Chapter 8: Good. Very Good.

She paced the length of the apartment, nervously chewing her nails. What had she done? Challenging Darien Shields to a competition of who could seduce the other first? What force of complete idiocy had compelled her to agree a ridiculous bet like that? More importantly, she wondered, how had she let herself be coerced into another uncomfortable meal with him when she knew full well that the two were barely able to make it through ten minutes together?

Wringing her hands she went over the implications of their arrangement. She was supposed to seduce Darien Shields, the man who had no doubt gotten an A+ in smooth talking, before he seduced her. Simple. Lucky for her she had no idea how to seduce a man, let alone one so…experienced. She had dug herself a desperately deep hole this time and had no idea how to get herself out.

And why, for the love of god, did four cups of strong coffee consumed like water make her hands shake so violently?

She had to get out of the apartment; she was jittery and crazed. She needed fresh air and quite possibly dialysis. Approximately two blocks away from the flat, heading towards anywhere that would allow her to escape her panicked state, she made an abrupt about face nearly knocking down a small child. It wasn't hard for her to realise that no amount of walking or park therapy was going to cure the spasms in her left eye and the involuntary convulsions she was experiencing. A momentary vision of being arrested for exhibiting signs of some more serious drug withdrawal hastened her path home.

Back in the flat she laid herself gingerly on the sofa, trying to still her body and focus her mind. She needed a plan. Clearly she could not back out of their date now. Her thoughts pulled up short. Even the thought of the word left a bitter aftertaste in her mouth. If she cancelled, he would conclude that she had gotten too nervous to face him. He would win and she could not allow him that pleasure. But what if she contracted the plague? Of course! If she were filled to the brim with disease then there was no way she would have to see him on Friday. The plague would keep him away for sure. Sure she would be dead …but death was a small price to pay considering the circumstances right?

She stood up and resumed her pacing. She was being silly. 'Besides, there's no way I'm going to be able to find someone with the plague by Friday. I'll have to go to dinner, impress the socks off of him and make him fall for me. Not like I like him, so his charms will have no effect!'

Unfortunately, conviction and confidence was a fleeting emotion and as quickly as it had charged through her brain it was chased out by the reality that he would likely see right through her charade. She wasn't exactly Serena Stanton, seductress extraordinaire. She was at best, Serena Stanton, the-girl-next-door. 'Maybe I can just fall on my face enough times that he'll be too embarrassed to be seen with me. That'd be a pretty easy way to win.' She shook her head. As promising as that route might be, it did involve putting herself through a level of embarrassment even she wasn't sure she'd be able to laugh off.

She needed outside reassurance. Picking up the phone she dialled a number, hastily scribbled on a stray receipt. Lita had better pick up if Serena was going to spend the money on the long-distance call to France.

"Lita, Serena. Talk now. Important. Call me. Andrew's!" The words tumbled out of her mouth in a frenzy as soon as the voice mail beep blared in her ear. She hoped her friend would be able to decipher her vague, caffeine-coded plea.

With nothing better to do and no fresh ideas popping into mind Serena relied on cliché methods of relaxation: she went to take a long hot shower.

Twenty minutes later she stepped out of the bathroom towelling off her hair. Steam rolled behind her as she padded to the blinking light on the answer phone. Praying it was Lita she played the message back.

"Serena, babe, I got your message, this is costing me a fortune. You sounded a little crazy and supersonic. What's wrong? Call me back!"

Glad that Lita was quick to respond, Serena dialled only to be pitifully sent to Lita's voice mail again.

Groaning she left a second message. "Lita! Phone tag is no help. Call back now. Talk must talk, must, must, must talk, talk." She hung up fully aware that coherence was no longer her friend. Falling face down onto the sofa, she sighed and ran over the unsavoury options again. She could cancel and face the humiliation of forfeit – him laughing at her failure or worse, assuming that she liked him. Or she could show up for the date, suffer through a painful night all the while trying desperately to out-seduce him. Then there was "option P" – finding a victim of the plague and while that route seemed the most radical and implausible it was, shockingly, the forerunner of her miserable mind. She needed to talk to someone out loud instead of listening to the crazy person inside her head. Her body sunk deep into the cushions. She revelled in new secret option number four – get eaten by an inanimate object.

The sound of the ringing phone caused Serena to jump from her semi-comatose state. Before the device could sound a second time she was speaking into it.

