8
KELSEY SPENT TWO more days in Belgrade, but I only saw her once. I’m not sure whether it was the phone call or the interaction with the VIP a*shole, or something else, but she barely left her hostel.
At first, I thought maybe the GPS app was broken or that she’d left without her phone. I decided to head over and check just in case. Just as I was approaching the front desk to ask about her, she walked past in a pair of cotton shorts and a T--shirt.
If I hadn’t spent so much time staring at her, I don’t think I would have recognized her. Her hair was pulled up and wound into a knot on the top of her head. And she wasn’t wearing any makeup. Her normally dramatic eyes were clean and bare. Her long eyelashes a dark blond.
She was still pretty, of course. But a different kind of beauty. It made me imagine lazy days in bed or movie nights on my couch. I thought of how it would feel to be with a girl like Kelsey, to have her comfortable enough with me that she didn’t need the clothes and the makeup and the hair.
To have her be mine.
Somehow, I wanted this version of Kelsey even more, because she felt more real than every other version of her I’d seen so far.
I followed her to the grocery store. She didn’t leave her hostel again until the day she checked out and headed for the train station once more.
In Budapest, it was like she hit the reset button. She was back to that vibrant character that drew everyone’s gaze like a magnet. If possible, she seemed to have turned the volume up even further. Like each night had to outdo the one before it.
After a few days like that, though, I started to recognize patterns of her cycle. Just like before, she would get these quiet moments where she seemed to zone out and forget the part she was playing. Her face would go blank, even as her body kept dancing or partying or whatever.
And I could just tell; another crash was coming. I wondered how long it would take before she gave up trying to fool herself in the same way she fooled the rest of the world.
With another girl and three guys, they ventured into an area of Budapest away from the center of the city. The streetlights became fewer and farther in between, and there were empty storefronts and derelict buildings.
Kelsey didn’t seem to notice. They’d already been drinking for a few hours.
But I was on high alert.
Since arriving in Budapest, Kelsey had been throwing around money like it was nothing. Buying -people drinks and dinner and whatever else it took so they’d treat her like the center of attention.
I was tired for her.
She just tried so damn hard, and I didn’t understand why. She was gorgeous and vibrant, and she didn’t need to do those things for -people to want to be around her. She didn’t need a lot of the things she surrounded herself with.
And throwing around money like that could have dangerous repercussions.
When the group led her into what looked like an abandoned building, my heartbeat thundered in my ears. I gave up stealth and sprinted after them, ignoring the careful distance I’d been trying to keep.
I threw myself through the front door and into a long, dark hallway. Music thumped, bleeding through the walls, and I sighed.
No danger. Just another party.
I followed the hallway until it opened out into some kind of secret bar, like the speakeasies that were popular during prohibition. You had to know where to look to find them.
The bar was a mix of mismatched furniture and odd décor. I imagined that they’d just picked up whatever other -people threw out, and adorned the walls with the weirdest combinations that they could find.
It was definitely the most interesting bar we’d been in yet, and if this had been the first week of our trip, I might have entertained myself studying it all, but at this point, I could care less about seeing another bar.
All my attention was on Kelsey.
I didn’t want her to crash. I thought back to that night in Belgrade, the way she’d just crumpled after that phone call. If that happened again . . . I would do something. I had to, right?
From my perch across the room, I watched her dancing with two of the guys she’d come with. When one of them went back to the bar, she wrapped her arms around the other guy’s neck. When he leaned down to kiss her, I shifted uncomfortably.
Somewhere along the way, I’d given up trying to convince myself to treat this like a mission. It wasn’t possible. She reminded me too much of myself before my fallout. And in letting go of that distinction, I had to embrace the one thing it had kept at bay.
Guilt.
Was protecting her a good enough excuse for prying into her life? For witnessing things that should have remained private?
I felt sick down to my bones, but I kept watching all the same, which is why I had a front--row seat for what should go down in the Guinness World Records book as the best way not to seduce a girl.
She tried to pull back from the kiss, and the guy sucked on her bottom lip like it was a lollypop. She made an expression of horror, and I couldn’t help the laughter that ripped out of my mouth. She was always so calm and put--together and seductive, even when she was sad or drunk, but now her eyes bulged and her expression twisted in disgust.
It was f*cking hilarious.
And when her eyes seemed to stick on me, while her bottom lip was stuck between his teeth, it was déjà vu. Like when I thought she’d seen me in Belgrade. I just assumed I was imagining it again. She finally managed to tug her lip free only for the guy to lick across her cheek. I held my abdomen, my muscles cramping from the first good laugh I’d had in ages. If every night were like this, I could handle her nightly bar crawls a lot easier.
