by Jen McConnel
“Here you go, Red!”
I eyed the drink. “What is it?”
“A pink lady. You’ll love it.”
I hesitated, and Joelle whispered, “Just watch me and do what I do.”
She tipped her head back and overturned the shot glass in her mouth. In seconds, it was empty, and she set the glass down, licking her lips and smiling. Tentatively, I upended my glass, and I was surprised at how easily the tart pink liquid flowed down my throat. That wasn’t so bad.
Joelle winked at me. The girls ordered one more round of shots, and then they headed for the dance floor. I kept looking around for Carson, bumping into people as I tried to dance and watch the door at the same time. A guy in a cowboy hat slithered up behind me and put his hands on my hips, but before I could smack him, Joelle pulled me out of his reach.
“Thank you!” I yelled over the music.
She nodded, tossing her head and dancing with wild abandon. I looked around at the other girls; a couple of guys had sidled up and were dancing near us, but no one seemed to be dancing with any guy in particular. It was fun, more fun than I’d thought, and soon I was shaking my hips and really getting into the music. We were all laughing, but it was too loud to have a conversation, and for a minute, I almost wished I were somewhere quiet with Carson instead of out at the club.
As if I’d wished him into existence, I spotted his tall, dark form by the door. I waved frantically, and Carson headed in our direction, two guys trailing behind him.
He put his hands on my waist and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek, leaving my skin tingling and wanting more. “Having fun?”
I nodded, grinning up at him. “I am now!”
He shouted introductions for his friends, Bryant and Marshall, and then he leaned down to me. “Want a drink?”
I didn’t tell him I’d already had two shots. “Sure!”
“Be right back.”
Carson slipped through the crowd, and when I glanced back at the girls, I saw that Bryant and Marshall were already making themselves at home, dancing between the girls. Marshall was trying to dance with both Joelle and Rachel at the same time, and Joelle rolled her eyes when she caught me looking. I laughed.
I was still giggling when Carson reappeared. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing. What’s that?” I pointed to the shot glass in his hand. It looked like it was filled with whipped cream.
His eyes were mischievous. “It’s a blow job!”
I swatted his arm. “Seriously?”
He grinned. “You might like it.”
I took the glass from him, feeling bold. “Why don’t we find out?”
I tossed the shot back, but I almost gagged on the whipped cream. When I handed the glass back to Carson, he leaned forward and trailed his finger across my lips.
“You missed a spot,” he whispered seductively before he turned to get rid of the glasses. I licked my lips nervously, and in an instant, he was back on the dance floor. His hands slid into my back pockets like it was the most natural thing in the world, and we started swaying in time to the beat. I liked everything about tonight; the feeling of Carson’s body almost pressed against mine, the music, and the alcohol; hell, I even liked the blow job shot.
I don’t know how long we danced, but the group did leave the dance floor a couple of times for another round or two of shots. I lost track, but I was feeling really good by the time we staggered out into the surprisingly chilly summer night.
Carson’s arm was draped casually across my shoulders, and my hand was tucked in his back pocket. He and his friends walked us to the Underground, and they would have ridden with us all the way back to our hostel, but Joelle shook her head.
“Say good night, Sarah,” she prompted, pulling me away from Carson.
“Good night, Sarah!” I giggled. “I mean, good night, Carson.” I blew him a kiss, and he grinned.
Staggering behind Joelle, I collapsed into a hard plastic seat on the train. “That was the best night ever!”
Rachel laughed. “You and that boy were sure getting hot and heavy.”
I was too drunk to be embarrassed. “Isn’t he cute?”
She nodded. “Totally swoon-worthy.”
Joelle sort of shrugged. “He’s nice enough, I guess.”
I pouted at her. “You don’t like him?”
“I don’t know him, Sarah.”
