Girl Abroad

Part 5 – December

FOR THE PAST COUPLE WEEKS, OUR ENCOUNTERS HAVE BEEN confined to Netflix and Nate’s sofa. Which suits me fine, because Jack is still giving me the cold shoulder at home, and I have no intention of advertising my situation with Nate to the rest of the house. Better it stays uncomfortably between the three of us for now.

But tonight, after we’ve ordered Thai food, eaten it in bed, and then burned off the calories thanks to another bed activity, I’m finally starting to feel a little stir-crazy.

“Shall we go for a ride?” Nate suggests as he pulls a T-shirt over his bare chest. Clearly I’m not the only one with ants in my pants.

“Now?” I glance at the clock on his nightstand. It’s late. 12:25 a.m. But I’m feeling energized after our naked time. “You know what? Sure.”

“That’s my girl.”

I know he doesn’t mean anything serious by that, but the words my girl leaving Nate’s sexy mouth send a thrill skittering up my spine.

He shrugs into his jacket and shoves a black wool hat over his messy hair while I put on my coat, scarf, and gloves.

Outside Nate’s three-story building, the street is teeming with Saturday night pedestrians leaving the bars and pubs, most of which stop pouring between eleven and midnight. But there’s a club at the end of Nate’s block that stays open till 3:00 a.m., so his neck of the woods tends to be more lively past midnight.

Nate hands me a helmet as he throws his leg over his motorcycle and starts the engine.

Climbing on the bike behind him, I lock my arms tight around his waist and brace for the frigid wind as he pulls out onto the street. With no destination in mind, we cruise the lit London streets until the colors recede and the way grows inky black. I feel like I’m in a nineties teen drama. The hour grows later and later as the motorcycle flies through the city streets. At some point, shiny condos give way to warehouses and boarded-up buildings, and as Nate slows at an approaching intersection, the faint sound of drum and bass greets my ears.

“Where’s that music coming from?” I demand.

“No idea,” he calls back. “Shall we find out?”

“Absolutely.”

And that’s how we find ourselves chasing a drumbeat, straining our ears and keeping our eyes out for the source of the music. It’s two thirty in the morning, and I’m wide awake, riding on a motorcycle with my own personal British bad boy. It’s surreal. Unforgettable.

At a corner with no street sign, the bass line is practically vibrating in the pavement below the bike. Or maybe that’s the bike vibrating. But Nate seems to think he’s found our music venue. He turns into a gravel industrial park, drives past broken windows and shipping containers, behind one of the buildings, and then the warehouse comes into view. The lot in front of it is packed with parked cars, scooters, and motorcycles.

“What is this place? A club?”

Nate shuts off the engine, then sets the bike on its kickstand. “You’re in luck. I do believe we’ve stumbled upon a rave.”

“Holy shit. Really?”

Excited, I climb off the motorcycle, removing my helmet. I give my head a vigorous shake to de-helmet my hair, until the long red strands cascade freely over my shoulders. When I’m done, I find Nate watching me with heat in his eyes.

“What?” I say.

“You’ve no idea how hot that was, do you?”

I feel myself blushing. Every time he looks at me, it completely does me in. Makes me feel desirable. Exposed.

“You ever been to one of these?” I ask him, trying to quell the rising sexual tension between us. We’re in public, for Pete’s sake.

“Not in years. Reckon I’m overdue an all-nighter at a rave. Shall we have a look?”

“Let’s do it.”

We walk toward the entrance of the warehouse, where a huge, beefy bouncer informs us the cover charge is twenty quid each. Nate peels some bills from his wallet, hands them over, and then we’re inside, greeted by a blast of EDM and utter darkness.

I search for his hand and hold it tight, expecting something to jump out at me as we find ourselves traversing a long pitch-black tunnel. Instead, the tunnel opens to a cavernous room with projected images on the walls, floor, and low ceiling. It’s a seemingly random splash of colors and images. A kaleidoscope of lights assaults my eyes as we’re thrust into the belly of the warehouse amid hundreds, if not thousands, of bodies and thumping music. Lights spray over our heads and move color in all directions. I can hear the live drums, guitars, and electric violin, but I can’t see the stage over the bobbing heads.

“Oh my God,” I shout in Nate’s ear. “This is amazing!”

His answering grin tells me the shock and awe on my face are obvious.

“Dance with me,” I beg him. I shove my phone and little card wallet in the back pocket of my jeans, then unbutton my coat and grab for Nate’s hand.

I don’t peg Nate for the dancing type, but he indulges me. Our coats come off, tossed into some dark alcove that I hope we’ll be able to find again later. We’re close and sweaty and touching everywhere when we make our way into the crowd. We dance for so long I feel light-headed and deprived of oxygen.

“It suits you,” he says against my hair as we dance, his hands skimming down my back and resting on my ass.This text is property of Nô/velD/rama.Org.

“What?”

“Freedom.”

No one pays any attention when he leans in to kiss me. Deep and hungry. His fingers bite into my overheated flesh as his tongue explores my mouth. I’m breathless. Helpless to stop the lust and excitement and giddy joy that runs rampant in my blood.

