Free Red Card by Carrie Aarons

sirens. You could almost hear the electricity going through the streetlights and the random taxis whisking pubgoers back to the safe havens.
    And then, as the early light filtered through the window, everything would come back online. Not slowly, not a few businessmen flaunting down the sidewalk or the odd school children skipping to the bus. No, the noise and the people flooded back within seconds, creating a dull roar of commotion and energy and vibrancy that invaded my own system, propelling me from my bed.
    Not that I'd slept much last night. Again. This was starting to become a problem, but for some reason, my stupid brain would not shut off.
    Maybe it was because my ankle was so sore that I'd had to get up three times last night to get a new ice pack. Maybe I was worried about that paparazzi onslaught I'd suffered, and what they would find out about me if those pictures got released anywhere. Not that I was a huge deal back home, but people would start talking, people from my past. I’d been in a relationship with a man who was probably going to go number one in this year’s draft. If my picture popped up with another world class athlete, there would be stories on it.
    Maybe I was so anxious over breaking my brand new roommate’s expensive shoe. How the hell I was going to replace Emma's heels, I had no clue.
    Or maybe it was because I couldn't get the taste of Killian off my lips. Maybe because every time I thought of him leaning in, pressing his mouth to my own and exploring each inch of it, I felt dizzy. Like I was floating away on a cloud even though I was firmly laying beneath the covers in my temporary bed.
    That kiss had been. Holy hell. I felt the sweat trickle down my breasts from just the mere thought of the heat of it, even though the winter in London had arrived with a vengeance, leaving the poorly insulated flat around 60 degrees or so.
    I was still getting tingles of lust, hot and jolting, between my legs. I'd squirmed all night, uncomfortable and needy. It had been months since anyone had touched me, and probably a year since Taylor had touched me like that. And if I was being truthful, years since I'd gotten so worked up over a man's hands on me, much less over a tiny kiss. As much as I had always been satisfied with Taylor, one kiss from Killian and I understood what he meant when he said I had never been with a man. He hadn't even used his tongue and I'd been practically unraveling on the grimy hallway carpet.
    Yes, Killian Ramsey had barely brushed his lips against mine and even then he'd set a giant spark to my powder keg. I felt the wick flashing, throwing off embers to every crevice of my body, burning me up from the inside out. He was a man who knew how to use his hands, mouth, teeth and tongue on a woman. I didn't need him to go any further than a light peck to know that.
    "No fucking way!" I heard an excited squeal from the kitchen, and this one even woke Heidi up. When I'd gotten home last night, there had been a handsome blonde exiting our room. I hobbled in to see Heidi, nude for the world to see like it was the most natural thing on earth. Not that I blamed her. If I looked like that I'd probably never wear clothes again.
    "What in the bloody hell is going on?" she grumbled, sitting up and looking like the picture of a magazine cover advertising pajamas. I almost hated her.
    "Don't know..." I swung my legs to the floor, careful to test my healing ankle before putting pressure on it. Still a bit swollen, but definitely better than last night.
    Heidi followed, and when we entered the kitchen, Bridget and Emma were on the stools next to each other, examining several packages and the newspaper.
    "You tarts interrupted my 12 hours of sleep." Heidi yawned, her long black t-shirt inching up to reveal the pink lacy boy shorts she wore. She shook out her brown mane as she moved to the pantry.
    "Sorry, Queen Bee. But you'll never fucking guess what the American has been up to." Bridget was