Though those bar crawls would probably stop happening if every guy were like him. Her look of horror shifted from the guy in front of her to me, her eyes swooping down to scan me from head to toe.
Again, I told myself I was imagining it.
She made an excuse to get away, shouting “Toilet!” at the top of her lungs to be heard over the music. Almost as if it were choreographed, every head in the vicinity turned to look at her, but she turned to look at me. The laugh curled up and caught at the base of my throat.
I looked around, and with my back to the wall, there wasn’t anyone else in the vicinity she could have been looking at.
I wasn’t imagining anything.
She saw me. Really saw me.
She threw her hands up in the ultimate f*ck--it--all gesture, and I found myself stepping forward as she exited the dance floor. I told myself it was because of the slight sway on her feet, that I was staying close because she was drunk.
The building was partially demolished in places, including the wall that had been knocked down between the bar area and the dance floor. In dangerously high heels, Kelsey tried to walk over the rubble that had been left behind. Her foot slid in her shoes, and her ankle turned sideways.
I thought she was going to do a face--plant directly on the rubble, so I rushed forward. At the last second, she balanced herself with a hand and then slumped into a sitting position.
I should have backed away.
But then she’d already seen me. And maybe this was my shot. To get some answers. To know her. To help her.
“What?” I asked, fully prepared to see her pouting up at me. “No more locals around to carry you?” Did that make me sound creepy, that I’d seen one of those Hungarian guys pick her up and carry her over the rubble earlier? Or did I just sound like an a*shole?
Both. Probably both.
She looked up at me, and her eyes were dilated in the dim room, that ring of green barely perceptible even though I stood only a few feet away.
She straightened her shoulders and tipped up her chin. “I don’t need anyone to carry me.” Her hands roved over the rocks until she found purchase and started to push herself up. “I’m perfectly—-whoa.” She tilted sideways, her ankle rolling over again and she plopped down on her ass, harder this time. She held her hands up close to her face like she’d hurt them, and I had an indistinct urge, like a tugging at my middle, to do something.
Before she could really hurt herself, I stepped closer, finding a steady place to plant my boot. I hooked an arm underneath her knees, slipped the other around her back, and pulled her up into my arms. Her head lolled back, bumping against my bicep, and then I could feel her breath grazing my neck.
I clenched my jaw and focused on getting through the opening into the room with the bar. She gripped the back of my shirt near my shoulder blade, and the light touch -coupled with the way she was staring at me, made a storm of curses rise in my mind.
You’re one stupid man. F*cking stupid.
“You remind me of God,” she said.
I laughed. Is that how she ended up with a different guy falling all over himself every night? Playing upon their God complexes?
“Well, that’s a new one for me.”
Unless you count—-Jesus Christ, get a job. Jesus Christ, grow up. Jesus Christ, you’re a disappointment. Those were familiar sentiments from my past.
She squinched up her eyes and shook her head in a way that made her look younger and made me want to laugh again.
“I meant . . .” Her frustration was almost endearing. “Let me down. I don’t need anyone to carry me.”
And we were back to abrasive. I wanted to tell her to shed the spoiled exterior because I knew there was something more underneath. But I couldn’t say that. That was exactly what I couldn’t say.
“I don’t care what you think you need.”
She rolled her eyes and then nuzzled her head into my shoulder. “Fine, carry me all night. Works for me.”
God help me, but I was both annoyed and attracted to her. I always had been drawn to things that were bad for me, and she would definitely top that list.
Before I could do something stupid, like lean down and capture that stubborn pout with my lips, I dropped the arm that held up her knees and made her stand up on her own.
She gave me a small almost--scowl, but then shrugged in disinterest and began to flounce away.
“What? No thank--you?”
She stared at me over her shoulder and said seriously, “I’m not in the habit of thanking -people who do things to me against my will. So, if you don’t mind—-”
She turned, ignoring me, and signaled for the bartender.
I hesitated. I could leave now and take my chances that she would only remember me in passing, not enough to severely hinder my job. She’d had enough to drink that that might be likely.
Or I could stay because . . . Well, I didn’t have shit on the because side of things. My feet were already moving forward, and I’d already pulled out a stool to take a seat beside her. Because I wanted to.
“Give her a water, too,” I said to the bartender.
She glared at me like I said, Give her the plague while you’re at it.
I was a masochist. Really. That was the only explanation. You’d think voluntarily going to war would have taught me that; but no, staring into her eyes was when it became truly evident.
