Love Undiscovered: Love in San Soloman - Book Two Page 5

  I noticed Chance right away. He stood inches above everyone else and was more filled out than almost all of the other guys. In fact, compared to a lot of them, he looked downright huge, towering over them in height and with the shoulder width of a linebacker, not a college student. He was tan, with a light smattering of hair in the middle of his chest and across his pecs. And a happy trail leading all the way down his chiseled abs into his low hanging shorts. His hair was a little curly and obviously damp, slicked back from his forehead by his hands. I wondered if it was wet from a shower, sweat, or beer.

  He was holding on to the legs of some guy doing a keg stand with one arm, the other arm was around a little blonde girl who was literally preening from the attention. The group around the keg made room for me as I approached. I knew the moment that Chance saw me, even though I didn’t know who he was at the time. He left the blonde, dropped the keg stander’s legs, and dramatically knelt down before me.

  “My Queen!” he bellowed as he leaned down and kissed my feet.

  Queen?

  Is he talking to me? Why is he kissing my feet?

  Is this normal for parties?

  I looked around for my roommate, but she seemed to have disappeared into the crowd. Chance bounced back to his feet, surprisingly spry for such a big, and probably inebriated, guy.

  “Yens, a beer for My Queen!” he yelled to the guy manning the keg, his eyes never leaving mine.

  “Aye, aye Captain,” the guy yelled back.

  “I’ve been waiting all night for you,” he said to me.

  Not knowing what else to say, I responded with, “I just got here.”

  “Then let’s not waste any time.” And with that, he grabbed me by the waist, as though I weighed nothing, and perched me atop his broad shoulder.

  “What the fuck!?!” I yelled down at him.

  “Hold still My Queen, or you’ll fall,” he said.

  “I won’t fall if you put me down,” I said trying to squirm off his shoulder while grasping his forehead with both arms for balance at the same time. Noticing that he smelled good, not sweaty or like stale beer.

  “Your shoe, Milady,” another guy said as he slipped my right shoe off my foot.

  “Hey, bring that back!” I yelled.

  “The Queen’s shoe is but a chalice for the nectar from the gods that is our reward,” Chance said as the other guy headed towards the keg.

  “Those are my Badgley Mischkas!” I cried to no one in particular, since apparently no one cared. Then watched in part horror and part fascination as the guy began to pour beer into my beautiful shoe.

  “They’re open-toed,” my voice softening as I realized it wasn’t going to matter. He was pouring beer into my shoe, and then trying to drink out of it. Too drunk to realize it was all pouring out the toe of the shoe before he could get it to his mouth.

  I couldn’t help but scoff at the lunacy.

  “You’re paying for those shoes.” I knock on Chance’s head with my knuckles to get his attention.

  “My Queen has a second chalice for the next brave man to partake from it,” he yelled.

  “Do you ever talk in a normal voice?”

  He ignored me.

  Another guy, Yens I presumed, handed me a trophy shaped mug, filled to the brim with beer. I had to grip it with both hands, making it difficult to hang on to Chance and not fall.

  “Fuck it,” I said and took a long pull from the beer. It had already been a stressful week with a huge paper I’d had due for my lab practicum, which I’d barely completed on time. And now, clearly, I’d entered the collegiate twilight zone.

  My left shoe disappeared.

  I knocked the trophy cup on Chance’s head to get his attention. He looked up at me.

  “You wanna tell me what the fuck is going on? And how you’re going to pay for my shoes?” I asked, making my tone as snotty as possible.

  “Pay for your shoes?” He sounded confused.

  “Your idiot friends took my open-toed shoes and tried to fill them with beer. They’re ruined.”

  “It’s an honor. Because you’re the Queen,” he said, yelling the last three words.

  “Why am I the Queen?”

  He looked up at me again. “How is it that you don’t know this? Do I have to explain everything to you?”

  “Yes!”

  “Fuck.” He walked us into the kitchen and set me down on a counter in the corner.

  “Okay. What part don’t you understand?”

  “Why am I the Queen? Where are my shoes? Why did those assholes try to drink out of them? And why the fuck did you put me on your shoulder?”

  “Sweetheart, it’s the rugby championship celebration,” he said. I waited for him to continue, but he seemed to think it was an adequate amount of information to explain things.

  “And?” I asked.

  “And, you’re my Queen.”

  “Are you simple?” I asked, once again knocking on his forehead.

  “Quit hitting me on the head! And, am I simple? Have you never been to a rugby party before?”

  “Nooo.” I drew the word out, thinking this should have been obvious all along.

  “Wow. My Queen is a virgin.”

  “I’m not a virgin.”

  “You’re a rugby virgin, darlin’,” he said with a grin.

  I took another deep drink from the trophy mug and wait for my explanation.

  He grabbed my trophy mug and took a drink himself. Though his drink equated to over half the glass.

  “Let me get us both another beer and I’ll answer all your other questions.”

  I looked around the room while he was gone. There weren’t many people at this end of the kitchen, but a huge group was gathered around the keg at the other end. The living room, which I could see through the pass-thru window over the sink, was packed with people. And the air held the faint stench of old, spilled beer already.

