My Summer in London (My Summer #1)(4)
Simple flirting, I could do. Sex-talk flirting, on the other hand … Well, I was rusty with that one. To be successful at it, one had to be confident within her own skin, have a boatload of attitude, and have mastered the technique of eye f*uking. The first I easily could do. The second, I probably needed some sort of practice. As for the third … Hmm, I shouldn’t dare try in fear of being mistaken as a nymphomaniac with some serious eye problem. Sometimes, it was better to be safe than sorry. I believed in trying new things, but that? Not so much.
“Of course you’d be driving a sex machine,” I exclaimed the moment I saw his red car. It was one of those expensive, sporty ones that screamed machismo, control, and sexiness wrapped into one.
Archer threw me an amused look as he smiled from ear to ear. “Oh, yeah? Is that what they call it in America?”
“Amongst other things …” Yep, the car matched its owner: über sexy and full of machismo. Kids my age didn’t drive these types of cars; as a result, I was beyond excited to see how powerful it was and how fast it could go.
Archer played the chivalrous guy by opening my door. Nevertheless, just before closing it, he leaned over close to my ear, close enough to make me shiver yet enough distance away to avoid being too intrusive.
“You’d be pleased to know this isn’t the only engine I drive superbly well, machine or otherwise,” he whispered in a teasing tone.
I wasn’t going to lie—okay, it wasn’t as if my body could lie for me since it was panting as if I’d had my first orgasm—but, f*uk … He was so aggressive and arrogant I couldn’t help reacting to his advances. I had been in his company for what, like ten minutes, and it was already a full speed chase? Um … I needed a breather. Like stat.
“Archer, you’re hot, but do you really have to be so flirty every second you’re with me? I’m calling a five minute timeout.”
I was attracted to him—who wouldn’t be? Seriously, though, it was exhausting to flirt. I’d had no idea until then.
“A timeout?” Archer mused before turning on the powerful engine, which vibrated and roared to life. Shifting gears, he cocked his head to the side, giving me a challenging look. “You’re a laugh, you know that? I like it,” he declared before pressing on the gas pedal and driving like the daredevil he was.
I’m a laugh. Did that mean I was funny, or did that translate to me being laughable? I wasn’t sure how to interpret it. Who would have thought proper English could be this confusing? I sure as hell hadn’t seen it coming.
Chapter Four
“Denim skirt, how typical,” a pompous, goddess of a woman snidely remarked at my outfit. A little over five minutes in, this was the kind of haughtiness I was greeted with.
Sure, she was skinny and out of your mind beautiful, but f*uk, she was the ultimate bitch of the highest denominator. She acted as if my denim skirt was criminal. There was nothing wrong with it. I liked my denims, with or without anyone’s f*uking approval, thank you very much.
Ignoring the bitch’s malicious comments, I decided to stay close to Archer while his friends came and went, greeting him. Surprisingly enough, none of the women were friendly. Not a single soul with a set of boobs smiled at me. The guys Archer introduced? Heck, they all had sets of sunny smiles.
“Your people haven’t heard of the word polite, have they?” I asked after a woman named Krissy gave me a death glare worthy of an Academy award.
“It’s not usually like this, but women are the catty breed, aren’t they?” He laughed as he casually flung his arm around me. “It’s all right, love. I’ll protect you from getting clawed or scratched.”
His promise lasted about twenty minutes—twenty-five, tops—before the Krissy woman came towards us and threw a mega-tantrum to get his undivided attention. And sure enough, Archer had to take her somewhere to calm her down and hopefully inject some sense in her.
All on my lonesome while casually sipping my whiskey sour, I felt like the prime example of an outcast. Dressed differently than the rest with an American accent, I was sticking out like a sore thumb, and no matter how I tried to ignore the feeling, it couldn’t be helped. It was like that movie Mean Girls when the main character had to eat lunch in the bathroom because everyone was too cruel to care for the new girl.
Scanning the crowd for Archer, I was beginning to wonder why he had gone with that pretty yet highly emotional woman. Just before I decided to take my leave in search of him, someone decided to join my company.
“You look as though you need rescuing from boredom,” said the guy who was earlier introduced as Harvey. He was charming and carried a similar, flirty persona yet was lacking in the looks department. I supposed his personality made up for it.
I wasn’t necessarily bored, but maybe in dire need of rescuing from looking like an epic loser.
“It’s kind of you to notice.” Sending him a genuine smile, I took a quick sip of my beverage before directing my gaze at him. “What was that all about?” I asked.
Harvey shook his head before giving an amused laugh, as if the mini-meltdown scene everyone had witnessed was the norm. “That is what a jealous-minded ex-girlfriend looks like.”
“Should I be on the lookout? ’Cause I need to prepare myself, you know.”