Keeping London (The Flawed Heart Series Book 2) (5 page)

“And?” my mom asks again, like an excited teenage girl.

Loïc places his hand on my leg. “And it’s going really well, better than I ever thought possible.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet,” my mom says. “You’re leaving next week?” Her tone changes to one of concern.

Loïc’s eyes drop for a second before he meets my mom’s expectant stare. “Yeah, I am…next Friday. I’m deploying to Afghanistan.”

“That sucks,” Georgia gives her two cents.

“Yeah, it’s going to be hard to leave London, but it’s my job.”

“It’s fine,” I say cheerfully. “It’s just a year. It will give me time to crank out a bunch of great articles and hopefully get a more prestigious journalism job. We’ll be able to write letters and emails and talk on the phone pretty regularly. It will go by fast. It will be fine,” I say, trying to reassure everyone, including myself.

“It will be.” Loïc squeezes my leg.

“So, writing’s going well?” my dad asks, switching the topic of conversation from Loïc to me.

“Really well, Dad. The online Ann Arbor news site has been featuring several of my articles every week. They seem to really like them.”

“That’s great, sweetie.”

“Yeah, it is. I’m going to wait for a bit and keep writing for them. At some point, when I build up my portfolio enough, I want to apply to bigger papers. I want to write stories that matter, you know? I’m not going to be stuck writing about the local school district’s school board president race or the university’s new steps to be even more green on campus. I mean, it’s okay for now, but I want to do more.”

“You will. It takes time,” my dad offers.

“Yeah, I know,” I agree.

I’m so happy right now, sitting among the people I love more than anything in this world. If Paige were here, my level of excitement would be uncontainable. How can one person be so lucky in the joy department? For all my imperfections as a person, I must have done something right. I love my life.

We chat for a couple of hours about everything—my sister’s class load, my dad’s current work projects, Loïc’s military history, upcoming articles I’m going to write, and my mom’s adventures with acroyoga.

“I’m still not getting it, Mom,” Georgia says. “So, it’s like yoga but with somersaults and cartwheels and stuff?”

Mom shakes her head. “No, you’re thinking gymnastics. It’s yoga because it requires a lot of core strength and flexibility, but then little tricks are added in.” She looks to us and obviously registers our blank faces. “Okay, so remember there is a base and a flyer. The base is usually a man but can be a strong woman. It just depends on how big the flyer is. So, I’m a flyer. That means my base—which is usually my instructor, Rob—lies on his back with his feet in the air, and then using his extended arms and legs, he pushes me up into the air. Remember when you were little, I used to hold you up with my legs in the airplane move? Well, that’s one of the moves, except my arms aren’t out like a plane; they’re back against my sides. It’s called the bird. The bird is the first basic move you learn, and I can transition to other more complicated moves from the bird position, like a pop. A pop is where Rob pushes me into the air with his hands and feet from the bird position. I tuck my legs up and land in a seated position on his feet.”

“Mom, you’re going to break a hip,” Georgia jokes.

Mom playfully smacks her on the leg. “You’d better watch it, baby girl.”

I address my dad, “So, Dad, you don’t mind Mom wrestling around with this dude, Rob, every day, having his hands and feet all up in her junk?” I grin.

“It’s not like that, London,” Mom scolds.

Dad chuckles. “No, I don’t. It’s great exercise, and she loves it. Plus, I’m pretty sure Rob’s gay.”

Georgia huffs out a laugh. “Doesn’t matter. Mom’s a knockout. She could turn him straight for a day.”

“Excuse me, girls, it’s irrelevant whether or not Rob is gay. I would never cheat on your father, and you know that.” Mom carries a hint of hurt in her voice.

“I know, Mom. We’re just joking.” I shoot her a grin. “What other amazing stunts do you and Rob do?”

“Uh, Christine,” my dad addresses my mom before she starts to tell us about another acro move, “it’s about one.”

They exchange glances, and I see realization dawn in my mother’s eyes.

“Oh, right!” she exclaims.

“What? Are you hungry? We can order in,” Georgia offers.

