Page 2 of Just One More Night

No matter how many cocks she rode or took deep in her mouth, none of it had made her feel the way today did. Just here, sitting in a taxi, was already hotter and better than all the sex she’d had since she’d left Budapest.

Combined.

Because today she got to keep her promise.

Indy didn’t let herself imagine, even for a moment, that he wouldn’t be here.

He would. She was sure he would.

He had to be.

His instructions had been simple and clear two years ago. He’d given her the address, a time, and a key. The same key she could feel tucked between her breasts now, because she’d hung it from a chain when she’d gotten back to New York. The key she’d never taken off, no matter who she was fucking or what other adventures she might have had since.

Sometimes she’d gotten off more to the memories the key kicked up in her than whatever—or whoever—she’d been doing. She wrapped her hand around the key on its chain now and sighed a little, feeling her whole body hum in anticipation.

She’d never been one for waiting. But she’d waited for this. Some days she’d been sure the waiting might kill her—but it hadn’t. And now here she was. Alive after all.

The waiting was finally over.

Or almost over. Indy had a few hours before the agreed-upon meeting time, so she didn’t go to the address she’d been given. She had the taxi drop her off on the cobbled street ringing Prague’s Old Town Square and dodged armadas of tourists as she walked around the looming statue of the fifteenth-century martyr that dominated it. She peered up at the great Gothic church that always made her sigh a little and got a glimpse of the famous Astronomical Clock over the inevitable crowd waiting for its next show.

It felt good to walk. The last time she’d been in Prague she’d been so exhausted after far too much clubbing in Berlin that she’d hardly been able to feel her own feet, much less fully register where she was. She knew she should have been jet-lagged today, but she wasn’t. Or if she was, it was buried so far beneath her excitement and the adrenaline of finally being here that it didn’t affect her at all. She hadn’t slept on the overnight flight from New York to Zurich. She hadn’t nodded off in the Zurich airport where she’d caught her connection. And she’d been good and wired on the plane into Prague.

When she sat down at a table in the crowded, open-air café, she waited for a wave of weariness to take her over.

But it didn’t come.

She wasamped.

Indy settled back in her café chair and blew on her coffee when it arrived. She was hardly able to believe it was only a matter of hours now. She checked her phone. Less than two hours.

And she could still remember that night in Budapest far too clearly. As if it had happened last night instead of two years back.

Indy had been with some friends she’d hooked up with in Croatia. She’d been two solid years into her world traveler phase and hadn’t seen any end in sight, at that point. These particular friends were the sort she picked up wherever she went. A hostel here, a club there—there were always like-minded people about. Always another party, always another adventure. A new city, a new face, a new story to tell. Indy hadn’t been able to come up with a single good reason why she would ever return to what waited for her back in the States.

That being the hum-drum little lives that all her friends lived in the various places they’d settled down. Nine-to-five desk jobs, paycheck to paycheck, dreary cubicles, and boring conversations aboutthe property ladder.

None of that was any fun at all.

You need to make some real decisions about your life, her father had told her after her college graduation, which everybody liked to say had been a skin-of-the-teeth kind of deal for the not-so-good March sister.Serious decisions.

Indy had felt that she was full up onserious. She had taken a fifth year to get her degree and might have taken a sixth if she hadn’t been so deeply bored by the whole thing. Still, she’d paid her way—meaning there had been no letting anybody down if she made academic decisions that didn’t suit them, like failing a class because she’d forgotten to attend it, or accidentally going off to a music festival instead of taking her exams.

Disappointing them, sure. But not actually letting them down or spending their money. Indy had some standards, thank you. And she had never felt the need to let her father knowhowshe’d paid her way through college. Or why it was she had such a robust savings account come graduation.

There were things a father didn’t need to know.

I know what I want to do with my life, she had told him, wrinkling up her nose in his direction as they’d sat down by the river near her childhood home, fishing.

Or in Indy’s case, pretending to fish while doing what she did best. Lounging.

Okay, what she did second-best.

Nothingis not a good answer,Bill March had replied. He’d shot her a look she knew well, filled as it was with laughter, love, and that particular gleam that made her think, sometimes, that her father knew exactly how free-spirited she really was.

I’m going tolive, Dad, she had said.Deep and hard and wild. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do with a life?

Everybody’s hard and wild until it’s time to pay taxes, her father had said with his typical calm midwestern practicality.