Page 56 of Keeping London (Flawed Heart)

I have to stop myself from saying the rude comment hovering on the tip of my tongue about how he’s awfully presumptuous to assume that I want to be his friend. After all, he does seem like a sincerely nice guy who just wants to talk. And I could learn a lot from him. I suppose if I can’t make out with Loïc at midnight, the next best thing is to talk to Brad and get tips on how to advance my career.

The champagne comes, and Brad keeps filling my glass. I’m so glad he ordered it. It’s so delicious. He really did help turn this horrible night into a positive one.

Brad’s so smart. I don’t think I’ve ever had such an enjoyable and informative conversation with someone about my line of work before. We talk about everything from what I should put on my résumé to how I should answer interview questions to the types of pieces that the paper loves to print and the experience they like to see in the journalists they hire.

My head is starting to feel a little fuzzy, so to make sure that I won’t forget any information Brad is telling me, I type it all out in my Notes app on my phone.

“Let me see what you’ve put.” He reaches out for my phone, and I give it to him.

He starts typing something.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“You forgot a few key pieces of information,” he answers but doesn’t look up from the phone.

After a minute, he hands it back to me, and I look down to what he typed. His name, Brad Abernathy, is spelled out, followed by a cell phone number, a work number, an email address, and an address.

“Why did you give me your address?” I peer up from my phone to find his bold blue eyes focused on me.

He seems closer, our faces only a foot apart.

“In case you ever need it.”

“Why would I need it?” My stare darts from his eyes to his lips before I close my eyes tight and drop my face toward my lap, trying to center myself.

His warm fingers press against the bottom of my chin, lifting my face up until our eyes meet again. “London, call me anytime if you have any more questions. Feel free to use me as a reference on your résumé. Whatever you need, okay?”

“Okay, thank you,” I whisper, still thrown off-balance with his slight touch.

I raise my hands to grab his and pull it down away from my face. His free hand covers both of mine, and we’re a jumbled pile of hands in his lap. I try to pull away, but he holds my hands tightly in his grasp.

“London?” he asks quietly, his voice low and raspy.

“Yeah?”

“Your boyfriend’s a lucky guy.”

I swallow the lump in my throat that seems to be stuck, and I’m finding it hard to breathe.

“London?” he asks again, this time rubbing his thumb across the skin of my hand.

“Yeah?”

“Happy New Year,” he says before closing his eyes and leaning in toward me.

Suddenly, my hazy mind is sharp. My surroundings, which were previously muted, are coming in crystal clear.

The confetti.

The music.

The celebration.

Brad’s lips, so close to mine.

I shake the remainder of fog from my brain before shouting, “No!”

I scoot back across the bench before Brad’s lips can touch mine. In a beat, I’ve distanced myself from Brad, like he’s a fire about to engulf me in its flames. And, in a way, he is.

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