Page 53 of Keeping London (Flawed Heart)

“Um, I don’t know.” She mindlessly scans the club.

“You can hug me at midnight! Who needs boys?” I wrap my free hand around Paige’s waist.

“We do!” Georgia answers. “Just because you’re all committed for life at twenty-two doesn’t mean we have to be lame along with you. Right, Paige?”

“Right! I want to make out with a cute boy! It’s New Year’s!” Paige answers.

“Hey, I’m almost twenty-three.” My statement is met with silence, as if this little fact doesn’t mean anything to them, which I suppose it doesn’t. “Yeah, and nothing says,Happy New Year, like sticking your tongue in a stranger’s mouth,” I argue. Dropping my hand from Paige’s side, I pick up the lemon slice from the rim of my glass and suck on it. My face automatically scrunches up from the tartness.

Georgia waves me off. “Ignore her. She’s just jealous. Come on, Paige. My guy has five hot friends for you to pick from.”

The two of them are off before I have a chance to argue my case any further. But, honestly, I’m just being selfish. Just because I have to spend my evening alone doesn’t mean they have to. Georgia’s right. I am jealous.

Ever since I’ve been going to New Year’s parties, my first one at the age of sixteen, I’ve always kissed someone at midnight. Hell, I don’t even remember who I kissed most of those years, but it was someone.

This year, I actually have someone I’m in love with, and I’m spending the holiday alone. It sucks. If Loïc were any of my previous boyfriends, I wouldn’t have hesitated to use the I-was-drunk excuse when I explained to him the next day that I’d kissed someone else and I now had to break up. But everything is different now that I’m with Loïc. I’ve changed. It’s good.

I follow Paige and Georgia toward the group of guys.What else am I going to do? Stand by myself?

Georgia is already working her magic on Black Shirt Number One. Honestly though, she doesn’t ever have to work too hard. Paige is chatting with another guy in the group as well.

“Why the frown?”

It takes me a second longer than it should to realize that the cute guy is talking to me.

I quickly take him in. He’s freaking Brad Pitt fromLegends of the Fallbut with short hair.

What’s up with the people of LA? Are they all freaking models?

And he’s wearing a white shirt. I love a guy who stands out from the crowd.

“I’m sorry?” I question for lack of anything better to say. I might be taken, but I still have eyes and hormones. I’d be lying if I said my body wasn’t reacting to the dude.

“You don’t look too happy, standing here. Everything okay?”

And he’s sensitive and sweet.Of course he is.

“I’m fine. Just thinking.” I smile.

“I’m Brad,” he says, holding out his hand.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I laugh. Shaking his hand, I say, “London,” through a chuckle.

He turns his head to the side. “Didn’t realize my name was so comical.”

“Sorry, inside joke. Just something I was thinking. It’s not you.”

He seems to accept my explanation. “London’s a cool name.”

“Thanks.”

“So—” he begins.

But I cut him off, “Look, Brad, I’m sure you’re a nice guy, but I’m not interested.”

He appears momentarily shocked before recovering. “Not interested in talking to me?”

“Talking or basically anything else. I have a boyfriend,” I say by way of explanation.

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