Quidditch. It's always been too rough for her to play seriously. She'd never even tried out for her team in school, not after her childhood neighbor ended up with a broken arm and leg during Lucy's first year at school all from the same game. Lucy was more than happy cheering from the stands where she didn't need to worry about a bludger trying to kill her. The stands were the perfect spot to watch the Quidditch boys from too and truthfully they were one of the best parts about the sport.
The crowd buzzed around her, split between the concessions stand and the risers. Gaggles of students roamed together, while couples on dates walked hand in hand. The large crowd made her all too aware of how alone she was. Even worse Lucy didn't know either team very well, but she figured she should sit on the local team's side. She'd rather support her home team than the rival.
The team banners waved from the risers and her stomach sank at the sight of them. She didn't know which team was which. She should know this. After all Oliver played on Puddlemere United's reserve team and talked about all his games. With how often he brought them up, she should know the British teams by heart. At least Oliver wasn't playing today or she'd die of embarrassment trying to explain her blunder to him.
"So the American likes Quidditch too and not just leaky cookware," a smooth voice said off to her side. She turned to find the owner. George stared back at her, both hands in his pockets. Instead of a suit he wore a casual outfit, simple trousers and a shirt with one of the team emblems emblazoned across it. The look made her feel less intimidated than his suits, like they were on the same standing instead of him being part of the wizarding elite.
"Yeah. Feels like if I hadn't come I'd be the only witch in London not watching."
"That would be terribly boring. Did you finish the book yet? The history of early magic one."
"No. I gave up on after it put me to sleep last night." She woke up with it crushed under her arm.
He let out a breath of amusement. "I gave up on it too. Did you happen to notice the way the author seemed to use the biggest words possible? Like instead of small he kept using diminutive and instead of tall we got altitudinous. I've never read so many synonyms for enemy in my life either."
She snorted. "He did enjoy his complicated words. I had a teacher who spoke in a complete monotone with no emotion and I bet the author does the same."
"Until he plays scrabble and gets so excited his face turns red. He probably wins all the time and brags so much none of his friends will play with him anymore."
"And they have banned the game from their own houses." Her shoulders relaxed. Something about this imaginary character struck her as amusing and building him with George felt…well like they had a connection. Something in common.
His gaze darted around her. "Waiting for friends?"
"No, just me." Her face burned. How embarrassing to show up to a Quidditch match alone. Now he'd know what a social loser she was. To be fair she'd had plenty of friends during her school days, but friendships proved a lot tougher to make and keep as an adult.
He nodded, as though attending a match alone wasn't the most pathetic thing a witch could do. "I decided to come on a date with the cutest person I could think to ask today—myself."
She cracked a smile. "If only I'd thought of that." Sweet heavens was he charming.
"Hope your outing is going better than mine. My date eats too much." His eyes shifted toward the risers and then back to her. Wanna come sit with me? If I'm butting into your romantic alone time just say the word and I'll disappear instead." He spoke with the ease of a man used to picking up women, but of course he did. What woman would be able to resist good looks and humor?
"Sitting together sounds great. My date has been a total bore so far."
He winked. "Let's see if I can one-up that."
Her palms sweat and her heart thudded. Was this really happening? Or had she fallen asleep on the sofa and missed the game entirely?
"Brilliant. My friend canceled for a date with a cute nurse, but Quidditch is always better with company I think." He turned for the risers and she stuck close behind, trusting him to know the teams better than her. He took her to a row of seats with a great view of the home team's goal posts. Around them the seats filled in quickly. Excitement lit up George's eyes. "Should be a good match. The papers have been predicting a close one."
"I heard something about a new seeker?" Lucy eyed up the crowd. The seats were packed and the noise of the fans a dull roar. It was a familiar feeling, one she hadn't felt since moving. She used to go to games with all her friends back home, at least until they drifted apart after graduation all over the states. She'd missed this feeling of anticipation crackling in the air. The excitement of the crowd. The wooden stands vibrated beneath her feet.
"The local team's seeker left recently, so the reserve player got promoted. She's good, but it's up in the air whether she has what it takes for the position long-term. We'll have to see how she plays today. Personally, I'd be willing to bet on her."
"You keep up with the team, don't you?"
He nodded. "I love attending matches. I used to be a beater in school for Gryffindor and I still play with friends."
She gave his upper arm a playful squeeze. "That explains the toned arms."
He chuckled and a bolt of satisfaction shot through her. "Do you play?"
"I used to play around with friends, but I was never any good. The idea of getting hit with bludgers is terrifying to me. I went through the 'I want to be a Quidditch player when I grow up' phase like every other kid, but mine only lasted three months. My dad took me to a match where a chaser got knocked off his broom and I cried." Her poor father ended up taking her home early. Two weeks later he took her to a meet-and-greet with the chaser to get his autograph and prove to her he was okay so she'd quit having dreams about falling off her broom. Sometimes the stray nightmare still crept up on her.
