Mr. Masters (Mr. 1)

"Yes. Oh my God, and the gorgeous one is really into you." I bite my lip to stifle my smile, and I push the phone so close to my head, it feels like it nearly becomes embedded in my skull. I know how childish we sound, and for some reason, I don't want Mr. Masters hearing this.

“We’ll see,” I reply, trying to act casual.

“See you at eight at my house. Wear your sexiest dress.”

I feel my nerves flutter. “Okay, see you then.” I hang up and sip my coffee awkwardly. Mr. Masters stares at the soccer game, and for some reason I feel like I should offer an explanation.

“I’m a little nervous about going out tonight.”

His unimpressed eyes turn to me. “Why?”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “Strange country, new people.”

He raises an eyebrow and seems amused. I turn and continue to watch the game. It’s weird. I go from feeling comfortable around him one minute, to feeling like a stupid child in the next.

“You did come here to find yourself, Brielle. I assume you will start that particular project tonight,” he says flatly.

Are you for real?

He’s openly sarcastic about the fact that I’m going out with the backpackers tonight. Is he unaware that, for the last two hours, I have watched every woman around this godforsaken field try to bang him as if he’s The King of England?

I sip my coffee, remaining silent.

Screw this.

I am going to have sex tonight. I’m going to have wild, uninhibited sex with a young Canadian—one who doesn’t make me feel like I’m an errant teenager.

One who doesn’t have a brain or a cute curl through his hair.

Somebody whose name isn’t Mr. Fucking Masters.

Chapter Four

I hold the tissue flat, press the soft white parchment to my lips then roll them together as I look at my reflection in the mirror. My hair is full and curled just on the ends. My makeup is smoky sexy, and my lips are now a glossy gold.

I turn to look at my behind, and I feel my nerves flutter in my stomach.

I'm wearing a fitted, strapless cream dress, with high heeled gold stilettos complimenting it, plus a small gold clutch giving me something to cling on to. I look good. I know I look good. Sexy and fun was my aim, and I think I nailed the brief.

Tonight’s the night.

For twelve months, Emerson and I have planned our trip to London, convincing ourselves that we were going to be new people. People who have fun and live by the seat of their pants. Not that we didn't do that back home, but we were definitely in a rut. I didn't want to go out in fear that I would run into my ex and one of his bimbos. Emerson didn't want to go out in case we saw her ex with someone else. Our social lives were completely dependant on other people, and I hate that we let that happen.

I hate that I unconsciously let my stupid ex determine what I did. Maybe I wasn't ready to move on and that was just my excuse to keep my heart safe. I've been asked on dates—many times, actually—but nobody ever caught my interest, and I know it would have been a letdown and I'd have come home feeling flat. Declining dates was a better option than suffering disappointment.

So, Emerson and I would watch movies and eat takeout at each ot

her’s houses to save our money for our trip. We both moved home with our parents a year ago when our relationships fell apart, and that, in itself, was a challenge.

Neither of us had lived at home since we were twenty, but we didn’t want to commit to a new lease or anything until we came home from this trip. It was like our lives were on hold until we lived through this experience. And

this is it… now we’re here.

But the bravery I was sure I would have has suddenly disappeared.

The Canadian boys we met on the plane were nice. One of them was gorgeous and we had an instant spark.

Is tonight the night, though? He leaves for Greece tomorrow. This is our one and only night together, and then I’ll probably never see him again. Not that I’m complaining. He isn’t the kind of man I can see myself ending up with long term, but one night of passion might not be such a bad thing. Will I really have sex with a stranger? I haven’t had sex in twelve months, and God, has that particular drought been hard. Harder than hard. I never realized how much I needed sex until I couldn’t have it.