I knew enough about cars to realize that London’s sporty red Aston Martin had probably cost enough to pay my student loan debt forty times over. It smelled like a new car and had spotless black seats. As far as I could tell, it contained only a phone charger and a set of learning French CDs. I opened his dash.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking. Your car doesn’t look like you ever drive it,” I replied.

“That’s exactly how you keep the apartment, weirdo.”

“Wow. Weirdo. I’m heartbroken.”

Registration, proof of insurance, hand sanitizer. That was so normal. I’d expected him to have more there. Maybe napkins or a pack of gum. Random, miscellaneous junk.

“So where do you want to go?” London asked as he turned onto Cervantes.

“You didn’t have a plan?”

London shrugged. “I just thought it’d be nice to get out for a while. Don’t you ever get that feeling?”

“No,” I replied.

“I just can’t stand staying inside all the time,” London said. “I have to get out—even if it’s just to go out for a cup of coffee.”

“That’s weird.”

“No, you’re weird,” London argued.

I crossed my arms. “I can’t believe I agreed to come out just so you could insult me.”

“It’s hardly an insult unless you’re so entirely devoid of wit that you can’t counter an insult a second-grader could devise.”

“You dropped out after one semester,” I said.

“Um…yeah?” London said. “I didn’t mean you had to go out left-field.”

“No, I mean, you’re smart for someone that dropped out of university.”

“You don’t have to get a college degree to be smart, Chance.”

“Right, but you aren’t just smart. You’re academically smart. You know about Shakespeare and nineteenth-century biographies of Aaron Burr. How did that happen?”

“I learn things independently,” London replied. “Self-improvement is always a worthy goal. Don’t you think?”

“I suppose,” I said. “That explains the French CDs in your backseat.”

“Touché. Didn’t you have to learn another language for grad school?”

“Yes. Why do you know that?”

London shrugged. “I Googled the English program you’re in. Which language was it?”

“Latin.”

“Get any use out of it?”

“Not really,” I replied. “Postmodernist American literature isn’t really written in Latin, but it was useful when I took Medieval Literature. I understand school mottos now.”

“Want to go to the bookstore?” London asked.

“I won’t say no, but you should know I can spend all day in a bookstore.”

“I can, too.”

I didn’t believe him, but I wasn’t going to refuse a free trip to the bookstore. Because none of Pensacola’s three bookstores were close to my apartment, I seldom got to go. Instead, I got my books from the university library or from Amazon. It just didn’t compare to walking into an actual brick-and-mortar bookstore where everything was fresh, bright, and new.

London turned onto Davis, going ten miles over the speed limit. I bit the inside of my cheek and withheld my criticism.

“Where are you from?” London asked.

“What do you mean? Like, originally?”

“Yeah. If you’ve been here a few years, you—what? Moved here for university?”

“I wanted a fresh start, and East Hill gave me the best scholarship and the most tuition money. Mind you, I didn’t just show up. I made a plan and found a job down here before I moved or anything. I didn’t just up and leave one day.”

“Was that a jab at me?” London asked.

“Not intentionally.”

London hummed. “Okay, fair enough. They gave you money. Where are you from?”

“Brunswick, Georgia. It’s a couple hours from Savannah. The beach side of the state. It was okay there.”

“But not where you wanted to be.”

“No, definitely not. Besides, I didn’t have any real attachments there.”

“Not even your parents? Or whoever? Someone took care of you when you were a kid.”

I sighed. Anyone would be curious about my parents. After all, no twelve-year-old ended up in foster care without something going terribly wrong.

“I don’t want your pity,” I said.

“You won’t get it,” London replied. “Perhaps my sympathy. If it’s some sort of family problem, I understand that. I haven’t been on good terms with my family in a very long time, so I get that. I really do. To be honest, I think my life would be much easier if they’d just disown me and be done with it.”

“I’ve never understood the importance of being disowned. I never had anything to lose from my family. My parents weren’t good people,” I said. “Child Protective Services took me from them.”

“Oh, God.”

I shrugged. “I don’t know that staying with them would’ve been better. They fought all the time.”

“Like…arguments?”

“No, like full-blown brawling in the living room,” I replied. “Okay? Happy?”

“I wouldn’t say happy, no,” he said. “That’s…I can’t even imagine what that would’ve been like. My parents love each other. They’re just really unpleasant, and my family has a ridiculous amount of drama. I’m not even kidding when I say we’ve been killing each other off for two hundred years.”

“Really?” I asked.

“Yeah. My however-many-times great-grandfather murdered his brother-in-law,” London said proudly. “Over moonshine.”

“That is the most stereotypical Southern thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Well, we are from North Carolina,” London replied.