  Chance returned and handed me my beer. I took a big drink, then asked, “How’d you get through that crowd so quick?”

  “I’m the rugby captain,” he said as though the answer was obvious. “Which also makes me your King.”

  I took another drink and motioned for him to continue with his explanation.

  “Ok, we won the Division One All Collegiate Championship, which is a huge fucking deal. So, we have a huge fucking party.” He paused for a beer break, and I downed almost a quarter of my mug in the time it took him to drain over half of his.

  Then he continued, “At the party, a Queen is designated by the King, and the King is always the captain of the team, which this year is me. And, not to brag, but I’m also Collegiate All-American two years running now.”

  He puffed out his chest slightly. It’s obvious that he’s proud of this even though I have no idea what it is. I widened my eyes. “Cool.” And then drank more of my beer.

  “The Queen is always the hottest chick at the party. I knew as soon as I saw you, you were the hottest chick here. So you’re my Queen.”

  I had to smile at that.

  “Thank you for the compliment, but that doesn’t explain my shoes.”

  “Oh, well the guys drink beer from your shoes as a sign of your royal status. You are the Queen and they are your willing servants.”

  “I like that.” My anger about my shoes dulled a bit by my beer consumption.

  “The Queen is so special to us, that her feet cannot touch the ground, it’s too ordinary. Which is why we carry her around all night. And, she gets to order people around and they have to do what she says, no matter what. The best part being she picks who gets nectar, and who gets swill.”

  “That doesn’t sound good,” I said, taking another drink.

  “That’s a rugby party, baby doll. You ready?”

  “Why? What happens next?”

  “Well, I sure as fuck don’t carry you around all night. We’ve got guys for that. Two will put you on their shoulders, not the same two all night, there are three sets of guys. At the end of the
night we have a little ritual, and up until then you just hang out, order people around, and have a great time. Sound good?”

  “Sounds good!” I moved to take another drink and was surprised to find that the trophy mug was already empty and I felt good. Really good.

  Chance transferred me from the countertop to the shoulders of two other guys. I had one butt cheek on each shoulder. But instead of feeling precariously perched, I felt stable. And invincible. Each guy had a stronghold on my thigh, I was going nowhere.

  Chance bent to one knee in front of us.

  “Your wish is my command, My Queen. Pray tell, which poor peasant in your realm should be forced to drink swill and which should be honored to fill your cup with nectar?”

  I giggled at his word choices.

  I never giggled.

  Not sure why, it was fun.

  I found the blonde who was hanging off Chance’s arm earlier and pointed to her, “You, fair maiden, will drink swill!” Her mouth dropped open and she gave me a dirty look.

  I pointed to Chance. “And you, My King, please fill me with your nectar,” I said, feeling a little loose, not really knowing what I was saying, but enjoying it nonetheless.

  Chance winked at me, then stood, looked up toward the ceiling, and bellowed, “Let the celebrations begin!” Then he banged on his chest like an ape. The rest of the team followed suit, and I swear they shook the windows with the noise.

  My feet never touched the floor again. Except when I had to use the restroom. But even then, some poor sap would throw his shirt or shorts on the ground so my feet didn’t touch the actual floor. Which made me happy since my shoes were gone and I had no idea what had been on that floor.

  Everything that night made me giddy, the guys carrying me, the people bowing to me, Chase coming to kiss my hand periodically, being able to force swill upon people I decided not to like on sight, and large quantities of beer.

  The rest of the night passed quickly, and I soon lost count of the number of beers I drank, as well as the number of partygoers I forced swill upon, and who I let drink nectar. Swill, I learned, was beer that the guys had swished in their mouths and then spit back out into a pitcher.

  It wasn’t good to drink swill.

  I almost felt bad for the blonde.

  Almost.

  My head was starting to spin and I looked around for my roommate, hoping that maybe we could sneak out and go home. I feared that if I had any more to drink, I would be sick.

  I heard a chant starting, but I couldn’t tell what they were saying.

  I looked around, and saw Chance approaching. But he was so much taller than normal. I squinted my eyes trying to get my bearings, and realized he too was on top of two guys’ shoulders.

  “My Queen,” he said as he reached me.

  “King!” I reached out and fell into him. He pulled me onto his lap so I was straddling him, albeit awkwardly. The guys holding us stumbled a bit at the additional weight, but recovered quickly. Chance grabbed me around the waist to steady me, and then he kissed me.

  I resisted at first, trying to push at his chest. Until I realized I liked it.

  A lot.

  So, I kissed him back.

  And kissed him.

  And kissed him.

  It was the best kiss I’d ever had. Lazy, like he had all the time in the world and just wanted to spend it getting to know my tongue and my lips. But, still hurried and desperate, like he couldn’t get enough of me, like he could never get enough. And if he didn’t get me then, he’d miss his chance.

  I was pretty sure at least one of my thighs was wrapped around some guy’s head at the side of Chance’s waist, and I had no idea how they were even holding us up, but I didn’t care. I needed at this guy, immediately.

  “I think I love you,” I told him.

  I could feel his dick harden, the material from his shorts and my pants too thin to conceal anything. I moaned, not caring who heard.

