Finding London by Ellie Wade (uplifting book club books .TXT) 📕
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- Author: Ellie Wade
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“You ready to go?”
I have a feeling this isn’t the first time he’s asked.
I lift my heavy arm, and my palm holds his cheek. His face is full of stubble, like he hasn’t shaved in a few days. I used to be extremely attracted to guys who had a five o’clock shadow like that.
Loïc never lets his stubble get that long. He has to keep it shaved for the military. Loïc’s skin is soft beneath my touch. When I rub my hand in a certain direction though, I can always feel the tiny pokes of hair starting to grow. I miss that.
I haven’t been able to run my hand across his smooth face in two weeks, and now, I never will again.
R.D.’s eyes are striking, big and brown. They fit his face perfectly. Pre-Loïc, I would have found his eyes sexy as hell. But, now, I can only be attracted to blue eyes—and not just any blue eyes. I’m in love with the type of eyes that contain countless shades of blue and look like an ocean is swirling inside them with a gaze that pins me with the weight of a majestic body of water.
Loïc might not want me, and he definitely isn’t the guy I thought he was, but I can’t deny the fact that I’m desperately in love with him. I have to figure out where to go from here before I do this. Being with another man when my entirety belongs to Loïc would break my heart, more than it’s already been broken. I don’t know how I’ll recover from that. I know I’ll have to get over Loïc, but this isn’t the way.
I drop my hand from the handsome stranger’s face. “Listen, R.D., you’re a nice guy.” I sigh.
“Arty? It’s Ben.” He sounds annoyed.
Ben! That’s it!
“Right…Ben.” I bob my head in acknowledgment. “Yeah,” I draw out. “I gotta go.” I point my thumb behind me. Then, I swivel and start to walk back to where Paige is.
The lights in the club are on now. It must be past two. I squint. The glare from the bright fluorescents is giving me a headache. I trip a little on my obnoxiously tall heels. Maybe they weren’t the right shoes to wear when my night started by downing four shots, alone, in my kitchen. But nothing gives a girl confidence like her best fuck-me heels even if they are a bitch to walk in.
A set of arms wrap around my waist, holding me steady. “You ready to go home, killer?” Paige asks.
Aw, my Paige. How I love her.
“Yepper. Sure am.” I nod.
She chuckles. “First, let’s take these off.”
She bends down and unhooks my shoe straps. I hold on to her shoulder as I step out of them. She hands them to me. Now that I don’t feel like I’m walking on stilts, I’m much better.
“Let’s get a cab, Paigey,” I say weakly.
“No,” she responds. “We’d have to wait forever for one, and I just want to get home. Plus, I think you could use a nice stroll with some fresh air.”
“Yeah, fresh hair is nice, so soft,” I say dreamily.
“Air, London…like the stuff you breathe.”
“That’s what I meant,” I concur.
Paige and I walk home in silence. Our inner hands grasp on to each other as my outer hand holds my shoes. I bet she’s dying to find out all the details about tonight, but she also knows that I need to focus on walking in my current state. She’s a good friend, the best.
After eighty-five hours that fit into the space of probably fifteen minutes, we’re home. The first thing I notice is Paige repeatedly squeezing my hand.
“Ow, Paige,” I say for lack of a better response because it didn’t hurt. It’s just weird.
“Look,” she hisses under her breath.
Look at what? What’s her deal?
I lift my head that has been focused on my feet this entire time. On that journey, it took immense concentration to make sure I wouldn’t stub one of my toes against the concrete sidewalk and ruin my perfectly painted nails. The entire walk, I was one step away from a massacre of ripped skin and gushing blood.
The interior of our house is dark, but the exterior is faintly lit up from the streetlights. I see a figure standing on our front porch. The world is starting to spin, but I would recognize that body anywhere.
Why is he here?
When we get to our front yard, Paige lets go of my hand.
What is she doing?
“I’ll be right inside, London.”
Why is she leaving me alone with him? Traitor!
I want to yell at her, but my head is too clouded to form thoughts quickly enough. When I’m finally ready to yell at her, she’s already inside.
Instead, I’m left facing the man who broke my heart into a million pieces.
“You weren’t answering your phone. I missed you,” he says simply, as if he didn’t destroy my entire world two hours ago.
“I hate you.” I mean for it to come out as a loud, powerful declaration, but it leaves my lips on a broken whisper.
“I know. I’m sorry. I should have come over earlier when you asked. I feel horrible about it. But I had to see you.”
“I hate you.” This time, the words come out as a sob.
“London, I’m sorry. It was a dick move. I didn’t have a headache. I’m sure you figured that out.” He sounds sad, but I can’t make myself care.
