Finding London (Flawed Heart #1) (25 page)

I drive to the end of the street and turn the corner. An elementary school is a block down, and I pull into its parking lot, stopping my car across three spaces. There’s no one here to care anyway. I’ve barely moved my gearshift to park before I crumple against the steering wheel. My body vibrates as sobs rack through me. I cry into the dark space as howls of despair escape my lungs, and I ache everywhere. My entire body feels physical pain, as if it barely survived a cage fight with the current world champion.

How can emotional pain hurt this much? How can a stupid boy do this to me?

A vision of Loïc’s face invades my mind before I force it out. It’s too much. It’s all just too much to take.

Why?

I don’t understand why he would do this to me.

Was this some sort of a sick game to him? Was it all an act? Did he ever care at all?

So many questions plague my mind.

But I know that they don’t matter. None of the answers matter. What’s done is done. The reasons behind his actions will do little to pick up the pieces of my broken heart.

I hate him.

I hate him so much.

God, I wish that were true.
I wish I could throw everything we had aside, like it meant nothing. I wish more than anything that I could take back the past three months. I wish I had skipped that stupid car wash. Who cares what the girls in the sorority would have thought of me?

It’s just not fair.

My eyes burn, my chest aches, and my throat feels like it’s on the second week of a bout with bronchitis. I ache—mind, body, and soul. It all stings, and in this moment, I feel as if it always will.

This is stupid!

I grab a handful of napkins from the glove box and clean up my face. Closing my eyes, I take a few fortifying deep breaths. No one has the power to destroy me, not even Loïc. I refuse to allow anyone to shatter me.

I put the car in drive and head toward my house. I take another route, not wanting to pass Loïc’s house again. Errant tears course down my face as I tell myself over and over again that I’ll be fine.
Loïc will not break me.

I don’t remember the drive back to my house, but I find myself in my driveway nonetheless.

Screw this! Screw Loïc! I’m going out.

I call a cab and run into the house. It’s just after one in the morning. I’ll have about forty-five minutes to accomplish my objective, which is plenty of time. I wash my face, throw my hair into a high ponytail, and put on one of my sluttier dresses.

I’m going to kiss Loïc out of my system. Even with puffy eyes and no makeup, I have a better chance of snatching a guy at the bar than half of the girls there. This will be cake.

I’m downing my fourth shot of vodka when I hear the cab out front. I throw the shot glass into the sink and race out the door. I could technically walk to the bar, but a cab will be quicker. I’m on a mission, and time is of the essence.

It doesn’t take me long to secure a drink and find Paige when I get there.

She can’t hide her surprise when she sees me. “What are you doing here?” She does a double take. “And why have you been crying?”

Out of everyone here, only Paige would know that I’ve been crying. She knows me better than anyone.

“I’m here to move on. Turns out that Loïc is a lying, cheating asshole. So, I’m going to find another hot guy and make out with him.”

Paige looks legitimately confused and equally concerned. “Are you sure you want to do that? Don’t rush into anything you’ll regret.”

I huff out an attempt at laughter. “Oh, I’m not going to regret it. Don’t you worry about that.”

Paige places her hand on my arm. “London, let’s go home. I think this calls for a serious ice cream sundae session with at least three types of gummy bear toppings and extra hot fudge.”

I shake my head. “Nope. You’re the one who told me that the best way to get over a guy is to get under another one. I’m going to test your theory. Maybe not to the full extent—I’m not a complete hooker—but I think a heavy make-out session is in order.”

Her eyes widen. “I said that? You know I give horrible advice. Since when have you ever listened to my words of wisdom? You know I don’t make sense half of the time!”

“I’m fine. Relax.” I spot a cute guy across the dance floor, and I start to walk in his direction.

“London!” my best friend shrieks from behind me.

I turn to face her.

“Don’t do this. Let’s go home,” she pleads with genuine concern in her eyes.

“I have everything under control, Paigey Poo. Never fear, love!” I force a wide smile and continue my path to Rebound Suspect Number One.

The guy, albeit mildly wasted, is putty in my hands. It’s too easy. But what did I expect? I’ve been off the market for a matter of months, not years. The Long Island he bought me goes right down. In fact, I barely taste it.

My head is heavy, and my thoughts are fuzzy, but that’s a good thing. I need a break from my mind right now. Stupid thing keeps trying to remind me of what I lost, trying to make me think about
him
. I’m over it. I’m moving on. Can’t my brain see that?

Rebound Dude holds me in his arms as we sway, I think, to music. Surely, we must be dancing.

What is his name? Mike, Matt, or maybe…Gallagher?

I can’t remember. It doesn’t matter.
Rebound Dude, it is
.

We’ve already established that he’s going to take me back to his place and kiss me all night long. I was very up-front with my end game. Not surprisingly, he was all about it as well.

Stupid guys. They’re so predictable and dumb…especially ones named Loïc. He’s the stupidest one of all.

Loïc.

I open my eyes. Rebound Dude—or as I’m calling him now, R.D.—is talking to me. I blink a few times and focus on what he’s saying.

“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.

Loïc

“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.