Page 8 of Rise (Symbols of Love 1)

“I’ve only met him twice, Addie. And honestly, he is always wearing some stupid T-shirt with a Beyoncé quote on it. I thought he was gay.”

“Oh, my God. I died at his T-shirt!”

We dissolve into a fit of giggles as we talk shit about men, life, and nothing while we eat the rest of our lunch.

After we’ve paid the check and are getting ready to walk out, Cara turns to me, arm around my shoulders.

“Listen, let’s go out, there is a great new DJ at a club in West London I want to try. It’s a Thursday night, but it will be worth it.”

She bats her eyelashes at me, and I know this means she really wants me to say yes.

I start to protest—it’s a work night, I’d rather be home, reading or sleeping.

Cara begs, “Come on, Addie, it will get your mind off things. You never go out and who knows, maybe you’ll meet someone and get laid.”

This is actually true. I’ll never admit this to anyone, but I’ve had Simon on the brain since I met him. Meeting someone, taking them home, and fucking them is just what I need to get him off my mind.

“Fine, but it better be great!”

“Okay, Princess Adelaide. I promise it will be great, and you’ll get something to replace your arsenal of toys”

The laugh that es

capes me, loud and soul deep, leaves a smile on my face that lingers for the rest of my walk back to the office.

August 7, 2014

“Shit!” I stare at the dark screen of my phone in frustration and force myself to take a deep breath. No need to panic. The streets around Ladbroke Grove are well-lit. It’s also well-past midnight and the streets are basically deserted. I mumble to myself, “Of course they are. What other dummies are roaming the streets of London on a Thursday night with their phones barely charged and their friends nowhere in sight?”

I can’t believe I didn’t charge my phone before I left the house. I was so busy trying to make sure I look perfect tonight—though now I can’t remember why I even cared—I didn’t realize my phone wasn’t actually attached to my charger.

Maybe 4.5-inch platform peep toes weren’t the best choice for a night when I was going to be using mainly public transportation. At least my jeans are comfortable and my top, though formfitting, allows me to breathe. The kebab I’d inhaled as I walked to King’s Cross station from my house was starting to roil in my stomach.

Where the hell was Cara? We had talked right before I left the house. We planned to meet at Ladbroke Grove tube station and walk up Portobello Road to the top of Notting Hill Gate together. But now that I am here, Cara is nowhere to be seen, and now I am furious because my fucking phone is dead.

The last train is gone, and I haven’t see a single black cab go by. What am I going to do?

“Get it together, Addie!” I can’t stand here all night. I need to try and walk up the street to see if I can find the club by myself—maybe I misunderstood and we are supposed to meet there. If nothing else, I could beg someone inside to let me use their phone to call an Uber.

As I turn to walk up the street that serves as the venue for the famous Portobello Road Market on the weekends, I hear rapid footsteps round the corner from the side of the tube station. Just my luck. Now I am going to be robbed and left for dead. God, I am such an idiot.

I pick up my pace and am about to cross the road when the footsteps are suddenly right behind me. I whirl, ready to battle. My lack of grace doesn’t fail me. My whirl turns into a stumble, and I brace myself for a nasty and humiliating fall. However, two strong hands grab me by the biceps to keep me from face-planting onto the cobble stone street.

My hands land on a trim, but well-muscled waist. As my eyes travel up a wall of chest, I take in a blue oxford button down that opens to a dark, long, and thick neck with an Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. My eyes travel up to see a smooth, clean shaven chin, which is the foundation for a face too beautiful to be real. His full, wide, lips were tipped up in a smile that stretches across his handsome face. His high, broad cheek bones serve as beautiful anchors for a perfectly symmetrical nose with a strong bridge and nostrils that are slightly flared. But it is his eyes… they arrest me. The color of melted milk chocolate, they are wide set, almond shaped, and slightly turned up at the corners. His lashes aren’t very long, but they are thick. They frame eyes so clear and focused on mine, I almost gasp as our gazes meet. They are also filled with humor—that is quickly replaced with awareness.

I know these eyes.

And suddenly, I realize he is still grasping my arms and I’m still grasping his waist, and that since he has rescued me, neither of us has said a word. I take a step back.

“Simon?”

The humor quickly returns to his expression, and he flashes a knowing grin at me.

I straighten myself to pull out of his grasp, dropping my hands from his waist. “I’m sorry I almost fell on you,” I say, stupidly.

His smiles only broadens and he says, “No worries, Addie, I startled you.”

I start to come out of my ogling fog and I notice he is carrying a plastic bag in one hand. It’s radiating with heat and the wafts of steam escaping it carry the mouthwatering scent of curry. His gaze follows mine and he says, with a tip of those gorgeous lips and a shrug of his shoulder “Dinner.”

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