(Unnamed at present)

So far...

Jean? Paul? Luc? Pierre? Christophe? Henri? Marc? She half-heartedly tried to recall the name of sexy stranger beside her. The stiff, sweaty sheets were twisted and she felt exposed although there wasn’t a hope of seeing a thing in this unlit, unfamiliar room. The air was warm and thick and stifling and the arm draped behind her was now jutting awkwardly into her neck. She scanned the darkness in hope of locating her clothes but with the lack of light she couldn’t even make out a doorway. She sighed and raised herself up into a sitting position, she then carefully swung her legs over the side of the bed frame and stood upright as noiselessly as possible. Her feet shuddered as they felt the cool, smooth surface of the tiled flooring, she took a step and immediately stubbed her toe on a hard, solid surface. Shit! What was that? She tentatively reached in front of her and recognised a wall less than an arm’s length from her face, at least now she had a rough bearing to stop her from further injuring herself. She felt her way along the wall and finally came to window ledge, she gently pulled back one of the thick, rough curtains and peered out into the blazing sunlight. She saw a shaded, cobbled street lined with Vespers and bicycles, she smiled – typical Paris! On the opposite side of the narrow road was an assortment of miscellaneous apartments with beautiful roof terraces and balconies, (one terrace was over-flowing with vibrant, tropical vegetation and she could just make out a rusting table amongst the plants - the life of some!) She skimmed the ground level in search of a road sign which would yield some information as to her current whereabouts, but the writing on the sign was too small to read. Once again she scanned the room for her clothes but the rivulet of light from the window only enlightened a tiny slither of the room. She desperately interrogated the darkness. She needed her clothes, she needed to avoid the inevitable humiliation that would come if the sleeping stranger awoke while she stood dithering, stark-naked in his room. Fair enough, they did shared some degree of familiarity after all that happened last night but they were unbelievably drunk then and there was common degree of etiquette surrounding the mornings after one night stands.

As she stood there with a look of absent-mindedness on her slender, pretty face he tried to recall her name. Anna? Victoria? Jessica? Elizabeth? He remembered being amused by the fact that her accent, style, drink choice and name were all so typically English. He stared at her a while longer. She really had an unbelievable body; slim – but still feminine – not like his past girlfriend, she’d been far too thin for him to find remotely attractive. The room was completely dark – a relief knowing what a state he’d left it in when he left the apartment the night before – but a tiny beam of sunlight sliced through the curtains a illuminated her pale, milky-white, freckled frame. He decided he better get up, he’d hoped when he awoke that she’d of left by then but unfortunately not... Oh well, he’d better get the good-looking girl some breakfast or something. He stretched his arms above his head and flexed his muscles for effect.

What a show off! She thought. Look at me flexing my biceps! ...Although he did have quite nice muscles so I guess he can get away with it she decided. “Morning,” sighed a deep, husky voice. She suddenly shot back into reality; she was standing there completely unclothed, and he was awake! “...um, hey...” she managed to reply despite her deafening dread.

Her hands flung to conceal her bare flesh, what’s the point in trying to cover up now? he wandered, I saw it, I touched it all last night! He smiled. He better relieve her from her embarrassment, so he quickly reached behind the bed frame and as expected he found a screwed up t-shirt, “Here,” he said chucking it to her.

She caught the plain, white t-shirt and pulled it over her throbbing head. “Thanks,” she smiled gratefully, she felt a lot better now. “No probs,” he answered and she became aware of his distinctly un-French accent. Where was he from? It sounded acutely Scottish but it also had a minutely Australian twang to it...Or come to think of it, was it South African? She tried to gauge the roots of his brogue but her attention was taken as he rolled out of bed and stepped into a pair of Amani boxers.

With his buttocks now masked, he flicked on the main light and shielded his eyes as harsh light flooded the room. He blushed as he took in the clothes spewing from the open wardrobe and the beer bottles littering the tiled floor like a vast, glittering, green ocean. His mind was drawn back to his home – the Australian coast. What was everyone doing there right now? What time would it be? He missed Australia at times, but Paris was a fair swap.

Thanks to the light she could now see the room she’d spent to night in, it was completely buried in bottles, clothes and general mess. She thought of her own room; neat, tidy, perhaps some would say over-organised – a far cry from this shambolic state. Her eyes were drawn to the red-wine bottle which lay on its’ side with a pool of luke-warm, burgundy liquid, the liquid had seeped into the bare floor boards, she shuddered as she imagined the awful stain it would leave.