A Broken Us (London Lover Series Book 1) (3 page)

After I get over the initial odd feeling of the
driver being on the opposite side of the car, and driving on the wrong side of
the road, I take in the scenery. I’m even checking out the small pubs located
on every other block, daydreaming about what those people do for a living that
allows them to be in an old English pub at this time of day. It’s all
enthralling to me! Sure, there are bars in Kansas and Missouri, but they are
more extravagant here—more excitement, more hustle and
bustle—there’s an overall charm to everything.

Leslie turns to me in the back of the cab, “So,
my neighborhood isn’t real posh or exciting, but it’s cool. It’s located in
Brixton, which I suppose you would say is like South Central London. It’s a
pretty diverse community. There are definitely some sketchy areas but the house
we live in is cool. It’s a large Victorian townhouse. It reminds me of the
brownstones you’d see in, like, Brooklyn or something—but older.”

I have no idea what brownstones in Brooklyn
look like, but I can imagine. I’ve watched
Sex
in the City
for Christ’s sake! I’m not a complete loser. Or should I be
saying wanker now?
Tosser
?

“We could never afford it on our own,” Leslie continues,
“One of my
flatmate’s
parents own it, but they never
stay there anymore. They live in some villa in Italy almost year-round.
Occasionally, they come back to the city, but thankfully, they get a hotel so
there’s enough room for all of us!”

I’m floored. Villas in Italy, Victorian
mansions in South London, I have no clue where the hell we’re going; I don’t
care. It’s new and different.
Exactly
what I need.

The cab driver pulls up alongside a big
beautiful brick house on the corner of a busy narrow street. Traffic whizzes by
as I take in the Rapunzel-type tower on the corner of the block. “Is this it?”
I ask Leslie as we clamor out of the cab.

“You bet
yer
ass it
is! We’re
gonna
rock this house the whole week you’re
here! Get ready,
sista
’, I’m getting you naked-wasted
tonight!”

Leslie heads to the back of the cab to grab the
rest of the bags while I take in the grandeur of the home. Even the door handle
looks exquisite. I can’t help but notice the entry; the door is painted a
bright purple with ivy vines growing all around it onto the beautifully shaded
patio area to the right. The rest of the house looks old and
important—maybe a little ominous, but this vibrant-colored door
practically screams,
WELCOME!

I help Leslie with my bags as we make our way
up the steps into the old house. It even smells British. What the hell does
British smell like? Like I have any freaking clue. Jesus, I better not say that
crap out loud or people will think I’m mentally deranged. But if I had to guess
what
British
smells like, I’d bet it
would smell just like this house—old and interesting.

I glance up the staircase just past the foyer,
and see what looks like three stories. The main floor consists of a tiny living
room on the left with a neat fireplace. Connected off of that room is a long
hallway leading toward the back of the house. There’s a big dining room to the
right of the foyer, with ten plush chairs seated all around it. The greatness
of the large expensive-looking table is a bit lost amongst the clutter
scattered all over it. Covering almost every surface are various books, papers,
pens, CDs, and mail, right next to two large packing boxes with packing peanuts
spilling out of them.

“
Gotta
run to the
loo. Sit tight, Fin!” Leslie squeals as she dashes past me to the hallway off
of the living room.

“Fucking magazines. Magazines! Can you fucking
believe it?”

A tall and uncomfortably skinny redhead ambles
into the dining room from the kitchen and looks at me pointedly.
 

“The cow sends me boxes of fucking magazines
when all I bloody-well want are my damn clothes!” he barks and gives a box a
shove across the table.

“Are you talking to me?” I ask, confused.

“I don’t see anyone else in the room, so yeah,
you’ll do.” He roughly tousles his bright orange hair. I’d never seen hair like
his. It was cut short along the sides and sat high on top of his head with a
natural frizz, seeming to help it stay afloat without product. Almost like…a
rooster. I conceal my smirk as a side-by-side comparison pops into my head.

“
Oi
, Frank! Stop
being a bitch to Finley!” Leslie shouts, coming into the foyer again. “For
Christ’s Sake, she just got off an incredibly long flight. She doesn’t give a
fuck about your ex-whore’s magazines.”

“He
was
a whore. The bitch. Probably wiped his
arse
with
these magazines, too. I can’t imagine what it cost to post these bastards. What
a bloody waste of money. Money that could have been better spent on booze!
Speaking of which, who’s up for a drink? I’ve about had it with this bollocks
all day,” Frank looks at us expectantly with his hands on his tiny hips.

“Sounds great to me,” Leslie replies. “You’re
up for it, aren’t
ya
, Fin? Only way to beat the
jet-lag!”

