by Jessica Ashe
Now I didn’t want to go home.
“You’re daydreaming again, babe,” Ellie whispered in my ear.
I came to my senses and saw a man—presumably Thomas—waiting for me to hand over his soy latte.
“Sorry,” I muttered, as I handed over the drink.
“Still dreaming about your Prince Charming?” Ellie teased.
She knew I’d come to England hoping to be swept off my feet by a Benedict Cumberbatch look-alike. The closest I’d come was taking a drink order from someone who looked a bit like a younger, uglier version of Martin Freeman.
“There’s still time,” I replied. “You must have some charming men around here.”
“If there are, I ain’t found any of them. And let me tell you, that one you locked lips with last night was no Prince Charming.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “Turns out not all the frogs turn into princes after a kiss.”
“I might be able to hook you up with a friend tomorrow night if you’re interested?”
“No, thank you,” I replied immediately. “I’m still having nightmares about the last guy you set me up with. You told me he looked like a famous soccer player.”
“Football player,” she corrected. “And I wasn’t lying.”
“Yes, but you failed to tell me that the soccer player in question was Wayne Rooney.”
“You wouldn’t have known who he was, even if I had told you.”
“I could have googled him. I turned up expecting to meet someone who looked like David Beckham.”
Ellie laughed loudly, and then quickly covered her mouth as the customers looked up to glare at her. “Okay, fair play, that guy was a bit of a stinker. Tell you the truth, he was sniffing around me so I used you to get him off my case.”
“Have I told you what a good friend you are lately?”
“No, you haven’t said that in a while.”
“Yeah, go figure.”
The rush of customers had died down now that lectures for the day had started, but a few more wandered in looking worse for wear. It was the same every Friday morning. Thursday night was the big student night at the local club, and we were still far enough from exams that people were going to every event they could hoping to hook up.
I’d been one of them. I’d even latched on to a nice enough guy who seemed capable of holding a conversation. But he kept drinking. And drinking. Eventually he ended up not even knowing the way home. If he didn’t know the way home, he wouldn’t know the way to anything else important. No thank you.
The café I worked in was staffed nearly entirely by students, and most of them were clever enough to insist on not working Fridays. I hadn’t known any better when I started, so now I always had to work one of the busiest and most understaffed shifts available. Wasn’t I lucky?
“Let’s go out tonight,” Ellie said, while we stood next to each other pouring coffees. The smell of fresh coffee did wonders for my hangover, but the heat made me sweaty and sticky. Not a particularly attractive combination.
“I went out last night,” I replied.
“I know, I was there. You’re a student. You’re supposed to go out all the time.”
“Yes, but I’m a mature student. I don’t have the energy for that any more.”
“You’re twenty-three, Sophia. Not fifty-three.”
I considered it for a moment, but shook my head. Every night was the same. It would start well. Guys would smile at me, some of them would come over. We’d chat, we’d flirt, we’d kiss.
And then someone would suggest doing shots.
British men could certainly handle their drink, but they didn’t know their limits. The men would egg each other on until they were all “completely plastered,” and that would be the end of my dreams for the evening.
I wouldn’t quite say I regretted coming to England, but it hadn’t been all I’d hoped for either. It was still better than what I’d left behind; a broken engagement, and a broken heart.
“You’re coming,” Ellie insisted.
“Why? So I can meet more immature students?” I grabbed the finished coffee and walked back to the counter. “Americano for Laura,” I yelled out, as I slapped the coffee down and took another order.
“We’re not going to a student club,” Ellie continued when I made it back to the cappuccino machine. “Dani got us into Viva. It’s over twenty-ones only, so the clientèle is a little more upmarket.”
“Can’t be that upmarket if they’re letting you in.”
“I will have you know,” Ellie said, putting on a posh, upper-class accent, “I can be perfectly sublime when I go to the effort.” She flicked her hair for good measure, before reverting back to her normal voice. “Plus, Dani sucked off the bouncer last night, so he’ll let us in.”
“I don’t know… I have so much work to do.”
“I’m not taking no for an answer. This place is uber-sophisticated. They don’t sell any drinks that cost less than £10.”
“Well now you’ve sold me,” I replied sarcastically. “I can spend an entire month’s wages in one night.”
Ellie rolled her eyes, but another customer appeared before she could reply. Ellie disappeared to take the order, while I tried—and failed—to make a flower in the foam of the coffee. How did people do that?
“Why do people order tea in a place like this?” Ellie asked after serving the customer. “We’re literally just sticking a tea bag in hot water. How lazy do you have to be not to do that at home? I mean, it’s one thing it you’re making a proper brew with milk and all, but this is just green tea.”
She poured some hot water, and walked back to the counter with a big smile. “Here you go,” she said cheerfully to the customer she’d just insulted. For a brief moment, I thought I’d escaped a lecture, but I should have known better. “Look, you’re always complaining about not meeting charming English gentleman. That’s because you’ve been looking in the wrong places. I mean, look around here.” Ellie waved an arm around the café. “Hardly a prize pool, is it?”
