Beer Goggles Anthology

by Anthology

  “Yes, Mother.” Somewhere deep down, I get that I’m not being me, but it’s warm in here—a nice warm—and people are happy and partying, and Haakon will be back from the bathroom in a minute. Really, truly, I don’t want to go home. I want to discover I-don’t-care-what with Haakon. Then I’ll go home. Or somewhere else.

  “Listen, cabs are expensive—”

  Ya think? I’m laughing again.

  “—and you’re forcing me to go with you. If you’re not ready to go home, then Jack and I will stay out too, to make sure you’re okay.”

  I groan. It took half a night to realize that Jill and Jack are spoilsports. They’re who they always are on their three shared beers, while me on absinthe? I’m pretty damn entertained. Or entertaining, I don’t know. Mari and Anna find me entertaining, and Haakon thinks I’m hot. Yass!

  “I’m not going home either,” Andreas announces. “Ready to party, Kris?”

  “Yep. Partay.”

  Andreas can’t babysit you, Jill mouths. She has to mouth it four times and finally whisper it into my ear for me to get it. By then, Haakon has returned, which I know because he secures an arm around my stomach and it makes me bounce everywhere inside.

  “What’s going on?” he asks like we’re a couple like Jill and Jack. “What are we doing?”

  “Going home and to bed was the plan,” Jill says.

  “Mmm.” I don’t know why that hummed little sound from Haakon goes straight to my lower region. Or no, I do know.

  “We wanted to catch the last tram. We’d have to run for it though, and I’m trying to convince our girl here to come with us.”

  “Do you want to go home?” He turns me in his arms and lifts my chin. I swallow hard.

  “Nope, not really. Iz early right?” I lost a “t” in transition there.

  “Oh yes. It’s so, so early.”

  Chapter Six

  Date Night

  “Careful, Kristen. The Vikings were prolific breeders. Did you know that one in thirty-three men are of Viking descent? They slept with everyone.”

  Yet another annoying snippet from Kara. It’s hazy though, real hazy, and the path in front of me is double. No. That’s not it—it’s more like I have tunnel vision.

  Weeeh. That’s the sound I would make if I were a racecar on two wheels with this view.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Of course! Just thinking that we’re walking really fast.”

  He stops. Pushes his hands into my hair and steadies my face. I’m about to obsess over how ridiculously sexy that is when he sucks my lip into his mouth. I let out a whimper, but thank you, absinthe, I’m not even embarrassed at how much I want him.

  “How many more steps?” My vision isn’t the clearest, but those pave stones keep going upward, upward, and upward, like he’s taking me to his home on the top of a rock.

  “A hundred and ten total,” he hiss-whispers. “Can you make it?”

  “You tell me.”

  “We’re about midways.”

  I huff. Between the alcohol and me, we want his clothes off ASAP. Does he smell this good all over?

  I’m panting like an elephant by the time we get to the doorstep. I catch a blur of white—door?, and yellow—doorbell? he’s not using. There’s a lot of kissing and touching our way down a corridor to more stairs, indoor this time. I make whiny-noises, about to complain about this too, but then I don’t because he sucks my complaints right off my tongue.

  So many stairs. Corridors. Finally, we’re in his room, and I instantly launch myself on the bed. I land on my back, the ceiling above me spinning just enough to make me smile. “Crap, I’m gonna have the hangover from hell tomorrow.”

  “You need to remain awake and work it off.” His kisses travel from my mouth down my throat. Even in my half-numb state, I tingle. It’s like he lights me up wherever his mouth is.

  “Ohhkay, you have a treadmill?”

  “Silly.”

  I have no more jokes, only gasps, when he starts to remove my clothing. Oh he’s got words though. Praise. Some of it breathtakingly dirty. I lift my hips, and his hands tighten around my thighs, helping me off with my pants and underwear.

  Hushed whispers and hot touches. God, we agree on this so hard. It’s like we’ve committed it before, this fluid tango I need to go on. We moan together when he presses his body over me. Against me. Inside of me.

