Thinking About You

by Monica Murphy

  I’m glad I captured this moment, one I will remember forever.

  Within minutes we’re off the London Eye and then we’re walking along the River Thames, dodging the many tourists, the wind brisk against our faces. I’m wearing a sweatshirt but I’m still freezing, and Susanna is wearing a full-blown wool coat, gloves and a scarf. We stopped by her place before we started on our tourist excursion, and it was interesting to catch a glimpse of where she lives.

  The flat was decently furnished, but the furniture was nondescript and the kitchen tiny—I could barely fit my monstrous ass in there. I sat on the edge of her saggy mattress and watched while she searched through her closet, trying to find the right thing to wear.

  I finally grabbed hold of her waist, hauled her into my lap, told her she could go out naked for all I cared and kissed her senseless.

  Funny, though, how my kissing her seemed to actually knock some sense into her head, and she was dressed and ready to go within twenty minutes.

  “Where to next?” I ask as we walk side by side. I slow my pace to let her keep up with me, since my long stride equals about two to three of hers.

  “Not sure. Would you like to see Buckingham Palace?”

  “Is your relative the queen in the house?” I’m joking, but wouldn’t it be awesome if Susanna could get me a visit with the queen?

  “We’re not that close of relatives. I’ve never even met the woman.” She rolls her eyes and nudges me in the side with her elbow. “Maybe we should take a taxi. It’s too far to walk, and it’s already so late.”

  “It’s only three o’clock,” I point out.

  “The sun sets around four or so.”

  Earlier than it sets at home, that’s for sure.

  We walk in silence, people passing by us, the street up ahead filled with traffic. A cold wind blows off the river and I tug the hood of my sweatshirt up, trying to cover my cold cheeks.

  “We should use one of those hop on/hop off buses.” I point at one in the near distance. “They’re everywhere.”

  “We have to pay for them, though.” She makes a little face. “And it’s too expensive, considering how late it is. We won’t be on it long enough to be worth the price.”

  We’re close to the busy street, and I notice a few of those hop on/hop off buses are idling at the curb like it’s a bus stop.

  I also notice how most of the people are climbing on the bus and they’re not showing…anything to the driver. No ticket, not a piece of paper. Nothing.

  “I have an idea,” I say as I take Susanna’s gloved hand.

  “What do you want to do?” She starts walking faster as I practically drag her toward the buses. I don’t want us to miss our chance.

  “Just follow my lead,” I tell her as we approach the bus.

  She tries to jerk her hand out of mine. “Wait. Are you doing what I think you’re doing?”

  I send her a look and she clamps her lips shut.

  The driver isn’t paying us any attention. He’s too busy talking to the guy on the street who’s wearing a maroon jacket with the bus company’s logo emblazoned on the back. We jump on the bus and I immediately head up the narrow winding staircase to the top, Susanna right behind me.

  There aren’t many people sitting on the top level and we collapse into a row of plastic chairs near the back, Susanna a little breathless, me laughing my ass off.

  “I can’t believe you did that!” She’s socking my arm with her fist, but I barely feel it.

  “You did it too. You’re just as guilty,” I point out, still laughing.

  “We’re criminals!” she practically wails as the bus pulls away from the curb and heads across the bridge.

  “Shh, keep your voice down. We don’t want anyone else knowing we’re criminals.” I’m grinning again. And she’s hitting me again.

  And I sort of love it.

  “Stop wasting your energy.” I grab her wrist just as she’s mid-slug. “I’d kiss your hand, but you have gloves on.”

  “You should kiss my lips instead.” She leans in close, her mouth pursed.

  I go to do just that and dodge left at the last second, kissing her cheek. She makes a disappointed noise right before I actually kiss her. I meant for it to be quick, but then I kiss her again. Then again.

  Until we’re full on making out on top of the tourist bus.

  “We’re getting carried away,” Susanna says a few minutes later, after she’s torn her lips from mine. Her hair is a mess from my fingers and her eyes are extra sparkly. “We don’t need to make a scene.”

