Page 35 of An Unexpected Kind of Love

Blake can’t stop laughing. “I suspect so. Unless you’re a total recluse.”

“How do you know I’m not?”

And that’s when my phone comes to life in my pocket. Lily with the inevitable out, always ready for an art emergency that she might need rescuing from. Truly a brilliant friend, if ever there was one.

“You gonna get that?” drawls Blake.

“Nah. Not yet. I need to show an American the city, I think.”

…

Half an hour later, on board the tube, I check the flood of texts from Lily. She’s unleashed a litany since 9:00 p.m.

HAVE YOU BEEN MURDERED TELL ME YOU HAVEN’T BEEN MURDERED AUBREY. RESPOND POST HASTE. I AM ASWOON WITH WORRY. Lxxxxxx

Laughing, I text back.That escalated quickly. You’ve also shed punctuation. xx

You’re so predictable Aubs. Lxxxxx

Going to Lucky Bar with a man. Maybe JJs after. xx

OOOOOOOOoooOOOOOooo

I slip my phone away.

Blake peers at me, hanging on to the handrail as we ricochet noisily through underground London. He gives me a curious smile. It’s fucking hotter than the sun down here, closer to the molten core of the Earth. The heatwave persists at subterranean levels. Like Lucifer’s cranked the heat to welcome my folly.

“Canceled the scheduled emergency,” I say smoothly. “Ready?”

“Born ready,” Blake sings, turning a few heads. He has a brilliant singing voice. A man near us sleeps on the seats. An elderly woman is unmoved.

As we exit, I leave my inhibitions behind me on the carriage. Till later, till my return to ordinarily scheduled sensibilities, like a regular stocktake. Right now, London’s calling, like I’m leaping off some cliff into an abyss.

Chapter Nine

When the tube spits us out in the swelter of King’s Cross Station on our adventure, we go up via the escalators to the concourse level. Even at this hour, the concourse is busy, flowing with travelers coming and going. Digital signs announce departures and arrivals, cancellations and delays.

“What are we getting? You can’t be hungry yet.” Blake chuckles. “Please don’t tell me you’re pit-stopping for meat snacks.”

“Oh no, we’re stopping for something much better than meat snacks,” I retort, making a beeline for Boots before the shop closes in a few minutes. With a gulp, I take Blake’s hand, hot in mine, a gesture that sends a ripple up my spine. “And I can’t say I’m confident that’s not some sort of American innuendo.”

He laughs with glee. “No! I quite literally meant meat snacks.”

“Well, you’re in for a surprise, then.”

Oh God. I’m in. All in.

He squeezes back, a surprised—and if I didn’t know better, but who’s to say at this stage of our current non-relationship status—yet terribly hopeful grin on his face. “Condoms?”

“Guess again.”

We go immediately to the beauty section. Everything glimmers with promise, from eyeshadows to nail varnish. “We need makeup for a night out.”

I give him a challenging look as we stand before a display of eyeshadows in an expanse of colors.

Intrigued, he gazes from me to the stand and back again.

What does he think? This is probably a terrible idea. I haven’t done this sort of thing in a dog’s age. Probably not since back before dogs evolved.

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