"Whoops," Marisol said. "The door just got away from me."
Ringo started to smile but stopped himself halfway. "All right?"
Marisol ran her fingers through her hair and told herself to pull it together. "Yeah, I'm just looking for Angela. What are you doing out here?"
"Can't sleep. Trying to talk this bloke into taking me to a pub."
"Oh. Good luck then." She looked up and down the hall. "Which way is Neil's room again?"
He pointed. "End of the hall, last door on the right, and Bob's your uncle."
"Right...have a good night."
"You know your jumper is all backy wacky?"
Marisol looked down at herself as she walked away. "Haha. So it is." She quickened her steps and rapped on the door at the end of the hall.
"Are you bevvied?" Angela said at the sight of her.
Marisol pushed past her into the bathroom. "Unfortunately not yet."
"You look like you've been in a cyclone."
"That's a name for it."
"Your jumper is on backward."
Marisol sighed. "I know. Ringo already said."
"Ringo? And I thought it had to do with that slice of Paul McCartney you left here with!"
The bathroom door closed on Angela's amused face.
Marisol pulled her sweater over her head and caught her reflection in the mirror as she turned it right side out. She looked like a wild woman, hair in a disheveled cloud around her face and mascara smudges under her eyes.
She combed her fingers through her hair and dabbed at the traces of mascara with a tissue before stepping into the bedroom.
Neil was stretched across one of the twin beds sorting a handful of playing cards. Angela sat across from him studying her own cards. The radio played softly and Marisol felt a pang of envy for their quiet, no-drama evening.
"Where's Paul?" Neil asked.
"My guess is sitting on the toilet playing guitar."
Angela laughed.
"The acoustics are better."
"Right. What's your poison?" Neil nodded at the sideboard.
Marisol glanced at the half-filled bottles. "Mmm. Warm Scotch and Coke. Must be my lucky day." But needs must. She poured herself a finger of Scotch and knocked it back, shuddering. She examined the bottle and brought it back with her to the bed. When she was settled, she swigged from the bottle until tears came to her eyes. Then she rather indelicately wiped her mouth with her sleeve and shuddered again. "Holy balls," she whispered.
When she looked up, Neil and Angela were both frowning at her.
"What?" she asked, her voice laced with irritation.
Angela put down her cards. "You all right?"
"Yes, geez." She waved the bottle in Angela's direction. "I just need a little drink." She took another swig, the warmth coating her throat and settling in her shoulders and back, starting to relax her. "Mmm." She examined the label again. "Good stuff, this whisky with no e. Made in Scotland you know." She swirled the liquid in the bottle and sniffed. "Woodsy with a hint of spice."
She waited for the warm and fuzzy feeling to take over, watching Neil and Angela exchanging glances while they pretended to play cards.
"What're you playing?" she asked.
"Strip poker," Angela said, grinning at Neil.
"Are you both winning?"
"It's strip poker with a twist. We started out naked and the loser has to put clothes back on. We're both losing," Angela said.
Neil chuckled, shaking his head at Angela.
There was a strange thump from the adjoining room. Marisol glanced at the closed door, then looked at Angela. "So what happened to those two girls? Did they—?"
Angela mimed zipping her lips, locking them, and throwing an imaginary key over her shoulder.
"Alrighty then," Marisol said. "Welcome to Babylon. British style." When the room began to tilt, she screwed the cap back on the bottle and let it fall to the carpet as she lay back on the bed and closed her eyes, feeling the whisky warmth coursing through her veins. She was going to drink until she fell asleep and dreamed about someday falling in love with a nice American boy who didn't have a girlfriend and couldn't play the guitar. And was tone-deaf.
"Can I sleep here?" she asked drowsily.
"You may sleep wherever you like," Neil answered.
"You're a nice man."
The bed shook. She ruled out an earthquake, this being the British Isles, and cracked open an eye to see Angela peering down at her.
"Do you want to go somewhere and talk?" Angela hissed.
Marisol shook her head. "God no. If I move now I'll throw up."
