To Play or Not To Play

by Emily Bow

  “Is it?” he asked.

  “Yeah. Can we play time travel? Pretend, just for today, that the whole PR thing didn’t happen?”

  Chapter 17

  He stiffened, and his footsteps sounded heavier on the crunchy path. I could see the big fat disappointing “no” coming my way.

  I wanted to offer to give up on the internship and its point system. But it would be like letting Felicity win and I couldn’t do that. He mattered though, and that left me conflicted.

  I was only clear about today. I wanted it. “Not forever, just today. Let’s have a solid truce until we get back to Westminster and the real world.”

  Wythe looked down at me, his wild blue eyes flashing. What I’d said clearly appealed to him. He gave a sharp nod.

  Relief and pleasure lit into me, showing me how much his response meant to me.

  We reached the ropes that encircled the rings, and I grinned big, using the stones as the excuse for my smile. “This place is crazy amazing. When I came with my family, it was packed. We’d had to stand in line for twenty minutes at the visitor center for ice cream.”

  “Give it a minute,” Wythe said. “I’m sure a tour bus or two holding sixty people each will be by soon. But for now, what we have here is an opportunity.” Wythe grabbed the nearest rope. Breaking the cardinal rule of ropes, he lifted it.

  What? A weird rush went through me. “We can’t go under the ropes. They’ll deport me or something.” I looked around, sure an immigration agent was about to pop up from behind a stone. No one came running. Random groups of tourists and locals with dogs wandered around the path and out in the fields, but no one went closer to the stones. Everyone obeyed the ropes.

  “Oh, but we can.” He sounded teasing and confident.

  “We can’t.”

  Wythe looked entitled. “We’re not going to damage the rocks.”

  “The ropes are here for a reason. To protect this archeological site from people like us.”

  “The ropes are here to protect the site from people who’d chip off pieces of the stones for a souvenir. That’s not us.”

  “We have something similar in Texas. You can’t pick the bluebonnet flowers.”

  “Flowers regrow.”

  “A national treasure is a national treasure.”

  “It’s a flower, and Texas isn’t a nation.”

  “It was once. We had an embassy in central London.”

  Wythe ignored my words. He wiggled the rope and arched his eyebrow at me in invitation.

  I couldn’t resist that. I slipped under, feeling an illicit thrill.

  We crossed the grass to the interior stones, with our heads up high as if we belonged there. We were standing where no one was supposed to be standing. Like ancient druids instead of naughty tourists. I looked around. “I like it. But what are we doing in here?” I grabbed his hand. In for a penny, in for a pound.

  He led me farther in, behind a big rock. “For this.” He pressed me against the stone, leaned down, and kissed me.

  Soft. Warm. His kiss was everything that was right with the world. My lips tingled and parted.

  He kissed me lightly, and then firmly, with conviction, as if this was the only place he wanted to be.

  I pressed against him, and he pressed me back. The rough stone behind me and the cool air contrasted with the heat we were generating. It made the feelings more intense. Or maybe it was the arguing. Or maybe there was some mystical force at work. But I felt like a lit cinnamon candle.

  I tightened my arms around his neck.

  He ran his hands down my back and up again, sharing more supernatural kisses with me. It was unlike anything I’d ever felt and like everything I’d ever wanted. What had been wrong with kisses before? None had had this feeling of joining, this connection.

  I shivered and rubbed against him.

  He murmured something I didn’t understand. His mouth moved to my neck, sending sparks there.

  “Wythe.” His name came out half murmur, half gasp. I wanted him to lay me down, right there in the middle of those stones. Like an ancient offering. A ritual. A merging. Two souls. Two bodies. His. Mine.

  “Oi.” A guy in a Stonehenge slicker jerked his thumb toward the path. “You two.”

  The interruption was awful, jolting me out of something amazing. I made a frustrated growl, but a ladylike one.

  Wythe pulled back and grinned at me. A crooked grin, a wicked grin.

