My Five Night Fling by Maci Dillon
KASSIDY
Our day turns out to be the best one yet.
We visit castles, order way too much food from English cottage cafés, and enjoy a picnic on a blanket overlooking the hills and ancient ruins. The weather is glorious, and the company is fucking exceptional.
I met an Aussie couple visiting the area for three months. They were currently trying to get work transfers so they could stay on.
I understand this completely.
I’m falling in love too—with the people, the accents, the food, and the feel of this beautiful city—each minute I spend here, my love grows.
And this countryside.
I imagine many weekends spent visiting the old townships surrounding London if I were able to stay on.
As we exit the bus and say our goodbyes to the other tourists we met and connected with, the tour guide, Anja, stops us. “I hope I’m not being too forward, but I’ve watched you two today and have to say, you’re the most beautiful in love couple I’ve seen for quite some time.”
The world falls away, a cricket ball-sized lump lodges in my throat, and I’m sure the smile I try to force out makes me look like I’m constipated.
“Oh, we’re not…” Jarett chuckles, “… no, the two of us, we’re just...” he glances at me for help, an astonished expression on his face.
Anja’s face morphs into humiliation, and she rushes to apologize. “Forgive me, I’m so sorry. I just assumed. You both look…” her expression softens, “… so much in love.”
Jarett puts his arm around my waist and pulls me to him. “Thank you and don’t apologize. Sometimes others see things we can’t.”
Anja gives us a huge smile and retreats with her tail between her legs.
“That wasn’t weird at all,” I joke, poking Jarett in the ribs as we leave.
His chuckle turns into a full-blown laugh until I’m laughing hysterically too. At what, I’m not sure, but it seems the best way to deal with such an outrageous observation.
One which is clearly incorrect.
Or is it?
As we calm down and a comfortable silence returns, I wonder if Jarett is also reading into Anja’s words and how he feels about it.
Me? I am freaking out. I’m not going to lie.
We certainly have chemistry and mutual respect. Yes, I feel something for him but having a stranger believe we’re in love? I don’t even know what love looks like.
“We should go to the wax museum tomorrow. You interested?” I ask, trying to redirect my thoughts.
“It’s a great experience and the perfect place to take lots of fun photos for your Instagram account.” He makes a hashtag sign with his fingers. “Kassidy in London,” he mocks. That’s how I tag all my holiday pics on my account, and he finds it amusing.
I’ve always been photogenic, and even if I weren’t, I wouldn’t want to forget any moments I’ve experienced here, so I guess I have been more snap-happy than usual.
I roll my eyes. “Stalker.”
“Hey, it’s not stalking if we’re friends on Instagram.”
I laugh. “No, I guess not.”
“I notice none of the photos of us together have been added to your Insta world. You embarrassed to introduce me to your fans?” I glance sideways and stop in my tracks.
“Are you kidding? If I post pics with you, my followers will blow the fuck up in the best way.”
His smile reaches his eyes. I take out my phone and pose at his side for a selfie. We shimmy around to get the Big Ben in the background, and I snap a few pics.
“You do know how sexy you are, right? My followers will probably think I have accosted you on the street for a selfie.”
“I think you just did.”
I slap his chest playfully. “Are you sure about this? You’ll forever be famous on my page,” I tease, holding the phone up to him, ready to post our collection of silly selfies.
“I’d be honored, Kassidy in London.” He brushes a playful peck on my nose and fiddles with my scarf, pulling it tighter around my neck. It’s late afternoon, the sky is turning gray, and it’s getting colder by the second.
“Looks like it might snow tonight. What should we do?” Jarett asks. We’re walking in the direction of my hotel.
“Honestly? I’d love nothing more than to crawl into bed after a hot shower and bottle of wine.”
Jarett aims to please and never fails.
We stop for wine and chocolate on our way to my room. While I shower and change into sweats and an oversized jumper, Jarett orders room service. An early dinner and a night of Netflix and chill sound like such a couple thing to do, but I don’t care.
We eat at the miniature table in my room, the one Jarett bent me over and fucked me on only days ago. We turn off the lights except for the bathroom to create that romantic atmosphere as we watch the snow fall lightly over Central London.
Perfection.
Afterward, in bed, we share wine and chocolates while we watch a movie on my laptop. As the night progresses, I sink deeper into the mattress and wrap myself tighter in the comforter. My head rests on Jarett’s bare chest, my legs entwined with his. And there’s where I slept.
Jarett’s phone buzzes incessantly on the side table, waking me from my slumber. “Sorry, love.” He peels himself away from me. Did he sleep at all? I haven’t moved a muscle. I wipe my mouth as I sit up, checking for drool as he reaches for his phone and turns off his alarm.
“What on earth do you need an alarm for on a Sunday morning?” Jarett plods back from the bathroom with a cheeky grin on his face. “I’m late for church.”
I stare at him, intent on showing no reaction until I can gauge if he’s serious or not. “Got your sermon sorted?” I joke.
Jarett laughs and pushes me back onto the bed. Climbing over me, still naked, he kisses me. Morning breath and all.
I groan, and he pulls back. “What’s the matter?”
Bringing my arm to lay across my forehead, I confess. “I’m the worst fling you’re ever going to have. A five-night fling should never include a night of Netflix and chill with absolutely no kinky fuckery!”
Jarett shakes his head. “You got it all wrong, sweetheart. You’ll be the only fling I ever have, and last night was exceptional. I wouldn’t change a thing even if I could.”
My heart.