"Have you eaten today?"
Angela bounced the bed some more and reappeared with an apple which she placed in Marisol's hand.
"Ugh. Stop jostling me."
"Tell me what's happened, sweetie."
Marisol sighed and sat up. "Something truly horrible has happened."
Angela's eyes widened. "Did he take advantage of you?"
"Yes." Marisol nodded her head vigorously. "He definitely did." She flopped back on the bed and moaned. "It was the best goddamn sex of my life."
"I'm right here," Neil said loudly. "I can hear every word."
"Sssh!" Angela waved a hand at Neil before turning back to Marisol. "So what's the problem, sweetie?"
"Oh, Ange. It's not good. I really like him. I really do."
Angela sighed and patted her shoulder. "I'm sure he likes you too. It's obvious. Neil? Isn't it obvious how much he fancies her?"
Marisol lifted herself onto her elbows. They both turned to look at Neil. He winced. "Lookit. You're off yer head if you think I'm getting in the middle of this."
Marisol huffed out a breath. "No one's asking you to betray your mate, Neil. But you could've said he's in love with someone else, while you were driving us all around and...enabor...enlable..." She shook her head to clear it. "Enabling us," she finally managed.
Neil snorted/laughed. "Paul isn't in love with anyone but the Beatles." He threw down his cards and pointed a finger at her. "But I wasn't keen on the two of you together in the first place."
Marisol felt her pulse racing in her ears. "Why not?"
Neil got up and banged bottles and glasses, pouring himself a drink. He took a long gulp and sat on the edge of the sideboard facing her. "This must be why I don't date American girls."
"You weren't keen on us together?"
"All of this awkward talking about your relationship and feelings. Next you'll drag him into a group therapy session with other blokes dating American girls so everyone can talk about their feelings together. An English girl would just get on with it and know the awkward bits are best forgotten."
Marisol's head spun. From the whisky or from Neil's rambling, she couldn't say. "Why did you say you aren't keen on me being with Paul?"
"Because I know the sort of girl you were and I assume you haven't changed all that much."
"Oh." She crossed her legs and swung her foot, realized it made her vaguely nauseous and stopped moving. "Uh. What sort is that?"
He waved a hand. "You know, the Mr. Darcy sort."
Angela scooted closer and lightly rubbed her back. "He's not wrong."
Marisol rubbed her forehead, in the middle, where it was starting to ache. "I don't even know what that means." She turned her attention to Neil. "You don't think Paul and I should be together."
Neil sighed and swirled the drink in his glass a moment before answering. "Sometimes it's all about timing, Mar. The Beatles thing is so consuming that none of them have the time or energy for anything else. No offense, but birds are a very distant second to any of them right now."
Marisol tapped her bottom lip with her thumbnail, thinking about all the time she'd spent with Paul, his soft kisses and sweet smiles. The way he looked at her when she talked. The way he looked at her tonight when he first saw her naked beneath him. She shivered. She hadn't felt like a distant second with Paul. When they were together he made her feel like the most beautiful, interesting creature in the world. And when she wasn't with him he was pursuing her with phone calls and letters. She flopped back on the bed and squeezed her eyes closed, more confused than ever.
She heard Neil take another gulp of his drink. "Gah, I dunno Mari. He clearly fancies the pants off you, but you are only here on holiday. I mean, if I met a beautiful American bird tomorrow, I don't know that I'd rearrange my life for her knowing she'd only be leaving."
Marisol bit back a groan. Of course, Paul wasn't going to break up with his British girlfriend for someone who was only here for a few more months. It was ridiculous to develop feelings for him. Everyone was always telling her that and she knew it in her bones. Stupid, stupid. She had to start thinking like a man and not a Jane Austen character. Paul was an exciting, fun diversion, but he was a big flirt and very desirable, and when she left there would be lots of women taking her place.
She felt Angela hovering over her. "If it makes you feel any better, Lizzy, you have bewitched me, body and soul."
"I'm going to throttle you," Marisol said. She dropped the apple and crawled across the bed after Angela. "I am not a Mr. Darcy sort, you ass."
