12. Tess
TESS
W e leave the gallery, my body still humming from the orgasm he gave me. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt excited like this, as though the world has suddenly grown brighter around me, objects sharper, colours more vibrant.
Art hooks his arm around my shoulders, pulling me in against his big body.
I feel stupidly happy—teenage girl with her first crush happy—and even the normal guilt that surrounds me can’t dampen its edges, though it tries.
The moment I think of back home, the guilt attempts to push its way in, but now this little bubble Art has created around me holds back the emotion.
I find myself grinning at complete strangers as I pass them by, no longer caring about the looks I’m getting by being on Art’s arm.
“You know,” he says, “one thing about living in London is that you never come to any of the tourist areas. It’s kinda cool coming into central London for once to show you around.”
I nudge him with my shoulder. “I’m not a tourist either anymore, remember? I live here, too.”
“How’s that work, with visas and stuff?”
“My dad was English, so I get to stay as long as I like.”
He grins at me. “So I won’t have to worry about you running back to the States any time soon then?”
“Nope, I’m here to stay.”
At least, I think I am. Truthfully, I don’t have anywhere else to go.
I can’t go back home, I know that much. I’m banking on this huge, faceless city to save me.
I hope Art’s asking because he doesn’t want to see me go, rather than that he’s fishing to see if he might get the building back to himself sometime soon.
We’re in Trafalgar Square. Multitudes of pigeons swarm the paving.
Two huge fountains, ordained with mermaids, dolphins and tritons, are positioned either side of the towering monument of Nelson’s Column.
People mill around everywhere, taking photographs with the spurting fountains behind them, or throwing crumbs of their sandwiches to the pigeons.
Between the tourists march suited men and women—city workers who are just trying to get where they need to be.
“How about there?” Art asks, gesturing to a bar with outside seating.
I grin. It’ll be nice to sit and watch my new city go by. “Perfect.”
We choose a table, and Art vanishes inside to grab us a couple of beers. I don’t miss the way plenty of women’s eyes follow him as he weaves his way between the tables, but he doesn’t seem to notice any of them, or if he does, he doesn’t show it, and I’m thankful for that.
He returns with our drinks, condensation beading on the sides of the bottles.
He brings us both a couple of glasses as well, but he takes a swig from the neck of the bottle, and I do the same.
This is the new me. The carefree, easy going Tess, who drinks beer straight from the bottle with sexy tattooed men.
I think I could get to like this version of myself.
Art reaches over the table, and takes my hand, his fingers entwining with mine. “So, what’s your real reason for coming over here, Tess? You didn’t really tell me the last time I asked. I can’t help but think there’s more to it than just wanting a change.”
I search for the right words. I don’t want to lie to him, but can’t tell him the whole truth. Not yet, anyway.
“I wanted to see the country my father came from. Get back to my roots.”
“What about your friends back home? Don’t you miss them?”
I nod. “Sure.” I motion to the cell phone, which I’d placed onto the table in front of me.
“But we still call and text. It’s not as though the world is so big anymore.
You look at London and just see home. You don’t see how beautiful and exciting it seems to someone from small town America.
It was always on my bucket list to visit, and then this place just landed in my lap, so I thought why the hell not. ”
He's looking at me in amusement. “Your bucket list? What else is on your bucket list?”
“Umm,” I press my lips together as I think. There are plenty of things I want to do in my lifetime. I count them off on my fingers as I mention each one. “Swimming with dolphins, visiting the pyramids, oh, seeing the aurora borealis, and maybe paying a call on Santa at the same time.”
He laughs. “You know Santa isn’t real, don’t you.”
I smack his hand. “Don’t say things like that. Of course he’s real.” I think again, and have to suppress my smile. “Oh, and getting a tattoo.”
His eyebrows lift. “So I was right. You don’t have any tattoos.”
“Nope, not one.”
“Flawless skin.”
I bite my lower lip, and glance away.
“What about you?” I ask, turning the topic around. “What’s on your bucket list?”
“I don’t have one.”
“What? Everyone has a bucket list!”
“Nope. Not me.”
“Why not?”
He shrugs. “I guess I just want to live in the moment. I want to be happy with what I have now instead of looking forward to the next thing all the time.” He lifts a hand.
“Don’t get me wrong, all those things you described sound amazing, and of course I’d do them, too, if the opportunity came up.
I just don’t want to spend my life looking forward to doing things, and not appreciating them when they happen. ”
I nod, understanding what he means. I take another long drink from my beer.
“So you’re happy with what you have?” I ask him. “The business and everything?”
He nods, but I don’t miss the way his gaze slips from mine. “Sure. I’m doing what I dreamed of. How could I ask for anything more.”
Art sounds confident in what he’s saying, but there’s something about the way he says it that makes me think there’s something more. I’m not about to start prying, however.
We finish our drinks. The alcohol fortifies me, giving me courage I don’t usually possess.
“You’re going to think this is really lame,” I blurt, “but can we get a photo by the fountains. My friends would absolutely die to see it.”
He grins. “Yeah, sure.”
Joining the rest of the tourists, we sit on the edge of the fountain, the water directly behind us.
People have thrown coins of multiple currencies into the bottom, perhaps hoping a wish or two would come true.
