Ash opens her palm, lets the tall blonde clasp their hands together. She sits with legs comfortably apart and feet planted on the floor. Her drink sits half-finished nearby. A few onlookers watch.
"Three...two...one," Ash says, starting the match. The blonde immediately tries to push Ash's hand to the table. Her bicep bulges with the effort.
Ash isn't intimidated. She pushes back, ounce for ounce, squeezing the blonde's hand in her own. Her arm muscles all tense as she exerts pressure on the other woman's arm. Although she's looking right into the blonde's steely eyes, she feels someone watching her from elsewhere in the bar.
She feels the blonde's elbow give way. Ash presses through the resistance, laying the back of the other woman's hand flat on the table. The onlookers clap.
"You win again," the blonde says. She cracks a smile and gets up to leave.
"Thanks," Ash says. She takes another sip of her drink.
Although she's playing it cool, she can definitely feel a pair of eyes boring into her. She casually glances over at the bar.
Sure enough, there's a woman walking up to her table. She's short but sturdily built.
The stranger comes up to the table. She pulls out the chair across from Ash, but doesn't sit down just yet. Ash sizes her up: a handsome butch in jeans and a leather jacket, her smile cocksure. She wears her black hair in a practical crew cut.
"So you're the one who hasn't lost a single arm wrestling match all evening," says the stranger. She has warm brown eyes with a competitive spark in them. She's Asian, Ash thinks maybe Chinese or Korean.
"That's playing me up a bit." Ash smiles. "I've only had about four matches." She's average height with toned muscles, wavy brown hair that makes her look like a surfer, olive skin, and brown eyes. She wears a white T-shirt tucked into blue jeans.
"Still plenty. You think you can handle one more?" The stranger's eyes rove over Ash's body. Ash looks strong; her shoulders fill out the shirt nicely. She focuses particularly on the slice of Ash's collarbone and the soft rise of her bust.
"What the hell. My name's Ash, by the way." She stares up at the stranger as she removes her jacket to reveal beautifully muscled arms. Ash should be worried, but all she can think is, This woman looks like a sculpture.
"Jenny," says the stranger, taking her seat. "Wanna try leftie? Your right arm might be a little tired."
"Alright. I'm right-handed, though, so my left's not as strong," Ash says.
"Same here." Jenny places her elbow on the table and offers up her palm.
Ash grins. She places her own hand in Jenny's and clasps her fingers down.
"Hmm, you've got big hands," Jenny says.
Ash shrugs, feigning nonchalance. But she can't hide the blush rising in her cheeks.
"Three...two...one," Ash says, and the match begins.
The minute Jenny starts pushing, Ash knows she's fucked. The woman is built like a goddess. The neon lights define her muscles, her clavicle, her neck.
Ash tries to keep her gaze from straying downward: Jenny's wearing a snug tank top and nothing underneath.
As for Jenny, she has her eyes fixed on Ash's struggling arm. She relishes this kind of competition. Either she forces her opponent to submit or is herself pushed into surrender. It's intoxicating.
Ash presses against Jenny's hand with all her strength. For a few seconds, they don't budge in either direction. Ash's tensed bicep shakes with the effort it takes just to hold her ground.
Jenny's smile widens as she finally starts to push Ash's hand toward the table. Their palms sweat. The onlookers pull in closer to get a good look.
"Good arm," says Ash, struggling. She manages to gain a few centimeters of ground. She forces Jenny's hand back to the starting point.
Jenny's eyes go wide as Ash pushes her hand the wrong way. She redoubles her efforts, really putting her shoulder into it. Even her legs tense as she dedicates every piece of her body to winning the match.
Ash feels herself start to lose control. Her arm bends inexorably toward the table. It can't happen--she recruits her shoulder, neck, stomach, thighs. She pushes her feet into the floor. She isn't going to make it easy for her.
Jenny fights for every centimeter gained. She forces Ash's hand closer and closer to the table. Her face turns red from the exertion. Finally, arm shaking, she presses the back of Ash's hand to the cool wood of the table. She's won.
"Wow," Ash says as the onlookers clap and whoop. This kind of upset doesn't come all the time. "You must work out a lot."
Ash slides her hand out from under Jenny's and downs the last of her drink.
"Good match," Jenny says, standing slowly. She pulls the jacket back over her shoulders. Ash drinks her in, watching the yellow light play over her muscles.
"Buy you a drink?" Ash asks before Jenny has the chance to leave. "Y'know, it's not every day somebody wipes the floor with me."
"I think I'd like that." Jenny flashes a half smile.
Ash stands, and the two finally see each other eye to eye. Ash is a bit taller; Jenny only comes up to her nose.
They walk to the bar. Ash has to keep herself from glancing over at Jenny, who seems cool as a cucumber.
Ash signals for the bartender. "One margarita and one--"
"Margarita," Jenny finishes.
Ash can't keep herself from snorting in laughter. "Two margaritas."
"O-kay then," says the bartender, grinning at them both. She mixes the drinks as the two women sit down on the old circular stools.
"So, I assume you work out a lot," Ash says.
"Yeah. And I used to do construction, so that helps."
"Damn, really? My job isn't nearly as interesting, I'm just an accountant."
"For an accountant, you really keep yourself in good shape," Jenny says, placing her hand on Ash's forearm. Ash flushes pink. She's grateful to the neon lights in the bar for disguising her blush.
"Thanks. I'm really outdoorsy--guess it comes with working behind a desk all day."