Her tone sounded guarded, but I didn’t press the issue. Still, after we’d made it back to the hostel and I had collapsed on my cot, I wondered if there was something Joelle wasn’t saying. The haze of alcohol, pulsing music, and Carson pressed up against me while we danced was stronger than my fleeting worries, however, and I finally drifted off to sleep with a smile on my lips.
Chapter Eleven
I woke up the next morning with a migraine. I’d had them a few times at home, but nothing had ever been as bad as this. The piercing pain behind my eyes made me just want to lie in bed all day, but the noises from the bar downstairs and the bustling of the other girls moving around finally forced me out of bed. I staggered down the hall to the bathroom, feeling too ill to care that that hot water was already used up.
When I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror, I almost puked. My pale skin had a greenish hue to it, and my eyes were bloodshot, rimmed with thick dark circles. I looked like a zombie. The other girls had already trickled off to start their days by the time I got back to the dormitory, but someone had left a bottle of aspirin on my pillow. I stuck it in my purse. Right now, I didn’t think I could swallow any pills. I needed food before I tried to medicate myself.
Deciding to skip the free breakfast in the bar, I stepped cautiously out into street. It was overcast, but the natural light still made my head throb, and I wished I had a pair of sunglasses.
“Good morning, sleeping beauty!” A familiar voice cut across the street, and I winced. Carson sauntered over to me, holding a brown paper bag in one hand and a Styrofoam cup in the other.
I blinked at him, confused. “What are you doing here?”
“You mentioned where you were staying last night.”
I frowned, trying to remember. “I did?”
He slapped his hand to his chest as if I’d wounded him. “That’s the kind of welcome I get? A few dances and the lady doesn’t even remember me!”
I giggled, but pain shot through my head, and I winced.
Carson handed me the cup and the bag. “I thought you might need some hangover first-aid. You do like coffee, right?”
I nodded, taking the cup. “Actually, I like tea better, but coffee’s okay.”
Carson laughed. “Here I was trying to please your American sensibilities.” He shook his head ruefully. “If you want tea, we’ll find tea for you. That’s one thing we never run short of in London.”
I chuckled, taking a cautious sip. It was warm, but not too hot, and I took another swallow of the coffee. “What’s in the bag?”
“Hangover cure. I told you.”
I peeked inside. “A croissant?”
“Not just any croissant. It’s a chocolate croissant; you’ll love it.”
I took a tentative bite of the flaky pastry, and then I grinned up at Carson. “Oh my God. This is so good.”
He laughed. “I thought you’d like it. At least I was right about half the breakfast.”
“The coffee’s good, too.” I took another sip to prove my point.
“That’s good.” He draped an arm over my shoulder and pulled me close. We started to walk, and I hurried to finish the food. Taking the aspirin out of my bag, I popped a pill in my mouth and washed it down with coffee. Carson grinned at me. “Feeling better?”
I nodded, surprised that my head had calmed down. “Yeah. I thought it was a migraine.”
“Just a hangover. We drank a lot last night.”
I flushed, remembering the feeling of his hands running all over me on the dance floor. “It was fun.”
“It was more than fun.” His eyes sparkle
d, and his fingers began tracing lazy circles on my shoulder.
I shivered in delight. “So,” I said, trying to keep the quiver out of my voice, “what did you want to do today?”
His eyes danced wickedly. “Well”—he lowered his face to mine—“there are a few things I’ve had in mind,” he whispered, close enough that I could feel the vibration of his words against my skin. Hangover forgotten, I shut my eyes and parted my lips. After a moment, I felt him exhale against my mouth, and then his lips were pressed to mine.
The kiss was sweet and deep, and my body felt electric. God, so this is what I’d been missing all those years? I pressed my lips to his hungrily, but then he pulled back gently and smiled.
“Easy, sweetheart. What’s the rush?”
Embarrassed, I stepped out of his embrace. Had I done something wrong? “Um, sorry?”
He laughed. “What for?”
I didn’t answer and he reached for my face. Tipping my chin up, he looked at me seriously.
“Sarah,” he said slowly, “was that your first kiss?”