I hold my cell phone out on selfie-mode, trying to get both our faces and the beautiful fountain behind us in the picture.
I’m struggling to get both us and the scenery in, however.
“Squeeze in a little,” I tell Art. He does as I instruct, but I still can’t fit everything in. I want my friends back home to see where I am. “Lean back a bit more.”
Art leans back a little too far, and I feel him tip as he loses his balance. His arms pin-wheel, and I turn and reach out to grab him, using the hand not holding the phone.
I snag the front of his t-shirt just as he topples back. The bulk of him is too much for me to hold, but I keep hold of the front of his shirt. It isn’t enough. The shirt gives way, the front tearing in my hands while the rest of Art’s big body falls backward into the water with a splash.
I hold the piece of torn t-shirt in my hand, and then clamp the hand to my mouth to try to hold back my laughter.
Art emerges from the fountain, water dripping down his body.
His torn shirt flaps open from top to bottom, exposing the squared blocks of his abs and the muscles of his chest. Twin glints of light come from each nipple, and my laughter fades as I realize both nipples are pierced.
Both times we’ve had sex, we always managed to stay mostly clothed, so I’ve never seen his bare chest before.
Art is half naked and dripping wet in the middle of Trafalgar Square.
Everyone’s looking, and I imagine husbands will be clamping their hands over their wives’ eyes, and mothers will be hiding the faces of small children.
Art looks like sex personified, with his tattoos, and piercings, the remainder of his shirt dripping wet, and almost see through as it clings to the muscles of his arms and back.
His eyebrows lift as he sets his sights on me. “You think that’s funny, huh?” Water drips off his dark hair, running down his face, clinging to his eyelashes. There’s teasing behind his tone, and I clamp my mouth shut, trying to hold back the grin threatening to break across my face.
“I think you’re looking a little hot yourself, Tess. Maybe you need cooling off, too?”
With every word, he takes a step closer, his powerful thighs pushing through the water.
He climbs out of the fountain and approaches me, his arms outstretched.
I let out a squeal, feeling like a kid again.
I turn, only pretending to get away. I’m more than happy to let Art catch me.
His big arms wrap around my waist from behind, his wet torso pressing into my back, dampening my shirt.
He lifts me off my feet, and I scream with laughter.
I feel a momentary burst of panic, as he swings me around, back toward the fountain, ready to throw me in as well.
But a shout from nearby makes Art pause. “What’s going on over here?”
The voice is authoritative, and we both turn in its direction to see two uniformed police officers watching us.
“People aren’t supposed to swim in the fountains,” the older of the policemen says, pointing to a sign attached to the wall.
“Sorry,” Art replies. “We weren’t exactly swimming.”
“He fell,” I try to explain. “We were trying to take a photo.”
The two officers frown between them, not looking impressed. They’re probably bored with turfing half-drunk tourists out of the fountain on a sunny day.
“Hmm… that wasn’t how it looked to me.” The older officer’s frown deepens as he takes in the sight of Art’s naked chest. “And you really should wear a shirt in public places.”
I hold up the remainder of his shirt and wave it like a white flag. The officer gives a tusk of disapproval and rolls his eyes, before moving on to the next offender.
Art and I fall together laughing, half holding each other up as we run away from the fountain and the cops who’d given us a warning.
Hand in hand, we hurry through the busy London streets, Art’s half naked body getting more than enough attention.
I’ve never been one to like people noticing me, but I can’t help the swell of pride that rises inside me that Art’s the one holding my hand.
I still don’t understand why he’s chosen me to be with, when we’re clearly so very different.
But you’d have to be either stupid or blind to not notice that Art is both ridiculously hot, and half dressed, as we walk through the streets, back to where he left his bike.
“I guess we’re going to need to go back to your place.” I motion at his bare chest.
He catches up my hand and pulls me in closer.
My palms meet the warm skin of his pectoral muscles and a thrill goes through me.
I tilt my face up to his and his lips find mine, so we stand kissing like a couple of teenagers in the street.
I’ve never touched a man with pierced nipples before, and I run my fingers down over them, my breath catching as I feel the hard pieces of metal embedded into the tight nubs of his nipples.
Holy shit, he is sexy. Heat pulses between my thighs, and I press myself up closer, wanting him again. But we’re out in the open, and I’m sure we’re already drawing disapproving glances from people walking by.
I break the kiss, breathing hard, my cheeks flushed with heat. “Your place,” I gasp again.
But he shakes his head. “No, we can’t.”
I frown. “Why not? Don’t you want a change of clothes?”
“I’ve got a spare shirt back at the shop.”
“Oooh.. kay,” I say slowly, trying to piece together what’s happening. Why wouldn’t he want to go back to his own apartment? I try again. “But wouldn’t it be easier to go back to yours? I don’t even know where your place is.”
Art’s face hardens and he steps back from me, putting space between us that I miss instantly.
“I’ve got a real dickhead of a flatmate. He works shifts, and the slightest bit of noise makes him kick-off.”
“Seriously? It’s only about five. He won’t let you have a friend back?”
“I said no, didn’t I, Tess?” He snaps out the words, and I jerk back.
“That’s fine.” Something in my chest turns cold and solidified to ice. “I think I just want to go home anyway.”
The tension has returned between us, like a screen going down, dividing us.
What the hell just happened?