  “You feel amazing,” he praises. “So. Good.”

  I tremble. “You…too…”

  His lips seal mine while we rock together, and it’s delicious, so delicious. I don’t want it to end. But when it does, nothing has made me feel better than seeing Haakon’s eyes scrunched shut in his own climax. The way he jerks inside me. How all of his weight finally sinks and covers me like a blanket.

  It must be early morning, because the light sifting in is dull. Someone’s snoring next to me, and I have a headache. A good one too. Fuzzy memories. Oh no, what happened?

  Actually, it’s pretty obvious what happened. I’m stark naked, and so is the man next to me. Even in the dark, he’s good-looking.

  Schroeder’s!

  I flirted my ass off with Haakon what’s-his-last-name. Jesus H, is it still considered flirting if you go all the way? I flirted my way into his pants is what I did. Maybe I’ll claim hardcore flirting. See what I did there?

  Ughhh. This is bad. I remember we took a taxi here, and that took a while. Bathroom. Ibuprofen. I need all-the-things right now, and I definitely don’t want to ask Haakon for guidance.

  I slip on some shirt and tiptoe into a hallway that doesn’t belong on a student budget. Intricate art and paintings on the walls. Small chests of drawers with plants or statues on top. One door after another parade down the corridor. They’re probably bedrooms, with the occasional bathroom in between. Which is which, though? I can’t just barge in if someone’s sleeping there.

  I take fifteen million minutes cracking a door open only to realize it’s not a bathroom. I take the same amount of bloodshed-worthy time closing it again. Thank the lord no one gets up.

  Next, I spend a fistful of time suppressing the need to whack myself in the head, because the very next door boasts a plaque with a kid peeing into a chamber pot.

  I dive inside. Lock. Hurl a few nuggets into the toilet. Then I move on to my real business: pee and search the entire bathroom for Ibuprofen. Behind bottles of mouth wash and aftershave, I find Ibux, the Norwegian version. I pop a couple and stare at myself in the mirror.

  The noogie Andreas gave me last night really, really worked. He did a bang-up job on my hairdo. Did I look like this all of last night?

  Faintly, I wonder if I’ll have to cut that out. Then there’s the mascara, which has decided that lashes are a bullshit place to remain. By the eyes, I’m a raccoon/albino-rat hybrid.

  There’s no eye-makeup remover here. With two weak fingers, I rub toilet paper dipped in water around my eyes. I give up once it’s clear that my shaky hands only make me look much, much worse. Thanks, Jill, for insisting on waterproof mascara. I owe you one.

  What would Kara say? Yeah, never mind. I trot back to where I came from.

  Haakon is asleep, but he still hauls me in as soon as I slip back under the sheets. Crap, I hope the Ibux starts working soon, because I have carpenters building long corridors and room after room that are not bathrooms inside my skull.

  He kisses me. That’s how I wake up.

  “Hey, beautiful. Slept well?” His voice is raspy and groggy and sexy as all get-out. When I open my eyes it’s to a rainbow-shaped gaze with a slight pink sheen to the white and lightly mussed hair.

  “Mm, yeah. After I found some Ibux.”

  He laughs softly and brushes a batch of frizzy, tangled knots from my face. “And I found you yesterday.”

  “You did. Or I think I found you.” My voice has nothing soft to it. Nope, I sound like every inhale I’ve taken over the last decade has gone through a cigar. Is it hot when a girl’s pitch is octaves lower than
a guy’s?

  “Well, I’m glad. This time I’m not letting you go without a phone number.” His hands move under the duvet again, finding my boobs and my stomach.

  “I don’t feel so good.” I swallow. I think someone’s frying bacon in this house, usually a good smell. Just—I swallow again.

  His hands shift out from under the covers and find my face instead. “Let’s get some food in you. You’ll feel better.”

  “Oh god. No bacon.” I gag a little, which makes him snort out loud.