"LITA?"

"No," the voice on the other line was clearly hesitant to respond to her yelling.

"Sorry, Caldwell Residence."

"You sound a little frazzled Serena. Not worried about our little date are we?" She scowled at the haughty tone, recognising the voice.

"What do you want Shields?"

"I was hoping to speak to Andrew but ruffling your feathers works equally as well."

"You suck," her tone was icy and she wore a slightly vengeful smile as she slammed the phone onto the receiver.

On his end Darien couldn't help but grin; winning their bet would be a piece of cake.

It had taken three days for Serena and Lita to end their ridiculous game of phone tag. It was a good thing that Lita called when she had, because Serena was in desperate need of some friendly advice before her dreaded encounter. Andrew was, of course, useless, laughing at her predicament and offering lewd comments whenever the opportunity arose.

Despite a reassuring conversation with Lita, her game plan for the night was loose at best. She was not a seductress, she was not some vixen intent on winning his affections, his money, or his love but she was indifferent to his charm and she hoped that would prove to be an ace of sorts. Tonight she would put on an award winning performance. She hoped.

Sitting in the living room, dressed and ready to go, her feet tapped rhythmically as she waited. The sound of the buzzer cut through the silent room like a dagger and she muttered some affirmations to her cause as she buzzed him into the building.

Checking the mirror, she tightened her ponytail, straightened her black blazer and tightened the belt strung through her jeans. Despite all she had done to "prepare", the imagined scenarios, the hours spent in front of the mirror nothing she had imagined or told herself had prepared her for the sight of Darien standing casually in the hall simply dressed in a pair of dark jeans and a white dress shirt, un-tucked and hidden under a warm looking wool coat. He held a single white calla lily in his hands. Serena knew her mouth was ajar; gaping at the innocent smile he flashed her. It was so unfamiliar to Serena that she barely registered when he pressed the flower in her hand and gave her a quick peck on the cheek.

"You look lovely tonight Serena."

Startled by his demeanour she felt her eyes involuntarily narrow in irritation; he sure was one sneaky bastard. She'd have to act like a star tonight. Putting on a sweet smile she tilted her head to the left, "thank you. You look very nice yourself."

He smiled again, and she saw his eyes soften even more. How was he doing that? Had he taken lessons on how to control every muscle in his face? There was a moment of awkward silence before she grabbed her purse and locked the door behind her. She felt light pressure as he placed hand on the small of her back, her breath caught involuntarily. He was good. He was very good.

But she could be better.

Stepping away from his touch she flashed him a seductive smile and linked her arm through his as they entered the lift. She looked deep into the centre of the flower and part of her wondered if he knew it was her favourite.

In the back of her mind, some part of her admitted that this quiet, almost shy Darien was one she found dangerously attractive. It was a good thing she knew it was just a façade. She could see how easy it would be to fall for such a well-played act.

The two sat in the car in reasonably comfortable silence. Serena was taking the time to steel her resolve and remind herself of her plan. She would be charming and lovely. She would parry every one of his cunning moves with a cleverer one of her own and a dazzling simile to boot. She would be saccharine sweet when necessary and she would be cool and collected when circumstances called for it. 'Cool as a cucumber'. She groaned at how cheesy that sounded in her head.

Despite her resolve to stay calm and collected, her jaw dropped when the passenger door opened. She nearly forgot to avoid the frame of the car and just barely avoided a headlong collision with the car in a rush to get a better glimpse of their destination. In front of her stood the most beautiful mansion lit up against the dark night sky.

"Welcome to Somerset House Serena." Gently he took her hand and guided her towards the entrance. They walked slowly and pointed off into the distance towards something Serena had yet to notice, an ice rink in the middle of London.

"What is this place?" Her eyes were glued to the grandeur of the palace she saw before her. She had to hand it to Darien, he sure knew how to blow a girl's socks off.

"You don't listen very well do you?" He noted her glare. "It's Somerset House. Built in the 1500s by Edward Seymour, 'Protector of Somerset' to Edward VI. Since then it has been home to Queen Elizabeth I, the Navy Board, the Royal Academy, Royal Society, and a couple of other things. There's a museum that runs year round and in the summer where the ice rink is now, they hold open-air concerts."