George's eyes softened. "You have to enjoy the thrill of the game to be willing to risk the pain." He turned his attention back to the empty field, a dreamy look on his face. "Sometimes I miss playing in school, the way my house cheered me on. These days I like having a team to cheer for. Its great camaraderie with all the other local fans, you know? Something for us all to believe in and root for." Handsome, good looking, and a romantic side. Who exactly was this redhead?
Lucy had heard about the first game after the Battle of Hogwarts. The Death Eaters' so-called Dark Lord had showed up with his followers. The Ministry of Magic nabbed most of them after the students and their families rose up to fight back. The fanatics had taken the school by surprise. Wanted posters still cropped up in the Leaky Cauldron for wanted Death Eaters who'd slipped into hiding. The battle shook England, but the following Quidditch match had been smashing. The teams had honored those who fought and so many people turned out for the game that there weren't enough seats. The game brought everyone together after the terror of the battle. It'd been all over the papers in America.
"I admit I've never been good at following teams, but I've always liked attending the matches. Who do you think is going to win this one?"
George wagged a finger. "I always bet on my home team no matter the odds against them."
She held up her hands in defeat. "Right, forget I asked. We're totally going to win, duh."
"See, that's the spirit!" He grinned at her. A stray piece of hair fell over his eyes and she squeezed her knees to keep herself from pushing it away. Adorable, utterly adorably. Maybe she'd been single too long. The last six months or so of her relationship had been a lonely disaster, making her feel like she'd been single for closer to a year and oh what she wouldn't do to spend a night in bed with company.
"Oh, it's starting!" George clapped his hands together in delight. Horns blared as the home team flew out onto the field to raucous cheers. Around them everyone stood and screamed. She stood arm-to arm with George, cheering until her throat ached. Sexy redhead beside her or no, she needed this. Needed a chance to cheer and scream and forget all her worries and singledom. Amongst the crowd she was another fan, another body ready to cheer her team to victory.
"That was so good!" She peered up at the starry sky. It'd been a long match, a close one. They'd left the bulk of the crowd behind, but the local team's victory song echoed out not only from the Quidditch pitch, but the houses they passed by. She darted ahead and spun in a circle to face George. "Are we going to go celebrate somewhere? It's too early to call it a night." She didn't care if her words sounded too bold. After cheering, chanting, and singing with him he felt less like a stranger. It was the sort of bond you could only develop at a Quidditch match. Her aunt always liked to say no romance could beat the bonds formed on the Quidditch pitch. Her favorite saying was, "Those who fly together on the pitch fight together against the world."
Lucy caught the sound of music blaring from somewhere. The upbeat tune made her want to sway to the beat and her hips followed through. "Where's the music coming from? I feel like dancing." She spun in another circle. Her body buzzed with energy. She felt like she could run a mile without getting winded. Watching a match always left her feeling this way, win or loss.
George caught her at the end of the spin. "You'll have to settle for dancing here on the sidewalk. The pub is packed to the gills already." He moved into a formal bow and held out a hand. "May I have this dance?"
"I'm honored." She pretended to swoon before taking his hand. A new song started. The tempo fast as though racing to get to the end. She wiggled her hips before falling into step to the beat. George followed her lead as if dancing on the sidewalk didn't make them look absolutely mad. This was the adventure she'd been after. The realization pushed more gusto into her moves, pushing aside the self-consciousness niggling at her mind.
They continued on for two more dances, George moving his hands to her hips on the last one. His heat bled through her clothes, encouraging her to move closer. The temperature had dropped with the night and his warmth called to her like a beacon. She kept her attention on the movement of her body to keep her mind from considering all the places she'd like his hands to touch.
She had to admit George had moves. He lacked the awkwardness her school dance partners had always stumbled over. Instead his movements were smooth and confident, even when he dipped her at the song's end and she let out squeal of shock.
After he set her upright again she sucked in a large breath and then laughed. "I could have used a warning. It felt like you were going to drop me."
"Me? Please, I'm far too coordinated for that. It's why I asked myself out on a date tonight."
"You're right. You made the right call on that decision."
He shoved his hands in his pockets as his gaze raked over her. "So are you interested?"
"Interested?" She pushed her hair out of her face, hoping he didn't notice the warming of her cheeks in the dim light.
"In spending the night together." The words came out with the practiced ease of a playboy. With his looks she wondered how she hadn't seen that coming.
"Oh." She wasn't normally one for this sort of thing, but England was about adventures, right? And she could use the practice before her next relationship. She could live a little. Spend a night on the wilder side. "Would you like to come back to my place? I live alone, so no roommates to make things awkward." She rubbed at her arm.
"I'd love to."
By the time she got him back to her flat she'd already thought of a dozen reasons why this could be a huge mistake. Maybe he was a murderer. Or would be so disgusted after seeing her naked that he'd leave mid-session. Good thing she'd done her dirty laundry today or there's still be an old bra hanging off her headboard. And for the life of her she couldn't remember what panties she'd worn today. She crossed her fingers it was the black pair with lace. She stepped inside and braced herself for a negative comment. What was it Oliver had said to describe the place? Claustrophobic.
"Charming," George commented as he stood in the tiny living room in the very spot where he could see the whole flat. His serene look didn't hint at any negative thoughts.
