Page 23 of Keeping London (Flawed Heart)

I turn to London, surprised, and then look to see Georgia’s reaction.

She’s nodding her head. “Hmm,” she says. “Well, can’t argue with that. But, Londy, babe…your hair definitely looks like you washed it with a full bottle of Just Been Fucked shampoo.”

“Really?” London asks.

“Yeah, and your chest is a little red.” Georgia nods toward London’s chest, which is, in fact, a little splotchy.

“Well, the chest thing is fine. I get red when I drink too much wine, and I’ve been drinking a lot tonight.” She winks at her sister. “Can you find me a ponytail holder? I’ll just put my hair up. You know, I guarantee Mom has one in her purse.”

“I’m on it. I’ll meet you at the bar.” Georgia takes off.

When Georgia meets us at the bar, she hands London a hair tie before saying, “I get that you two can’t keep your hands off each other, but that was a bold move, doing it here.”

“Well, we knew we wouldn’t get a chance any other time this weekend. So, we thought, why not?” London answers as she swoops her hair up into a ponytail.

“Why’s that?” Georgia asks.

“Why’s what?” London responds.

“Why won’t you get another chance this weekend?”

“Because, obviously, with us all staying at your place, it doesn’t leave much privacy,” London says.

“Mom and Dad are staying at a hotel. You and Loïc get the guest bedroom, silly.” Georgia chuckles.

“Really? Why didn’t I know that?” London almost shrieks with giddiness.

“I have no idea. You’re not very observant though. That’s always been the plan. Didn’t you wonder why Mom and Dad didn’t have any luggage with them? They checked into the hotel before they came over this morning.” Georgia shakes her head and grins. “You two are a little lost in your La-La Loveland.”

“Huh. Well, sweet!” London responds.

“This weekend just got a hell of a lot better,” I cut in, to which the three of us start laughing.

London

“I thought my life was perfect before Loïc, but the longer I’m with him, the more I realize that it was lacking in so many ways.”

—London Wright

I know that I’ve recently professed Michigan to be my home, but sitting out on a balcony overlooking palm trees and a pool while sipping coffee in almost seventy degree weather at eight o’clock in the morning in November sounds more like a proper home, a home that I would love.

“I love it here,” I sigh dreamily. “Why on earth did I choose to go to college in Michigan?”

“I don’t remember. Was it because the University of Michigan is an amazing school?” Georgia says.

“Eh, I’m not sure. Yes, it is. But wasn’t there another reason?”

“A boy?” Georgia asks.

“Heck no. I didn’t choose my college based off of a crush.” I think of how I’m now planning my life around Loïc, but that’s different somehow. What I have with Loïc is real love, and that trumps everything else.

“We never lived there, did we?” Georgia scrunches up her face in concentration.

I can’t help but laugh. “Isn’t it crazy that we have to seriously think about where we’ve lived?”

“I know! Come to think of it, I think we were living in Chicago when you applied to school at U of M.”

“You’re right! I added Michigan to my list of college tours because of that lawyer friend of Dad’s who told me it was the best school ever.”

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