Meet Me In The Pit

Chapter Four - We'll Never Meet Again

Keira

Score: If We Ever Meet Again - Timbaland Ft. Katy Perry

"You're going the wrong way!" I practically yell into the driver's ear, as the Uber I'm traveling to the airport in crawls painfully slow through the Parisian traffic, which is especially bad today. And now, the driver's going the wrong way.

I have never seen the streets of Paris busier before. With this speed, I'll get to Charles De Gaulle Airport just in time for my flight's landing in London.

When I woke up in my hotel room this morning, I realized I had slept through four alarms, had yet to pack, and my flight was in three hours... So, as I was rushing through my room, looking for my hairbrush and a clean pair of knickers, I called the hotel reception to ask for a shuttle to the airport, but it turned out they were all booked, for an incoming flight.

Weird. There always is a spare shuttle or two, but the girl from Reception told me there was a big group, checking in today and asked me whether I wanted her to call me a taxi. I told her not to bother and that I'd take an Uber.

So, here I am, an hour later, trying very hard not to panic, in the back seat of the Uber, updating my Maps app every three seconds, but, unfortunately, it is giving me the same result every time. My estimated time of arrival at Charles De Gaulle Airport is about the same as the time of my meeting with the GM, back in the London office.

"I'm sorry, madame, there's no other way," the driver says, glancing at me in the rearview mirror. "There's a big concert at Stade De France tonight, and the adjacent street is closed. All traffic to the airport is rerouting through here."

Feeling helpless and defeated, I sigh and throw myself back in my seat.

Fuck! None of this would have happened if I had just gone straight to bed last night, instead of roaming the streets with a complete stranger and going to bed at four a.m. I would have woken up early enough to possibly get a shuttle to the airport and avoid the crazy traffic, and would be at the airport, sipping Starbucks right now, instead of sitting in this car that smells of patchouli...

Yet, that walk last night, and the way it ended, were the most exciting things that have happened to me in a while.

Heat rises to my cheeks, as memories from last night flood my brain. I reach with my hand and touch my lips, and I can still feel Strange Hot Guy's soft lips on mine, his hand, stroking my cheek, and his warm, skillful tongue, exploring my mouth...

The memory is so vivid that it makes me feel dizzy like I've had a glass of champagne on an empty stomach. The strange flutter in my chest causes me to let out a small laugh. It's been so long since I felt that bubbly feeling, that I had forgotten what it was like.

I glance out of the window. The streets are flooded with young girls, rushing feverishly in the direction where we came from, passing the cars, frozen in the street. Their faces are lit up, their expressions ones of feverish anticipation. They look almost enthranced, as if they are headed to a religious service and not a concert.

"Who's playing?" I ask the driver, accepting my fate and deciding on coming across as friendly at least.

"Oh, a lot of bands, Madamme. It's a concert for charity, and the line-up is phenomenal! I can't even believe how they got all these stars to be performing together, on one stage, but it is something about humanitarian aid. Even The Flying Benjamins have agreed to participate, Madamme," the driver says, smiling at me in the rearview mirror. I frown back at him, clueless. It's probably some big local thing that I have not been introduced to. "They are really popular with the young girls," the driver says to my baffled expression. "My oldest daughter is going. My ex-wife is taking her."