  I loved it, and it made the frustration okay. Because we shared it. We left the inner ring, hands interlaced, and stepped back onto the crunchy path.

  There was no other correction from the park guard. He was satisfied that we’d listened, and he’d moved on down the crunchy path.

  Stonehenge. It was just stones and a hill. But there was something magical there. Something about seeing a structure I’d seen my whole life, being there in person…being there with Wythe was amazing.

  I wanted him to feel wonderful, too. I wanted to give him something. Solve this puzzle for him. “Is there a Sci-Fi book featuring Stonehenge? Have you read any books set in the rings? Or, what’s old and epic like the rings? Old. Old English. Beowulf maybe?”

  He looked blank.

  I waved my free hand as I thought aloud. “Old. England’s old epic poem.”

  He shrugged, and then he shook his head. “Nah. This is prehistoric, not old English.”

  “Celts. Romans.” I released him and searched online for more random info about the monument. “Chaucer. Mallory. Tenneson.”

  He shook his head. “I think we should be more literal. Quotes about Stonehenge maybe?”

  I Googled one. “‘The immemorial gray pillars may serve to remind you of the enormous background of time.’ Henry James, an American. I rather like that.”

  “But he’s American.”

  I searched further. “American who attained British citizenship. I think that’s qualification enough. Let’s go with him.”

  We took a selfie with Stonehenge in the distance. I sent it in along with the quote. “This shows we were actually here.” I didn’t think Wythe believed I’d upload the photo onto a blog, not anymore, but I was being cautious, which was why I explained the picture.

  We wandered back along the dirt road, which felt like a very English dirt road compared to my American pastures. Something about the temperature or the quality of the sun and air. I pointed down the stretch. “My favorite quote is by J.R.R. Tolkien. Born in South Africa, but an English writer, professor.”

  “Don’t make me yawn.”

  I nudged him with my shoulder. “‘Not all those who wander are lost.’”

  Wythe nodded. “I like that. Origin?”

  “The Lord of the Rings.”

  He Googled it. “‘All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost; the old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not reached by the frost.’” He swiped his fingers across the screen. “‘Still ’round the corner there may wait, a new road or a secret gate.’ Tolkien.” He grinned, looking carefree. “I won’t be reading it.” He dropped his arm over my shoulders. “I’ll send those in, too, though. Maybe we’ll get a bonus.” He pulled me in for a selfie, getting the curve of the road behind us.

  When he snapped the picture, I turned into his chest for a moment, resting my forehead against the gray cotton of his shirt, feeling my hair whip around us in the breeze. I reached up a hand and touched the black cord he wore at his neck. He looked so relaxed today. Just a guy. Not like the PM’s son. Just a guy. Here with me. I knew what was behind my interest in these pictures, and it was more than to add value to a class project. To make us real to a digital-age professor. It was to have pictures of us. For me.

  This moment was important. My heart felt it. I hoped his did, too. I looked into his eyes. He looked into mine. We had our connection back. He gave me a quick melting kiss and then we turned to go back down the path.

  A duo was on the road coming our way.

  Westminster had co
me to us. Peppa and Vihaan. Wythe stepped farther away from me, which I hated. But discretion was the better part of finishing this internship.

  On the plus side, if they’d chosen Stonehenge, too, it was further evidence that we’d guessed the clue correctly.

  Peppa reached forward and held out her hand to Wythe. He shook it, but in that restrained British way, as if startled by the touching and not terribly eager for it.

  “We missed you at the pub yesterday,” Peppa said.

  I smiled at her. “Must have been a miscommunication.”

  Peppa didn’t like that, and her expression was one that I hated seeing in other women. A “girls competing over a guy” kind of expression. So stupid. He liked you or he didn’t. Yearning, bitchy looks wouldn’t alter it. Or maybe this was about the internship.

  “I’m Vihaan.” Vihaan looked at me under his heavy eyelids. It was an attempted come-on. After what he’d done ot Wythe, did he think I’d be interested in him? Annoyance flickered through me. Selling his classmate out. Not cool. Not at all like what I’d done. The thought of my own mistake made guilt churn in my stomach.

