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“A lemonade, please.” Sansa Stark rubbed some alcohol-induced sleep away from her eyes and groaned when she remembered that she was wearing makeup. She used a napkin to rub some mascara off her finger, and grabbed the glass the bartender had just placed on the counter in front of her. She straightened her back, trying to find a comfortable position on the bar stool, and took a sip of her drink. The glass was cold, almost frozen, and the lemonade felt sweet against her thirsty tongue. With her lips wrapped around the tip of her yellow straw, Sansa checked her phone. No calls, no texts. Her friend Margaery had disappeared somewhere in the bar, leaving her all alone. As she savoured her refreshing lemonade, Sansa thought to herself that she would have looked for Margaery after finishing it.

“I’ll have what she’s having.” The loud music that filled the air did not cover the voice coming from Sansa’s left. She lazily turned her head to her side and peered through the dizziness in her eyes.

“It’s just lemonade,” she blurted out, pointing at her own glass with her forefinger. The stranger beside her sat on the nearest stool. Cute, Sansa thought.

“Even better,” he said. “I have to wake up early tomorrow.”

“Then why are you at a bar this late at night?” Sansa asked, still sipping on her lemonade. Very cute, indeed. The stranger was wearing a striped black and white t-shirt, over dark jeans and black boots. A watch on his left wrist, and no tattoos in sight. Good, Sansa thought. She hated tattoos.

“My friends dragged me here,” he confessed, running a hand through his dark curls, a ring glistening under the neon lights of the bar. “They say I work too much.”

“They’re probably right.” Sansa chuckled, and the stranger did as well.

“I’m Jon, by the way,” he said smiling, holding out his hand to her, across the glass counter.

“Sansa,” she said, clapping his hand with hers and squeezing it lightly.

“Here,” the tall bartender told him as he laid out his glass of lemonade in front of him. What followed then made Sansa wonder if there were alcohol in her drink, since she could not believe her eyes. With a sharp move, Jon grabbed a paper napkin and rubbed it around his glass, thoroughly. Sansa did not know if laughing in his face would be appropriate.

What are you doing?” she asked him, suppressing a laugh.

“The lemonade is cold, and the glass was all wet on the outside. I didn’t want to wet my hand, too,” Jon answered calmly, still rubbing his glass. Even the bartender looked rather confused.

Sansa did not know what to say, so she just laughed it off. “Are you always like this, Jon?” she asked him.

He looked at her with bewildered eyes. “Like what?”

“Oh, nothing. Never mind.”

He cleared his throat. “So, did you come here alone?” he asked her, holding his straw between his thumb and forefinger.

“Not really,” she replied. “I was here with my best friend, but she’s disappeared,” she concluded, gazing around her. Margaery still was not in sight, and Sansa wondered where she could be. Her glass was almost empty. She twirled the last drops of lemonade and watched the yellow liquid spin in a circular motion. She took one last sip and put the empty glass on the counter, in front of her.

“Why a lemonade?” Jon asked her, looking at her with the corner of his eye.

“I could ask you the same question,” she said, grinning. She secured her purse on her lap and gently turned her stool, to face him. She was now smiling at him with defiant eyes, her right elbow resting on the counter next to her.

“I asked first,” he fired back. Clever, Sansa thought.

“All right.” She gave up. “It helps me when I drink too much,” she confessed.

“Oh, I see. Did you have too many drinks?”

“One or two,” she replied. She had actually had more than one or two, but she figured he did not need to know. “And you? Why lemonade?”

“I just like it,” he said. “That’s all.”

How boring, Sansa thought to herself, but no word escaped from her lips. She checked her phone again. No texts. She sighed and called Margaery up. The phone rang, but to no avail. She put her phone back in her purse and hopped off the stool.

“Are you leaving?” Jon asked her.

“I should,” she said. “My friend might have gone home, as far as I know. There’s no point in waiting for her here.” She was about to reach for her wallet when he stopped her, gently placing a hand on her purse.

“It’s on me,” he said.

“Thank you, you shouldn’t have,” she said, watching him as he paid for both their drinks.

“Can I take you home, at least?” he asked her. And honestly, how could she say no?

“So what, you’ll murder me or something?” she teased him.

“I can’t tonight,” he joked as well. “I have to wake up early tomorrow, and I don’t have time for a homicide.”

“Oh,” Sansa laughed. “I see. All right then, let’s go.”

