Page 9 of Two days, One Pucking Night
“Then where are you headed at nine in the evening?”
I’m not sure who is more domineering, him or Zayn. It's 9pm, not 3am for crying out loud. I shrug, nearing the exit of the park. Thank God!
“Sofia.”
I halt, hearing my name. “I came here for the London Eye. And I’m not leaving without going there!”
“The London Eye?” His brows are furrowed, and his smoldering eyes glimmer.
I don’t bother replying. I’ve said too much already. The last thing I need is to be made to feel small, stupid, or insignificant once he finds out why I’m drawn to the ferris wheel.
“You can wait for me at a restaurant, pub, or something.” I don’t bother facing him again. The fear of what I might find in his gaze holds me back. I push past the exit and immerse myself in a sea of bodies.
I don’t look back to see if Xavier is following me. There’s no need, especially since he can track me with whatever app my brother has programmed on my phone. Something Zayn and I will have to have a long, drawn-out conversation about later. Right now, I can only focus on one thing, and that’s getting on the London Eye, and I refuse to be deterred.
“Hey, I have a reservation for a Private Pod at nine.” I push my suitcase forward, pull out my passport, and hand it to the security guard.
The blonde-haired Johnny Bravo lookalike takes hold of it and whispers something on his earpiece. He hands me back the passport. “You booked a Cupid Pod, not a Private Pod.”
I wait for him to expand on why that’s relevant because it doesn’t matter which pod I booked as long as I get into one of those capsules alone.
“You’re alone,” he states matter-of-factly.
Well, no shit. “Yes.”
“The Cupid Pod is for two guests,” he says, emphasizing the number.
A ball of despair lodges in my chest and expands. “So?” I muster, even though a part of me knows what comes next. I was hoping that by booking and showing up this late, they would be more flexible with their headcount.
My palms grow sweaty, and I bite the inside of my mouth to stop the tears that threaten to fall. The exhaustion from traveling, navigating a new city, and the fear of being unable to fulfill my last promise to my PawPaw finally catches up with me. A wave of tiredness comes over me, like the tide over the beach. Feeling light-headed, I grip my suitcase tightly to center myself.
“You can either share the pod with one other person or get the regular ticket and go in with the last group here.” He tips his chin toward the cue that looks like it’s housing at least fifteen other people.
My throat tightens, and I struggle to hold back the emotion in my voice, “I need this. Alone.”
There’s a flicker of awareness in the guard’s eyes. A brief moment of understanding passing between two people who’ve experienced a loss.
He gives me an austere nod and turns his back to me. He gets back on the mic, whispering too low for me to hear. When he turns around again, his face is pinched, and I can tell he’s about to deliver news that will stump my plans. “Ms. Brookes …”
Huge hands rest on my shoulders, and warm fingers lightly trail my neck.
“I’ll go in with her,” Xavier says, pulling me into his chest, a little too comfortable for someone I only officially spoke to for the first time less than ten minutes ago.
“No—”
“Would you prefer a stranger instead?” he whispers low enough that only I can hear. His warm breath fans my ear, sending a shiver down my spine.
The guard looks between us, waiting for my response.
I’m desperate. My options are low, practically slim, so I know I don’t have the privilege of saying no. At least with him in there, I can make a fool of myself and not feel like I’m being judged by a complete stranger.
I reason that I might be able to get him to keep quiet and move around the space as if he’s invisible. Something I won’t be able to do with a large group.
I hesitantly agree, and the guard ushers us to the furthest capsule within seconds.
Its glass doors are open, and a bottle of champagne and chocolate are placed in the center. We step inside, the doors close, and I find myself still pressed against Xavier’s hold, his hands softly caressing the exposed skin around my waist.
The act seems instinctual, natural, a silent response to unspoken words, needs, and desires. As if he understands what my body demands. What I require at present—the warmth of intimacy without the necessity for words. It feels good. Way too good.