“No, it’s not that. There’s this benefit tonight at the Canto Center for Visual Arts on campus. Your father has some colleagues he needs to chat with. You’re all welcome to come. In fact, I would love it if all of you could join us. But I’m assuming you didn’t bring formalwear?” she asks me.

I shake my head. “No, Mom, we didn’t know anything about this benefit.”

“Dad, I thought this was going to be a no-work weekend?” Georgia asks him.

My dad holds up his hands, facing his palms toward us. “It is, it is. This is a social event. I didn’t know about it until yesterday. So, I’m sorry that I didn’t give you more notice.” He seems to notice Georgia’s slight glare. “It’s a good cause, Georgia, for charity.” He asks my mom, “What are the proceeds going toward again, dear? Cancer research, animal shelters, rainforest preservation?”

“Um, I believe it’s for ALS research. You know, Lou Gehrig’s disease. Plus, I’m telling you now so that we have time to go shopping for a dress and go to a salon. It will be fun. Come with us?” she asks hopefully.

Regardless of whether or not my father’s work prompted this outing is immaterial to me. I love getting all fancy for benefits.

“I’m in!” I say cheerfully. “You know I’m not going to turn down a shopping day!”

“Ugh, fine. I suppose it sounds fun,” Georgia says begrudgingly.

“Looking at the shape of your nails, you’re definitely due for a mani.” I open my eyes wide in an exaggerated attempt at looking shocked.

“Whatever.” Georgia chuckles.

“Great. Then, it’s settled. Loïc, I just need your sizes, and I’ll have my tux guy bring over a few options for you when he drops off my tux this afternoon.”

“Um, okay,” Loïc answers my dad, appearing to be slightly out of his comfort zone.

“While you ladies go dress shopping, I have some work to attend to. Is that okay with you, Georgia, love?” Dad asks with a grin.

“I suppose,” Georgia huffs for effect.

“Will you be okay with fending for yourself this afternoon?” I ask Loïc. “You could hang by the pool?”

“I have the second season of
Daredevil
on my DVR, if you’re interested,” Georgia offers.

“Oh, really?” Loïc looks to Georgia. “I’ve actually been wanting to see that, but I haven’t had time.”

“Yeah, Fabio Fuckface wanted me to save it for him. We watched the first season on Netflix over the summer, and we were going to watch season two when he came up.” She rolls her eyes.

“Language, Georgia,” Mom says.

“Oh, Mom, all the classy chicks say fuck now. It’s considered proper. You should try it.”

Mom laughs. “I highly doubt that.”

“Say it, Mom!” Georgia urges.

“No, I’m not going to.”

“Say it. All the cool kids are doing it. Aren’t you all trapeze yoga chill now?” Georgia quirks an eyebrow.

“It’s acroyoga. And, honey, I’ve been around a lot longer than you, so your peer pressure has no effect on me.”

“Say it! Say it! Say it! Say it!” Georgia and I chant repeatedly, clapping our hands.

My mom shakes her head in laughter.

Mom raises her hands in surrender, and we stop cheering. “All right, all right. Goodness. Fuck, girls, let’s go. We have some fucking shopping to do.”

I cover my mouth with my hands as I laugh loudly. Georgia looks at my mom like she has recently grown a second head.

“Um, on second thought, please don’t ever say fuck in my presence again, Mom. That’s just”—she shakes her head in disgust—“not okay. Not. Okay.”

“Why the fuck not, George? I’m a fucking chill yoga mom.”

Georgia stands abruptly. “Stop it! Just stop it! Not okay!” She plugs her ears, singing, “La-la, la-la, la-la, la-la,” on her way off of the balcony.

My mom and I break out in a fit of giggles.

Finally, Mom says in almost a whisper, “Be careful what you ask for.”

“Yeah, it’s okay, Mom. You’re plenty cool enough. No need for you to drop the F-bomb. Really.”

“All right, if you say so. I just want to make my girls happy,” she states in an overly joyful voice. She stands, grabs the pitcher and glasses from the table, and walks inside.

My dad stands and follows.

“You can come along while we shop, if you want. I feel bad about dragging you all the way to Cali just to leave you alone to watch TV,” I say to Loïc.

“No, thanks, babe. I’m good here.”

“What? You don’t want to go shopping?” I ask sarcastically.