  Peppa looked at the rings in the distance. “What was your answer? Have you sent in your ultimate guess? Vihaan and I are almost ready.”

  I didn’t believe her. “We’ll never tell.” I used it as an excuse to wave and keep walking.

  ***

  Back in the town car, the privacy glass gave us the illusion of being alone together. Me and Wythe. I planned to pretty much stare at him the whole drive back.

  He was good-looking, fit, intelligent… Stop drooling over him. I’d read that handsome men made selfish lovers. They lay back for the woman to do all the work. I wouldn’t know about that, but this guy was spoiled.

  I could do some of the work.

  Heat hit my face. Stop.

  Selfish equaled bad in bed. He was bad in bed.

  I looked him over again. Shoulders built to hold onto. A waist narrow enough to wrap my legs around. Stop.

  Handsome.

  Bad in bed.

  But what if he wasn’t? I’d done a lot in college, but I hadn’t done that. I’d never felt for another guy what I felt for him.

  The flush of chemistry that rolled over me made me suck in a breath. Or maybe it was the thoughts that stole my breath. Why? In preparation for a kiss. I had to get out of here before I jumped him. I turned my attention to the countryside and my phone, splitting the time.

  The car had reached the road along the Thames now. It calmed and disappointed me at the same time. We were nearing Westminster. Our truce was almost over.

  The car went through the security gates. I could walk from here. I reached for the door handle.

  “Wait,” Wythe said.

  I dropped my hand and turned to him as if he were the sun and I was Venus.

  “What’s that expression?” Wythe sounded intellectually curious.

  The tone cooled me down.

  Some.

  He tilted his head at a confident angle. “Thinking about me?”

  So much. Heat flushed my face. “Sort of.”

  He grinned. A cocky guy grin. One that said he knew I’d been performing mental naughtiness with him as the star. “Yeah. I’m all that.”

  I had to shut that down or end up under his heel like the gum splotches that marred the sidewalks. “I was thinking earlier how they say handsome guys are bad in bed.”

  He straightened, and his face stilled.

  “And you’re really handsome.” I dug it in further. “Really handsome.”

  A flush hit his cheeks. He didn’t laugh, as I’d half intended. Or shake it off. He leaned forward, cupped my cheek, and put his mouth to my ear.

  I shivered. He hadn’t even done or said anything, and I’d quivered in anticipation. Yep, that was me.

  “Anytime.” The word, said in his deep voice, was an offer.

  I trembled harder, making my face brush his. Oh, my. I shook.

  “Anytime,” he whispered again, “you want to test that theory, I’m willing to prove it wrong.

  My breath caught.

  He got out of the car, leaving me sitting there like a puddle of goo. I know. I know. Guys could do it without the emotion. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t take him up on his “anytime.” It’d be physical but emotionless. I couldn’t fake that kind of detachment. Not after I’d felt something real between us…something I couldn’t name, but something real…something sex wouldn’t bring back.

  ***

  I focused on class in a way I hadn’t before. If I could get this right for him, it would mean something to me. My thoughts came together the next day during the hour Wythe went jogging. I put on my running gear and went outside to the path that wove through the rose bushes. I took the path at a slow jog, looking out for him.

  Wythe was up ahead, bent forward, hands on his knees, the way runners caught their breath after they pushed themselves. Poised there, with the hedges behind him, hair sweat-dampened, he was an ad for British summers. He turned his head toward me. “Hey.”

  Even his freaking greetings pleased me. I was crazy. I went up to him. “Got some new ideas for class.”

  “Go ahead.” He didn’t sound super intrigued.

  I had to work harder. The trail crunched under our feet as we headed back to the security entrance. “Put them all together. King Richard and Salisbury led us to Stonehenge. Stonehenge led us to …”

  “I got nothing.”

  He wasn’t trying enough, and I wasn’t just giving it up. “What was Stonehenge’s purpose?”