  “Right, just some crackers and cheese.”

  That doesn’t sound too terrible.

  “I can get them for you.”

  “No.” I stop him when he starts to get up. “I need to get home anyway. I’ve got homework. I might get a call for an internship on Monday. That’s what we were celebrating last night. You know, not getting it, but…having finished a good interview.”

  “That’s awesome. Where do you live?”

  “Kringsjå.”

  “Cool, I’ll drive you. We’ll pick up something to eat and maybe a Coke from the kitchen?”

  “’Kay.” I feel green underneath my problematic hair-and-war-paint combo. I try not to look too pathetic while we get dressed.

  “You got a…” He points. Then he closes in on me to adjust my top. “Hmm, we lost a few buttons last night, it looks like. Sorry.” When I meet his eyes, he drags his teeth over his lower lip. For a second, it triggers some memory, but then I laugh at how not remorseful he is.

  “You’ll get to sew those back on,” I joke, which earns me an impish smile. Geez, I like him so much. Kara might’ve had a point about the irresistible Vikings.

  In the hallway, I whisper, “Where are we anyway? This place is killer. You own or rent?”

  “Neither. It’s my parents’ place. The toilet overflowed at my apartment, so I’m stuck here until the new floors are installed.”

  “That’s the grossest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  His stare gleams. “Turds everywhere. A month’s worth of—”

  “Eww, shut up!”

  He shakes his head, grinning. I gag again.

  Once we’re downstairs in the foyer, reality hits me, and I tug on his hand to stop forward motion. “That bacon smell…”

  “Mm-hmm. It’s my dad. He loves eggs and bacon on the weekends.”

  “So if we go in there”—I squint at an arched doorway with counters and cabinets beyond—“I’ll be meeting the parents?”

  “Guess so. Mom’s probably still upstairs, but yeah, Dad’s cooking. He’s chill though, no worries.”

  Right. “Hello, sir. I’m Miss Raccoon-Face whom your son for some reason decided to have a one-nighter with.”

  “Shit, are you serious? I can’t, Haakon.”

  He kisses the top of my head. It makes my heart flutter. “Don’t be a wuss. Let’s just say hi, grab the goods, and head off. Dad’s the curious type, so if you don’t come with me on your own, he’ll probably come out and greet you.”

  Again: shit.

  I tuck my body behind Haakon’s and hold onto his hand life-raft-style as he walks us into the kitchen. I can’t help peeking though, wondering if Dad looks anything like his son.

  The bacon sizzles in the pan, sending steam into the range hood. From behind, the man in front of it has Haakon’s exact build. Tall and slender, with a posture that speaks of confidence, dirty blond hair that’s shorter than his son’s. I register apron straps around his waist and neck. How cute.

  “Hei, Pappa. You’re up early.”

  “Hei! Oh, we’re speaking English this morning?” The father turns. “Who do we have here? Might she be the reason for the choice of language?”

  “Yep, that’d be it.” Haakon’s tone is light. “This is Kristen Johansen. She’s a little shy,” he adds, so I duck out from behind him and try to straighten for a good impression. Soot-masked or not. Knotty-haired or not. Ashen with the urge to vomit or not.

  I’m slum material when his father swings fully and eyes the same color as Haakon’s, the same rainbow-shaped delight, lower to mine and freeze.

  I can’t move. Haakon steps to the side, and from the corner of my eye, I catch his eyebrows sinking in confusion.

  His father snaps out of our stare-down first. Then he takes my hand and holds it. “Kristen. I’m Haakon’s father, Rikard Guttormsen. Nice to see you again.”

  Chapter Seven

  Nepotism

  “Wow, you’ve played every card you could possibly have so badly. I wish I were there. I’d have held your ears and you’d never even have met that guy, Haakon. What the frick happened after all that?”

