Page 4 of Finding London

“I mean, you do look slightly like a hooker but hot nonetheless.”

She laughs. “I’ll take it. And as they say,When in Rome. You could join my hooker status if you would take off your shorts, you know.”

“I think I’ll keep them on, thank you very much,” I say matter-of-factly. “I mean, I already feel like a tramp with my girls on display like this.” I look down to my cleavage popping out from the top of my bikini.

“Your boobs are hot. With them, we’ll for sure make some money for our furry friends. We should have made a sign with our slogan!” she says excitedly.

“What slogan is that?”

She puts her hand out in front of her. “Boobs for a cause. Raising money for puppy paws.” She bounces her hand in the air after each word, as if she can see the slogan in lights.

“That’s not bad,” I respond with a chuckle.

“So, I’m doing the first car, right?”

“Um, yeah. You haven’t forgotten your little stunt from a minute ago, have you?”

“No, that’s fine. I was just checking. So, that means, you are doing the second one?”

“Um, yeah. Why?”

“No reason.” She shrugs with obvious mirth in her voice.

Makeshift rows have been set up in a large parking lot behind a local bank. Some of our sorority sisters have already started their washing duties, but we lucked out and got the farthest row out. The persistent low grumble of a large engine alerts me to the fact that my time chitchatting with Paige is over. I turn to face the two vehicles in our line, and I immediately understand Paige’s jovial mood.

“No way,” I protest.

“Yes way.” She giggles.

It isn’t the shiny little Toyota that catches my attention but the monstrosity of a dirty truck that is lined up behind it.

I stare, my mouth agape, at the mud-caked Ram Truck. The truck’s size itself is overwhelming. I’m going to need a ladder to reach the hood. But the dirt…seriously?

“Oh, charity,” Paige sighs, her voice rising an octave. “It just makes you feel so good inside, doesn’t it?” She skips toward the first car and waves. “Have fun,” she calls back toward me.

I close the distance between myself and the truck, internally preparing myself to greet the asshole who is sure to be inside it with a smile because I am a Tri Delt, after all.

The truck idles before me. My eyes scan from the wheels to the doors. Every inch is simply covered in a hard filth that appears to have taken up permanent residence on this truck. If the truck were taken care of, it would probably be quite an expensive vehicle.

My gaze continues upward, but I can’t force my smile to come. Chalk it up to the fact that this is my last event with the sorority or maybe that it is eighty-seven humid degrees out or that the world’s largest dick just pulled up, but I can’t seem to force my Tri Delta classiness and jovial smile. So, instead, when my eyes finish traveling up the door to the window, I am wearing a verified pissed off scowl.

That is, until I see him.

His window is rolled down, and his arm is resting against it. He’s wearing some type of military camouflage uniform—Army, I think—along with a hat of the same material, but it isn’t the commanding presence of the uniform that has me speechless.

It’s the face beneath the brown-and-tan camouflage cap.

Damn.

I don’t find myself in this predicament often. Not much can rattle me to my core, but this Adonis before me has managed to steal every coherent thought I had.

The smirk across his face should anger me—normally, it would—yet I can’t allow myself to feel annoyed when I find myself in the presence of his rugged face with those lips and deep blue eyes that seem to glimmer next to his sun-kissed skin. His sandy-blond hair is short and barely visible beneath the cap, but an image of my hand running through the hair at the nape of his neck flickers in my mind before I can stop it. He is manly perfection, plain and simple.

I’m lost in visions of hot, sweaty sex, a beautiful wedding, and making babies. Yes, loads of babies. It’s official. I’m going to marry this man.

Movement before me pulls me out of the dream playing in my head, and I see Hottie’s smirk has grown in width.

“Um…what?” I stutter ever so non-gracefully.

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