I break the kiss and peer up at him.

“I wish I could suck you off right here on the dance floor,” I find myself confessing.

Nashville Abbey would never have voiced such a filthy thought, but Nate’s resulting groan tells me how much he likes the idea.

“Bloody hell,” he growls when I reach between us and teasingly run my hand over his groin. “Don’t start something we can’t finish, baby.”

I think it’s the first time he’s called me that.

And the first time I’ve felt like I truly hold power over a man. Not in a malevolent way but that feminine power of seduction, persuasion. The thrilling sense that I could bring him to his knees with one touch, one heated look. It’s an incredible rush.

When we finally emerge into the damp early dawn, I almost don’t remember who I am. It’s like walking out of a dark movie theater into the blinding sun where you aren’t a rebel space pilot.

“That was incredible.” Leaning against his motorcycle, I pause to catch my breath.

“Didn’t realize I had a little exhibitionist on my hands,” he says with smoldering eyes.

“Didn’t realize I had those tendencies,” I answer mischievously.

“Let’s go back to mine?” Nate cages me against his bike with his arms on either side of me, kissing my neck.

I beg off the suggestion. “Do you mind dropping me off at my place instead? I’m gross. I need a shower.”

And I’m about ready to collapse. I don’t know how my dad kept up with stuff like this for twenty years. It never occurred to me how exhausting all those exploits must have been. Guess that’s why they invented cocaine.

“You can shower at my place,” he says with a crooked grin. “We could shower together.”

As tempting as that is, I just want to collapse into my pillows and sleep for a week. “Next time.”

“Tease.”

He hands me the coat I blessedly didn’t lose at the rave, and we settle in for the ride home. Nothing’s ever felt more refreshing than the cold morning air blowing across my skin as we make our way back to Notting Hill. This early, there are hardly any cars on the road. London is relatively quiet, shining with dew and sparkling in the sunlight. The perfect beautiful end to an extraordinary night.

Or it would have been, if not for Jack stepping out the front door when Nate drops me off at the house. He’s shirtless in a pair of jogging pants and sneakers. Pauses only long enough to spot Nate at the curb over my shoulder, then puts in his earbuds, hardly acknowledging my existence before passing me to jog down the sidewalk.

“Call me later,” I tell Nate, planting a quick kiss on his cheek.

“Abbey.”

“Yeah?” I stop halfway up the stoop, turning to find Nate watching me with contemplative eyes.

“You’re bloody fantastic.”

The compliment comes out of nowhere and makes my heart skip a beat.

“Oh. Thanks.” I give him a broad smile. “And thank you for tonight. I’ll never forget it.”

I duck into the house, still feeling myself blushing as I hurry up the stairs. After a shower, I put myself to bed tangled in knots again. As wonderful as last night was, it’s not enough to distract me from the thickening tension between me and Jack. I’m not sure yet what I’m going to do about it, but I know the status quo is unsustainable.

Later, Nate calls me as promised. I’m reading at the kitchen counter when my phone lights up, so I mark my page and answer, smiling when his husky voice fills my ear.

“I’ve good news and bad news,” he says in lieu of greeting. “Which would you like to hear first?”

“Bad, obviously.”

He chuckles. “Forever the optimist.”

“Or am I saving the best for last?” I counter.

“No. You’re just a cynic.”

“How dare you.” I trace my finger along the spine of my book. It’s about famous boat disasters, but so far, the information about the Victoria sinking has been bare bones. “All right, tell me the bad part.”

“I’m off to Dublin tomorrow evening for ten days. The band booked a gig at a three-day winter festival over there, so we’re making a lads’ trip out of it.”

“This sounds like good news,” I point out.

“You won’t see my dashing face for nearly two weeks. I reckon you’ll be devastated.”

“Hilarious. You’re fucking hilarious.” But I’m smiling to myself. Laid-back, jokey Nate is a rare treat. “Seriously, though, that’s good news. Sucks you’ll be gone for so long, but booking a festival is great.”

“Pays great too. Which is the good news. Thanks to this gig, I’ll be able to squeeze in a short trip to Budapest in the spring.”

“Nice. And your work’s okay with you taking ten days off?”

“My bandmate’s wife owns the bar. One of the perks of the job.”

“Ah. Lucky.” I shift the phone to my other ear. “Make sure to send me a gazillion pics from Dublin. I’ve never been. But my dad has some pretty wild stories about hanging out with Bono at an Irish charity event they did together.”

Even as I say the words, my spirits sink slightly. There I go again, living vicariously through my father.

“Yes, but has your dad ever spontaneously hunted down a rave at three in the morning and danced all night with the hottest bloke in London?”

“This new conceited side? I’m digging it, Nate. Keep it up.”

But not only did he succeed in cheering me up, he also proved how well he’s beginning to know me. That he understands how vital it is for Abbey Bly to live a life separate from Gunner Bly’s.

His laughter tickles my ear. “I’ll try. And I’ll be sure to send plenty of photos from Dublin.” There’s a telling pause, then, “I’m going to miss you.”

My heart does a somersault. “I’ll miss you too.”