"Thank you very much Mr. Tour Guide." She mocked, but she was impressed by his knowledge. "How do you know so much about this place?"

He shrugged and stared off into the distance, "I enjoy reading brochures."

She eyed him suspiciously, his response seemed a little transparent, but she put the tendril of scepticism out of her mind as Darien dragged her towards the skate rentals.

"You're sure you've skated before Darien?" She taunted the man clinging to the guard rails of the rink.

He bit his tongue and simply glared. She was annoyingly comfortable on the glass-like surface.

She watched as he pushed himself valiantly into a fully upright position only to curse his way down to his butt.

She bent over him and stuck her tongue out childishly. "Superior skating skills indeed."

Despite all of his taunting as the two were hiring the skates, and the implications that Serena would not match his superior skills it was impossible, as the ice melted beneath his body, to ignore the girl literally skating circles around him.

"How in the hell did you learn to skate so bloody well?" He watched as his breath left his body in a puff, lamenting his previously "brilliant" plan. She was meant to be the one falling, needing him to help her up, not the other way around.

"There are a lot of things you do not know about me Shields, for instance, the fact that I started skating and competing, when I was 5. I stopped when I went to college. "

"You skated all the way up until university?"

"Until college yes." He watched her skate backwards a length before pulling a double axel landing sloppily in front of him. Before she could barrel into him, she caught herself and spun to a halt. "Guess I'm a little rusty" she smiled, unashamed.

He was pleasantly shocked at how she reacted to each misstep. He had assumed that she would be the type to shy away from her mistakes, embarrassed at every fault but she seemed to take every fall as inspiration.

Twenty minutes into her solo skate, Serena realised that skating circles around Darien would not helping her win him over. Extending one hand in a carefree way she tried to coax him into joining her. He looked at her sceptically

"Darien, this is supposed to be a date of sorts. Generally at this point you are meant to partake in date-like activities. In this case, skating with me."

"That's really all right. I think I'll just stand here and watch you."

"Don't be silly. You're the one who decided to do this. I assumed that meant that you at least enjoyed ice skating."

"Can I help that I recall being good at this?" As he said the words his skates slipped out from underneath him and his grip on the railings tightened. "I can't even stand on the ice let alone move, just go with out me." His voice was tight and she could see him getting angry as his inability to impress. It dawned on her that failure was not something he faced very often.

"Don't be stupid, it's no fun skating alone. Besides, I've got you." Ignoring his protests, she grabbed his hand and pulled with a strength he hadn't expected. Suddenly and for the first time that night he was skating.

"See, skating is a lot easier when you move your feet. Friction is reduced to nearly nothing on the ice, which is why standing still is so difficult. There's really barely anything holding you to one spot no matter how hard you try. The sheer weight of your body overcomes what little force there is and all you wallflowers are left with are skates that fall out from underneath you. The more you move better."

He gave her a sceptical look; he had not expected such a scientific reason for pulling him into the centre of the rink. She rolled her eyes at him and quickened their pace. "Just because I study English doesn't mean that I didn't pay attention in physics, especially when it pertained to skating. Besides, shouldn't you be happy that I'm giving you such a rational easy way to remedy the fact that you're flailing like a clown?

He glared. She was enjoying his misery too much. He mentally kicked himself for putting himself in a position where simply speaking threatened to result in an ice-related injury.

Following an hour of patient instruction Darien was gliding, albeit somewhat roughly, around the frozen oval. Serena skated backwards in order to watch Darien's face contort every time he lost balance. All of his energy was focused on keeping his butt from making contact with the ground, again.

"You know Shields you're not so bad when you're struggling to keep your balance."

"Is that a compliment?" he cocked his head the best he could with out throwing his body out of balance.

"If you've never received a single compliment in your life, then yes, sure," she laughed at him.

Offended he rushed forward to nudge her aside but Serena was too quick, too balanced, leaving Darien to land painfully on his face. Outright laughing, she stopped next to him and extended her hand. " Do my eyes deceive me or are you falling for me." She mocked; a wicked grin on her face as the prospects of winning flashed in her mind.

He tugged on her hand eliciting a yelp from her lips as she landed next to him on the cold, hard surface. "No, but I believe that you just fell for me."

It seemed as if their competition was a better social lubricant than any sort of truce could provide.

