Page 33 of Finding London

It might very well be true that I’m not destined to be with Loïc. Perhaps I’m having a post-graduation life crisis, and I’m clinging on to the hot Army guy, who is set on playing hard to get, as my own mission to sanity. Maybe I’m making this all into more than it should be. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve created drama in my life where none should have existed.

It honestly doesn’t make a difference if it’s delusional infatuation or once-in-a-lifetime true love because I’m already invested. Regardless of the origins of these desires, they’re here to stay. I desperately want Loïc Berkeley, and I’m used to getting what I want.

I’m back to sounding spoiled again. I’m working on becoming the person I want to be. Rome wasn’t built in a day.

“What’s the last thing you texted to him?” Amusement lines Paige’s voice.

“You know exactly what I said.” I turn and give her my best attempt at an evil glare.

She just laughs. Obviously, I’m not as intimidating as I think I am.

“Tell me again. I just love it.”

“I told him that his chicken-shit ass had better contact me today because he promised me a second date, and I expect him to deliver.”

She slaps her hand on her thigh in a fit of giggles, startling the women working on our feet. “And you’re surprised he hasn’t responded?”

“I know. It wasn’t my best moment.” I sigh.

In my defense, I was slightly tipsy when I sent that text last night—and by slightly tipsy, I mean, wasted. In addition, it has been a week since our first date, and since then, I’ve received one measly text from him before nothing but radio silence.

The morning after our drive-in movie date—and one of the best orgasms I’ve ever had, I might add—I texted Loïc to tell him that I had a great time. He responded with,Me, too, and that’s the last I’ve heard from him. I’ve texted him once or twice a day since then. I tried keeping my messages upbeat and nonchalant at first. I wanted to give him the I’m-a-cool-and-laid-back-kind-of-girlvibe.

But, after the fourth day of being ignored, my texts changed in nature, and somehow, they turned into the I’m-the-type-of-crazy-that-you-don’t-want-to-bring-home-to-mama vibe. Not that he has a mama. Ugh, wrong analogy.

I should cut him more slack than this. He obviously has issues.

Isn’t his wounded heart part of my intense attraction to him?

Yet would it kill him to text me?

Paige and I leave the coconut-smelling heaven. Our feet and hands have been buffed and lotioned to soft perfection, and our nails are painted a lovely royal blue—our current color obsession. My mom thinks that blue nails, regardless of the specific shade, look trashy, but I disagree.

We hop into my Mercedes, and I start the car, making sure the AC is on full blast. It’s a hot and humid summer day, so immediate AC is life-and-death. Before I can put the car in gear, my phone dings. I whip my head to the side, and my eyes go wide as I look at Paige. She gives me a hopeful smile. I’m sure she thinks my Loïc obsession is a little odd, but as my best friend, she supports me one hundred percent. If I decide to jump aboard the crazy train, she’ll be the first to buy a one-way ticket.

Careful of my freshly painted nails, I reach into my bag to pull out my phone. I have a text, and it’s from Loïc.

Loïc: Pick you up at five. Be ready.

God, he’s bossy, and damn, how I find that so hot.

I peer up to find Paige’s expectant look, and I smile big and squeal. She claps her hands in rapid succession and squeals along with me.

There’s a knock on the front door exactly at five o’clock.

He might be bossy, but I have to give it to the guy; he’s punctual.

I quickly say good-bye to Paige and make my way to the front door. My knees go weak when I see him. He’s just so beautiful in that closed-off, rugged, moody kind of way. He’s wearing a form-fitting T-shirt, board shorts, and flip-flops. For some odd reason, the fact that I can see his feet creates intense lust-filled thoughts to storm through my mind.

I take in a breath and shake out the rogue hormonal desires that saturate my brain.Focus.

“You were going to cancel again,” I say.

Yes, I’ve spent all week praying to the gods of dating that he would call and come through on his promise of another date. I admit, I’ve been almost desperate, which is so not me. Relief to have him in my presence again washes over me, flooding me with happiness, but that doesn’t mean I’m not annoyed. Despite my longing to tightly hug him and thank him over and over for coming, I’m not that girl, and Loïc needs to know that.

“But I didn’t,” he says casually.

“You wanted to. More so, you wanted to avoid my texts altogether,” I huff out in frustration. “You told me you wanted to go out again. We had a great time, and then you made me wait all week for a response. If you don’t want to see me again, fine, whatever.”I don’t mean that at all. Please want to see me many more times for all eternity.“But don’t play games, Loïc. I don’t like them.” I’m proud that I’m holding my ground.

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