The train traveled fast. Instead of the commuter crush of weekday mornings, there was a hefty number of tourists onboard. She didn’t try to find a seat. Nor did he. She’d have this one journey across from him—sharing the same air.
Yes, she was this tragic. And it was definitely time she went abroad, found her inner fun-time girl, and had a fling. She reckoned she deserved to have a few—just as soon as she built up some moxie. But it was hard to put confidence back together when it had been so brutally crushed. And her confidence had never been all that anyway.
The train pulled into the next station—only a couple more until hers now. As half the occupants exited, Nina concentrated on the big poster across the platform advertising the new Shakespeare exhibition at the British Museum. Super keen to see it, she planned to go on her own and take all the time she wanted, with no one standing crossly beside her sighing with impatience. There’d be no more missing exhibitions or shows she wanted to see because someone else’s priorities were more important. She could be as geeky and boring as she liked. There were many pluses to being single, right?
But as the doors slid shut and the train moved on, Nina couldn’t resist anymore and snatched a peek at the out-of-her-league gorgeous foreign guy. The second she did, she froze. His pale blue eyes were fixed on her—like he wasn’t noticing anything else in the world around them. Only her. Suddenly unable to move, all Nina could do was look right back. Until his eyelids flickered as his focus dropped to her mouth.
Hell. She’d licked her lips without realizing—unconsciously sending him that “I’m interested” signal. Jeez, the human body was a scary thing, giving her away when she least expected. And now she couldn’t help notice his lips curving slightly again and that smile stealing back into his exotic eyes.
Everyone avoided eye contact on public transport; it was the way things were. People sealed themselves into their own impenetrable sphere, despite the closeness and sheer number of people in such a small space. That way no one thought you were a psycho stalker. But he didn’t politely look away, and she couldn’t. She’d become all zombie under the spell of her master.
Suddenly someone started singing—a single voice, female, beautiful, rising high in a bell-like solo. But Nina couldn’t break away from him to look down the carriage. She guessed it was a busker—a good one. But then a second voice joined in—from the opposite end of the carriage—in stunning harmony. She sensed movement as a third voice rang out, the tune suddenly lifting as a whole choir joined in.
Good grief, they’d locked eyes and the world had literally started singing?
He still didn’t look away from her and the dreadful thing was that while he didn’t, she couldn’t. The curve of his lips deepened. He seemed to light up from the inside as almost the entire carriage broke into song. And then dance. As the movements became bigger, she had to watch—for her own safety’s sake—finally breaking the connection between them.
There were about fifteen of them in sync, pulling some hardcore coordinated dance moves. A flashmob. She looked around, searching for a focal point—but couldn’t see one, and then couldn’t help looking at him again to clock his reaction.
He was still watching her but smiling widely now. And there was no stopping her return smile, or the rocket launch of her heartbeat. Singers danced up and down the carriage, full on energy and volume and infectious enthusiasm. As one passed, Nina leaned to the side to give the dancer space—but she stumbled as the train took a slight corner at the same time. Nina gasped, bracing for an imminent face plant on the floor, sure she’d be pulped by flying, fierce feet. But a firm arm encircled her waist, pulling her back out of the high-kicker’s path.
Frying pan to fire!
He pulled her to him. She put her hands on his chest, curling her fingers, certain her skin would be seared if she had direct contact.
“Sorry,” she breathed.
“No problem,” he whispered back, amusement dancing in his eyes.
He had to feel her heart pounding against him. He had to feel the shiver that just wracked her body. She cleared her throat and made herself rock back on her heels. She could balance all by herself and put an inch or three between them—right? Yes.
She dropped her hands to her sides. But despite that small distance, he kept his hand on the small of her back. Frankly, the magnetism was too strong for her to resist, so she didn’t step further away.
Flustered, she couldn’t look at him—she watched the show instead. The mob pulled out red and blue flags and she realized they were Olympic supporters. She had no idea which tiny nation they were backing, but it was fun. The fans seemed every bit as athletic as any official competitors they might support—and so enthusiastic.
Then she felt the slightest stroke of his fingers on her back. Insanely sensitized, she glanced at him and he gestured to the now-vacant seats.
Right. Of course. Good idea to get out of the way of the wide arms and high legs. She walked quickly and took a seat. He took the one next to her. Nina felt fried. Hopefully, he couldn’t hear how choppy her breathing had gone. To mask it, she clapped loudly along with the few other passengers not involved in the flashmob—though not as much as the gang cheered themselves. At the next stop, the troupe didn’t get off the train. Nor did she. And nor did he.
Thank heavens for the seat, because now it wasn’t just her lungs acting like she’d run a double marathon, her legs had jellied too. Good thing the next stop was hers, or she’d be at risk of complete meltdown.
A loud mechanical squeal stopped her heart again. A sharp jolt screwed her already messed-up breathing. The train slammed to a stop—midway between stations. Stuck.
Nina breathed in deeply and released the air in a long, hopefully calm-inducing sigh. For a second there was total silence in the carriage. And then that lone voice soared, the second, the third… the choir began all over again. Nina watched the whole performance through—they really were good. And loud. But not quite enough to distract her from her absolute awareness of the hot stuff in the seat next to hers.
The song ended and the train still didn’t move. And now that she was seated beside him, she couldn’t gawp at his gorgeousness without being painfully obvious—so she looked at the floor. The flashmob participants chattered excitedly for a bit before spreading back out along the carriage. And then—just when Nina knew they would—they started the show again. Being stuck between stations with singing sports fans on repeat? There was nothing to do but laugh—and groan.
“You don’t like it?” He leaned close so she could hear him over the crescendoing crowd.
Nina suppressed a shiver—her skin prickling with delight at his proximity. So hot. “It was great the first time.” She tried to accentuate the positive.
“But you’d rather the first was the only?”
It was an effort not to giggle like an overexcited schoolgirl, giddy because her crush was actually talking to her. It might only be because they were stuck, but it was nice to know he wasn’t as aloof as he’d always appeared on the pavement. “Well, they’re amazing, but… it’s pretty full in a small space.”
“I th
ink there is going to be a lot more of this kind of thing in the next few weeks.” He awkwardly shifted his feet as a dancer box-stepped her way down the narrow aisle.
“Not for me. I’m going traveling.” She was escaping London for the duration of the insanity. So many supposed friends were coming over from Canada, and she didn’t want to see much of them. She had to meet up with a few tonight, but after that, she was out of here. And that was good. That was what she wanted. Mostly.
“You’re not staying for the Games?” He sounded amazed—like everyone she told. “You’re going to miss out on all this excitement?” He gestured to the singers screeching at either end of the carriage.
“I thought I’d go sightsee in Europe when the rest of the world is here,” Nina answered staunchly. “I figure the queues will be smaller.” She could find a pro to leaving right before the big event, sure she could.
“Perhaps.” He cocked his head, a small frown furrowing his brow. “When do you go?”
“Next week.”
His eyes widened and some expression flashed on his face—disappearing too fast for her to decipher. Damn. She needed to read more of that body language book.
In the pause, the singers started from the top again.
“For a moment, I thought it was going to be one of those flashmob wedding proposals,” she chuckled, wanting to prolong the conversation for a few minutes. “But of course, it’s the Olympics.”
“Flashmob proposal?” His brow wrinkled.
“Where the guy…” she trailed off. No. To-Die-For here wouldn’t be the type to surf wedding websites and watch the proposal of the week and feel somewhat deflated about his own.