June Horner's entire life came crashing down in one night.
After a vengeful ex-boyfriend spread rumours about her, destroying her reputation and making her undesirable by nearly every acting and modelling agency in existence, she was lost for months...
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d e l i c a t e
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twenty-five years old, how were you to know? and my love had been frozen deep blue, but you painted me golden.
.҉ .҉ .҉
AS OUR UBER pulled up across the road from the club, I try to ignore the fluttering sensation in my stomach and blame it on the pre-drinks, rather than a drunken Charles telling me he'll be happy to see me. Whether I wanted her to or not, Nora had read through our brief conversation and was now reciting how "drunk words are sober thoughts," as she leads us to the pedestrian crossing. Mark is standing on the other side, leaning against a street light smoking a cigarrette, in casual conversation with someone I recognise as another journalist.
We stop, waiting for the light to go green, he hasn't seen us yet. Nora is completely and utterly entranced. He's wearing a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, a silver and black tag watch on one of his wrists.
"Oh mio," Nora mutters. I try to cover my laugh, but it comes out in a snort instead. "Why am I attracted to that?"
I snort back a laugh again. "Because you've got questionable taste?"
She rolls her eyes but I still catch the smile on her face as she bumps me with her hip. The light flashes green and she links her arms with mine as we cross the road. I can see Mark's face light up when he catches sight of her, he completely looks over the other journalist. He only has eyes for her. He walks over and snakes his arm around her waist, pulling her in for a quick hug. They say something to each other, but it's just in quiet, private whispers so I don't catch it.
The music was overwhelmingly loud from the moment we walked in. I couldn't hear what Nora was saying, only guessing by the shot glasses in her hands that I was supposed to take one. Everytime I go out with Nora, the night follows a similar script.
Shots.
Lots of shots.
By the fourth or fifth round, I'm drunkenly stumbling away from the bathroom for the third time in thirty minutes when I spot Charles by the bar. I can feel the butterflies in my stomach when he looks at me and I'm too drunk to ignore them. He makes his way over to me before I even have the chance to.
"June!" He grins, wrapping his strong arms around my waist and pulling me in for a hug. Both of my feet leave the ground for a second. "How are you, chérie?"
I feel my stomach flutter again, chérie. "I'm good!" I say, holding his forearm to keep balance. "I'm so happy for you. You did great today. It was a very good race."
"I know!" He smiles, leaning forward, his hand grabs at my waist for balance. "I told you I would get you cheering for me, didn't I?"
"I was not cheering!" I yell over the music, "I was only clapping. Besides, I couldn't cheer for you if I wanted, the press wouldn't like it."
He smirks down at me, and though I can't hear him laugh, I can see his shoulders move up and down and can picture the sound. He pulls me in by the waist, and whispers in my ear, "I know you wanted to scream my name, chérie."
Maybe on a different night, one I was fully sober and of sound body and mind, I would've been able to play it off. I wouldn't have let the one thought I had in that moment be so clear. I wanted to kiss him. Badly. I wanted to be kissed by Charles Leclerc. The Ferrari driver. His hand was still on my waist, I could feel the metal of his two rings on the exposed skin of my side, slipping underneath the chain of my top. His hand was so warm and suddenly I felt so cold. I wanted his hands all over me, keeping me warm. I think it was the only thing I've ever wanted, but I was very drunk.
Maybe on a different night I would have pushed him off and rolled my eyes, but tonight I was feeling brave, or in other words stupid. I stood on the tips of my toes, wrapping my arm around his neck to keep my balance so the boldest part of me could whisper:
"You want to make me scream it?"
Both of his hands were on my hips, helping me keep balanced, and I felt his grip tighten as the words came out of my mouth. I leaned back, innocently tilting my head to the side a little, a small smile playing at my lips.
"You're really pretty," Charles says, the light of the club seems to be making his eyes sparkle. "The prettiest girl ever."
"Really?"
"Really," he says, pulling me in closer. I thought he might kiss me, but instead he rests his head on top of mine and I laid my head on his chest. I could hear his heartbeat.
Yeah, I like Charles. Feeling him rub circles in my back, I know for certain that I want him to be more than a friend to me. I want all of my friends' theories to be true. I want him to like me, too.
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got real horny there for a second,, wowza.
i want to go on the record saying that if i was writing smut that they wouldve boinged already. lolz. seriously considering writing a second fic where instead of pining and these little touches they just bang it out,, like friends w benefits to lovers typa beat... hmm