I flushed, not wanting to explain the stupid dare, and then I nodded. Well, it sure feels like my first kiss. At least the first one that counts.
He exhaled sharply, and then he smiled. “You’re a natural.”
“Really?” I wanted to feel embarrassed, but his words made me feel warm and comfortable.
“Really. That was a pretty awesome kiss. You’re brill.”
I grinned. “I guess I had a good partner.”
He interlaced his fingers through mine, but he didn’t make a move to kiss me again. “Why haven’t you kissed anybody before now?”
I shrugged. “Haven’t really had the opportunity.”
“You’ve got to be kidding. You’re gorgeous!”
I laughed, suddenly self-conscious. “Not really. I’m not exactly a size zero.”
“Who cares about that? Seriously, Sarah, guys like their girls to have a bit of flesh on their bones. How else will you keep us warm?”
His tone was playful, but I winced. “Sure.”
He studied me for a minute. “Who hurt you?”
“What?” The change of topic threw me.
Carson squeezed my hand tighter. “I know I haven’t known you for very long, but you’re funny and sweet, and God, so sexy. You should be walking around like you own the city, and instead you keep apologizing for living. So, who hurt you?”
Tears welled up in my eyes, and I let go of his hand, turning away.
I felt Carson put a tentative hand on my shoulder, but I didn’t look at him. “Sarah,” he whispered, “talk to me.”
“My dad.” The words slipped out before I could stop myself, and my chest clenched as I fought back tears.
Carson tensed, but he kept his hand on my shoulder. “What did he do?”
“He didn’t do anything, not really,” I began, my voice wobbling. “It was more what he said.”
Carson waited patiently behind me, and slowly, haltingly, I tried to find the words to describe the way my dad had always treated me. Cow. Whore. Fat. Stupid.
“That’s abuse, Sarah.”
I shook my head, turning to face him. “Not really. It’s not like he hit me or anything.”
“I think it’s almost worse that he called you those awful names. You aren’t fat, Sarah, or any of the other things he said.”
The tears spilled over and I buried my face in my hands. “But then why would he say them?”
“I don’t know.” Carson wrapped his arms loosely around me, and I didn’t pull away. “But you have to believe me when I say that you’re beautiful. Truly.”
I relaxed against him, crying softly, and he just held me. God, how could I feel so safe with someone I’d just met? Finally, when I got a grip on my runaway emotions, I sniffled and looked up at him. “I’m sorry for dumping this on you.”
He kissed my forehead. “Don’t be. You clearly needed someone to talk to.” His eyes searched mine for a minute. “Feel better?”
I nodded. “Yeah, actually.”
“Good.” He squeezed me tight once and then released me. “Can’t have my girl crying like that.”
“Your girl?” I eyed him skeptically. “Since when?”
He paused. “Since right now, if that’s what you want.”
My heart started to flutter. Was he seriously asking me out? Even though I’d just cried all over him and dumped a lifetime’s worth of baggage at his feet? “Um,” I stalled, totally at a loss for words.
Carson bent down and kissed me again, once, sweetly. He pulled away, leaving my lips tingling and wanting more. “Well, what do you say?”
“I don’t know how long I’ll be in London,” I began, breathless.
He shrugged. “I’ll be here as long as you want me.”
My heart melted. Before I could think too much about it, I reached up and pulled his head down to mine. I kissed him again, and when I backed away, I smiled at him. “Okay, then.” I cleared my throat, suddenly self-conscious. “So, what now?”
“I thought I’d take you to the Tower.”
“The Tower?” I tipped my face up toward him, wondering if I could work up the nerve to kiss him again.
Before I had the chance to try, he bent his head to mine, his lips brushing against my mouth like velvet. “The Tower of London.”
I laughed. “Sounds romantic. You want to take me to a prison?”
He kissed me again. “It was a palace, too, before they used it as a prison.”
“Really? I didn’t know that.”
