Page 76 of Finding London

London starts to move beside me. I can tell the moment she realizes that I’m here. A serene smile crosses her face, and her body instinctually moves into mine. She wraps her arms around my back and snuggles her face into my chest.

God, I adore this woman.

I never thought I’d be here, in a place where I feel so much love and happiness. Truly, I didn’t. I’ve fallen hard for London. Now that I’ve found her…I just hope I can keep her.

I return her embrace, dropping my face into her hair, smelling her sweetness. I pull her tighter against me, and my hands roam across her back.

Something shifts. London’s body goes rigid. The languid caresses from moments ago have ceased. If I’m not mistaken, she’s holding her breath, her back no longer rising and falling in contentment.

“London?” I ask cautiously.

Maybe she doesn’t feel well.

Suddenly, she pushes away from me. Her eyes are dark with fury. “What are you doing here? Why are you in my bed?” She looks down to her bare legs before pulling the sheet over herself. “What am I wearing?”

I decide to first respond to the question with the most straightforward answer. “After our shower, I put you in the most comfortable attire I could find.”

“Our shower?” she shrieks. “You got me naked?”

“We were covered in your vomit. I didn’t think you’d mind,” I answer dryly. “I’ve seen you naked before, London,” I say, stating the obvious.

“But”—her voice is a high-pitched shrill—“you got me naked!”

I realize that I’m missing something. London and I are most definitely not on the same page.

“Are you still mad?” I ask.

“Am I still mad?” she yells. “You must be joking!”

“Listen, I said I was sorry. I knew it was wrong. You know I’m not good at this relationship stuff, London. You need to be a little more patient with me. Let me explain.”

“I need to be more patient with you?” she screams.

I have an incredible desire to tell her to keep her voice down. She’s giving me a headache. I might suck at relationships, but I have a feeling that wouldn’t be a wise move. I’ve never seen her so mad.

She continues in her obnoxious tone, “So, I should just be patient with you while you stick your dick in some tramp? I should be understanding of that because you’re”—she holds her fingers up in air quotations—“‘not good at this relationship stuff.’” She ends the quote in a bitchy tone.

“Hold on, wait a minute,” I stop her rant. “What are you talking about?” I ask, completely baffled.

“I’m talking about you cheating on me,” she huffs. “What do you think I’m talking about?”

“Cheating on you?” I question. “I thought we were talking about me not coming over here when I got back last night, for telling you that I had a headache when I didn’t.”

“Well, that’s how it started, but then it ended with you fucking some whore.”

I shake my head. “I…what?”

London pulls the sheet up to her chest and crosses her arms. “Don’t act confused. Please show me a little respect, and stop lying. I deserve that much.”

“I didn’t cheat on you, London.”

“I saw you, Loïc! I saw you with her!”

“What are you talking about?”

“I knew you were lying about the headache. I thought there must be something wrong. I was worried about you. Around midnight, I decided to go over to your house to comfort you. And that’s when I saw you walking into the house…with her.”

Walking into the house with a girl?

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