London Falling (28 page)

Gingerly, I eased myself into the tub and let the warmth envelop my body. I submerged my head under the mountain of bubbles and popped back up for a breath. I knew there was a big smile on my face. Last night was incredible. Beau and I were—well, I wasn’t sure what we were. Defining it didn’t seem as important as the fact that we had finally reconnected after all of these weeks of circling each other.

I traced the tops of the bubble peaks with my toes. Beau felt the same way I did; he didn’t have to say it with words. Every touch he made last night told me. I thought about the room full of artifacts from our dating journey that was on the other side of the door. He had saved all of those tokens from the dates. But we still had to finish the damn project.
Shit!
I had an agreement with Professor Garcia. There had to be a loophole. There had to be a way I could tell Beau how I felt and still keep my promise to the nutty professor.

I slid deeper into the water until the ripples lapped around my neck. I drifted, suspended in the tub. If I waited until the project was turned in to tell Beau how I was feeling, I risked losing this place we had just found. I thought about the grade I needed to graduate. The grade I needed to start living my dreams in California. But did those dreams even matter if Beau wasn’t in my life?

My hands and feet were officially pruned. I had soaked myself right out of this pensive state. I knew exactly what I was going to do: dry off and tell that boy sleeping in the other room that this was the most incredible semester of my college career, and I had been falling head over heels in love with him since the day he ran me over on his bike. I wrapped the spa-like robe around my chest and fastened the white tie in a knot. My hair shook out over my shoulders. I was ready. This was it.

I pulled open the bathroom door, ready to tackle Beau with the emotions pouring through my heart. Why hadn’t I done this sooner? I had wasted so much time worrying about grades and graduation that I had let the most important part of my college life fall to the side.

“Beau?” I surveyed the empty bed. The sheets were scattered and his suit was missing from the floor. I padded out to the foyer then walked into the center of the dating display.

Beau wasn’t in the suite.
Shit!
I had waited too long.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I called him three times and sent ten texts. I was dangerously on the edge of being a stage five clinger. He could call me a clinger, a deranged ex, or a psycho—I didn’t care as long as he called. I was extremely grateful that the bellhop had delivered my overnight bag to the room before dinner, or else I would have had to complete the walk of shame in the classiest hotel in town in my rumpled black dress. I had packed lightly for the night, so there was enough room in my bag to pack the dating mementos Beau had collected for three months. The rest I shoved in the half-scorched picnic basket. I wasn’t leaving a single piece of our history behind.

I checked my phone a hundred times before leaving the suite. Beau wasn’t answering or calling, but the impulse to make sure I didn’t miss a communication attempt from him was stronger than the logic I had settled on. He wasn’t going to call.

With one last glance at the suite, I slung my bag over my shoulder, rested the charred basket in the crook of my arm, and walked out of the Carolina Inn. The hotel’s Sunday morning patrons eyed the basket over their morning papers and coffee cups, but I kept my head high and charged toward my car.

April in Chapel Hill was stunning. The blooms, the birds, the buzz of students getting ready for the end of the semester were contagious. My heart should have felt heavy, but as I meandered through the parking lot, I felt renewed. I was in love. Head over heels, make-a-fool-of-myself, ditch-every-plan-I’d-ever-made in love. I threw my bag in the backseat and looked at my phone again, just in case I didn’t hear a text from Beau when I was walking through the lobby. Eleven o’clock—I could make it home and post my blog before him. It was the last chance I had to make everything right.

***

I cracked open my laptop and launched a blank document. The project wasn’t due until Thursday. Even though I had agreed to hold off revealing my feelings until then, I couldn’t wait. Professor Garcia could report me or fail me—I didn’t care.

Last Date: Re-creation of Victoria’s overnight dates in the dream suites with the remaining bachelors

Show Myth to Debunk: Spending quality one-on-one time together overnight in a romantic dream suite leads to love

I took a deep breath and exhaled across the keyboard. I couldn’t believe I was actually doing this. What was it that Mitch Henderson always says?
You can’t find love if your heart doesn’t want to walk the journey.
True, it was corny and obviously written for commercials, but the sparkly blue-eyed host had a point.

Last night, my Comm 224 partner, Beau Anderson, and I were supposed to fulfill the final requirement of our semester-long project chronicling our re-created
Love Match
dates. During last week’s episode, the show followed the bachelorette over the course of three nights. Each night she spent the evening with a different bachelor in a dream suite. When I saw the show, I couldn’t believe Victoria could spend three separate nights with three different men. How confused is this girl? It didn’t make sense to me that on this journey to find love she was so willing to share so much of herself with more than just the one man she’s meant to be with. Because when you’re in love, there’s nothing you want more than to see that person every day and every night. They are the why for your sudden smile. They are the reason for new chances you’re willing to take. They inspire you to be more, to be better, and to be real. Loving someone isn’t a hobby or a project—it’s part of your being.

All season I’ve watched Victoria on her journey to find love. I’ve gone on the dates and you have read about every single one of them. I told you how Beau and I didn’t have a spark and that no matter how romantic the dates were, nothing he did could convince me that
Love Match
was anything but a fraud.

The truth is
Love Match
isn’t the fraud—I am. I have been lying since my first blog. The reason I think Victoria is crazy for splitting her time between three guys is because for me there’s only one guy. And with him, I can’t imagine spending one single second having dinner or laughing or kissing anyone else.

