ramona the way it normally would.
As Oona gently exhales a puff of smoke, she tugs Ramona forward by the hem of her shirt until there’s no space between them. “Kiss me.”
“Okay,” Ramona breathes.
It takes a moment to work up the courage to follow the instruction. Oona waits patiently, gives assurances with an encouraging nudge of her nose, and Ramona finally pushes up to kiss her.
The scale of all possible sensory inputs for a human coalesce into exactly one. One mouth, soft and sweet like cherries, pressing against her own. It’s cautious, the way Oona takes Ramona’s bottom lip between her own. They stand there for long seconds, connected in a way that has Ramona finally understanding what all the songs are talking about.
The kiss ends too quickly, but this time it’s Oona who leans down to kiss her again. There’s an unpredictable but intoxicating rhythm to the parting and closing of Oona’s lips around her own, and Ramona wonders if it’s possible to get drunk off of this, too.
At the first touch of their tongues, Oona groans and the sound spurs Ramona into action. Oona tips forward and Ramona arches into it, fueled by the liquid desire that’s started to collect inside her.
Next thing she knows, Ramona finds herself pressed against the brick wall with Oona gripping fiercely at her hips. She shivers as Oona urges her shirt upwards and makes contact with the exposed skin of her midriff. Ramona manages to work her own hands into Oona’s hair, and she revels in the small sound of approval that’s grunted into her mouth.
They separate with the quiet smack of their lips and Ramona stands positively dumbstruck. Oona’s breath is warm on her cheek. She pulls back and looks down at Ramona with hooded eyelids and an infuriatingly hot smirk.
“Good,” Oona hums.
“Good?” Ramona feigns offense. “That’s your feedback? Good?”
“Very good. There, is that better?”
“I mean, would a bit more detail kill you? What was good? What else should I do? Some actual advice, please, Oona. Like, if there’s one thing I should be doing, what should it be?”
“You should stop talking,” Oona mutters, guiding Ramona’s mouth back to her own with a strong hand at the back of her neck. They kiss and kiss until the hollering from a passing car interrupts them, which Ramona would find aggrivating if she weren't so distracted.
It does give Oona the wherewithal to realize it’s time to get off the street. She traces her thumb over Ramona’s lower lip, then she makes a pleased noise in the back of her throat and kisses her one more time. “So, my place or yours?”
“Yours.”