Page 41 of Finding London

I don’t blame her. Two seconds ago, I was gearing up to fuck her senseless, and she knew it.

“Look, I just remembered that I have to work tomorrow, so we should go.” I gently grasp her shoulders and move her off of my lap.

“Tomorrow’s Sunday.”

“Right, I know. I told Cooper that we’d get up early to go running. We have our PT test this week.”

“Something tells me that you’re not going to have any trouble meeting the minimal requirements given by the government, regardless of whether or not you train.” Her voice is laced with blazing annoyance. “What’s really the issue, Loïc?”

I jump down from the back of the truck. “Nothing. I’m just ready to wrap this up, is all.”

London stands and walks toward me. “No, that’s not it.” She sits down before hopping off the tailgate.

I tug the blankets off and walk away from London. Throwing the bedding in the space behind my seat, I say, “It’s that simple. I’m ready to go back. I have stuff to do tomorrow.”

I turn around, and she’s standing there. The light from the truck’s interior shines on her, showcasing her aggravated stance, complete with crossed arms and a vicious scowl.

I don’t want to deal with this. Pissed off London is not my favorite—albeit her fierce anger makes her even hotter.

Damn it. Focus.

“What are you hiding from? Why are you shutting down? I don’t understand!” She raises her arms in frustration. “One minute, you’re all but confessing your love for me, and the next, you’re pushing me away faster than I can blink!”

“Hold up. I never said I loved you. We hardly know each other. Love isn’t even in the same universe as us right now.” I motion my finger between us, pointing from my chest to hers.

“Really?” she questions. “So, your little speech about barely being able to breathe in my presence, your attraction toward me that’s so much more than physical, and something about me that beckons you toward me—oh! And let’s not forget the part about the innate and unstoppable attraction! I thought we were going to be fucked up together, Loïc, until we weren’t fucked up any longer but just together.” Her harsh tone morphs into one of sadness at the end.

What? Does she have a photographic memory or some shit? What the hell?

Apparently, I can’t have a moment of undoubtedly stupid weakness where I confess my deep-seated attraction to her without her rubbing it in my face.

I don’t have the fire in me to fight her. I’ll never win in a battle of words because hers will always make more sense. She will continually be right. I know I’m fucked up. I understand more than anyone that I hold on to irrational fears and block people out. Deep down, I realize that isn’t the way to live. But knowing something and having the courage to do differently, to choose the hard and scary route, are two separate things.

Bottom line, when it comes down to the core of the issue, I’m weak. I’ve tried not to be, but my dad was wrong about me.

“I can’t fight with you, London.” My words sound pathetic, and I wish I could take them back and replace them with ones that would show that I’m strong and in control. But I’m not those things, so what does it matter? “Please, just get in the truck.”

Her lip trembles, and I think she’s going to cry, but she holds it in. Her face carries a frown as she all but stomps to the passenger side and gets in. I have to stop myself from smiling. I get that this situation isn’t remotely funny, but, God, I love when she’s all feisty, and her pouty attitude comes out.

I hop up into the truck. Starting the engine,I begin our trip back.

After a few minutes, London asks, “What does this mean? Do you just need to call it an early night? Do you need a few days to think about stuff? Or are we over?”

Are we over?Those words resonate in my brain.

We were over before we even started. One intriguing, drop-dead gorgeous woman isn’t going to heal a lifetime of hurt overnight. I tried to avoid her. I told her no multiple times, but she wouldn’t hear it. This frustrating, beautiful woman wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Doesn’t she know that I was trying to be a good person? That I was trying to stop her from feeling like this? And this is how we feel after a handful of meetings and two dates. Two. Fucking. Dates.

But I can’t make myself voice my thoughts out loud even though I know them to be true. So, instead, I say, “I don’t know.”

London sighs beside me but doesn’t say anything else the rest of the ride. She’s the type of girl to battle for what she wants, but she’s also prideful. I think she’s found herself at the spot where she’s put up enough of a fight to make sure I know how she is feeling. But she’s not going to beg for me to like her either. Her stubborn pride is one of the many things I love about her…or loved, past tense—I mean, liked, used to like. Ugh, I don’t know.

I pull into London’s drive and opt for not being a total dick, so I walk her to the front door. She turns to say good-bye, and the tension between us is more than a little uncomfortable.

“Listen, Loïc,” she starts to say, her voice sweet and kind.

“Just save it, London,” I snap before I can stop myself. My walls and ability to be an eternal asshole are back in full effect.

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