There were five rhythmic knocks on the door, followed by two sharp knocks.
"Shave and a haircut, two bits!" Angela whooped with laughter.
Neil went for the door and Marisol stopped stalking Angela and got to her feet, teetering unsteadily for a moment until her head stopped swimming.
"Oh look. It's the bigamist," Angela announced as Paul strode into the room. He stopped in front of Marisol, his stare boring into her, while she looked everywhere but at him.
"What's going on? Why did you run off like that?"
"Hello, Paul." Marisol smiled, too brightly. Not quite meeting his eyes. "Everything good at home?"
He frowned.
Neil clapped his hands, making Marisol jump. "Would you look at that, we're out of..." He made a clattering inventory of the bottles on the sideboard. "Ice. Angela, shall we make an ice run?"
"Ice run?" Angela repeated. "Where would we..."
Neil jerked his head toward the door.
"Oh. Capital idea, that."
Angela waited until Marisol nodded at her. She kissed her cheek as she passed, then wiped off the pink lipstick she'd left there. "I'll be back in five minutes. Maybe less."
Marisol nodded again.
"Why didn't you tell me you had a girlfriend?" The question just fell out, the second the door thudded closed.
Paul tilted his head, his brows drawn together. "What are you talking about?"
Marisol crossed her arms over her chest, huffing out a sigh. "I'm not stupid, Paul. You were in the newspaper, the two of you, only this past weekend."
His eyes fluttered closed briefly as understanding dawned. "Oh, that...that was not what it seemed. I promised to take her to that premiere ages ago. I've hardly seen her since I met you. I wouldn't call her my girlfriend. I'm never home, it's not like...
He stopped nattering on, since Marisol had taken a few steps back and begun waving at him like a crossing guard. "I don't want to bicker about it. It's all out in the open now."
Paul closed the distance between them. "Babe. You've got it all wrong."
"Do I? Why is your girlfriend who isn't a girlfriend ringing you up in the middle of the night at a hotel in the middle of nowhere?"
He scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed wearily. "I dunno, probably to rail at me again for never being around."
Shaking her head, Marisol whispered, "This was a mistake."
"What was a mistake?"
"This." She waved her hand between them. "You and me."
"You don't mean that." He was looking at her with such intensity that she had to look away.
She took two steps away from him, stumbling over the bottle of whiskey she'd dropped on the carpet. There. That was the answer. More whiskey. She picked up the bottle and turned away from him, picking at the label. Her hands shook a little as she uncapped the bottle and tipped it to her lips.
Her unsteady hands spilled too much of the whiskey down her throat and it left her sputtering and coughing. She shuddered, wiping her sleeve across her mouth. "Hells bells. This shit is rough."
"Can I ask you something?" Paul said gently. "If you thought I had a girlfriend, why did you come to the show? We both knew how the night would end."
"Oh, I see. It's all my fault now." Her breath hitched and she fought to control it, determined not to cry in front of him. "I came because I'm sick of being sad and I thought you would help me forget my...my everything."
He took the bottle from her hand and put it back on the table. Taking her by the shoulders, he pulled her close and wrapped her in his arms. "And did you forget?"
She nodded against his chest. "For a minute or two."
His scent invaded her nose and her thoughts. She held her breath to avoid it. To keep herself from relishing it, while he rubbed small, soothing circles on her back.
"Would you like me to help you forget some more?"
She pressed her hands against his chest and pushed him away, stumbling backward. "What part of you is doing the thinking right now?"
"Every part," was his immediate answer.
Marisol huffed and turned her back to him.
"Let's go back to my room and talk this through." His breath was warm on her neck.
She closed her eyes. "Do you think I'm a madwoman? Why would I do that?"
She heard him sigh. "Because I know you feel it too, the connection we have. The spark between us, whatever it is, I haven't felt this for...I don't know when I've felt this." His lips were next to her ear. She shivered.
It was pointless to deny it. He knew all he had to do was touch her and she turned into a puddle of want.
