From the corner of her eye, she sees Riley has clocked their interaction, hiding her face in her drink a little too obviously. Charlotte considers it for a second and then places her hand on Martin’s bicep, guiding him away from the group as fast as possible, out of sight. She’s not gonna let this get out of hand again.
She finds them two empty bar stools and sighs nervously. “Maybe no tequila. But I’ll have a beer with you. What brings you to town?” She holds up two fingersto the bartender, who nods and turns to get them their drinks.
As her ex-boyfriend starts telling her about his recent divorce, she soon finds herself zoning out. Her eyes gloss over the features in his face, features she was once so captivated by. His bright eyes and his strong jaw, things that haunted her for a long time after Martin had moved to a different country. Her eyes dart to his full lips and before she knows it, she tries to remember what it was like to kiss them. Martin realizes what she’s staring at, and starts grinning.
“So, are you married?”
Charlotte wakes up from her attempted trip down memory lane with a jolt. “M—married? No, Martin, I’m not married. You know I wouldn’t.”
“Boyfriend?”
“No, no boyfriend.”
“So… you’re single then?”
“Excellent deduction skills. Very astute.”
Martin shakes his head, laughs, and lifts up his beer. “Here’s to you, not having changed one bit. Feisty thing you always were.”
Charlotte mimics him by raising her glass too and taking a sip. She knows what he’s doing, and truth be told: she considers giving in. It’s been a while.
“Well, it seems like the universe is trying to tell us something,” Martin poses, a slight blush creeping up his face. “Like I said, I’m only here for the week, so…”
For the second time in two minutes, Charlotte feels herself staring at his lips. And while she vaguely tries to remember what they felt like, what he felt like, his body flush to hers, tangled up between the sheets… she can’t quite reach it. It’s like the memory is there, but someone’s messed with it. She remembers their kissing, vividly at first, but then she feels like a rock drops in her stomach and the whole thing just feels off.
What was it like?She grunts inwardly.Come on, what did you like about him? What drew you to him? What turned you on?
She knows; she remembers all the answers, but she just doesn’t feel it. And not just here and now, so many years later—but not even in retrospect. She realizes she’d always been able to describe her feelings, but never to actually feel them.
She has to. She has to know, she has to feel. And so she places her glass down on the bar, grabs his collar with both hands and roughly pulls him in for a kiss.
It feels awkward since they’re both sitting down, so with her lips still on his, she lets herself slide off her stool and takes a step forward, in between his legs. His hands land on her waist and she puts her own hands on his shoulders—which feels kind of awkward too, so she drops them to his biceps. But no, that’s kind of uncomfortable. Where the hell do her hands go?
As the kiss deepens, she can feel Martin smile into it. She pulls back to look at him, to try and reciprocate what he’s pouring into it, and smashes their mouths togetheragain. This time, she licks his lips and slips her tongue inside, desperately exploring his mouth like her own on-button might be in there.
“Fuck,” she mutters in frustration. Martin takes it as a horny groan, so he pulls her in even closer. Her nails scratch his neck and she’s really, really trying to convince herself that it’s a gesture born from passion, but the whole thing is just so damn unsatisfying.
“Charlotte.”
She pulls away from him like he’s an electric fence. When she looks up, Gabi is standing there, wearing a facial expression she’s never seen before. It’s stoic, but there’s something dangerous underneath. It’s terrifying.
“Can I borrow her?” Gabi asks Martin, nodding at his hands still on her waist.
“Hey Gabs! Nice to see you,” he snickers. “But, actually, we’re kind of in the middle of—”
“It wasn’t a question,” she states, grabbing Charlotte by the wrist and dragging her away. Ignoring her weak protests, she pushes her towards the exit.
“Outside.”
“Gabi, my stuff is still—”
“Outside.”
Not wanting to mess with her friend while in this state, she steps into the cold. She tucks her hands inside her sleeves and meekly follows Gabi, who takes a couple of steps away from the door.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” her friend asks her, dangerously calm.
“I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about. Since when am I not allowed to—”
