Capítulo 19: Joe's
1. Joe's
When the doorbell chimed to allow them entry in the pub, they were both in a much better mood. Hands linked, Frances couldn't help but marvel that this very handsome, very bright man was willing to spend an evening with her classmates. Let alone that he didn't mind displaying their relationship given his previous status.
— "Hey, Frances is there !", Bertrand shouted as he spotted them.
The young woman smiled at her classmates, huddled around a set of tables.
— "Yes, someone convinced me", she quipped.
Several set of round eyes landed upon the man that followed her.
— "Oh, Mr Kristiansen ! What a great surprise."
Emeline's sarcastic drawl told her she'd probably crossed path with Olivier beforehand. As it was, the blond student was huddled at the back. If his close circle only granted them a look to check that their information was indeed, correct, Rozenn' wide blue eyes told her the news had not travelled to the front.
— "Wait. Are you holding hands?", she exclaimed.
By her side, Alexandre sent Frances a grin. Trust his girlfriend to be as blunt as a badly sharpened knife. The noise seemed to lessen, somehow, as her classmates' attention was redirected to them. Frances blushed profusely, turning to Tristan to see how he wanted to handle it.
Her breath hitched; his eyes seemed to burn with a gleam of possessiveness she had never quite seen before. And before she could even respond, his hand snaked around her waist as he kissed her square of the mouth. A concerto of 'oh', 'ah' and whistles greeted her ears when, recovering from the shock, she slipped her arms around his neck and returned the heated kiss. There, if he wanted to play this like a teenager…
When at least, Frances pulled away, she couldn't help but smirk at his slightly unfocused look.
— "OK", Rozenn responded with a smirk.
And that was all. Chairs scraped on the floor, seats were pulled for them to settle and pretty soon, Emeline was standing and raising her glass in their direction.
— "Let's raise out glass to Frances who caught the most unattainable man of the high school."
— "And the best looking", someone else shouted.
By her side, a dark-haired girl shouted gleefully:
— "Of the city"
— "Hey !", Olivier and Bertrand protested at the same time.
Frances sniggered as Tristan's cheek flushed, his head dipping in her collarbone. By then, the guys and girls were bickering over his attractiveness.
— "Out of a million inhabitants, are you sure ?"
By Frances' side, Rozenn's friend smirked.
— "Definitely. That's what Madeleyne used to say."
— "Damn, when's she's going to know… she'll go frantic. She had a major crush, you know."
Tristan merely nodded, his nose still tucked in Frances' neck.
— "Like probably half the girls in high school."
— "Perhaps the guys too."
As Frances' laughed at the banter, Tristan's muffled voice reached her ears.
— "Make them stop, I implore you"
— "I told you it was risky"
Thankfully, the Gods had mercy upon him as the waitress who brought him a beer. Tristan straightened and considered the glass seriously before attacking it firsthand. Gulp after gulp, the former teacher downed the drink, with a few pauses, until there was not a drop left. Frances' eyebrows rose, her own rhum and orange juice barely touched as he ordered a second beer.
— "Hey, honey. I can't carry you home, you know ?", she whispered in his ear.
Tristan nodded, that ghost of a smile gracing his features as she kissed his cheek.
— "Don't worry, little fairy. I am of Viking descent. I won't be vanquished by a few beers"
And she could only nod uneasily, wondering just how much alcohol he had consumed that fated night, to make him so tipsy and bold enough to attack her. For at the moment, he seemed rather unfazed.
Rumours and questions settled, the surprise of their appearance flowing under the bridge as the evening advanced. Frances drew Tristan's arm around her shoulders and smiled, watching her schoolmates' increasing inebriated state, dodging the few inquiries that came their way. After all, she wasn't about to flaunt their tryst at the high school dance. After a few dead ends, her classmates surrendered. No one would ever know what had happened against that wall…
Tongues loosened, jokes flew, stories unfolded and she could feel the slight buzz of the alcohol in her veins. Albeit she tended to shy away from drunk men, she was strangely at peace, nestled against Tristan's much larger frame, watching proceedings that would have frightened her had she been alone. Until hell broke loose.
— "Bottoms up!", shouted Florent from the other side of the table.
Frances cringed, then met Tristan's twinkling eyes. From up close, she could catch the few maroon streaks in his stormy grey.
— "Don't", she whispered.
But of course, he was not one to back down from a challenge. Tristan grabbed his third beer and cheered. Then he threw his head back and swallowed what remained of the amber liquid in a few gulps. Cheers resounded as he clapped the glass upon the table and rose. Frances observed him as he stood, self-assured, in front of his former students. How come he didn't even sway on his feet ?
What kind of liver did Vikings inherit at birth ?
— "Next challenge now", he stated more seriously. "Who's dancing ?"
And without a second though, Tristan leapt upon one of the heavy tables. The students cheered, then rushed to clean the surface of their drinks before they got kicked aside. Frances, mouth agape, watched as her former teacher unleashed his dancing skills on the crappy techno that was currently playing. Long limbs, smart moves and shoulders supple, he proceeded to charm them. A warm feeling settled in Frances' chest; she had never been so proud to call him HERS.
But when he attempted a three turn move, she sucked in a breath, hoping to all the Gods that he wouldn't sway; the table edge was close. But Tristan was far too skilled, and not inebriated enough to fall. And while the others cheered and clapped, having fun watching a former teacher do the show upon their table, Rozenn reached for Frances' arm and over the noise.
— "Quite a guy you've got"
— "I'd say the same to you", pointing to Alexander. "But yeah, he's amazing"
— "Who knew the geography teacher was so fun ?"
Frances pursed her lips; she now knew how unbridled the man could be. In a concert, or in bed. Private and public persona had never been so different, and she wondered how such an intense man managed to exude this quiet confidence in class. He was, inside out, very passionate.
When her eyes returned to Tristan, she found his stormy gaze set upon her. The former geography teacher jumped over Olivier's head, landing like a gymnast in front of her. Then he bowed, and sunk into the chair by her side with a goofy smile. And she loved him so badly for that, dishevelled, slightly tipsy and happy. Tristan cupped her jaw, kissing her with so much heat that she melted in his arms.
— "Finish your drink, princess. I want to ravish you now"
Frances blushed profusely; fortunately, the noise covered his words. She gulped what remained of her drink they bid their farewells, trailing home in the warm night, hand in hand. Sometimes, as music permeated the air in proximity of some bars, Tristan dragged her in his arms for a few swings. And she laughed, and laughed. Carefree, happy, releasing the tight leash she usually had on her control.
She discovered, this night, how being tipsy only enhanced her sensations as she let Tristan play her body like a fiddle. Every caress, every kiss, every single touch sent her in rapture. Gone was the wrath, the worries, the questions about the future. School, maths, biology, optional points… gone with the wind, gone down the drain as her mouth opened in ecstasy. Gone, far away from her mind as Tristan grunted his pleasure, watching her with both disbelief and awe.
She cried out without holding back for the first time in her life, so freely that Tristan doubted, for a moment, that she was real. Compliant in his arms. Flexible, strong and undone by his intensive care. She was… magnificent. Every bit the fairy he thought her to be. Rosy lips, red cheeks, hair of fire dancing around them, pale and smooth skin under his fingertips, strong thighs circling him, her mouth demanding, her pleasure so vocal.
Damn. What a woman !
Would he ever get enough of her ?
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