"I'm not even going to be in this country long. You're a heartache waiting to happen."
"So are you. But I can't help myself."
Neither could Marisol, apparently, because when Paul reached for her hand and laced their fingers together she silently picked up her bag and let him lead her to the door.
"Is Ringo still outside?"
Paul frowned. "I didn't see him, why?"
He opened the door. Neil and Angela were sitting in the hallway with their backs against the opposite wall, their heads together, lost in some sort of conversation that was making them both look a little starry-eyed.
"Hey!" Angela looked up and smiled. "Everything good?"
"Do we need to get you a room?" Marisol stage whispered.
"Neil, look after Angela, would you?" Paul said.
"My pleasure."
Angela gave Marisol a little wave as Paul tugged on her hand, pulling her down the hallway.
Inside the room, he took her bag from her shoulder and placed it back on the dresser. He turned to her and stretched his arms over his head, revealing his lean stomach and the trail of faint hair leading toward the open button on his jeans. She remembered he wasn't wearing any underwear and felt a stab of desire.
She bit back a moan and looked away. "I'm so screwed," she whispered to herself.
Without removing her clothes, she fell onto the bed and crawled to the far side. She dragged the covers up to her chin, her back to Paul.
He reached under the blankets and gently pulled off her shoes.
"All right, love? Need anything? A glass of water? I could call down for some tea."
"No."
"Why did you go to Neil's room and drink up all the Glenlivet?"
"Because that's all there was," she mumbled into the pillow.
He pulled back the covers. "Let's get you out of these clothes."
"No." She curled into a ball defensively. "I'm not interested in being anyone's plaything right now."
He climbed onto the bed and scooped an arm around her, fitting his body around hers. "How about I'll be yours then?"
She groaned. "Don't be cute."
He brushed her hair aside and kissed the back of her shoulder. "Has anyone ever told you the back of your neck is perfect?"
Soft kisses on the back of her neck. There should be a law against him kissing the back of her neck. It turned her insides to mush. It almost made her forget he had a girlfriend. Almost.
She reached a hand over her shoulder, made contact with his face, and pushed him away. "You said we were going to talk," she reminded him. "I'm all ears."
He sighed, wrapping his arm more tightly around her. "I dunno, Mari. Do you ever wonder, with all the chaos right now, and you leaving in a couple of months, that maybe this isn't our time—"
She wriggled out of his arms and rolled over, facing him with her arms crossed over her chest. "It might've been nice to know about the girlfriend and how it 'isn't our time' BEFORE the part where we got naked and sweaty and tangled up in each other and didn't even care when we rolled out of bed and ended up on the floor."
He laughed softly. "God, I know, Mar, how amazing was that?" He rubbed his thumb slowly across her hip. "Let's do it again."
She pushed his hand away. "You must be out of your damn mind."
"Probably." He laid back on the pillow, contemplating the ceiling with a sigh. "I must be out of my mind to feel the way I do about you when I've known from the off all about our expiration date."
Marisol rolled onto her back and joined his examination of the ceiling. "We're like an open bottle of wine," she said sadly.
Paul blew out a breath. "First of all, love, I wouldn't be here like this with you if I had made a commitment to someone else. Yes, I was seeing someone when we met, and I'm quite fond of her. I wasn't looking for a fling with an American on holiday. My life is complicated enough."
Her heart sank. Did she even want to hear this?
"I was just going to the beach with me mate and there you were, standing there a bit sweaty with that sexy little dress clinging to your amazing legs...Jesus..." He ran a hand over his face before he continued. "...standing there with your big, hauntingly sad eyes and your slightly better than perfect breasts and your terrible American accent and your ruddy bread pudding whatever it was. I haven't had a good night's sleep since."
"There is nothing terrible about my accent."
He closed his eyes, shaking his head. "Oh, but there is." He switched to a flat California accent. "By gosh, I hear it in my nightmares."
She stared at his perfect, strong profile, wishing for the hundredth time he wasn't so beautiful. "Is that why you can't sleep?"