“It’s incredible that you know that. I don’t even know who my grandparents are, but then, from what I understand, I never had a big family. Both of my parents were only children, and I didn’t have any siblings,” I said. “It used to bother me when I was younger.”

“And now?”

“It’s just blood. It doesn’t matter.”

“If that’s the way you really feel, there’s no reason you shouldn’t make your own family,” London said. “Friends, at least. Taylor keeps inviting you to things, so—”

“Why do you know that?”

“I messaged her with lesson plans, remember? I just happened to notice she texts you about going out a lot,” London replied. “Is she interested in you? I’ll totally pretend to be your boyfriend if you’re just trying to let her down gently.”

“No, she does that to everyone.”

“Ah,” London said. “You should take her up on it sometime. I mean, I’d go watch Man of La Mancha.”

“Are you asking me to take you to the opera?”

London furrowed his brow. “I guess that depends on if you’re offering. It wouldn’t kill you to be more sociable.”

“We can’t all be extroverts.”

“Ugh. Don’t be like that.”

“Like what?”

“Using being an introvert as an excuse for never doing anything,” London said. “There’s a difference between not being social and being a complete recluse.”

“I swear, I don’t know why everyone is on my case about this,.” I replied.

“That’s what you get for knowing people who care about you.”

People who cared about me. It had…been a very long time since anyone cared about me.

“Does that include you?” I asked.

“Well, obviously. I mean, I live with you. God knows you can be insufferable, but the benefits outweigh the bad. You’re not a bad person to know. You just need to…” London trailed off. “Look at something besides your perfectly planned life.”

I glanced at him and fidgeted with the hem of my shirt. Something about the way London said that made my stomach twist, but it wasn’t a sickening sensation. It was just a strange feeling. Strange in the same way that sex had been. Awkward and different.

“Are you going to see Mariel again?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe. Why do you ask?”

“No reason. She’s a pretty woman.”

“She is! We met at Starbucks, but I don’t know if she’s interested in more or not.”

“Did you take her out like when you took me out?” I asked.

“Worried she got something more upscale?”

“Of course not.”

Had she, though? Had London treated her better than me? Was she a better lay than I was?

“We had brunch. She works nights, so we didn’t quite get the sunset by the beach dinner if that’s what you mean.”

Why did I even care if she might’ve gotten better treatment than me? London could do whatever he wanted with whoever he wanted.

“I want to try the ice thing,” I said.

Why had I said that? Oh, my God.

“You want to do that?” London asked. “What?”

“That’s…what I said,” I replied.

God knew why I’d said it.

“What’s with you?” London asked, as I pretended not to notice his puzzled look. “That’s…a rather odd train of thought. You don’t even—you aren’t jealous, are you?”

“You were the one saying I needed to be less of a prude,” I argued.

“Okay, blame your foot-in-mouth moment on me, why don’t you?” London asked, laughing. “I mean, we can do that if you want.”

It would be so easy to back down and laugh it off as a joke. So easy. “You’re not allowed to bring it up later,” I said. “I’m just curious. That’s all.”

When London didn’t answer right away, I chanced a glance at him to see if I’d overstepped some sort of boundary. “I don’t get you,” London finally said. “You’re very contradictory.”

“Great.”

London laughed. “Don’t sound so put out. I kind of like puzzles.”

He made it sound like an inside joke, but whatever it was, I wasn’t in on it. Maybe it didn’t matter, though. It was obviously a compliment, so maybe it wasn’t really worth analyzing. I was a puzzle, and London—at least—seemed to think that was a good thing.

* * *

London, completely clothed, sat on my bed with a cup of ice. “As a general rule,” London said, “if you’re going to have sex, you don’t just—you know—rip off all your clothes at once. Not usually.”

I had already pulled my shirt off and kicked off my shoes just to spite him.

“It’s not like you haven’t already seen everything,” I pointed out.

“It’s part of the performance.”

“Performance?”

“Sure, sex can be a performance,” London replied.

“I’d rather not feature in one of your amateur porn films,” I said.

“I don’t make porn films. I’m really more of a sci-fi, fantasy parody type of guy.”

I continued stripping until I was naked. “Small steps,” I said.

“Yeah,” London replied, an odd look on his face. “Okay, so lay on the bed.”

I did, sinking slightly into the mattress. London straddled my waist.

“Hey, aren’t you going to get undressed, too?” I asked.

“No need,” he replied. “Not yet, anyway. Do you want to put on your own condom, or do you want me to do it?”

“But if you aren’t putting one on…” I trailed off. “Dear God, I’m not giving you anal. Do you have any idea how badly I’d fuck that one up?”

“I’m well-aware, yes,” London replied. “Actually, I was thinking I’d blow you—if you’re up for that at the end.”

“Blow me.”

