Axton

First, I decide to show her the apartment, strategically skipping my bedroom so she doesn't feel like I am being crude.

I show her the living room, her eyes stopping at every single artwork I own; her curiosity soaring with every passing second. I point at a digitally enhanced photograph of a couple that has been cut out of their wedding picture, leaving only the background and their shape to be seen, and start talking.

"This one I got a few years ago, in a gallery in Paris." She bobs her head to indicate she's following.

When Elizabeth's eyes drift to a very large piece of painting, hanging in full display behind the sofa, its shapes resembling eyes in the midst of a turmoil of colors and limb-like forms, I continue, "This particular one is a favorite. It seems to stare." I don't know how she'll feel about the last comment. Fuck, am I being creepy?

"I like this one, I can understand where you're coming from. A bit subjective; self-aware and introspective; with some elements influenced by pop culture, but still somewhat brooding," she says naturally like she's done it a thousand times before.

I chuckle. "Do you care for Art?" Of course, she does.

"I do. Although I have to admit I do not know as much as I would like." She seemed quite confident a second ago, still, her humility is refreshing.

"Neither do I. Doesn't stop me from appreciating it, though," I say, running my fingers through my hair.

"All forms of art are food for the soul." Her voice is only a whisper, a loud thought.

"'Art washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life,'" I reply.

"Pablo Picasso. You don't happen to have one of his painting lying around, do you?" She squints her eyes.

"Maybe next time."

We do this only a couple more times with pieces that seem to spark her interest. I can't exaggerate, or else I'll seem like a complete tosser.

Elizabeth seems pleased with the surroundings, which for some reason, I find it oddly satisfying. She stops facing my library, begging me with puppy eyes. I can feel her hands itching to touch the volumes, and it amuses me.

"Can I?" she says while tracing the golden letters of a very old copy of The Great Gatsby. Again with the eyes; this woman is going to be the death of me.

Even though I am not entirely confident I want her to see my notes on its pages, I yield. "Go ahead. Knock yourself out."

She flips through it and then goes on to the next one. She does it to some novels—I take it her favorites, and I can't take my eyes off of her. I am not entirely convinced as to why I give her time; perhaps I want her to live this, or perhaps I am the one who wants the opportunity to stare. The way Elizabeth analyzes the yellowed pages and the broken spines is absolutely endearing. She is like a kid on Christmas morning; it's clear she adores this. I wish I could love something like that.

"Did you come here only for my books?" I ask, breaking her out of a trance.

"Wha—No! Of course not." She slams the one in her hands shut, and I can't help but wonder her true reason for coming today.

"You seem to have more interest in them than in me." Her blood runs to her cheeks and I relish knowing I can cause this reaction on her.

"Sorry, I couldn't contain myself. They are so..." She appears to drift away in thought. Wrapping a lock of hair around her index finger she snaps back. "I should learn to behave better."

My eyes lock on hers while hers drift to my mouth."You should never behave better around me." I lick my lips.

She composes herself after shaken for a moment. "Do you fancy bad girls, Axton?" she asks staring at me.

The fire in her eyes is scorching. I don't know how to answer that. Luckily, she whispers, "I am not a bad girl anymore."

"Anymore?" I cheekily ask, I am engrossed.

She smiles as if remembering her past. "Let's just say I had an interesting adolescence."

"Care to share?" I encourage.

"Why should I? You don't seem to share much with me." She defies me.

I think about it for a couple of seconds, Elizabeth is not wrong. "OK. Let's make it fun and play a game: you'll tell me three facts about me you judge to be true. Each one you get right, I take a shot; if you're wrong, you take one."

"What do you get in return other than obviously getting me drunk?"

"Obviously the best part." I grin taunting her. "You'll answer mine as well."

Despite looking hesitant, she is eager. I feel it; her thirst for information can't be contained. "I'll let you pick your poison, any spirit you'd like. I have vodka, rum, gin, tequila, whiskey, cachaça—"

She raises both eyebrows and asks me with playful eyes "Have you got honey and cinnamon sticks?"

"Sure." I extend the vowel to convey my suspicions about her choice. "Cachaça it is?" I dare. I wonder where she learned to drink such an exotic shot.

"Cachaça it is. Hit me." She says tapping on the table twice. "Who goes first?"

"I'll get the pizza and the drinks. Ladies first." I turn around and leave the room.

When I get back to the living room, I invite Elizabeth to sit on the sofa with me. This won't work if she's far away sitting on the faraway chair across the table.

"I only bite if you ask nicely, you know," I tease.