Despite Darien's improvement, he insisted, after the tenth fall, that it was about time they retire to something they were both good at: sitting and eating. It was a simple but tasty meal paired with good wine and, all things considered, decent conversation that flowed more naturally than expected. The endless flow of anecdotes concerning their blonde friend helped set the stage for more personal conversations. Their dinner was running so smoothly in fact that it was difficult, at times, for the two to remember just how much they disliked one another.

Serena explained to Darien how she had always wanted to study in England, after all, what better place was there to complete an English Masters degree than Oxford. She told him how much she enjoyed the people she worked with and how fulfilling it was to be learning new things each day.

"If you've wanted to live here for so long, and like England so much, why do you so adamantly keep to your American roots?"

"Maybe I do that only around you." She quipped.

"Do you?"

She eyed him, wondering if he was asking because he was curious or to antagonise her. "At school first term, a classmate asked me to meet him for a drink at 'half-one.' Naturally I figured, one o'clock halved is twelve thirty?"

Darien allowed a small smile slip through, anticipating the misunderstanding that had likely arisen.

"So there I am, sitting at this local pub alone, it's one fifteen, and I'm so annoyed having been stood up that I did what any other normal girl expecting someone to cheer up her gloomy week would do. I phoned him up and offered a few choice phrases and ignored him anytime he tried to talk to me. You're laughing at me now so I bet you realised just how embarrassed I was when another friend explained that half-one means half-past-one." She hung her head a little and chuckled to herself.

"It was so embarrassing having to apologise after walking out on him for a week straight." She shook her head at the memory. "I have to admit, half-one is much easier to say, and a lot easier to type in a text message than one-thirty." She saw him quirk his eyebrow, "I'm lazy, what can I say?"

Her eyes glittered as she recounted stories of various misunderstandings. It had taken her a long time to refer to the toilet as a toilet in public. "…because in the states, it's considered proper to ask for the 'restroom'. So I'm on this short road trip, to the Lake District, and we stop by this little souvenir shop, I go up to the lady behind the counter and ask for the restroom. She looks at me with these sad eyes and says in the most apologetic voice, 'dear, we don't have a restroom, but if you're tired you can rest right here' and pulls the stool right out from underneath her to give me. I was mortified."

She paused and stared into her wine glass. "I do love it her, it's better than where I was before, but I'm still going to say an elevator is an elevator, because I am American. It's my home for better or worse. And if doing so bother you so much, well that's just an added bonus now isn't it?"

Darien smiled at her grinning face. He should have been offended, but instead he was amused. Months ago, he would have assumed any encounter like the ones she had described would have been cause for Serena to mock and dismiss the British culture. And yet there she was, embracing the idiosyncrasies between the languages.

They walked into the night slowly picking their way through the streets.

"Do you ever wonder why we keep roping ourselves into these ridiculous bets?" Her quiet voice barely broke their silence, but it was nonetheless a piercing comment.

"Are you complaining?" He felt her press into his arm, whether purposely or because she seemed unable to walk in an entirely straight line he wasn't too sure.

"Maybe not this time." This time he was sure she pressed closer to him on purpose. He felt his lips curve a little. It seemed winning would be easier than he thought.

It was nearly midnight by the time they arrived at Andrew's door.

"So, I think it's safe to say that I won tonight's bet?" His eyebrows danced on his forehead taunting her.

She stared straight into his eyes, eye lashes batting coy like as she slid her hand from his chest to the back of his neck. She pulled herself into his arms, moving slowly into a kiss. His eyes were lidded in anticipation but her mouth brushed past his lips and upwards until her breath tickled his ear. "You sure about that?" His heart thumped once before a cold rush of air caught the hair standing up on the back of his neck. Taking a deep calming breath, he opened his eyes just in time to watch her close the flat door with a silent click.

She was good. She was very good.

**Answer Phone - Answering Machine/Voice Mail

A/N: So after a ridiculously long hiatus, there is chapter 8. Revised probably about four times and ready for your approval. Thanks to my editor GalenaSteel who possibly doesn't remember editing this so long ago, but with out whom this chapter would not have read nearly the same way.

I'm going to try and post again soon, so hopefully there won't be another 2 year lag in updates. I hope you enjoy this one.

Thanks again to everyone who has stuck with me for so long despite my obvious inability to stick to an update time.

Cheers,
Jing

©Jing2. Aug.2009