“Don’t forget that I know what it’s like to go shopping with you. I don’t even want to imagine what it’s like to go with three Wright women.” He raises an eyebrow and shakes his head.

I can’t help but laugh because I’m sure it would be a nightmare for any man. “I don’t blame you.” Closing the distance between us, I pull his mouth into a kiss. “I love you,” I say, our mouths a breath apart. “Thank you for coming out here with me. I’m sure the whole meet-the-family thing isn’t easy for you, but it makes me happy. So, thank you.”

“Nothing about dating you is easy for me, London. It’s all out of my comfort zone, but I’d face more than a few internal demons to be with you.” His hand rises, tucking a lock of my hair behind my ear, before the tips of his fingers slide down the skin of my cheek, causing a torrent of goose bumps to pebble my arms.

My lips find his again as an innate desire to be joined with him takes over. Warmth invades my body as his tongue moves in time with mine, creating an intimate dance made solely for the two of us. Without breaking our connection, I leave my chair and push Loïc back into his, pressing the palms of my hands against his firm chest. I place one of my legs on either side of his thighs and straddle him.

His fingers grasp at my back, kneading my skin, as he takes the kiss deeper. An involuntary groan leaves my mouth, followed by one from Loïc. His desire surges for me, hard beneath his pants, as I grind against him. He threads his fingers through my hair, pulling me even closer to the point where I don’t know where I end and he begins. We’re a heated mess of tongues, lips, and skin, frantically kissing to the melody of our moans of desire. It’s the sweetest song I know. Nothing is more enrapturing than the heady hum of Loïc and me on the verge of a frenzy.

A throat clears, and I pull my mouth from Loïc’s as his body stiffens beneath mine.

Georgia stands behind Loïc, wearing the most amused smile. “Hey,” she half-whispers, “sorry to break up this hotness”—she moves her hand in a circular motion toward Loïc and me—“but Mom’s ready to leave, and I’m guessing, you really don’t want her to see this.”

“I’m coming,” I say breathlessly.

“I’m not surprised,” Georgia replies with a smirk.

“Oh my God.” I bury my head against Loïc’s shoulder. “Just go.”

“All right, but hurry up.”

“That’s lovely,” I say against Loïc’s chest.

“Better your sister than your dad.”

“Uh, definitely.” I chuckle dryly. “God, I wish we were alone right now.”

“Me, too. Don’t worry. I’ll make it all better tonight.” Loïc’s voice is tight and gravelly and oh-so sexy.

“Yeah, right. There’s going to be zero privacy this weekend.”

“Oh, we’ll find some,” he says reassuringly.

“I’m holding you to that.”

Loïc

“I need London—mind, body, and soul. Forever.”

—Loïc Berkeley

I step out of the limo onto a velvety red carpet that extends from the curb and up to the walkway, ending at the large front doors of the art museum. The shiny black Gucci shoes adorning my feet feel so foreign. Hell, this entire night is straight out of the what-the-fuck-am-I-doing playbook. These shoes probably cost more than I make in a week. And this tux? I can’t even think about it—or the fact that Mr. Wright insisted I keep the entire ensemble. What the hell am I supposed to do with a tux after tonight?

I don’t like it, any of it—the limo, the attire, the freaking red carpet.
I mean, come on, how does all of this extravagance help people with ALS?

Turning, I extend my arm toward the vehicle behind me. London places her soft, small hand in my grasp. I meet her brilliant brown eyes before my gaze drops to her foot that just stepped out and the strappy black heel wrapped around it. My stare admires every inch of her as it roams up her killer leg that so perfectly stretches out between the revealing slit in her long red dress. I pull gently, helping her exit gracefully, and I pause a moment to take her in.

The lengthy dress clings to her body, accentuating all of her beautiful curves. Her hair is in loose curls that fall over the exposed skin of her back and shoulders. She’s simply breathtaking, the most stunning woman I’ve ever seen in my life.

I take a mental picture of London for when I’m overseas, one that I can pull up anytime I need to remember her. I want to cement this vision into my mind. But, more than that, I want to be able to recall the way being here with her makes me feel—fucking fantastic, whole, and just happy.