Page 74 of Finding London

We’ve already established that he’s going to take me back to his place and kiss me all night long. I was very up-front with my end game. Not surprisingly, he was all about it as well.

Stupid guys. They’re so predictable and dumb…especially ones named Loïc. He’s the stupidest one of all.

Loïc.

I open my eyes. Rebound Dude—or as I’m calling him now, R.D.—is talking to me. I blink a few times and focus on what he’s saying.

“You ready to go?”

I have a feeling this isn’t the first time he’s asked.

I lift my heavy arm, and my palm holds his cheek. His face is full of stubble, like he hasn’t shaved in a few days. I used to be extremely attracted to guys who had a five o’clock shadow like that.

Loïc never lets his stubble get that long. He has to keep it shaved for the military. Loïc’s skin is soft beneath my touch. When I rub my hand in a certain direction though, I can always feel the tiny pokes of hair starting to grow. I miss that.

I haven’t been able to run my hand across his smooth face in two weeks, and now, I never will again.

R.D.’s eyes are striking, big and brown. They fit his face perfectly. Pre-Loïc, I would have found his eyes sexy as hell. But, now, I can only be attracted to blue eyes—and not just any blue eyes. I’m in love with the type of eyes that contain countless shades of blue and look like an ocean is swirling inside them with a gaze that pins me with the weight of a majestic body of water.

Loïc might not want me, and he definitely isn’t the guy I thought he was, but I can’t deny the fact that I’m desperately in love with him. I have to figure out where to go from here before I do this. Being with another man when my entirety belongs to Loïc would break my heart, more than it’s already been broken. I don’t know how I’ll recover from that. I know I’ll have to get over Loïc, but this isn’t the way.

I drop my hand from the handsome stranger’s face. “Listen, R.D., you’re a nice guy.” I sigh.

“Arty? It’s Ben.” He sounds annoyed.

Ben! That’s it!

“Right…Ben.” I bob my head in acknowledgment. “Yeah,” I draw out. “I gotta go.” I point my thumb behind me. Then, I swivel and start to walk back to where Paige is.

The lights in the club are on now. It must be past two. I squint. The glare from the bright fluorescents is giving me a headache. I trip a little on my obnoxiously tall heels. Maybe they weren’t the right shoes to wear when my night started by downing four shots, alone, in my kitchen. But nothing gives a girl confidence like her best fuck-me heels even if they are a bitch to walk in.

A set of arms wrap around my waist, holding me steady. “You ready to go home, killer?” Paige asks.

Aw, my Paige. How I love her.

“Yepper. Sure am.” I nod.

She chuckles. “First, let’s take these off.”

She bends down and unhooks my shoe straps. I hold on to her shoulder as I step out of them. She hands them to me. Now that I don’t feel like I’m walking on stilts, I’m much better.

“Let’s get a cab, Paigey,” I say weakly.

“No,” she responds. “We’d have to wait forever for one, and I just want to get home. Plus, I think you could use a nice stroll with some fresh air.”

“Yeah, fresh hair is nice, so soft,” I say dreamily.

“Air, London…like the stuff you breathe.”

“That’s what I meant,” I concur.

Paige and I walk home in silence. Our inner hands grasp on to each other as my outer hand holds my shoes. I bet she’s dying to find out all the details about tonight, but she also knows that I need to focus on walking in my current state. She’s a good friend, the best.

After eighty-five hours that fit into the space of probably fifteen minutes, we’re home. The first thing I notice is Paige repeatedly squeezing my hand.

“Ow, Paige,” I say for lack of a better response because it didn’t hurt. It’s just weird.

“Look,” she hisses under her breath.

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