"One of many reasons." He rubbed his face and sighed. "I don't really know what to do about you."
"What do you mean?" she asked, not sure if she wanted to hear this or not.
"Well, you're, you know, exactly my type, so at first I just fancied a shag."
"You know there is such a thing as too much honesty."
He gave her a sidelong glance. "The thing is, this girl I was so keen to shag turned out to be smart and classy and worldly but still sweet and nurturing...and I realized I never got bored around you, and I started to like you. A lot."
She let out the breath she'd been holding, turned onto her side, and reached for his hand. "I like you too, a lot."
He brought her hand to his mouth and planted a soft kiss on her palm. She hadn't known until this exact moment that the palm of her hand was an erogenous zone. It definitely was.
"I kept telling myself to leave it. I'm not keen on hurting people and someone's bound to get hurt. But at the end of every chaotic day, in a dozen strange hotel rooms, I couldn't get you out of my head. I'd have a few drinks and reach for the phone because all I wanted was to hear your voice."
"With my horrible accent."
"Exactly." He rolled over and brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. "And here we are."
She bit her lip. "What did you mean when you said it's not our time?"
"I said maybe. Maybe it's not our time." He moved closer until his head was on her pillow, his face only inches from hers.
"I think our story is going to take more than a couple of months to write. Do you know what I mean?"
"I'm not sure." Her voice was barely above a whisper.
"In another year when nobody cares about the Beatles anymore and we don't have a show every night I think you and I will figure out a way to be together."
"But you're going to bigger than Elvis."
Paul scoffed. "That's just talking. No British act has ever made it in America. America has everything, what do they need us for?"
Marisol shook her head. "I can't even describe it, but the four of you together make magic happen, and America may be big but we dig magic."
"Maybe I'll play for you in San Francisco someday."
"I bet you'd sell out The Fillmore."
"What's the capacity?"
"About a thousand, I think."
"Wouldn't that be something if we played The Fillmore?"
"Mmm hmm," she said sleepily. "Lots of beautiful ghosts in that house."
"And you could show me around your San Francisco because nobody knows who we are there." He kissed her fingertips, one by one.
Her heart thudded. She wasn't sleepy any longer. The things he could do to her with those lips. Being with him was electrifying. All she had to do was not let her heart get involved. Simple.
"Where would you take me?" he asked.
She knew immediately. "To the top of Twin Peaks so you could see the fog on one side of the city and clear skies on the other. We'd go at sunset and watch Market Street light up all the way to the bay. We'd climb to the top of one of the peaks and feel the wind blowing in like a gale all the way from Japan."
"Japan. Perfect."
"Can you just tell me something? What is it that you're looking for...I mean with this whole...with me, and..." Her words trailed off on a sigh.
He let go of her hand and rested his fingers against her cheek, his thumb tracing her bottom lip. "Mari. I could talk all night about falling in love. Or we could just do it."
He kissed her softly and she closed her eyes. It was probably a huge mistake at this point. Epic. But as his lips moved over hers she felt something tight inside her begin to loosen and melt away, and she wanted the very same thing.
"Trust me, love," he whispered against her lips. "I'm not going to let you get away so easily."
Marisol awoke to the shrilling double ring of the bedside phone. She blinked open her eyes.
Beside her, Paul groaned and slung an arm over his face.
"That's the only thing I'm not going to miss about your gloomy little island," she said.
He cracked open a brown eye. "You're leaving England? Wish you'd told me that before you had your way with me last night. Again and again." His voice was husky with sleep.
"Are you going to answer it?"
"Fook no."
"What if it's Angela?"
He blew out a breath. "Bloody hell." He fumbled for the receiver and answered in a sing-song falsetto voice, "Hellooooo?" A brief pause and he switched to his own voice. "No, it's Paul. Hang on."
"Why did he answer the phone that way?" Angela asked when Marisol was on the line.
She yawned. "I don't know, he probably thought it was a fan or something."
"I have a 2:00 I really shouldn't miss, can you be ready soon?"
