I

t had been exactly a week since that emotionally charged encounter, and lucky for me, Cruz had been in and out of the office, travelling and attending business meetings in different parts of Europe. It would be conceited to consider, but part of me believed Cruz was relieved he didn’t have to see me. I wasn’t sure why my thoughts led me to that conclusion, but I had the wild hunch.

With Cruz gone, Archer suddenly come out of nowhere, surprising me at work. He thought to pop in and see how things were working out for me and to also tell me he would be going to the south of France with some of friends for a whole week. He even extended an invitation, and for a second, I was willing to go, but then I was reminded of school and work commitments. I couldn’t check out of those responsibilities for a whole week. It would be insane. Archer, however, was a law unto himself.

He didn’t follow any rules and did things on his own terms—coming home whenever he felt like, dating whomever he wanted, whether to opt in to work in their family company or not, or to follow the proper social obligations or not. Some might see it as impulsive, lazy even, but I found myself admiring that trait—not giving a fuck if he was offending anyone. It must be freeing to act and think that way. One could only wish to have such freedom, but I cared too much.

During this time, I met two girls from school, one named Nessa and her roommate/best friend, the eccentrically cute Bobbie. They were the epitome of opposites attract. Sometimes, I wondered how one could tolerate the other, but for some reason, they worked and, in a sense, complimented each other. I guessed, since they grew up together as neighbors, they’d had time to accept each other’s traits.

Before I left school to go to my internship, Bobbie invited me to a party tonight. Given that it was my first official invitation from anyone at school, I didn’t hesitate to say yes. The need to fit in with my peers made it all the more important to me. Promising them I would text them the address to Margery’s house in Chelsea, I then went to work, but this time, I made sure I had the right clothes to change into.

With Denise gone to shadow Cruz wherever he needed to get to, I had to go under Steph. Steph was more laidback, and I resonated more with her than Denise. Maybe it was because she was less intense and much hipper due to her love of rock and roll, one tidbit that I didn’t expect upon judging her by appearance since she looked like your typical Miss Prim. She proved me wrong, though.

Once work ended, I came home to dine with Margery. She and I had been in our getting-to-know-each-other stage. I found her enchanting, most especially when she told me stories about her youth, how she met my mother, or how she fell in love. There was no doubt in my mind how much love she had for her late husband. The more she reminisced, the more I recalled Cruz’s words about how true love could sometimes kill someone. When she got those spells, she usually got teary-eyed, not the hysterical, but more of a poised, gracious cry. Before we parted for the night so she could rest and read a novel, I gave her a warm hug then whispered that she was a brave woman. The despair in her eyes became evident before she whispered her thank you with a weakened smile.

I had already informed her that I planned to go out tonight, so when she wished me a lovely evening, I took it as my cue to go upstairs and change.

The minute I was secured in the room, I began to change into a skin-tight, stretchy, white, micro mini dress. No denim mishap for me tonight, I thought as I inwardly recoiled at the memory of the horrified look as they ridiculed my outfit that night. Though I didn’t want to be bullied into changing who I was and what I liked, I also didn’t want to provoke uninvited attention. With some careful use of cosmetics, I decided to let my hair down before slipping into some stilettos.

When Bobbie called, telling me they would be there in less than five minutes, I hurriedly went downstairs and waited right outside for them to show up. Surprisingly, Bobbie had her boyfriend Jude, a guy who matched her dulled-out, silvery-pink hair, drive us to the party. And since I had no idea where the party was located, I was beginning to worry after thirty minutes or so when we didn’t slow down one bit on the freeway.

“Um … How far away is this place?”

Nessa threw me a warm smile. “Not far. We’re almost in Brighton, love.”

Brighton? I wondered, thinking that I hadn’t been there. Well, there were a lot of places I hadn’t been yet, but one by one, hopefully before I left the country, I would have a chance to see them all. Who knew when I would be able to visit again? Surely not on a student budget; that was for damn sure.

The party was held in the three-story home of some artist, so the people filtering in and out of the place were a contrast of colors and hues. Most opted for black apparel with interesting hair colors from all over the color wheel. It certainly would be a night to remember.

British people expressed themselves in the most passionate of ways. I didn’t know how they had become known for being standoffish and reserved. One thing stood out, though, and that was their love of music. People here seemed to appreciate the retro jams, rock and roll, and everything in between. It was different than what I was used to, but I found it refreshing.

I wasn’t sure if that made much sense, but heck, I was young and buzzing with alcohol, so I did what everyone else was doing: dance, drink, converse, and dance some more.