She swallowed down her growing nerves. "This way." She slipped off her shoes and headed for the bedroom. Had she sweat too much at the match and become smelly? Could she sniff herself without him noticing? Ugh, it'd been too long since she did this sort of thing. All the little worries were overshadowing her excitement.
She stopped in front of the bed. Before she had any time to agonize over what to do next, George had already spun her around and kissed her. All her worries flew out the window with the feel of petal-soft lips on her own. She'd forgotten how good this could feel as his mouth worked hers. His tongued dived into her mouth, circling her own. His hands ran down her sides and she let out a low moan. Heat pooled between her legs.
"It's been a few months," she admitted, hoping the excuse would give her a pass for how rusty she was. A guy like him probably never had to go a few dry months. Probably not even weeks.
"Don't worry, I'll take good care of you tonight." He backed her up until her knees hit the bed and she sat. His lips never left hers as he made quick work of her clothes. She couldn't help but be impressed with how he could work without looking. Half the time she couldn't even get her own bra off the first try. Definitely a playboy, she decided. It was the only reason he could be so practiced. And that meant she was only one girl in a long line. No reason to worry about standing out. Nothing to agonize over. She could just…enjoy herself.
He rubbed against her, his bulge pressing against her thigh and scattering her thoughts. He smelled like clean cotton doused in vanilla. Unable to resist any longer she slipped a hand under his shirt, feeling the tight muscles of his stomach.
"It's your turn," she mumbled against his mouth as she lifted his shirt up. He parted from her long enough to slip the shirt over his head.
"Better? Or should I put it back on?" His eyes twinkled in amusement.
"I'm getting the feeling it would be unwise to feed your ego. Besides, I'd say the answer is an obvious one."
"Good call." He picked her up and she let out a squeak of surprise. He hauled her up the bed before lying her down near the top and planting a knee on either side of her. "Personally I think you looked ravishing in your dress, but I'm quite fond of these knickers too. Quite the pussy."
She glanced down and her mouth opened in horror. She hadn't put on one of the sexy or cute pairs today. Instead she'd gotten herself stuck with the plain blue pair with a cat peeking out of the crotch. When she saw them in the store they'd been too hilarious to pass up, but she never would have deemed them more suitable than her lacy black pair for a bedroom rendezvous. Now he'd probably remember her as the girl with the terrible underwear, which she deemed worse than not being remembered at all.
He let out a chuckle. "Don't look so glum. If we knew each other better I would have suspected you of picking them out just for me. But as charming as they are, they need to go." He ran his hands up the back of her legs until he reached the band of her panties. She lifted her hips as he tugged them down. "Mhmm, they are soaking wet you naughty girl." Ah, too sexy. Goosebumps sprung up in the wake of his hands as he tugged her panties down her legs.
She thrust toward him, trying to feel more of his skin against hers. When her legs met his trousers, she lowered herself and reached for his bulge. Her hand rubbed circle over him and his hips thrust himself into her hand. A grunt escaped him and the sound made her muscles clench.
Without letting herself consider how he might react, she wrapped her legs and arms around him. Then she rolled him over, positioning herself on top. He looked up at her through half-lidded eyes. Arousal tinted his cheeks pink and his tousled hair gave him a debauched look that sent her desire spiking. Adventure, she reminded herself. She would follow her body and let herself indulge in her fantasies.
"Like being on top do you?" He grabbed her ass, holding her in place as he ground against her.
"I like a lot of positions." Her voice came out a purr. This felt freeing, she thought, to be able to chase after what she wanted without worrying about what he'd think. She fumbled with the button of his pants before freeing him. His member popped out, standing straight and tall with a slight curve to the left. She grasped him, running her hand up and then back down his shaft, liking the way a hiss of air escaped him. "I want to taste you." She slid down his body until her mouth hovered an inch from his tip. "Is that allowed?"
"Bloody hell. Taste me all night if you want." His voice sounded breathless and his hips rose in his eagerness.
With a smile she wrapped her lips around him, pulling a moan from him. Tonight would be a good night. No, scratch that. It was going to be an amazing night.
The sun pricked at her eyes and she rolled over. Her hand reached across the bed, searching for the warm body she'd curled up against when she fell asleep the night before. Her eyes shot up and she sat up. The bed beside her lay empty and cold. She froze, listening to the sounds of her flat. A bird chirped in the tree outside her window. A dog barked from somewhere down the road. No sounds came from inside and the bathroom door hung open, dashing any hopes he'd been shut up inside.
She collapsed onto her back, feeling foolish for thinking he'd stay. "Are you interested?" He'd asked the question with such casualness. She should have known better than to expect him to not sneak out in the night. No way could she show up to the Leaky Cauldron Thursday. It'd be too awkward when she saw him, the man who'd escaped her room while she slept. If he'd been more interested, he would have stayed. No way could she handle the disappointment of seeing him again.
But the thought of seeing him again felt so tempting. What would he think if he noticed her Thursday? Would he think she was following him? No, she couldn't make herself seem desperate or let a womanizer get her down. Last night had been great, sure, but there could be other men if she could get herself out more.
Time to try out The Three Broomsticks instead.