“I guess not,” I admitted.
Most of the guys here were friendly enough, but I had to admit that none of them excited me in any way. I recognized a few from class, but a lot of them were undergrads. They were only a couple of years younger than me, but it made a huge difference.
“We need to meet some older gentleman,” Ellie said. “Ones who know how to treat a lady.”
“And you,” I joked.
“I can be a lady, thank you very much. Right up until the moment I get them naked that is.”
A smile crept across my face, but I quickly shook it off. “I can’t afford it.”
“Sophia, I don’t know how things work in your country, but over here pretty young things like us don’t have to pay for our own drinks. We’ll just sit there at the bar and wait for men to come over.”
Ellie turned her back to me and went to serve a customer before I could argue. Typical. She appeared by my side again before I’d even had time to sigh in frustration.
“I’ll do you a deal,” she said excitedly. “I’ll let you serve the next customer, if you agree to come out tonight.”
I must have misheard her. “Wait, you want me to do more work, and in return you get what you want?”
“Trust me on this,” she added with a wink. “You’re going to want to serve the next customer.”
I didn’t have the energy to argue, and at least work kept me busy. I walked toward the customer, brushing the chocolate dust from my hands onto my apron as I did so.
Then I looked up at the man waiting in line.
Oh. Shit.
Chapter Three
George
“What can I get you?” the young brunette asked. Was that an American accent?
Boy, did I wake up in the wrong bed this morning. Sabrina was cute, but this barista was stunning. An apron stopped me getting a decent view of her cleavage, but she had her sleeves rolled up revealing soft, tanned skin. More tanned than I usually sa
w in the north of England.
Loose strands of hair clung to her face where she’d been sweating, no doubt caused by the steam pouring out of the coffee machines. It was a look I wouldn’t mind seeing again in my bed.
“I’ll have an Americano,” I said, just as she started to look a little creeped out by me staring at her. “But put two shots of espresso in there. And then I’ll have an espresso on the side as well.” I looked at her name badge and added “thank you, Sophia.”
“What’s your name?” Sophia asked.
“George. You want my phone number too?”
She rolled her eyes and held up the coffee cup, making sure I could see her write my name on it in marker pen.
“Where’s that accent from?” I asked.
“I’m American,” she said softly.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Well, it can’t be helped. Where exactly are you from? I’m guessing California.”
“Good guess,” she replied. “Most people assume I’m from New York for some reason.”
“Most people are idiots,” I said as I tapped my card against the machine to pay. “You don’t sound anything like a New Yorker.”
I couldn’t claim to be a huge fan of the New York accent, but I was a fan of the women. I’d had some mind-blowing experiences with New Yorkers, but—other than a certain actress—I couldn’t recall shagging any Californians. That might have to change, and what better place to start than the one right here on my doorstep?
“Are you a student here?” I asked. If she was, she must be close to graduating, because she was at least twenty-one, if not older. The eighteen-year-old from last night—and this morning—had been fun, but I did crave a little more experience in a woman.
“Yes,” Sophia said, as she handed me a receipt. “I’ll go make your drinks.”
“I’ll do them,” a cheerful voice called out from behind Sophia. “Americano with a double shot, and then a shot of espresso on the side.”
“Thanks, Ellie,” Sophia said curtly, in a way that made it clear Ellie’s help was not in fact appreciated.
“Do you want them for here or to go?” Ellie called out to me.
“You know, I was going to get them to go, but all of a sudden I have a desire to stay.”
My hangover wouldn’t be helped by the irritating sound of students typing furiously on laptops while listening to shitty music on headphones. However, I only had two more weeks. I had to take any opportunity to have fun while I still could.
“How long will you be in England for?” I asked.
“Another six months. I’m studying for my masters.”
Six months? Interesting. Six months was about how long I needed to be married for to claim my inheritance. That’s what Alisa and I had agreed to do until she went and bailed on me.
I was getting ahead of myself. So far she didn’t even look interested in serving me my coffee, let alone anything else.
“Sampled any of the local delicacies yet?” I asked with a suggestive smile.
“Are you talking about food, or… something else?”
“Let’s say I’m talking about food.”
“Okay. I’ve tried some of the local food.”
Why did I feel a weird sensation in my chest when she said that? That was a new one. I’d never been bothered by women talking about other men before.
“What did you think?” I asked the question, although I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear the answer.
“Let’s just say the appetizers were non-existent, the main course was over rather quickly, and I never even saw a dessert menu.”
“Portion sizes?”
“So far I really do believe everything is bigger in America.”
“I’m disappointed in my fellow countrymen,” I said honestly. I didn’t like to think of her with other men, but at the very least they should have kept her satisfied. This was a woman who deserved orgasm after orgasm until she was too exhausted to move. I was already picturing just how I would arrange that.
I stepped closer to the counter to hide the bulge in my trousers that threatened to make itself known ahead of schedule.