Carson’s hand slid down to my waist. “That’s why I’m here. To teach you whatever I can.” His eyes were intense, and I felt my pulse begin to race.
~
It turned out that the Tower wasn’t really a tower; it was a medieval fortress. Walls surrounded the compound, and buildings that had been used as royal residences butted up next to the rooms where people had been imprisoned. The tour was fascinating, but I still felt a shiver of discomfort as we wandered about the ruins.
“Did you know the guards still live here?” Carson whispered, gesturing to our uniformed guide.
I turned to him, aghast. “Why would anyone want to live here?”
“It’s considered a great honor. There’s a whole community of guards and their families living in the Tower.”
I stared at him skeptically, and he shrugged.
“It’s tradition.”
After we finished the rest of the tour, Carson and I wandered around the Tower grounds for a bit. Finally, Carson paused.
“I think,” he said softly, bringing my hand to his lips and kissing my palm, “it’s time you let me draw you.”
His words thrilled me, but I shook my head. “I don’t think I’d make a very good model today.”
“No, this is perfect. Please, Sarah?” He still had my hand up to his mouth, and he trailed his lips lazily along my wrist for a moment, his eyes fixed on my face.
I shivered in delight at his touch, and it took a second before I could speak. Finally, I nodded. “Okay.” I swallowed, my heart beating fast.
Carson led me to a nondescript wooden bench tucked in one of the corners of the fortress. “You sit here.”
“Like this?” I sat down stiffly, my legs pressed together.
Carson shook his head. “Be natural.”
“It isn’t natural for someone to be drawing me,” I argued.
“Sarah, just try.” His voice was serious, so I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. Trying to ignore the way Carson made my heart thump, trying to block out my father’s voice in my head that said I wasn’t worth looking at, I slowly forced myself to calm down. When I opened my eyes, I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees without thinking, and I studied Carson.
“Just like that,” he murmured, pulling a sketchbook out of his man bag and leaning on the wall a few feet away from me.
I ignored the scratch of his pencil on the page, and instead I focused on drinking in eve
rything I could about Carson. Who was this amazing guy who made me feel as if I were somehow special? I studied the angle of his jaw, the curve of his lips, and his sharp nose. My eyes drifted to his eyes, but he was staring at me in a detached way, like—well, like an artist who’s creating something. In the cloudy light, his eyes looked gray, and I thought about the shifting hues of blues I’d noticed in his gaze since when met.
God, had it only been three days ago? It seemed like a lifetime had passed since I’d bumped into Carson in the bookstore, and I shook my head in surprise.
“Don’t move,” he whispered, and I froze, suddenly very conscious of the fact that he was drawing me.
Our eyes locked, and Carson’s pencil stopped moving.
“I wish I could do this properly.”
“Do what?” My voice was scratchy, and I swallowed nervously.
“Draw you. I want to capture every inch of you, Sarah.”
My heart thumped in my ears, but I didn’t look away.
Carson folded his sketchbook shut and started to walk toward me. He sat down on my bench and slid his thigh against mine. He didn’t embrace me or kiss me, but just that subtle pressure of his leg touching me was enough to make my stomach flip.
“Sarah,” he whispered, “let me draw all of you.”
Before I could stop myself, before I could think, I nodded.
Carson’s eyes lit up in surprise. “Really?”
Scared to speak, I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his. My dad’s voice was cussing in my head, but the longer I kissed Carson, the easier it was to block him out.
Chapter Twelve
I followed Carson back to his flat, and my hands probably would have been shaking if I weren’t holding onto his so tightly. Carson didn’t seem nervous; he was exhilarated. A nasty thought crept into my mind, and I wondered if he’d done this before. Pushing the thought away, I clung tighter to Carson. The past doesn’t matter, I told myself firmly. He’s here with me now. As he unlocked his battered red door, I found myself wondering what would happen after he was done drawing me.
“I have a roommate, but he’s on a city break. Paris, I think.”