He’d drained me.
Again.
And then he stretched out his hand in my direction with an urgency that told me he needed to know what I felt like and said, “Hi.” There was a slight pause before he added, “I’m Oliver Bennett.”
With the same curiosity, I clasped our hands, and I was transfixed by his strength, at the length of his fingers, and the size of his palm. His skin wasn’t sweaty. It was just hot, warming me from the outside in.
“Chloe Kennedy.” I was shocked at the sound of my voice. I had no idea where it had come from, but it felt right to give him my name.
“You’re American … I fucking knew it.”
My brows rose. “How? You hadn’t heard me speak.”
“Ah,” he sighed, but it was different than just releasing a breath. He did it gradually, his lips drawing in my attention as they widened into a smile.
One that was positively beautiful.
I focused on his grin until it became obvious.
Then, our gazes locked, and he added, “I could smell it on you.”
I laughed, mostly out of nerves and not knowing how to respond and because I believed that a guy with a stare as experienced as Oliver’s could smell it on me.
I glanced down, needing a break again, my chest so tight, as I was overwhelmed from his eyes.
I hadn’t had feelings like this back at home. I hadn’t ever been early to class, my schedule was far too tight to allow that, and I just hadn’t had time for conversations like this one.
This moment taught me how much I had been missing.
“Where are you from, Chloe?”
I waited for the air to move into my throat before I could say, “A small town on the coast of Maine, but I go to school in Boston. Or did.” I laughed, and it was so needed. “I mean, I’m just here for the semester.”
He said nothing for several seconds, the passion in his gaze intensifying, and my hand began squeezing the scarf with a whole new kind of force.
I didn’t know why, but it felt like I was standing completely naked in front of him, baring my soul, and it was so hard to breathe.
I couldn’t remember a time when anyone had ever looked at me the way he was right now.
“Have you been to London before?”
As I shook my head, I saw the other students begin to fill into the room, and I knew class would be starting soon. “First time to Europe.”
“You’re daring.”
“It probably was a little crazy of me, but”—I inhaled and swallowed, and both were so difficult—“I’m here.”
“Yes”—his eyes dipped and came right back—“that you are.”
“Welcome to International Marketing, Planning, and Strategy,” the professor said from the front of the class.
Except my back was to the teacher and I was facing Oliver.
I gave Oliver a smile, he returned it, and I reluctantly turned around.
Even though my hands were on the keyboard as I waited to hear something worth typing, my mind was on the gorgeous guy behind me. And while the professor lectured, I couldn’t stop thinking about the way he had looked at me, how his lips had lifted when he grinned, how I could even feel his charm in the air.
How he was sitting only inches behind me.
It was those thoughts that kept my mind so busy that I didn’t hear the dismissal of class. And I didn’t know until I saw the movement on both sides of me, telling me it was over.
I glanced back at my computer screen and saw I hadn’t typed a single word.
This wasn’t the way to start the first class of the semester, and I was so disappointed in myself.
I closed my laptop and reached for the bag on the floor, sliding my computer inside. I stood to put on my jacket, and just as I turned, anxious to see Oliver’s face, I saw he was gone. I glanced toward the door, hoping to catch the back of him, but I didn’t get that either.
I didn’t know why; I didn’t know how it was even possible.
But I missed him.
Three
I was standing in front of the case of sandwiches at the market by our dorm. I wasn’t sure how many times I’d read the short descriptions under each variety, but the more time I stood here, the thicker my tongue got.
I had officially survived my first night out in London, and I was positive it would be a while before I could stand the sight of another beer.
If we’d had something in our fridge back at the dorm, I wouldn’t have forced myself out of bed. But my stomach couldn’t wait for food to be delivered, and this was the only way to soak up all the alcohol, helping me recover from one of the worst hangovers in my life.
“Can I make a suggestion?” I heard from behind me.
It was that voice again. That accent. The one from two days ago that had come minutes before the start of my International Marketing class.
The one I’d thought about almost every moment since.
Out of all the times I could have run into him, I wouldn’t have chosen now. Not when I hadn’t showered and I was dressed in yoga pants, a wrinkled tank buried beneath my jacket, a messy bun on top of my head, and last night’s makeup that I still hadn’t washed off, hidden behind my aviators.
But at this point, there was nowhere to hide. So, I croaked, “Please,” and hoped he could hear the embarrassment in my voice and offer me a cure. “I will try anything to make this go away.”
He moved closer, and my entire body stiffened, a movement that ricocheted through my stomach, causing me to almost dry-heave.
He paused there for what felt like forever, and then I heard a laugh and, “You got pissed last night, didn’t you?”
He’d smelled me.
I had no idea how I felt about that, and my stomach wasn’t going to give me a chance to even think about it.
“Help me,” I groaned.
“The cure isn’t in that fridge.”
I couldn’t put it off any longer, so I gripped the strap of my purse that hung across my body, and I slowly turned around to face him. I was so thankful I’d remembered to put on sunglasses, so they not only hid the disaster that was behind them, but also the way I was gawking at him.
He had that careless look going on even though he was well groomed in an oversize hoodie and winter hat, gray jogging pants, and sneakers.
“Where is it?” I asked.
“Down the road a bit.”
The thought of spending more time with Oliver was almost too much for my hangover. But I also knew there was no way I would pass up this opportunity. So, I tightened the scarf around my face and said, “Be easy on me. I feel like I’m going to die.”
His hand went to my lower back, and he moved us out of the store. “Are you okay?” he asked once we got outside.
Even with the cold hitting me, I nodded, and he began to weave us around the large groups of pedestrians on the sidewalk, making sure I never strayed more than a few inches. We went over cobblestone walkways and through a long, narrow passage. Once we reached the end of it, we went down a staircase that dropped us not far from Buckingham Palace, and within a block, we were going into a pub. I’d heard the name from one of the girls on my floor, mentioning it was a place we should check out. But as soon as I got past the door, I was immediately hit with a stench my stomach hated.