"I'll meet you in the hallway in twenty."
She handed Paul the receiver and he let it dangle to the carpet beside the bed. Then he pulled her into his arms. "Don't leave."
"Angela has a class." She rested her cheek against his chest, skimming a hand over his smooth, warm skin.
He massaged her neck with one hand, palming her breast with the other. She felt herself immediately responding to his touch, wishing they had more time. "You must stay. We haven't even tried the reverse cowgirl."
"Funny you should say that. I was just remembering the strangest dream. I was in bed with Paul McCartney."
He chuckled, the sound low and vibrating in her ear. "How was it?"
"I don't know. It was just getting good when the phone rang. Don't you hate that?" She slung a leg over his and started climbing out of bed. He pulled her back down on top of him.
"This is your lucky day, love. You can wake up in the middle of a sexy dream and still find out how it ends."
He ran his hands down her sides and cupped her bottom, aroused and pressing against her. "Stay with me."
She moaned. He smelled so male and intoxicating and felt so warm and...ready. "I really have to go."
She extricated herself with reluctance, despite his groans of protest. The room was chilly and she immediately missed his warmth. Feeling his eyes watching her every move, she grabbed her clothes from last night and her toiletry bag and padded into the bathroom.
No shower. Typical English hotel bathroom. While the tub filled she scraped her hair into a ponytail and wrapped a band around it. She eased underneath the hot water, sighing as her muscles relaxed. There were new bruises on various parts of her body and she smiled to herself, remembering how she'd gotten some of them and wondering at the rest.
It wasn't hard to figure out where she'd gotten this dull headache, she thought, recalling the sudden taste for whiskey she'd developed last night. She brought a hand to her temple, trying to rub the pain away. What a night. Sleeping with Paul had been like being in bed with an octopus. Every time she moved a muscle, tentacle-like arms and legs chased her across the bed, as if in his sleep he needed to reassure himself he wasn't alone. She had fallen asleep in his arms and woken up in a different position, facing a different way, with his arms still wrapped around her.
Knowing Angela was waiting, she washed quickly and was drying off in front of the mirror when she saw the red marks on her neck. Nice. She'd have to borrow a scarf from Angela before going home. She was dressed, toothbrush in hand, when she looked in the mirror to see Paul yawning behind her. "Oh, hey, hope you don't mind me brushing my teeth in your recording studio."
He stood beside her in his pajama bottoms, shirtless, looking impossibly sexy with his unshaven chin and sleepy eyes. He found his toothbrush in a small toiletry bag on the counter. "Where's my toothpaste?"
"Here, have mine."
"How are you feeling this morning, Glenlivet girl?" he asked, smiling.
"Fine. Goodness. It's not like I can't handle a little whiskey."
His eyebrows arched. "If you say so."
"My parents gave me wine with water from the time I was five, for heaven's sake." She pulled out the hairband and ran a brush through her hair, wincing at the tangles. "Besides, I'm tough. My dad always used to slap me on the back so hard I almost fell over and say, 'You're a Hemingway, you're tough.'"
"The more you tell me about your father, the happier I am he's in California."
She smiled wanly. "He's in Idaho right now, actually."
"What's he doing there?" He said around the toothbrush.
"I don't know, he goes off and hides, mostly from my mother."
"Ain't love grand?" Paul rinsed his toothbrush and examined himself in the mirror, rubbing the stubble on his jaw.
"Think I should grow a beard?"
"Absolutely. The long hair isn't causing nearly enough of a furor."
He filled two glasses with water from the tap and offered her one. She took a sip while he guzzled his and slammed the glass on the counter. "H2Oh that is good!" he announced.
She smiled as she collected her things and stepped out of the bathroom. "Someone's in a good mood this morning."
"Someone got lucky last night." From the doorway he watched her stuffing her belongings into her overnight bag. "What are you going to do today?"
"Probably stop by Margo's flat in London and get my toddler fix. What about you?"
