Finding London, Ellie Wade [different e readers txt] 📗

I’m at the airport, sitting patiently at the gate until it’s time to board.

The last few days with my mom flew by. I had the best time with her. I honestly can’t remember the last time I spent so much one-on-one quality time with her, and I know I need to do it more often.

There’s a walking contradiction pacing in the aisle in front of me. For the past eternity, it seems, this dude has been yammering away on his cell phone about trading stocks. Just a typical douche-bag businessman who thinks yelling his client’s personal business into his phone at an airport makes him look cool, right? Yeah, that would be all he is—except he’s wearing a blue short-sleeved polo shirt, a pair of bright orange running pants, and worn leather sandals with socks. It doesn’t appear that he even attempted to comb his short hair when he got up this morning. I can tell that he sleeps with the right side of his head on the pillow. Furthermore, he keeps sucking on a straw that’s in a cup of ice that, I’m assuming, used to have a drink in it, creating an obnoxious sound that echoes throughout the gate’s waiting area.

What I see of this man and what I hear him saying into his cell phone are complete contradictions. It just doesn’t add up. I’ve had a lot of time to watch him, and I’ve decided that there are two probable scenarios. One, there are hidden cameras somewhere, and I’m a witness to a hidden prank show. But I’ve looked around, and I haven’t seen anything indicating a television crew. So, that leads me to my other guess. He’s insane, like a literal crazy person, and he’s talking into a phone that doesn’t have anyone on the other end. In fact, it’s probably not even charged. Scenario number two makes me sad for him.

Maybe I’m completely wrong, and he’s just an eccentric-dressing douche-bag businessman. Yeah, let’s hope for that.

“So, is that your next victim?”

I gasp when I hear his voice. I would recognize it anywhere.

I tilt my head up to see Loïc standing beside me. He’s wearing his fatigues and carrying an Army green duffel. My mouth remains open wide. I’m so shocked to see him here. I can hardly process it.

“What?” I finally ask, not able to think of anything better.

“The guy you’ve been staring at for the last twenty minutes…you have your sights set on him?”

I ignore his question, knowing that he’s joking. Instead, I skip to the real question. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m flying back to Detroit, same as you apparently,” he says almost distractedly. His stare is focused on my lips before it darts back to my eyes.

“Right. I see that, but what are you doing here, in Kentucky?” I continue to gawk up at him, and although I’m in shock at the sight of him, I can’t help but notice how incredibly mouthwatering he looks in his fatigues. What is it about a hot guy in a military uniform?

“I was down in Fort Knox for training this week. Why are you here?”

“My parents live here.”

“Ah, gotcha. Do you mind if I take a seat?” He gestures toward the empty chair beside me.

I shrug. “It’s a free country.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

He places his bag on the ground at his feet and sits beside me.

“There are other unoccupied chairs around, you know.” My words sound snarky, even to my own ears. I suppose my ego is still bruised from our last encounter.

“I know, but I thought it would be a dick move to sit next to a stranger when you’re right here.”

My body bristles. I’m wary of this new friendlier version of a man who, prior to today, has wanted nothing to do with me. Even this minimal chitchat is out of his norm.

“We’re basically strangers, Loïc. What’s the difference?”

He regards me for one heartbeat and then another before he looks away. “Basically…but we’re not.”

We both sit in silence and watch Orange Pants continue to chatter away.

After a few beats, Loïc says, “So, what do you think his deal is?”

“I don’t know. I’m thinking he’s on a hidden camera show, he’s crazy, or he’s just a very odd, very loud, extremely impolite person. I’m leaning toward the latter.”

“Yeah, I think you’re right. Though I envy him in a way.”

“Why’s that?” I lean back into my seat and allow my gaze to drift from the man to Loïc. Big mistake. I put it off to the uniform and my newfound obsession with a man in camouflage, but my stomach flutters at the sight.

Loïc sports a genuine smile. He seems so carefree in this moment, and because I find the brooding badass version insanely irresistible, the man before me almost does me in.

“The whole package—his clothes, his loud voice—screams, I don’t give a flying fuck what y’all think. I’d imagine it would be pretty freeing not to give a shit about what others think of you.” His bright blues hold me for a second before they return their gaze to the topic of conversation.

I let out a small chuckle. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right. Though I couldn’t do it. I mean, socks with sandals? That crosses the line.”

“Does it?” Loïc laughs.

I can’t stop the way my heart picks up its pace at that sweet sound. He’s always been so serious. Hearing his laughter does something crazy to my insides.

“Definitely.”

“Noted. No socks and sandals.”

“Honestly, I would suggest you avoid the entire ensemble. I get that it might be freeing and all, but I wouldn’t recommend that look on you.”

“Good to know.”

“So, are we, like, friends now or something? At the club a couple of weeks ago, I got the impression that you didn’t want anything to do with me.”

Loïc locks his beautiful blues on me. “I’m sorry if I was rude, London. I didn’t want to make you feel bad in any way. It’s complicated, but know that it’s my issue and not anything to do with you. I wouldn’t say that we’re friends. I don’t really need any more friends.”

“Everyone can use more friends.”

“I don’t believe that. But I can’t say it’s not a little unnerving that we keep running into each other like this.”

I grin. “It must be fate.”

“I don’t believe in that either.”

“Maybe not, but you don’t have to believe in it for it to be real.”

It takes some effort, but I pull my stare away from his. He’s so handsome that it’s disarming. I can only take so much.

After a few minutes, I stand. “They’re going to start boarding in a few. I’m going to go get some snacks and magazines from the gift shop. It was nice running into you again, Loïc. Maybe we’re not friends, but it was nice to be friendly. See you later.”

“Good-bye, London.”

Yet again, his words sound so permanent, and it makes my heart ache. I hate the way I feel around Loïc and how desperately I want him.

I’m so lost in my own private pity party as I walk away that I almost plow right into the loudmouth bed head.

“Excuse me,” I say quickly.

My eyes dart down to the floor and his socks. I notice that there is a small hole in one of them, and the tip of his big toe is starting to pop through. I can’t help the smile that crosses my face as I continue toward the shop. Maybe I could learn a thing or two from Mr. I-Don’t-Give-A-Flying-Fuck because, to be honest, I wish I didn’t care what other people—particularly Loïc—thought about me.

Loïc

“London has this way of making me want to be different. She makes me want to try, and that is scary as shit.”

—Loïc Berkeley

That wasn’t so bad, I think as I grab a water from the cooler at the back of the store.

After London walked away, I thought a beverage for the plane sounded like a good idea. The fact that I chose to walk to another shop at the other end of this section of the terminal had nothing whatsoever to do with London. I just wanted to stretch my legs.

Keep telling yourself that, Berkeley.

But I do have to admit that my recent conversation with London went well. The sight of her sitting here, in Kentucky, waiting to board the same plane as me, is still baffling. When I saw her, I knew that I would have to do the social thing. Any normal person who ran into someone they knew would say hi and exchange a few meaningless pleasantries before boarding. Granted, I’m as far from normal as they come. Yet I did it. It might have taken me twenty minutes to steel my nerves to approach her, but I did. I was friendly, doing my civil duty.

Surprisingly, it