Since Bobbie was basically engrossed with Jude, Nessa and I partied together. There were several men wanting to break us apart, but I wasn’t interested. When one guy took Nessa’s interest and left me all to my lonesome, I was relieved to see Bobbie sitting all by herself while watching her boyfriend do some Irish bomb contest. Seeking her company, I sat next to her, enjoying the craziness around me.

“Your boyfriend looks a breath away from passing out.” Jude did seem as though he couldn’t go for another round. His eyes were barely cracked open as he sported a shit-eating grin.

Bobbie smirked. “Oh, that’s nothing new, my love. The party wouldn’t be smashing if he didn’t fall flat on his hairy arse.”

Jude had a hairy ass? Uh … GROSS! The image that flashed through my mind was too hard to shake off. Fuck.

Bobbie spat out the alcohol from her mouth, snorting as she laughed her heart out. “Your face! Bloody hell, that was priceless!”

Hairy and ass didn’t go together. I would have enjoyed laughing along with her, but I was too sober to do so.

“What time do you think we’ll be heading back? I’m in no rush, just want a time frame.” I still had classes and work tomorrow, none of which I intended to miss.

“I don’t think any of us are in condition to drive. We’ll probably crash here or sleep in the car more like. You know what I mean?”

“Yes, I do.” But I wasn’t prepared for that. I didn’t expect that coming out to party tonight meant that I wasn’t going home until whenever they felt like driving back. It wasn’t their fault. It was mine since I hadn’t asked for essential details when they invited me. Heck, I hadn’t even asked where it was located.

While Bobbie was preoccupied rehashing stories about Jude and getting inebriated in the past, I was trying to find a solution. Given the hour, flagging a cab or taking the train was out of the question. I had heard it didn’t resume until six a.m., so I basically had the choice of waiting it out for another five hours or tagging along with my school friends, none of which appealed to me, to say the least.

He did say I could call him if I needed something, and this was a moment of desperate need. It would have been different if there was a safe place to crash around here. However, it seemed that everyone was too busy meeting someone to hook up with and getting obliterated as quickly as possible instead of worrying about something as lame as having a decent place to sleep.

One of my biggest rules when partying was always to make sure I got home safely. I could get drunk as much as my heart desired, but I always had to sleep in my own bed.

With that in mind, I got up and went to the nearest corner that was packed with couples making out or trying to get to second base. Ignoring the romantic humdrum behind me, I pulled my phone out of my purse.

“Serena!” Nessa hollered at me from a few feet away. “Dance with me. I need a partner.”

“In a little bit. Let me just call someone really quickly, then I’ll be right with you, promise,” I pled, and she signaled a thumbs up then blew me a kiss.

Back to my dilemma, I took a lengthy breath. “Get over it, Serena. You’re being obnoxious. Stop it,” I muttered under my breath as I looked down at the handheld device.

With my phone in hand, I scrolled for Cruz’s name, feeling wretched for even considering this idea, yet I felt dizzy at the thought of hearing his voice after a week of no news from him. My withdrawals were real, but not severe. Even so, none of it was healthy.

Holding my breath as I pressed the call button, I was half hoping he would pick up and half hoping he would send the call to voicemail or still be out of the country. When I heard his voice on the other end of the phone, though, my heart skyrocketed into blissful oblivion.

“Yes?” His raspy, deep-timbered voice temporarily suspended me from reality. Then, as quickly as it came, I was reverted back to my senses.

Shaking my head, I wondered who answered a phone call with a yes. A normal person would usually say hello, not yes. It was arrogant and a bit entitled. Little bits like these made me nervous when it came to him. It only reminded me of the vast difference between us.

“Hey, it’s Serena,” I said meekly but loud enough for him to hear.

“Serena?” He didn’t sound pleased. “Why are you calling me at this ungodly hour?”

Maybe I had caught him at a bad time. Well, there was no good time past midnight when one was calling for a favor. Damn it. I probably should just apologize and hang up for bothering him. It would be the politest thing to do.

“What is that sound in the background?” He sounded appalled.

Your worst nightmare, I wanted to retort back, but I successfully refrained from it. Instead, I decided to play nice.

“It’s called the “Macarena,” A blast from the past, 90s style.”

“It’s the what?”

“Have you been living in a cave? ’Cause I’m pretty sure everyone’s heard this song.”

There was something about his tone that rubbed me the wrong way. I felt as though he was judging me for some reason.

“I sure as hell haven’t, so no, I doubt everyone has heard of it.”