  “To give us an engineering puzzle. A history mystery.”

  Better. “Sort of. The answer is we don’t know. Temple. Meeting Place. Court. Auditorium. We don’t know. So, King Richard. And something we don’t know…like…” I went with the big obvious in an English lit author puzzle. “Shakespeare.” I said the name with the reverence it deserved. “He’s a massive British mystery. Was the guy really the author of all those works? Or, was he covering for someone else? Like the queen? It’s really fascinating, right?”

  “Okay,” he said, but he didn’t seem that interested, just mildy amused by my enthusiasm. “Go on.”

  “I thought Stratford, where he’s from, but time’s winding down. Sending us to the countryside to dig up more clues isn’t practical.” Though what was practical for the average Oxford student might differ from practicality for the average broke co-ed. Besides, this had kind of jumped out at me. “No one knows if he was one or many authors. But we know there’s a King Richard play. We know the Stonehenge rings are circular.” I made a circle with my fingers. “So circular Shakespeare and London…that can only be…”

  He stared at me blankly.

  He’d so fail without me. My mouth twitched. “Shakespeare’s Theatre—the Globe. We can go there.”

  Wythe touched a finger to the side of his temple. “Got it. Let me hit the shower. Meet me at the front in twenty.”

  “Make it thirty.” I wasn’t wearing gym clothes to the Globe.

  ***

  We headed to the Globe, the famous re-creation of the theatre that had staged Shakespeare’s plays. I had on a sleeveless peach floral top, a floaty delicate one, with Capri jeans and sandals. I’d worn my hair down and applied light makeup. It was one of those looks that screamed casual but had taken me the full half hour to put together—and that was with me rushing.

  Wythe didn’t say anything about my outfit, but he did give me more than one once-over, especially my hair. I had to stop with the ponytails.

  He tapped his fingertips together. “These clues aren’t that obscure, once you add a literature degree to the mix.” He’d given me a compliment.

  I melted some at the evidence of his thawing. “I kind of think the professor wants many interpretations more than a definitive answer. To see how we think. If we think.”

  “Yeah.” He purchased tickets, mentioning we were here for a class.

  “Nice.” The female cashier unclipp
ed her hair and fluffed it. “You can go in now. No need to queue.”

  “What about the line?” I pointed at tourists on benches, obviously waiting, clearly ahead of us.

  The cashier only had eyes for Wythe. “You have a special time,” the cashier said. “Better access.” She either recognized him as the PM’s son or she thought he was hot. She handed him two brochures that looked like scripts and listed the summer play production schedule.

  We went in.

  I’d been here as a kid with my family, but it awed me even more now. Wooden stadium seats faced the empty stage. Shakespeare. I’m not saying this place was an English lit major’s dream come true. But it was close.

  Wythe checked out the structure. “Green oak, thatched roof based on reeds they found during the excavation.”

  “So, what’s your favorite Shakespeare quote? Let me guess.” I bounced up and down. Being here was such a thrill, it sent a rush through me. Being here with him made it even better. The breeze stirred over me. A quote that fit him, and this situation, was easy. “‘All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players.’”

  “So much literature.” He looked slightly hunted.

  “Yep.” And it was awesome. This place was breathtaking. When I’d been here before, the rows had been packed with timed entrants. Right now, we were the only people here. That cashier had definitely given Wythe special treatment. I didn’t blame her.

  “We’ll send your quote in.” Wythe went to the edge of the stage and gave me a boost before climbing up. He was either entitled or simply knew which rules were silly.

  I still had to protest. “We’re not supposed to be…”

  He winked, clearly in a fun mood, and that shut me up. “‘All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players.’” He held out his hand. “Play with me?”

  Oh. Yes. I took his hand.

  “Ready for your stage kiss?”

  Chapter 18

  Yeah. I was ready for my stage kiss. I tilted my head to make him work for it. “Send in our quote first, kind sir, because I doth think thou must earn it.”