"I don't know, go back to sleep maybe. Or finish one of those songs, or start another one. Maybe John and I will write a new car today, you never know."
"You need to write yourself a driver's license first."
At the door she looked up at him. His gaze lingered on the bruises on her neck and he brushed his fingers lightly over them.
"Thanks for the memories," she said wryly.
He looked amused. "You asked me again and again to bite you. So I happily obliged."
She arranged her hair over each shoulder, trying to hide the red marks he'd left on her skin. "Sounds like oral aggression to me. And that's not exactly how I remember it."
He smirked. "Well, this was after you developed such a fondness for scotch."
"Uh-huh. There weren't a lot of choices."
His hands skimmed her sides. "So when can you come to another show?" His eyes crinkled in a smile. "I want to make sure Neil orders enough scotch."
She tried not to smile. "That's really funny, Paul. I only drank because the phone rang and you--"
He leaned in and covered her mouth with his in a long, lingering kiss, gently brushing her lips with his tongue, warm and insistent. She was limp when he pulled back, examining her. "Let's not have a row. You know I'm mad about you."
"Do I?"
His expression softened. "Do you know what I thought the first time I saw you?"
She thought a moment. "That I was defacing your van?"
He chuckled. "No, this was after you left lip prints on our van. When you told me your name, I said it over three times in my head. Marisol. Marisol. Marisol. That is the name of the next girl I fall in love with."
If that was a line, she didn't care. He was creating scenarios and memories of the two of them that she would replay the next time she was gripped with melancholy. Tonight she would lie alone in bed and remember every glance, every touch, every word, every kiss. Mr. Darcy or not, if she could bottle Paul up she could market him as the best heartache remedy ever developed.
He rested his chin on her head. "If only you weren't flying away from me."
"I'm not flying anywhere for a while," she whispered.
"Perhaps I'll convince you not to leave at all."
She tilted her head back to look at him. "Perhaps I'll bring you back home with me like a big souvenir of England."
He smiled at that, adorably, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and brought her lips to his.
"Hey, you. Angela's almost ready." Neil stood in the doorway, hair mussed, still wearing his corduroy pants and rumpled shirt from last night. "How are you feeling this morning?"
"I'm never drinking again."
Neil laughed. "Come on in." He held open the door, smiling.
"You're in a decidedly less surly mood this morning. Anyone in particular I should thank for that?"
"Good morning to you too, Mar."
Angela stepped out of the bathroom, fresh and glowing in a bright pink blouse and matching slender pants. "Morning, Sunshine!"
"Wow. Strip poker does wonders for both of you. Maybe you could give strip poker lessons."
Angela giggled. Marisol raised her eyebrows. Did Angela just giggle?
"I'll be ready in two shakes. Meet you at the lift?"
"Oh. Right. The elevator." Marisol wandered into the hallway, shaking her head. Angela and Neil. Who'd have thought?
Angela came bouncing down the hall a few minutes later. Her smile was radiant.
"Hello? Were you by some odd chance making out with the person whose favorite childhood sport was catching frogs and throwing them at me?" Marisol asked.
"What a night. I needed that."
"You didn't," Marisol said as the elevator doors opened.
"Oh but I did," Angela said, leaning against the far wall of the lift and sighing happily. "Scandalous unmarried snogging. All night long. Also, I've invited him to come round my place for dinner next week. With you and Paul, of course."
"Um, I guess..."
Angela grinned. "So tell me, Dolly, you and Paul, what was it like?"
The elevator door opened and Angela continued her line of questioning as if there weren't two dozen people standing around, most of them looking up as Angela and Marisol strolled through the lobby with their overnight bags.
"Let me guess. Straight missionary with loads of soft-focus eye contact, and he probably whispered what sounded like song lyrics in your ear all night long."
"Ssshhh!" Marisol hissed. When they got outside the hotel she laughed to herself. "You're such an ass," she said to Angela.
"You hate it when I'm right, don't you?"
"You and Neil. I can't even," Marisol said, changing the subject.
Angela sighed happily. "Let's do this again, shall we?"