“I need you to leave—right now.” These are the last words I say to him before a formidable explosion of vomit rips through me, causing me to bend at my waist and expel every last bit of vile liquid onto his feet.
“I’ve fallen hard for London. Now that I’ve found her…I just hope I can keep her.”
—Loïc Berkeley
I spy with my little eye something fierce, stunning, beautiful, and mine.
At least, I hope she’s still mine.
She kept repeating, “I hate you,” over and over last night.
I didn’t think she was such an angry drunk, but then I’d never seen her that out of it either.
After I gave her a shower last night to get all of the vomit off of both of us, I put her in a pair of simple cotton panties that I found in her drawer. I’ve never seen her in a pair like this. If it isn’t silky, lacy, or a thong, she doesn’t wear it. I thought this pair looked the most comfortable to sleep in. I’d be lying if I didn’t acknowledge how incredibly sexy her ass looks in them right now.
I gave her some medicine and was able to get her to drink a full glass of water before she passed out, so I’m hoping she doesn’t feel like complete shit when she gets up. And I know I’m a selfish prick, but I want her. My entire body craves her, and none of that will happen if she’s still puking.
Part of me wanted to leave after she started throwing up. I know that’s horrible to admit, but for me, watching someone that drunk brings back all sorts of unwanted memories. I could never leave her in that state, no matter how hard it is to be around it. She isn’t them. I know that.
I’m propped up on my side on one elbow, watching London sleep beside me. Her chest moves quietly beneath the baggy T-shirt I put on her. She kicked off the blanket in her sleep multiple times last night, so I finally stopped covering her up, figuring she must be hot.
I shouldn’t be creeping on my girlfriend when she probably feels like crap and more than likely will puke on me the second she wakes. But I haven’t seen her in two weeks, and I’ve missed her like crazy—every single part of her, including her gorgeous ass.
Even if she feels fine, I’ll have some explaining to do. She’s never been so furious with me as she was last night. I knew she’d be mad, but I didn’t expect that. Shows what I know. I’m always going to suck at this dating shit.
It was a jerk move. I realize that, but I’m the first to disclose that I’m not always going to handle things the right way—probably ever.
London starts to move beside me. I can tell the moment she realizes that I’m here. A serene smile crosses her face, and her body instinctually moves into mine. She wraps her arms around my back and snuggles her face into my chest.
God, I adore this woman.
I never thought I’d be here, in a place where I feel so much love and happiness. Truly, I didn’t. I’ve fallen hard for London. Now that I’ve found her…I just hope I can keep her.
I return her embrace, dropping my face into her hair, smelling her sweetness. I pull her tighter against me, and my hands roam across her back.
Something shifts. London’s body goes rigid. The languid caresses from moments ago have ceased. If I’m not mistaken, she’s holding her breath, her back no longer rising and falling in contentment.
“London?” I ask cautiously.
Maybe she doesn’t feel well.
Suddenly, she pushes away from me. Her eyes are dark with fury. “What are you doing here? Why are you in my bed?” She looks down to her bare legs before pulling the sheet over herself. “What am I wearing?”
I decide to first respond to the question with the most straightforward answer. “After our shower, I put you in the most comfortable attire I could find.”
“Our shower?” she shrieks. “You got me naked?”
“We were covered in your vomit. I didn’t think you’d mind,” I answer dryly. “I’ve seen you naked before, London,” I say, stating the obvious.
“But”—her voice is a high-pitched shrill—“you got me naked!”
I realize that I’m missing something. London and I are most definitely not on the same page.
“Are you still mad?” I ask.
“Am I still mad?” she yells. “You must be joking!”
“Listen, I said I was sorry. I knew it was wrong. You know I’m not good at this relationship stuff, London. You need to be a little more patient with me. Let me explain.”
“I need to be more patient with you?” she screams.
I have an incredible desire to tell her to keep her voice down. She’s giving me a headache. I might suck at relationships, but I have a feeling that wouldn’t be a wise move. I’ve never seen her so mad.
She continues in her obnoxious tone, “So, I should just be patient with you while you stick your dick in some tramp? I should be understanding of that because you’re”—she holds her fingers up in air quotations—“‘not good at this relationship stuff.’” She ends the quote in a bitchy tone.
“Hold on, wait a minute,” I stop her rant. “What are you talking about?” I ask, completely baffled.
“I’m talking about you cheating on me,” she huffs. “What do you think I’m talking about?”
“Cheating on you?” I question. “I thought we were talking about me not coming over here when I got back last night, for telling you that I had a headache when I didn’t.”
“Well, that’s how it started,
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