“You’re awfully pushy, stranger.”
She bit her lip, and her eyes wandered down the muscles of my arms, and I was glad I was sitting down because my body liked that entirely too much. I directed my eyes to the worn wood of the bar that looked like it had been repurposed and put together from scraps.
“You’re awfully drunk, princess.”
I needed to keep reminding myself of that.
She laughed. “Honey, I’m barely getting started. When I start talking about how I can’t feel my cheeks and get a little touchy--feely, then you’ll know I’m awfully drunk.”
I’d seen her be touchy--feely, and then some. And the thought of being on the receiving end of that made the temperature seem to rise a few degrees.
The bartender returned with a shot of tequila, a slice of lemon laid across the top of the glass, and a cup of water.
Kelsey shot me a look of mock disdain and pushed the cup in my direction. I squeezed my hand around it as she took hold of her shot, offered me a sarcastic salute, and then tipped it back.
It was one thing to watch her drink every night from afar; it was harder to be there right beside her. She’d thrown back the tequila without even a wince. In fact, I think she smiled as she bit into the slice of lemon. I stared at the empty shot glass she placed on the table, just the barest trace of tequila settling back down to the bottom.
To distract myself, I said, “If you’re trying to drink away the memory of that kiss on the dance floor, I doubt it will work. That’s the kind of kiss that sticks with you.”
She made a face. The kind of face most -people make after a shot of tequila. “You don’t have to tell me that.” She rubbed her knuckles across her cheek, no doubt remembering the path her friend had licked out on the dance floor.
I felt the need to laugh again, but stifled it. I didn’t know what it was about this girl that was so funny to me. Maybe it was just that I saw a previous version of me in her, and I was finally starting to get enough distance from that version that I could see the absurdity in it all.
Kelsey’s eyes locked on mine, and suddenly things seemed much less funny.
She said, “You know, you could always help me find another way to erase the memory of that bad kiss.”
I closed my eyes with one thought. Masochist.
I slid off my stool and turned around, leaning against the bar. This way I could talk to her, but stare out at the dance floor.
I said, “I could do that . . .” But then I was certainly, completely f*cked and wouldn’t have a chance at following her without being recognized.
“But it’s so much more fun to keep picturing the look on your face as it was happening.”
She made an almost identical look of horror before settling into a pout, and this time I didn’t manage to stifle my laugh before it escaped.
She leaned into me, her chin tipped up toward me. Her warm arm brushed mine, and I thought, who was I kidding? I was already f*cked. I might as well pack my bags now.
She said, “I can think of a few things that would be more fun.”
I looked over at her, even though I was supposed to be looking at the dance floor. I berated myself to look away even as my gaze trailed up her legs. It wasn’t like I hadn’t seen her before, in much less clothing even. But something about the fact that she was right in front of me, within touching distance, and that she knew I was looking made it even harder to look away.
When I got to her chest, a vision of that emerald green bra from the botanical gardens in Kiev popped into my head. I yanked my gaze away, my thoughts squealing like a train dangerously close to derailing.
A thought was forming in the back of my mind. An incredibly dangerous thought.
What if I didn’t have to follow Kelsey?
What if I traveled with her?
I heard Kelsey huff beside me. “Well, this has been interesting. I better get back—-”
No. She couldn’t leave.
“To the dementor out on the dance floor? Really?” I might have protested a bit too quickly there, and she must have known it.
She took a few steps, her hips swinging and smiled. “You got a better offer?”
Did I?
One part of me screamed, “Hell, yes,” while the other was busy urging me to pull away. I leaned toward her, but my fists stayed clenched on the bar top behind me, locking me in place.
Starting something with her would end badly no matter how I planned to proceed. I couldn’t follow her anymore for fear of being recognized. And I couldn’t travel with her because not a single guy she’d met so far had made it to day two with her.
So, no. I had nothing I could (or should) offer to her.
I slumped back against the bar, silent.
She followed my retreat, stepping up toward me and laying a hand on my chest. My muscles flexed involuntarily, and I had a very hard time remembering the argument I’d laid out only seconds ago in my head.
What if I could manage a second day with her? And a third? Maybe even more?
While I was struggling to maintain my control, she pulled the cup of water between us, wrapping her full lips around the straw. She took a long drink, and my blood migrated south.
I cleared my throat, not to say anything but because I needed something to do to keep from dragging her lips to mine.
She said, “Let me know if you change your mind.”
I was changing my mind every 2.3 seconds.
And while I struggled with my thoughts, she sashayed back to the dance floor, back to the Hungarian guys I could have stolen her away from.