I couldn’t believe it. We were actually arguing about the fucking “Macarena” song. Why did he have to be so infuriating?

“I get that you’re mister high and mighty, but please, just for once—just this one time—could you please take the stick out of your royal ass?”

“I beg your pardon? First of all, I am not royalty. Secondly, I never had a stick up my arse, not now, not ever, not even in the near bloody future—”

Okay, I got that loud and crystal clear.

“Fine. Okay, whatever.” This whole conversation had started on the wrong footing. How it got here, I had no idea. As much as I would have liked to bury this entire conversation, he apparently wasn’t done.

“Did you insinuate that because of what happened that night?” he confronted, possibly wanting to open the can of worms once again.

Oh, no. I could talk and argue about anything: conspiracy theories about NASA covering up alien life, the inhumane ritual killing of hundreds of whales in the Faroe Islands, the child bride practices in other cultures, the thriving narcissistic culture through social media, why Kylie Jenner’s lips garnered more attention than ISIS in our society’s younger generation—heck, anything, anything at all. But never about that night. I just couldn’t.

“Listen, I’m sorry I called at this late hour. Just scratch everything I said. It was a mistake calling you tonight.”

“Were you drunk dialing and mistakenly called me?”

Drunk dialing? I wasn’t that kind of woman. What the hell? I was a fun drunk, not some emotional train wreck.

“No, but if I was, I’d rather call 1-800-MASTURLINE.”

WTF? Did I just say that out loud?

Shit. Shit. SHIT.

My face was beyond hot; it was burning from inside out.

“Forget I said that. FUCK!”

I wanted to die on the spot. What in the world made me spout off idiotic things to him? It was like vomit—just when you thought it was over and done with, there was another surprise attack sneaking up on you.

“Like hell I will. MASTURLINE?” His tone sounded amused with a hint of intrigue. “Care to elaborate on that?”

“Not really. Nope.” I shook my head, wanting for something to swallow me alive so I didn’t have to endure another notch in my already long list of embarrassing moments where Cruz was concerned.

“You’re quite the firecracker, aren’t you, Serena?”

How badly I wanted to die right then and there. Then again, the uncomfortable damage was done, so it was best to live with it.

“You bet. I’m like a Christmas morning—a gift that keeps on giving. Now that we’ve established that, can I hang up now? ’Cause I think my fun-o-meter is running low.”

“Why did you call me in the first place, Serena?” he inquired, obviously willing to forgo the awkward moment.

I could have sighed with relief, but I didn’t want him to know how embroiled and distressed I was.

“I wouldn’t have bugged you in the first place if Archer wasn’t out of town.”

“Good to know I’m not the first choice.” Pure sarcasm laced his voice, none too pleased.

His comment was as if he was implying something else entirely. If his ego was bruised, well, it wasn’t my intention.

Back to my present conundrum, I hoped he would be willing to help me.

“Are you back in town, or are you still in Geneva?”

“I flew in four hours ago.”

“Right. Well, I know this might seem too much, given that you guys don’t know me all that well yet, but since you once told me that I could count on you when I needed something, I was hoping, if possible, there’s a spare driver you could call to come pick me up right now? I know it’s late, and I apologize for that. I promise this will be the first and only time. I don’t like inconveniencing people for my benefit. I’m not like that at all. I just wanted to add that.”

There was a momentary pause before he said, “Where are you exactly?”

“Brighton.”

“What in God’s name are you doing in Brighton on a school day?” he hissed, briefly stunning me.

The second I regained my wit, I immediately went into defensive mode. “What do you think, Cruz? We’re studying the Bible and singing “Kumbaya,” I snapped back, fuming.

“Lovely, just lovely. At least one of us finds it humorous,” He reprimanded in a manner that a principal would use to scold a student. “Text me the address this instant, and someone will be on their way to come fetch you.”

“Thank you.” His less than amused tone affected me a great deal more than I would like to admit. Instead of responding in the same biting tone I had used minutes ago, I felt compelled to resort back to my less catty voice, mellower and less snarky.

I was expecting another exchange of words, but was stunned to find that the line had gone dead.

Okay. What was that all about? Was he pissed off because I had called at this time of the night, the fact that I wanted a driver to come get me, or the fact that I had partied on a school night? Margery didn’t seem to mind when I told her, so why was he acting like I was a rebellious party girl?

Shaking my head, I made sure to text him the address then put my phone on vibrate before I slipped it back into my purse and headed off to find Nessa on the dance floor.