She rolls her eyes and grabs a piece of pizza while I prepare our shots. This is going to be entertaining.

Elizabeth puts her index finger to her mouth, rubbing her perfectly manicured long nails to her lip, teasing me. "Let's do this. I'll start: you did not put this apartment together by yourself, you came here because someone made you, and you left a lot of pissed off girls back home in England."

This is not going as expected, I thought she'd get it all wrong from the start. Points for her, I guess.

"Ok, I had the help of some art dealers when it came to finding art, but everything in here I chose myself. My parents made me come here, and I tend to leave pissed off girls everywhere I go; it's a talent." I put on the smuggest of smiles. "I'll drink two, and you drink one.

"My turn." I grin devilishly. "You prefer books to movies, you would do anything for your friends and family, and you're a daddy's girl."

"I love books and movies equally, of course, I would do anything for them, and no, I'm certainly not a daddy's girl. The score is two to one. Drink up, Axton."

Bloody hell.

Taking another bite off her pizza she goes, "You don't like many people; you drive a motorcycle and you want to be a writer."

"True, false and false. I do not want to be a writer necessarily, it is more about what I don't want to do, rather than what I want. Does it make any sense?" It probably doesn't.

"I think so, I guess I feel the same sometimes." I am surprised by her answer, maybe we are more alike than I had her pegged.

I push her two shot glasses and chug one. "It's me now. You are a party girl, you can be irresponsible at times, and you work at a radio station." I am playing safe now.

"Hey! That's not fair!" she shrieks in frustration. "You probably knew the last one, it's too random to guess."

"The rules don't specify."

"Fine. True, but used to be truer, now I am more... selective; true and true," she says reluctantly and puts the three glasses in a straight line that disappears in a matter of seconds.

After a couple more rounds, Elizabeth's count is fifteen, and mine is ten. No big revelations this time, we are not quite like the other had imagined. The damage is substantial; we can barely see straight anymore, and we are considerably happier than we were when we started. At some point, Elizabeth made herself comfortable and placed her legs over the arm of the sofa. She tries to stand up, takes a full step back and falls straight back into the couch.

"Hey! Whoa, take it easy, tiger." I reach my arms to assist in easing her fall.

She turns to face me with a single swoop of her head and circles her index finger in front of me. "You think I don't see what you're doing? You are trying to distract me into not asking questions." Her words are slurred; it is evident she is doing her best to keep her train of thought.

"And how I am doing that?" I raise one eyebrow towards her.

"Looking at me with those hungry green eyes and playing these games." She leads her finger straight to my nose, poking its tip. Did she just "boop" me?

"I am doing no such thing, Elizabeth," I deny with a smug face. Clearly, I am lying through my teeth.

"Ha! And you keep calling me Elizabeth. You are trying to mess with my thoughts." She lifts her finger to her temple. "Admit it Ax, It'll be easier for everyone involved if you do." She moves her hand and lightly runs her nails on my forearm, sending electricity to course through my entire body.

"Ax?" I get stuck at the nickname and do my best to ignore the warmth of her touch.

"You call me only by Elizabeth, it seems only fair I do just the opposite with you, calling you only by a nickname."

"It is only fair." I might not be sober, but Elizabeth is absolutely battered. "I'll make us coffee, ok?"

"Um-hum, that'd be nice. Warm coffee..." she trails off.

She is hardly making any sense, although I must admit that this fun side of her is attractive; her guards are down, and she has absolutely no filter at all, it seems.

When I finish, the poor thing has made herself comfortable and is sound asleep. I can't send her home now, besides, I don't even know her address. I lift her in my arms and take her to my room. She would wake up painful having slept on the couch; my bed is much more suitable to be slept in. Elizabeth barely acknowledges the fact I am carrying her, she only mumbles something incoherent when I place her in bed.

I lift her arms to change her into one of my t-shirts. As the fabric slides through her skin, her red laced bra becomes visible. Fuck. I swear I am doing my best to be respectful here, but the Universe is throwing me nothing but curveballs. I focus on her, absorbing every piece of moonlight-pale skin, every tattoo, every scent; the plumpness of her breasts, the curves of her thighs, the way the silky silver strands of hair rest on her shoulders, it's all extremely maddening. I take a couple of deep breaths, controlling myself, and carry on with the task. Once fully clothed, I tuck her hair behind her ear, lay her down and put the duvet on top of her. She looks absolutely stunning wearing my clothes, but I can't be concerned about it now. Seconds later, I collapse by her side in bed.