  “You’re perfect, don’t ever leave me,” I said.

  “So fucking hot,” he said. I rocked against him, feeling the pressure building. The chanting was getting louder. I finally realized what they were saying.

  Heaven! Heaven! Heaven!

  I pulled away from Chance. “What’s heaven?”

  “God, baby, you’re heaven,” he groaned.

  I giggled at that. Then the guys carrying us made a quick turn to walk down a hallway, causing my head to fall to the side. And just like that, I couldn’t hold it up any longer. When I tried to straighten it on my neck, everything started spinning. I leaned into Chance.

  “I don’t feel very well,” I whimpered into his ear.

  He pulled my head back and looked at me. “I know that look,” he said. “Boys—”

  That’s when I threw up.

  All over him, all over me, all over the guys carrying us.

  And then again, with more projection this time. When I opened my eyes again, I saw in horror as Chance spit to the side.

  I’d vomited in his mouth.

  OH MY GOD!

  I covered my face with my hands and started crying. Chance hopped off the shoulders with me in his arms, somehow not dropping me, and brought me upstairs to a private room with a bathroom.

  Which is when he held my hair back as I vomited again and again. He flushed after each time, wiped my mouth and face with a cold rag, and rubbed my back; whispering things like, “it’s okay” and “get it all out” in my ear as I cried and vomited.

  I know at some point he put me in the shower with him and washed me off and brushed my teeth. Because I vaguely remembered most of it the next morning. And when I woke up next to him in bed, I was clean, and I didn’t smell like, or taste, vomit.

  I took in my surroundings cautiously, noting that he kept his room remarkably clean for a college boy. I glanced at my body under the covers, relieved to see that I still had my bra and panty set on. Then I looked over at Chance and saw that he had boxers, and nothing else, on. Giving me full visual access to all his goods.

  His body was nothing short of amazing. Not in a gym-rat sort of way. More in an athletic ability and great genetics sort of way. His dick bulged from the boxers and the tip peeked out from the waist band. I wanted to see more, but didn’t want to risk waking him up. There is nothing worse than an awkward morning after.

  Especially if the night before was you projectile vomiting in someone else’s mouth. Then falling down repeatedly while they tried to keep you positioned over the toilet for further expulsions. And, let’s not forget passing out completely after which he apparently attempted to clean me up and then put me to bed.

  Oh God. The shame. I didn’t want to look at myself, let alone let anyone else see me.

  I carefully extricated myself from his grip and eased my way to the side of the bed. I made it all the way out and into the bathroom without waking him up.

  He must have rinsed my clothes in the shower as well, because they were damp when I tried to put them on. They did still smell like vomit though. There was no way I could wear them. In fact, I never wanted to see them again.

  I shoved them in his bathroom trash can, and then quietly went through his drawers, trying to find something I could wear. I ended up with a white sports jersey that went to my knees in one direction, and socks that went past my knees to my thighs in the other. It would have to do.

  I snuck out of his room and down the stairs. People were passed out around the living room in varying stages of undress, continued inebriation, and cleanliness. I winced as I opened the front door and it creaked loudly. But no one seemed to be disturbed. So, with that, I ran back to my dorm. Vowing never to speak to any of those people again.

  And I didn’t. To me, they ceased to exist.

  Until I ran into Chance again about six months ago when Kat brought him to a girl’s dinner.

  I shake my head, to clear it. Realizing it’s my turn at the bar. I get my martini, a sparkling water for Chance, and head back toward our table. Thinking ab
out that night still affects me in ways that I don’t care to think about. Mostly because I’ve still not had a man kiss me like that, since.

  I remember most everything about that night, about him, and about our kiss. And how I publicly humiliated myself with massive amounts of projectile vomit. But more than that, I remember how Chance was afterwards. How caring and gentle he was, and how he took care of me and made sure I was okay. Even my roommate had left the party without checking on how I was or who I was with.

  Rehashing it all in my mind leaves me feeling tense and a little worked up. Not even realizing until I sit down that I’ve drank half the martini already between the bar and the table.

  My head spins just a little bit.

  Oh dear. I cannot have history repeating itself with Chance Bauer. I just can’t.

  Chapter 7

  Chance

  Remi teeters back to the table. I can tell that she’s had too many martinis and not enough dinner. I think all she ate was her salad. I hate when women don’t actually eat on a date. When they pretend that all they ever eat is salad, and then go home afterward and gorge on half a leftover pizza and a pint of Ben & Jerry’s once they’re alone. I wouldn’t have brought you to a restaurant if I didn’t want you to eat.

  Knowing Remi has done that, I just want to shake her and tell her I know she eats for real. No one can have an ass like hers and not eat like a normal human. And I mean that in the best way possible, her ass is luscious. I want to sink my teeth into it and leave a mark. I want to spank it until she quivers and then slowly caress my handprint away.

  Not that she and I are on a date, because we aren’t. I’m here for Kat, and even then only because her little Romeo, Brad Matthews, asked me to be. And it must have killed him to have to ask me for anything.

  Escorting Remi here was just a side bonus. I’m her companion for the evening. Which means I get to pull her close when we dance, fantasize about what she looks like under her dress, and—