  When she gets all proper, it kind of turns me on.

  “Think they’ll kick us off the bus if we do?” I waggle my brows at her.

  “You probably want to be kicked off, you naughty, wicked boy.” She smacks my arm and then points. “Look, there’s Big Ben. And the parliament building.”

  “Think this bus will take us to Buckingham Palace?” I ask, staring at the iconic monuments ahead of us. You see this kind of stuff in school, or online or whatever, but when it’s right in front of your face, it feels almost surreal.

  “Not sure. If we’re lucky, it will. Seems to be going in the right direction,” she answers as she looks around.

  “Your sense of direction isn’t the best,” I tease, bumping my shoulder against hers.

  She laughs. “I’m the worst. One of my faults.”

  “Your faults don’t bother me,” I murmur, slipping my arm around her shoulders so I can hold her close.

  “They won’t bother you because you’re leaving tomorrow, and you’ll never have to deal with them again,” she says jokingly, but I can tell there’s sadness in her words.

  And those words make me sad too. They make me face reality. I’m leaving tomorrow, and Susanna’s right. I won’t ever see her again. There’s no reason for me to.

  Or is there?

  “This isn’t real pizza.” Cannon makes a mock-disgusted face as he grabs his fourth piece from the dish and bites into it, demolishing half of it in seconds.

  He’s complaining, yet he’s eating as fast as he can breathe. Men can be so ridiculous sometimes.

  “What do you mean, this isn’t real pizza?” I wipe the corners of my mouth, then my fingers, before I toss my crumpled napkin on my plate. I can’t eat anymore, even though I only had a piece and a half. There are too many emotions swirling deep inside of me at the moment, and I can’t really control them.

  Too tired. Too nervous. Too sad.

  “It’s too thin. I mean, it’s good, but it’s not exploding with flavor like the stuff I love back home.” He finishes his piece, his gaze glued to my plate the entire time. “You gonna eat that?”

  “Go for it,” I say, pushing my napkin away from my leftover slice of pizza.

  Cannon grabs it and shoves it in his mouth, then drains the second glass of Coke the server brought him maybe five minutes ago or so. “I don’t know why I’m so fuckin’ hungry.” He covers his mouth with a fist, hiding a burp. “Excuse me.”

  I study him, thoughts of my prim and proper mother flitting through my brain. She’d hate him. Despise him, really. He’s ill mannered, doesn’t speak proper English, definitely doesn’t eat properly, and he’s American.

  All deadly sins in my mother’s impossible-to-please rulebook.

  “You okay?” he asks after a few minutes of silence. I’m sure he can sense my mood, and how quiet I’ve been since we entered PizzaExpress. I usually love this place. I was so excited to show it to him, to have a quiet night out to dinner before we go back to his hotel and spend the rest of the evening naked in his bed.

  But my mood became more somber as the minutes ticked by. He’s leaving me tomorrow afternoon.

  Leaving. Me.

  I don’t like it. Not at all. And I know I’m being ridiculous and I barely know him, so I shouldn’t be so sad. All those logical explanations sound perfectly logical, yet what’s happened between Cannon and me can’t really be explained logically at all. And yes, we ha
ve combustible sex every single time, and I shouldn’t pin our entire relationship on sexual chemistry, but I can’t help it.

  Our sexual chemistry is unlike anything I’ve shared with anyone else before. He also makes me laugh. He’s sweet. He’s interesting. He doesn’t chastise me for my blundering ways and my bad sense of direction and the many other minor faults I know I have but can’t remember.

  I need to face facts. I’m a little in love with him. Not all the way, because that would surely be impossible, but a little bit?

  Yes, I am. A little bit in love with Cannon Whittaker.

  This giant brute of a man, a professional football player with the NFL who has scads of money and could have any woman he wants, and who happens to live in San Francisco. I will never see him again. He’ll go home and forget all about me.

  And I cannot stand the thought.

  “I’m fine,” I finally say, offering him a weak smile.

  He reaches beneath the table and rests his big, warm hand on my thigh just before he leans in and whispers, “You’re also a liar.”

