Page 19 of Finding London

I’m so lost in my own private pity party as I walk away that I almost plow right into the loudmouth bed head.

“Excuse me,” I say quickly.

My eyes dart down to the floor and his socks. I notice that there is a small hole in one of them, and the tip of his big toe is starting to pop through. I can’t help the smile that crosses my face as I continue toward the shop. Maybe I could learn a thing or two from Mr. I-Don’t-Give-A-Flying-Fuck because, to be honest, I wish I didn’t care what other people—particularly Loïc—thought about me.

Loïc

“London has this way of making me want to be different. She makes me want to try, and that is scary as shit.”

—Loïc Berkeley

That wasn’t so bad,I think as I grab a water from the cooler at the back of the store.

After London walked away, I thought a beverage for the plane sounded like a good idea. The fact that I chose to walk to another shop at the other end of this section of the terminal had nothing whatsoever to do with London. I just wanted to stretch my legs.

Keep telling yourself that, Berkeley.

But I do have to admit that my recent conversation with London went well. The sight of her sitting here, in Kentucky, waiting to board the same plane as me, is still baffling. When I saw her, I knew that I would have to do the social thing. Anynormalperson who ran into someone they knew would say hi and exchange a few meaningless pleasantries before boarding. Granted, I’m as far from normal as they come. Yet I did it. It might have taken me twenty minutes to steel my nerves to approach her, but I did. I was friendly, doing my civil duty.

Surprisingly, it was nice to just talk. The entire experience was made better because I wasn’t going out of my way to be a total dick, and she wasn’t putting her sexy hands all over my chest, trying to seduce me. If anything, she seemed timid, not her usual tactic. But I’d say it was a win-win.

She’s just so beautiful. I can pretend all I want that every cell in my body isn’t insanely attracted to her, but that would be a complete lie. Yet I’m proud of myself because, despite this crazy urge I have to take her against a wall—multiple times—I just had a pretty normal conversation with her and survived with everything intact.

I’m starting to think she isn’t the girl I pegged her to be—not that it matters. I might not have her completely figured out, but I know myself. Regardless of what type of person she might be, she isn’t the one for me—or, more accurately, I’m not the one for her.

Chances are, after we land in Detroit, I won’t see her again anyway. So, this nervous energy that’s pounding through my veins will all be for naught. Then again, if I’m leaving it up to chance, then perhaps I will. Running into her three times in two weeks has started to make me wonder.

I make it back to the gate as the final boarding announcement sounds throughout the terminal. I do a quick scan of the area and don’t see London. It’s for the best. Get to my seat and get home—that’s my agenda, plain and simple.

I hand my boarding pass to the attendant at the gate. She looks down at it before looking up to me with a wide grin. “Oh, Mr. Berkeley, one of the passengers wanted to thank you for your service and upgraded you to first class.”

“Excuse me?”

“Here.” She hands me a new boarding pass. “You’ve been upgraded to first class. Thank you so much for all you do for our country. You’ll find your new seat assignment right there.” She points to the letter and number indicating my seat number on the thin piece of paper in my hand.

“Right. Okay. Thank you.” I take my new boarding pass and my duffel bag and head down the tunnel leading to the plane.

Don’t they have free liquor in first class? A drink might calm my racing thoughts of London. Great idea—save for the fact that I don’t drink. Bummer.Well, the extra legroom will be a bonus.

I step onto the plane, and my attention immediately goes to her. She sits tall in her first-class seat, beaming up at me. I don’t have to check my ticket to know what my seat number will be. I toss my bag into the compartment above London before falling to the seat beside her.

“Thankful for my service?” I quirk up an eyebrow at her.

Her big doe eyes gaze up to mine. The corners of her lips rise slightly, hiding a smile. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t.” I stretch my legs and get myself situated, clicking the seat belt into place. The seats are definitely way more comfortable up here.

I scan the area. London and I occupy the first two seats on the left while an elderly gentleman, who is already asleep, is sitting in the farthest seat back on the right. The other nine extra-large leather seats remain empty.

“You seem different,” I say to her, taking note of the huge grin on her face.

She’s happy and flirty again, back to the London I’d met before at the car wash and club. The version of her I was just speaking to minutes ago was quiet and almost hesitant.

“What do you mean?” she asks thoughtfully.

“Just that your demeanor is different than it just was out there.”

“I did some thinking on my walk to grab snacks.”

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