Love for One Night

Ch 1: The Night I Can't Forget (5)

Sandra stood in front of an unfinished drawing, gesturing with the pencil in her hand.

"The proportions here aren't quite right. It should be like this... and then... like this. Doesn't that make the lines flow more smoothly?"

The young man nodded silently, biting his lips, his cheeks flushed, and his gaze shifting between his drawing board and the model in the middle of the room.

Sandra stepped back to the rear of the classroom, peering through the gaps between the easels at the beautiful and serene woman reclining on the sofa in the soft light. It was like a perfect oil painting: flawless, pale skin, rounded breasts, a gentle waistline, slender legs, and elegant toes. From any angle, she was the epitome of golden proportions. A model like her was truly one in a million. That's why, the first time Sandra accidentally saw April bathing, she was astounded by her beauty and begged April to be a model at their school. In their culture, public nudity is very humiliating and shameful. Sandra used every tactic she could think of to persuade her roommate.

April's eyes seemed unfocused, wandering and dreamy. Her gaze invited countless interpretations: Was it sadness, melancholy, longing, or loneliness? In truth, it was none of those; she simply couldn't see clearly without her glasses. This was also why April eventually agreed. Without her glasses, April couldn't tell who was drawing her, and even if she met them face-to-face later, it wouldn't be awkward. At least, the awkwardness wouldn't be hers.

Suddenly, another perfect figure flashed in Sandra's mind. Strong arms, a broad chest, a defined eight-pack, a slim waist, a firm backside, long legs, and an undeniable allure... She shook her head, trying to quell the images swirling in her mind. It was just a fleeting encounter, something to forget by the next day—so why was she thinking about it now? But then again, if he could be her model... Ah, what was she thinking?!

That night, she sat in his car with her eyes closed the entire way. To say she wasn't nervous at all would be a lie. Her usually sensitive nerves felt a bit numb, perhaps due to the shock or the alcohol, or maybe both. She thought she knew what she was doing.

At the door to the room, he gently woke her. She blinked her large, confused eyes, staring directly at him. Her heart was racing, but she didn't want to back down. He handed her the key card, suggesting she enter the room by herself. She shook her head slightly, appearing a bit disappointed.

She was so drunk she could barely stand, struggling to insert the key card into the slot, and let out a soft whimper of frustration. Her delicate nasal sounds, like tiny, soft creatures, crawled into his ears, stirring an odd yet familiar sensation within him. He sighed, opened the door for her, and helped her inside.

He only turned on the hallway light, leaving the door ajar. She leaned against the wall, head raised, her eyes half-closed. Her long, curled lashes fluttered, tugging at his heart. She observed him boldly, without restraint. In the intimate space, she took in everything about him—the hand braced against the wall, the exaggerated rings, the partially open collar, and the unruly hairstyle. His lips were truly beautiful—a honeyed color, thin and indifferent, with a small, slightly upturned cupid's bow on the upper lip. His smile, barely there at the corners of his mouth, was different from the reassuring expression he wore in The Roxy, wicked and flamboyant. He looked at her from above. His eyes half-closed, reflecting the hallway light like scattered stars, making her heart race. The alcohol seemed to have gone to her head, leaving her dizzy in his intense masculine presence.

She couldn't remember who stepped forward first, closing the gap between them. Once their lips met, they couldn't part. He kissed her, and she kissed him, as if they had never kissed before. A strange sensation spread through the nerve endings of her body. He effortlessly captured her breath, teasing, guiding, provoking, and enticing her with countless techniques, conquering her completely before he had even exhausted his repertoire. Like two opposite poles of magnets drawn into each other's field, they clung eagerly together...

"Sandra, why are you daydreaming again?" April, wrapped herself in a robe and happily sipping a boba milk tea, teased with a tone full of cheer.

Sandra waved her hand in front of April's face. "How can you tell I'm zoning out without your glasses?"

April tossed her a juice box. "Honestly, I can't see clearly, but you don't respond when I talk to you."

Sandra broke off the straw and inserted it into the juice box. "I can't help it. I'm consumed with envy and resentment. Life is just so unfair."

"Exactly." April sighed along with her. "How could someone as beautiful as you even exist? How are us ugly ducklings supposed to live?"

Sandra playfully shoved her. "You're flipping the blame here! What I meant was, how do you have such an amazing figure? It makes me want to give up being a woman anymore."

April wobbled dramatically, pretending to lose her balance before settling down next to Sandra. "What's the point of a great figure? Once we're dressed, we all look the same. A pretty face is what really matters. Oh, by the way, I forgot to tell you. A few days ago, I ran into this weird guy who circled around me a few times, then sneered and said, 'You're not even that good-looking.'"

"Who's that dumb? Someone you know?"

April shook her head. "Nope, I don't know him."

"Did you provoke him or something? How could he say that?"

"I don't know." April clung to Sandra's arm. 'My poor little heart is seriously wounded. Comfort me, please...'

Sandra exaggeratedly stroked April 's head resting on her shoulder. "There, there, don't mind people like that. Whoever takes a jerk seriously is a fool."

April nodded vigorously in agreement.

Sandra secretly sighed again. It's easy to talk the talk, but hard to put it into practice. Wasn't she a fool herself? Her boyfriend didn't even bother to call and explain or apologize after what happened on her birthday. Even if he said they were just chatting under the blankets, it would have been something. Maybe he thought it was self-evident and didn't need explanation. She found out the truth this way was convenient for him, saving him the trouble of looking for excuses.

Six months of relationship ended just like that. To say there's no resentment would be a lie. Lately, her heart felt empty. She didn't want to do anything or think about anything. Everything felt dull, and food tasted bland. She had always been full of energy, but never like this. Is this the feeling of heartbreak? Isn't it supposed to be heart-wrenching, with tears, hysteria, and utter despair? But she only felt weary, too tired to even recall the memories of the past six months with that jerk. There seemed to be nothing worth remembering. Instead, the man she met at The Roxy occasionally drifted through the corners of her lazy mind like a ghost. 

In her culture, there is a saying: "A charming man is always a troublemaker." She seriously needed to stop thinking about him.