  I lean my head to the side when his mouth brushes the sensitive skin below my ear, trying to fight the shiver that wants to take over. “Don’t mind me. I don’t want to ruin your mood.”

  “My mood is shit because yours is.” He shifts away, his fingers slipping beneath my chin to tilt my face up, our gazes meeting. “Tell me what’s wrong, baby.”

  I melt at him calling me baby. I also melt at the concerned glow in his eyes, the tender way he’s touching me just beneath my chin. For a breathless moment I forget that we’re surrounded by all sorts of people, in a crowded restaurant, spending our last night together before he leaves me forever.

  But then I remember where I am. The sound of people talking, glasses clinking, music playing in the background. We’re sitting at a table, right next to each other versus across, one of those obnoxious couples who can’t stand it if they’re not within reach of each other. The sort of couple Evie and I make fun of on a constant basis.

  I’ve turned into that couple, and I don’t mind one bit.

  “I hate that you’re leaving,” I tell him, my voice full of anguish, my throat growing tight. “Tell me I’m being ridiculous.”

  He brushes the hair away from my forehead, his expression sad. “You’re not ridiculous. I hate that I’m leaving too, but I have to go.”

  “I know you have to go. You have a whole other life in San Francisco, and this—moment we’re sharing is just a blip on your path.” Now my chest aches, and I swear I’m minutes away from bursting into full-blown sobs.

  “You’re not just a blip on my path.” He grabs my hand and gives it a squeeze. “You’re more than that.”

  I’m sure he means it, but tonight, with his departure only hours away, his words are…

  Meaningless.

  We remain quiet for a while, the world going on without us, until the server stops by to check on us and Cannon requests the bill.

  “Do you need some money?” I ask once the server is gone, reaching for my bag.

  He grabs my arm and stops me. “Absolutely not. This is my treat.”

  I let him pay. He’s paid for everything since we’ve met. Mother can’t criticize him for not being a gentleman, because he so is.

  Not that she’ll ever meet him, so…I guess I never have to worry about her criticizing him either.

  The moment the bill is paid, Cannon is leading me out of the restaurant and into an Uber he ordered. The drive is short since the hotel is thankfully close, and we’re locked away in his room in minutes, both of us still quiet and, oddly enough, not immediately reaching for each other either.

  I feel suddenly shy. Perhaps he’s aware of my change of mood and doesn’t know how to approach me either. He’s clear on the other side of the room, standing at the window that overlooks the city while I’m hovering near the door, wringing my hands and wondering what I should do next.

  “Do you want to go home?”

  Cannon’s deep voice knocks me from my thoughts, startling me.

  “Do you want me to go home?” I ask in return.

  An irritated sound escapes him and he runs a hand through his hair before turning to face me. “You’re hanging out by the door like you’re gonna make a run for it, so I thought you might want to bail.”

  “I…” I straighten my spine, my gaze meeting his. I need to be truthful. “I don’t want to bail.”

  “Well, come here then.” He waves a hand, his expression weary, and I go to him, gasping when he hauls me into his arms and squeezes me tight. “We can’t act like this, Sus. These are our last hours together before I leave. We have to make them count,” he murmurs close to my ear.

  I close my eyes, fending off the tears that threaten to spill. I know he’s right. We need to shift the mood and soon, or else we’ll end up having sex and crying in each other’s arms for the rest of the evening.

  The having sex part sounds wonderful, but the crying part sounds bloody awful.

  And just like that, an idea comes over me.

  “You need to say something,” I murmur into the solid wall of his chest.

  “What was that?” He wraps his hands around my shoulders and pulls away from me, putting some space between us.

  “You need to say something,” I repeat, hoping he’ll know what I’m referring to.

  Judging by the tremendous frown on his handsome face, he’s not understanding what I’m trying to say. “Like what?”

  “Something—dirty.” My cheeks go hot. “To change the mood.”

  Realization lights his eyes and he nods, a sexy smirk appearing on his face. “You want me to start up the dirty talk?”