“You know what that is, right?”

“Of course, I know, but that just…I don’t know if I really want my mouth on someone’s cock,” I replied.

London shrugged. “I don’t guess that’s important, is it? Are you fine with someone else’s mouth on your cock?”

I laughed and threw a hand over my eyes. “I guess? This is not a conversation I ever thought I’d have.”

“See? Life is full of surprises. Sometimes, you just have to take a chance. Especially when you’re taking Chance.”

“I’m going to change my name just so you can’t make fun of it.”

“Seems a bit dramatic. I mean, you’re the one who hasn’t bitten back. Surely, it can’t be that hard to make fun of London Bridges.”

“That’s too easy,” I replied. “I can’t go for low-hanging fruit.”

London pulled a piece of ice from the cup. “I tied Mariel up when we did this. Since you don’t want that, it’s fine. The game is not to move.”

“Not to move?” I asked. “That’s easy, though.”

“Is it?”

London smiled like he was going to do something really awful. He put the ice against my collarbone and slowly dragged it down my chest. It was a strange sort of concentrated cold, different from being out in cold weather or even taking a cold shower. The ice crackled softly, fissures forming as it melted against my skin and left sparkling, wet trails behind. Once the first piece was melted, London grabbed another, and leaning over me, he circled my nipple with it. “So this is it, huh?” I asked.

“Mostly.”

“You aren’t going to shove it up my ass, are you?”

“Do you want me to?”

“Not especially.”

London moved the ice to my other nipple, circling. Slowly, he dragged the ice past my ribs and over my stomach. Then, back up. “She really liked this?” I asked.

“Yeah. You don’t?”

I shrugged. “I guess it’s fine. It’s not really doing much for me, though, if you know what I mean.”

“Well, just because she was into it doesn’t mean you’ll be into it,” London said. “We can stop if you want. Or do something else. Since you so kindly stripped off all your clothes and everything.”

“Aren’t you charming?”

London rubbed his thumb over my collarbone. “Is there anything you’ve always wanted to try?”

Was there?

“Huh. Give me a second to think about that.”

“Sure,” London said.

He reached into the cup, grabbed a piece of ice, and crunched it between his perfect teeth.

“You aren’t disappointed, are you?” I asked.

London shook his head.

I bit the inside of my cheek, trying to sort through everything I’d ever read about sex. “I don’t know if I want to go through with it, but how hard does the—uh…” I trailed off.

Okay, this was bad. Abort mission.

“The what?”

I took a deep breath. “If you laugh, I swear to God I’ll strangle you with my bedsheets,” I said.

London sighed. “Alas, so violent. Now what did you want to know?”

“The spanking thing. How badly does that hurt?”

“Depends on what you’re using and how hard the other person does it,” London said. “Is that it? God, Chance, spanking is far from some sort of scandalous, super-edgy sex act. There’s no need to be so embarrassed about it.”

“Then you’ve done it.”

London shrugged. “Like I said, it’s not that weird.”

“I want a demonstration, then. Just to see.”

London raised his hand and brought it down on the inside of my thigh. Although the slap was loud, it didn’t really feel like much of a slap, and it left a very warm and pleasant stinging sensation in it wake. London shifted back a bit and gently caressed the reddened area.

“That wasn’t so bad,” I said. “I could do more of that.”

London raised an eyebrow. “Is that an instruction?” he asked.

Was it?

“Yeah, sure,” I said. “I should roll over?”

“If you want me to spank your ass, sure,” London said. “How many times do you want it?”

“How many do you usually do?”

“I don’t know. Let’s start with ten or so? That’s a good, even number.”

I rolled onto my knees and forearms, and London edged back further down the mattress. “Now, if you change your mind, tell me,” London said. “You don’t have to tough this out just because you committed to it.”

“Right.”

“Do you want me to do it harder?” London asked.

“Maybe? How hard is harder?”

I jumped as he spanked my left cheek, more from the sound than the actual pain of it, although this one was definitely harder than the first. “Fuck, London,” I said.

“Too much?”

“No, just…wow.”

“We’ll keep going, then?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

He slapped the right side next, and I rocked my hips. Then, again. And again. He was consistent if nothing else. I jumped when he broke the pattern, instead striking my upper thigh rather than my ass.

“You’re moving quite a bit,” London noted cheerfully.

My other thigh.

“Am I not supposed to?”

“Depends on the rules,” London said, kneading my ass with his hands.

His touch was very firm. I leaned back deeper into his grasp. My cock ached, already hard. “I can’t believe I actually like this of all things,” I said.

London chose then to spank me again, as if reminding me what I’d really agreed to. I groaned. Then, I thought of Aaron Burr being banged by Alexander Hamilton, and I burst into laughter.