  It’s been a week since my sleepover at the prime minister’s house, and I’ve dodged Kara’s calls for too long. I’m on Skype now, and her eyes are so round they’re about to pop out of her skull. “Did he kick you out of the competition for sleeping with his son?”

  “Ha.” I think back to that Saturday. Sunday. Monday. How I didn’t accept Haakon’s calls and wasn’t going to officially be home when he came and knocked on my door. Everyone had a hard time lying for me, even Andreas.

  “They didn’t call me from the prime minister’s office on Monday, no.”

  “Ha, figures. It’d be nepotism if they took you on.”

  “They didn’t call me on Tuesday either.”

  “See, that’s one thing I always thought about Vikings. Norwegians, whatever. They’re punctual and keep their word. If they said they’d call you, I’d have thought they would, even if it was to give you bad news. ’Cause they’re blunt too.”

  “You’re right. The prime minister’s office called on Wednesday.”

  “No way. And?”

  Andreas lumbers into focus, stretching his stubble-faced neck and blinking away last night’s hangover. “That your friend Kara?”

  “Ohmigod, you’re dating the Viking now?” She slams her hands over her mouth and rears into her back cushion.

  I twist to examine my roommate. Seconds in, I can’t take it and burst out laughing. He does look the part. Come to think of it, Andreas acts the part too and only lacks a good old Viking helmet to be the part.

  “What’s so funny, Kristen? And you: if you as much as—” She starts over again. “You treat my best friend well, or I’ll be coming for you, like, tomorrow!” She leans into the screen for emphasis.

  “Holy hell. Is she high-strung or what?” Andreas mutters.

  “Kara, sorry. Meet my roommate, Andreas. Andreas, this is indeed Kara.”

  “Oh boy.” Kara’s huff is a mixture of anger and amusement. “You got me there.”

  I don’t let her rest though. It’s time for the big guns, so I tow Haakon into the picture. He plops down behind me and pulls me into his lap so we both fill her screen. Kara sucks in a wild breath and manages, “Wha?”

  Funny how different her response is this time. “Meet Haakon. I know his last name now too. It’s Haakon Guttormsen.”

  “Hi Kara, I’ve heard a lot about you and your Viking stories.”

  My friend looks bewildered at this. “Okay…?”

  “Mhm. Kristen took some convincing, but I’m stubborn when I know what I want.” God, that is sexy. Once this convo is over, we’re locking the door to my room.

  There’s incredulity and protectiveness all over Kara’s face. “But…what happened to the internship?”

  “Well, my father needed to do some thinking. I helped him with that.”

  “Nepotism.” Kara coughs it out.

  “Whatever! It’s not nepotism when someone has an interview before they sleep with someone’s son.” Petulant and not overly bright. That pretty much sums me up at the moment.

  “Who cares? If I met Kristen through my father, you bet I’d still do my best to catch her.” Haakon slides a lock of my hair between his fingers, making me shiver.

  Kara’s awe fades quickly. Now, her glare finds me. “I warned you. Over and over, I warned you. Stay away, because they’re freaking magnetic, t
he lot of them. Even the enemy chicks knew it…Ah and you still went and did all of it!”

  “Hypnotic.”

  “What?”

  “I mean: true.”

  Kara groans, all pretenses gone. “Fuck. Now you’ll never come home.”

  THE END

  About The Author

  Born in the Land of the Midnight Sun, Sunniva Dee spent her early twenties making the world her playground. Southern Europe: Spain, Italy, Greece--Argentina: Buenos Aires, in particular. The United States finally kept her interest, and after half a decade in Los Angeles, she now lounges in the beautiful city of Savannah.

  This author is the happiest when her characters let their emotions run off with them, shaping her stories in ways she never foresaw. She loves bad-boys and good-boys run amok, and like in real life, her goal is to keep the readers on your toes until the end of each story.

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  Acknowledgements

  Limitless Publishing would like to thank all the authors who shared their stories with us to make this Beer Goggles Anthology.

  We are very proud of the wonderful team we are able to work with every day.