  I nod hurriedly, my head bobbing like I’m an out-of-control doll. “I think it might help.”

  “I’m sure you do.” He chuckles, and the tension between us has already shifted. “Whatcha you want me to say?”

  “Isn’t that your area of expertise? Figuring out what to say?”

  “Hmm.” He rubs his chin, I can hear his fingers rasping against the stubble growing there, and I want to rub against him. Feel the sharp prick of his newly forming beard scrape against my sensitive skin. “I know you like it when I talk about making your pussy wet.”

  “You’re right.” A tingle starts low in my belly, and I nod my encouragement. “Do go on.”

  Another chuckle escapes him and he studies me with a peculiar gleam in his eye. “Want me to lick that sweet pussy of yours, or stroke it first?”

  My knees grow wobbly. “Whatever you prefer,” I tell him after I clear my throat.

  “Uh huh.” He crooks his finger and makes the universal “come here” signal. “Get your pretty ass over here, Lady Susanna.”

  I do as he says, practically sprinting so I can reach him in as few steps as possible. He hooks his arm around my waist and hauls me in, his mouth landing on mine in a searing kiss. All I can think is yes, yes, YES as his tongue tangles with mine, as his big hand grips my hip and his other hand grips my right breast. He is all brute strength and unrefined kissing and groping, and it is absolutely marvelous.

  He breaks the kiss first, breathing hard, his eyes blazing with passion as he studies me. Again, I sound like a historical romance from my teenaged past, but I don’t really care. In fact, I loved those romance novels and believe I should go in search of them at my parents’ house the next time I visit.

  “You taste good,” he says just before he kisses me again. “I can’t get enough,” he murmurs against my parted lips.

  My entire body goes weak at his words. Colin was all action but very little talk. We were young and I didn’t expect it. Would’ve probably burst out laughing if he’d tried, uncomfortable and embarrassed.

  Cannon is all talk and action. A double whammy of the good stuff. He not only makes delicious sexual promises, he keeps them. He’s kissing me again, and his hands are everywhere at once, fingers seeking and sliding beneath the waistband of my leggings. His fingers slide in
between my legs, discovering the lacy pair of panties I’m wearing, and he pulls away a little so our gazes can meet.

  “I like your underwear.”

  “You haven’t even seen them.” My breath hitches when his exploring fingers dive beneath the thin fabric of my panties.

  “I don’t need to see them to know I like ’em. I definitely like the way they feel.” His mouth is on mine once more, and I’m drowning. In his taste, in his panting breaths and growling sounds and assured touch. In his hands and his body and his words and those low, rumbling groans he makes in the back of his throat.

  He somehow walks me backward and the next thing I know, I’m falling. Falling onto the bed, Cannon following me, his body pinning me into the mattress. He’s removing my clothing, dropping a kiss wherever his hands touch me and I almost want to cry, it feels so good.

  Yet I don’t cry. I keep it together, reminding myself now is not the time for tears. My eyes pop open and I watch as he removes my jumper, then my leggings, until I’m lying there in a pair of pink lacy panties and a matching bra that does little to contain the spillage of my overabundant breasts.

  “Damn, woman,” he says, whistling low as his appreciative gaze rakes over me. “I could stare at you like this all night.”

  That is the very last thing I want him to do. I might combust with wanting him.

  “Please don’t do that,” I say, whimpering when he draws the back of his hand across my quivering stomach.

  “Don’t do what?” he asks with a frown, his gaze zeroed in on my chest.

  “Stare at me all night,” I explain, my voice shaky.

  He reaches for the spot between my breasts, fingers drifting across the satiny band of my bra before they slide up into my cleavage. “You’d rather I touch you all night?”

  His fingers dive beneath the lacy bra cup, tweaking my already hard nipple and making me gasp. “Please,” I choke out.

  “I’m a multitasker. I can stare and touch at the same time,” he says with a grin just before he dips his hand and ravages my exposed breasts with his mouth. He kisses and licks the sensitive skin, making me yelp and jump in surprise, just before I moan and dissolve into the mattress.