“How about I take you out to a restaurant where the appetizers are just as good—if not better—than the main course, and you are guaranteed to finish your meal before I do.”
“Tempting,” she replied. “But I think I’ll pass. You look like a guy who has eaten at all the food joints on campus and probably most of the restaurants in the city too.”
Ellie came over with the coffee, but she looked reluctant to interrupt our conversation. That told me everything I needed to know. Sophia was going through a dry spell, and her friend wanted to help her out.
It also told me that Sophia was stubborn, because she was doing her best to fend me off. That wouldn’t last long, but I admired her for trying.
I grabbed my coffee, and took a seat at the only empty table in the place. I moved the seat so that I could sit with my back to the wall and look up at Sophia between sips of my coffee.
She’d seen what was on the menu, and wouldn’t be able to resist for long. She was hungry, and a Michelin star restaurant was offering her a three course meal. It was only a matter of time before she caved.
* * *
Hurry up, Sophia. I can only make this coffee last so long.
I’d necked the espresso back like I was an idiot student downing shots to impress women at the bar. That had sparked part of my brain back to life, but not enough that I could actually concentrate on emails or work.
Not that I really had a job at the moment. Not unless you counted ‘trying to convince the trustee of Mum’s estate to hand over my inheritance,’ as a full-time job. I needed to get my hands on that money soon, or I’d have to give in to my destiny and ruin my life. Either way, I needed money desperately to pay off debts, and I couldn’t hang around forever.
The news will be out in two weeks.
My plan with Alisa had been nearly foolproof. ‘Nearly’ being the crucial word. Alisa would marry me, hang around for six months, and then disappear. By that time, I’d have claimed my inheritance, and she’d have a nice, tidy sum for her troubles.
Everybody won.
But then Alisa backed out, and soon I’d be more screwed than a waitress serving coffee to Tiger Woods.
I should have had a back-up plan in place, but now it was too late.
The doors opened as groups of students started milling in while having a heated discussion about some BS social issue of the week. The first class of the day must have just finished, which meant I’d been here about an hour already. Most of that time had been spent looking at Sophia.
Time well spent, I’d say.
I’d caught her staring at me a few times as well. One minute, she appeared shy and reserved, and the next she looked hard-edged and determined. Maybe she was all those things. All I knew for sure was that she was beautiful. Anyone who could look that good while preparing coffee in unflattering clothes and an apron definitely deserved my attention, and a hell of a lot more besides.
Three girls burst into the café in a triangle formation, like you saw on American teen movies. Leader at the front—typical head cheerleader type—with two hangers on just behind her. They walked past the counter and appeared to be heading straight for me. It wasn’t unusual for women to make a beeline for me, but they looked mad. Friends of Sabrina perhaps?
“I know what you did last night,” one of the women yelled loudly.
I opened my mouth to tell her it was none of her business, but then realized she wasn’t talking to me. Her words were aimed at a girl sat down at the table next to me. She’d been working studiously on something that was either a maths problem, or a translation of an alien language. Same thing in my book.
The girl pulled headphones out of her ears, and looked up nervously. “What’s going on?”
“Don’t play fucking innocent with me, Jody. You shagged Abib last night.”
“I—”
“And don’t deny it. He’s
already told the entire chemistry class what a slut you are.”
I caught Sophia looking on anxiously, as were most of the students. Sophia probably felt right at home, because this was like a scene straight from an American high school. At least, it was if Mean Girls was in any way accurate, and I assumed it was. Hollywood movies never lied.
“It’s none of your business what I did,” the girl responded. She tried her best to sound defiant, but it wasn’t convincing anyone. I could tell immediately that she had slept with this Abib guy, and she looked embarrassed by the entire situation.
She didn’t need to be. She was a student. She’d had sex. How was that something to be ashamed about in this day and age?
“It is my fucking business,” the leader yelled back. I assumed her name was Regina. “You knew I liked him.”
Oh bloody hell, this was pathetic.
“Excuse me, love,” I said calmly, but not quietly. “Some of us are trying to work here. Can’t you have this conversation over Snapchat or something?”
“No,” the girl snapped back, standing up straight. “Because I want the whole uni to know that Jody is a slut.”
“I’m not—”
“You’re a whore.”
Jody looked a little closer to tears now. Far too close for my liking. Her strong façade had been quickly stripped away by the twenty or so pairs of eyes now focused on her.
“Let me get this straight,” I said calmly. “You think Jody is a slut, because she slept with a guy you wanted to sleep with.”
“That’s literally the dictionary definition of the word slut.”
Hm, incorrect use of the word ‘literally.’ Had I been teleported to America overnight?
“But you would have slept with him if you could?” I asked.
“Well, yes, but—”
“So if Jody is a slut for sleeping with him, what does that make you? A slut-in-training? An apprentice slut? I’m a Star Wars fan, so I like the term ‘Padawan.’ Perhaps you could be Jody’s Padawan and she’ll teach you how to trick guys into actually sleeping with you.”