Maybe it’s because every time we were on a date, he held the door for me or put a coat around my shoulders when I shivered. Maybe it was the way he held me and coaxed me down the rock wall, or maybe it was how he taught me that there are five fouls in a basketball game. I could make a long list of all the things that he taught me about living in the moment and making the most of every second we had. I don’t know what it was or how it happened, but I, London James, am completely head over heels in love with Beau Anderson. I’m just sorry it took a reality show to help me figure it out.—L.J.

If Beau had taught me anything, it was that this was my graduation, my future, and my life. I tapped out the last sentence and pushed the enter button with certainty.

It was done. Now I just had to wait.

***

Monday morning I knocked on Professor Garcia’s office door. She was one of the rare instructor’s who spent more time in her office than out of it.

“Come in.”

I crossed the threshold into the cramped cubby the university labeled as an office. “Hi, Professor Garcia.”

“London. Isn’t this a nice surprise?” She pulled her glasses down on the brim of her nose. With warmer weather, she had traded in her boots for bright pink sandals. I didn’t think the woman knew what a neutral wardrobe was.

“I wanted to talk to you about the project.”

“I saw your post. It’s not exactly what our agreement was.”

I sat in the empty seat next to her desk. “I know, but you can still have all of the research and I’ll still go to Orlando with you this summer for the conference.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever had a situation quite like this one. Tell me, what did Beau say after he read your post yesterday?”

My eyes hit the floor. I knew writing the blog was taking a chance, but I wasn’t quite prepared for the embarrassment that had followed in the past twenty-four hours.

“I haven’t heard from him.” I bit my lower lip, waiting for Professor Garcia to launch into some kind of I-told-you-so speech. She never thought Beau was compatible with me from the start of the project.

“Oh, dear, you must be devastated. Oh no.” She planted her hand on my knee. “When I read your blog yesterday I realized that maybe I had gone about this project with you two the wrong way.”

“What do you mean?”

“The class is supposed to be about real relationships, but all of the other students were navigating business dealings, roommate problems, and human survival instincts. You two were the only ones analyzing love—in retrospect that wasn’t a fair position to put you in. I just didn’t realize it until last night.”

“I don’t know what to say, Professor.”

“I’m the one who is speechless, London. I’m going to call my colleagues and back out of the Orlando conference. It’s too much to ask of you, especially if Beau isn’t talking to you.”

I didn’t really need her to remind me that I had bared my soul to the entire world online and I hadn’t heard a peep from him. The site was overloaded with responses from our fan base, but not a single comment came from Beau.

“No, a deal is a deal. I went into the second half of the project giving you my word that you could have the research. The show is real—it works. People can fall in love on these crazy dates. I’m your living proof, even if Beau doesn’t feel the same way anymore.”

I didn’t like the look of pity coming from the professor’s eyes. “London, I might be a member of the academic community, but I’m not about to put you through a rigorous panel of research questions just to get my name in a publication. I’m a woman first, and if there is one thing I know, it’s heartbreak. No one should have to live it publicly. You didn’t sign up for that. I’ll tell you I definitely didn’t with Pablo. Did I mention him to you?”

“Um. Not really. Is he the guy from spring break?” Where was this conversation headed?

“Trouble. I knew he was trouble. But did I listen to my logical side? Hell no. I just let loose and well—we are supposed to be talking about you. Anyway, I think we can cancel the Orlando trip.”

“Ok. Thanks, I guess.” I couldn’t believe I was actually bonding with Professor Garcia over boys and broken hearts. The conversation faintly resembled one of my late night talks with Nina. I had to admit I was dying to see a picture of Pablo.

“I’ll see you in class, London, for your final presentation. Good luck with everything.” She smiled then turned back to a stack of papers she was sorting.

I pulled my backpack over my shoulder and walked out of her office.

The brightness of the spring sun hit me before I had a chance to locate my sunglasses. My eyes started watering while I scrambled in the pocket of my bag for the glasses. I was certain I had stashed them in the front compartment before entering Professor Garcia’s office. I could feel the mascara streaming down my face as the watering intensified.
Shit.
Everything was a blurry mess and it stung.

“London?” I heard his voice over my shoulder.

Ah-ha!
My hands felt the familiar plastic sticks of the sunglasses. Quickly, I shoved them on before spinning around.

“Beau!” I smiled as I wiped my cheeks trying to clear the mascara streaks. I could tell by the way he was looking at me that my efforts had the opposite effect.

“What are you doing on campus on a Monday?”

“I just had a meeting with Professor Garcia about the project.”

“Funny, that’s why I’m here.” He shuttled his bike into the closest bike rack.

“Beau, can we talk? I need to tell you everything that’s going on.”

I had pictured some epic scene where he would come to the house and we’d talk in my room and pour our hearts out to each other and then end up hot and sweaty under Ugly Quilt. The middle of campus wasn’t part of the make up fantasy and neither was a mascara crisis.

“Oh, now you want to talk? Now you finally want to open up? I read it, London. I saw your post. I don’t know what we need to talk about.” He started to walk past me.

“Are you kidding me? I just told the whole world that I’m in love with you, and we don’t have anything to talk about?” A few students walking through the mini quad stopped to watch our exchange unfold.
Damn our blog fame.