“Did I break you?” London asked.

I shook my head. “No, I just—I thought of that porn you were watching.”

“Oh, God, no,” London replied. “You are a very bad boy.”

He spanked me again, but I barely felt it with the force of my laughs. I hadn’t kept track of what number we were on either.

“I will not be one-upped by bad porn,” London said. “You are a horrible, naughty boy, and you’re going to hell.”

“I’ll see you there,” I replied. “Possibly along with Aaron Burr.”

He spanked me again, the hardest one yet. I muffled my groan because, in the process, I’d remembered just how horrific Aaron Burr’s shouts of pleasure were.

“Still okay?” London asked.

I was warm all over, and my ass stung with the echoes of London’s attentions. And my cock ached, begging for attention.

“Yeah, I’m great,” I said.

“Let me finish and I’ll still blow you. Mm? You only have three more.”

Three more? “Okay,” I said.

His next slap landed squarely on my right ass-cheek. I resisted the urge to pull my thighs closer together or to lower myself onto the sheets to gain some relief. London stroked my ass again, his finger butterfly-light and cold against the burning heat of my skin. “Do you want to go harder for the last two?” London asked. “Mm?”

I sucked in a deep breath. “Okay, yes.”

He patted my ass. His slap seemed all the harsher by comparison. I groaned. His next slap was right after the other, and his hands were there fast, rubbing and squeezing. I made to close my thighs, but he put his hands on my thighs and kept them apart.

“The anticipation is part of the fun,” London said, stroking the inside of my thigh.

“If I don’t come, I’m going to die.”

I trembled as he kept stroking and petting. His fingers skated lightly over my thighs and ass. Then, more roughly, he grasped my thighs and spread them further apart. “If you want to stay like that, I’ll just get right between your thighs and do this.”

“What if I fall on you?”

London snorted as he opened the condom. My whole body shivered when he rolled the latex up my shaft. “You think your orgasm is going to be so incredible you lose all control of your muscles?”

God, my cock really ached, and London really needed to get a move on.

“You know what? I no longer give a damn. Just hurry up.”

I bucked my hips, as he edged himself between my legs. He wrapped his hands around my thighs, and I felt just the lightest touch at my tip. I flexed my hips, trying to move further down. I’d expected London to tease me and move away, but instead, he met me. His teeth grazed me. He hadn’t bit me or even tried to, but I felt them there. Then, I felt his tongue, twisting and curling. He brought himself further up, taking my cock deep inside him.

I dropped my head to the bed and watched him as best as I could. I couldn’t see much—just his head moving—and after a few seconds, it didn’t matter. The muscles in my stomach clenched. My thighs shook. And everything was so warm. I felt my orgasm build higher and higher until I came suddenly with a tingling throughout my body. Then, everything relaxed, and time seemed to stop. London tilted his head back and looked at me. “No awkward slurping noises, as you can see,” he joked.

“Hilarious. Thanks, Burr.”

London edged himself out from between my thighs. With a content sigh, I dropped to the bed and lay on my side. “That was fun,” I said.

“Yeah,” London replied.

“Do you want me to do anything for you?” I asked.

London shook his head, and I furrowed my brow. “It’s nothing personal,” London said, adding a friendly pat to my thigh. “I’m filming a video tonight, and I just don’t want to go through the bother of taking a shower and fixing my just-sexed hair. You can return the favor next time. You have a mouth on you, so I expect your oral skills to be top-notch.”

“I’ll have you know that I do perform well under pressure.”

London’s eyes sparkled. He placed a kiss to my shoulder. It was a strange kiss, very soft and very fond. There was something intense and unfamiliar in his face, too. Slowly, London’s hand cupped my face, and my body seemed suddenly light and airy with the gesture. “I don’t doubt it,” he said. “You’ve at least proven you’re good at keeping me on my toes.”

“You’d be bored otherwise.”

London’s hand trailed down my neck and past my collarbone, until his slender fingertips lighted on my chest. Seemingly absentmindedly, he trailed his fingers over one of my nipples. He gave it a sharp twist before running his hand over my stomach and back up to my chest. He held them there and gazed at my face, as if waiting for me to move or mock him. I took in a deep breath and carefully curled my fingers over his. I stroked the delicate skin between his fingers and rubbed my thumb over the underside of his wrist. Something in the air between us seemed to break apart and reform into something beautiful and new.

It wasn’t just about sex. It wasn’t just about doing something you weren’t supposed to. Suddenly, the world seemed to shift into crystal-clarity. Lady Chatterley hadn’t just been looking for sex. She’d been wanting a human connection, a warm, intimate connection to another human being. She’d wanted to be with someone on the same emotional and physical level as her, and that was where the argument was.

I got it. Finally.