She walked out of the bar, and he followed her close behind, carrying his jacket in his arm. When they stepped outside, and the crisp winds of London swirled around them, Sansa was glad she had carried a leather jacket with her, too. They walked towards his car, a nice car, Sansa thought. They drove for ten minutes, or perhaps fifteen, Sansa did not know for certain. She leaned her head on the passenger window, looking out at the city. The sky was pitch dark, and a thousand lights illuminated the world around them. Neon signs, streetlights, traffic lights and fancy shop windows. When they reached her destination, Sansa almost did not want to leave. She walked towards her door, and stopped in front of it, Jon close behind her. She pulled her keys out of her purse and opened the door. She was ready to say goodbye when a sudden courage got the best of her.

“Jon,” she said, turning around to face him. His eyes were brown like chocolate under the moonlight. “Would you like to come inside?” She bit her lip. How stupid, she thought. Sansa did not need a mirror to know how red her cheeks must have turned. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Yes,” he replied, taking her by surprise. He walked past her, grinning with teeth white like pearls, whispering as he stepped inside, “Why not?”

Once inside, the two immediately found themselves half-naked on her bed. Her flat was completely dark, save for the dim light that entered from outside through the windows, but Sansa did not mind. She did not need to see, she needed to feel. She got on top of him, in her underwear only, each knee on either side of his waist. She did not even know where he had thrown the blue velvet dress she had worn that night, but again, she did not mind. She helped him remove his t-shirt and jeans, and started kissing him, slowly and fast, tenderly and hungrily. He kissed her back, one hand on her naked hip and the other on her breast, gently teasing her skin, hot to the touch.

“Are you sure you’re not drunk?” he asked her mid-kiss, his lips wet and swollen.

“Shut up,” she commanded him, her long red hair tumbling down over his chiseled chest. “You’re here because I want it, Jon, don’t worry.”

They started kissing again. He flipped her over, got on top of her and removed the rest of their underwear. Sansa was on her back, watching him as he positioned his face between her thighs. She moaned, and that was just the beginning.

When the morning sun crept through the white curtains, Sansa woke up with a light headache. It took her a few seconds to recall what had happened the night before. She grinned, still half-asleep, as she pushed herself up on her arms, resting her head on the white headboard behind her. She rubbed her eyes and stretched out her arms, noticing a piece of paper on her bedside table. She picked it up and read it in her mind.

Thank you for the lovely night, too bad I had to go. Let me take you on a date next time.


Jon, his name escaped from her lips in a soft whisper. He had even written his phone number at the end of his note. Giggling, she jumped out of bed, still completely naked, and put the note in her jewellery box on her desk, near her laptop. She then went to the bathroom, and looked at her own reflection in the mirror. Her scarlet hair was a tangled mess, and what remained of her lipstick was still smudged at the corners of her mouth. She had dark circles under her blue eyes, and a small reddish bruise on her neck, under her ear. A love bite, actually. She decided she would have worn a scarf around her neck to hide it.

Sansa left her flat in a hurry and rushed to her university, where Margaery approached her.

“Hey, lovely,” Margaery greeted her in the university hall. She was wearing a light blue blouse with little golden roses woven into it that brought out her eyes.

“Where were you last night?” Sansa asked her, as they walked towards their lecture classroom. Summer was getting near its end, and their first lecture of the year was about to begin.

“Oh, I’m sorry about that,” Margaery began. “But your brother and I made up, so we went—”

Ew, gross. Enough.” Sansa raised a hand in front of Margaery, as if to silence her. “I don’t need all the details, knowing you were with Robb is enough.”

Absolutely!” Margaery exclaimed, her blue eyes shining like sapphires. “And you? What did you do all alone?”

Well,” Sansa said with a sly smile as the two sat in the French literature lecture classroom. Front row, like Sansa always liked, to hear better. “I wasn’t exactly alone,” she teased her friend.

What?” Margaery almost screamed. “I want to know everything, now!”

“Well, I met a guy, and I probably had the best sex of my life,” Sansa said, blushing. She picked up her pen and started fidgeting with it. “All I know is that his name is Jon, and he’s one of the cutest guys I’ve ever—”

“Good morning, everyone,” a familiar voice said, and all the other students went quiet.

No, Sansa thought. It cannot be

She followed him with her eyes as he walked towards the teacher desk. Sansa felt as if she were about to faint when she recognised the dark curls that had tickled her inner thighs the night before.

“Margaery,” she said with a shudder, lightly shaking her friend’s arm. “That’s the Jon I was talking about. Our professor.”