“Um, okay!” I answer, excitedly. Was this
really how my first night in London was going to be? Leslie’s roommate, Frank,
seems a bit out there, but I have a feeling I’m going to have a lot of laughs
with him.

“Fuck your kit and let’s roll,” Frank says,
coming out of the dining room and into the foyer. “Christ! How many bloody bags
did you pack? Are you moving the fuck in?”

“I know!” Leslie adds, “I still can’t get over
it, Fin. What the hell? It’s so unlike you. I’ve traveled with you before and
you’ve never even needed to check a bag!”

I know I can’t let this question slide again,
so I decide to get it over with and see what happens. “Actually, yeah,” I say.

“Yeah, what?” Leslie replies, curiously.

“I’d like to…um…move the fuck in, if that’s
okay.” I query, self-consciously, adjusting my necklace and looking around the
house to see if any of the other roommates are around to hear this request.

“Blimey,” Frank replies, “I thought you were
trying to get up the duff with your bloke back in Chicago.”

“Chicago? What?” I question.

“FRANK!” Leslie bites, “Shut the fuck up, you loud
cow! Sorry, Fin. Frank knows everything…he’s my gay boyfriend. We talk—it
can’t be helped.”
 

“What does he know, exactly?” I question, still
totally confused.
 

“He knows you’re trying to have a baby with
Brody,” she says, glaring at Frank. “Back in Kansas—
not
Chicago, Frank!” Leslie finishes, looking at me,
apologetically.

It’s like a cold bucket of ice-water has been
dumped on top of my head. I’m not prepared for this conversation. I knew I’d
have to have it eventually, but I feel sideswiped. I’m still trying to decipher
the odd jumble of words that came out of Frank’s mouth. Even if he is Leslie’s
gay boyfriend, a little word of warning would have been nice.

Frank interrupts my shock and says the only
logical thing anyone could in this moment, “This seems like a chat best had
over
drinkies
. Come along, loves!”

Frank grabs my arm and pulls me out the door
and down the concrete steps. I follow them around the corner to a pub just two
blocks away. The pub is dark, with old wood and hunter-green carpet all over.
It smells like musty beers have been spilled on it for centuries and never been
properly cleaned.

“
Zoey
, three pints of
our usual, please. On the double—we got trouble over here!” Frank states,
grandly, to the room full of strangers. No one appears to give a damn what this
lanky redhead is talking about, so I don’t lose much thought over it.

“Spill, Fin. Now!” Leslie demands, looking at
me with earnest eyes.

“Christ, Lezzie, at least let the bitch have a
drink first,” Frank replies.

Frank is like no one I’ve met before. His sharp
tongue and dry wit are extremely appealing to me. I find people with no filters
refreshing; I always know where I stand with them. I think I’ve heard him say
more curse words than anything else so far, and I’ve only known him five
minutes, but he has a way about him that makes me feel comfortable.

The waitress brings over three large glasses of
dark beer; I grab mine, nervously.
Do I
like dark beer?
I’m not sure I’ve ever tried it.

I sip it gingerly at first and immediately
taste the chocolaty-coffee richness to it.
Yes.
Yes, I like dark beer.
I take three large gulps, wincing slightly at the
lack of coldness as it travels down my throat. Beer in America is ice cold,
which makes it so easy to drink. Maybe dark beer isn’t served cold?

Leslie and Frank’s eyes are glaring at me with
anticipation.

I can already feel the effects of the beer in
my head, so I know it’s time to spill.

“I’ve left Brody,” I say, before losing my
nerve.

“What. The. Fuck?” Leslie asks, slowly, her
auburn bob framing her face closely as her jaw drops.

“It’s over, we’re done. I’m done. I can’t do
us
anymore,” I reply, taking three more
large gulps of my beer as Leslie and Frank gape at me.

“Wait, you dumped him, or he dumped you?” she
asks.

“I don’t know why that matters,” I reply.

“Just fucking tell me, Fin!” she throws at me,
angrily.

“I ended it, okay? But it doesn’t matter; it
would have ended anyway. There’s no point in continuing things,” I say, as I
take another gulp.

Frank clears his throat, “So you’re moving
here—to London? You want to live with us?”

“I mean, yeah, if you’ll have me.
Er
, I mean, if there’s room. But if not, I’ll find another
place if I need to.”

“What about your job, Fin? You love your job.”
Leslie asks, with a hint of alarm in her voice.

“Well, technically, I’m just taking a leave of
absence right now. I have four weeks of paid vacation banked, and then I’m on
my own. Val’s company has a sister agency here I’d like to get involved with,
but I don’t really know anything about them yet, and I really don’t want to
bring it up to her. She’ll probably lose it on me.”

I work as a creative director’s assistant for
an advertising agency. They do TV, radio, web, and literary marketing for
high-profile clients. I was in the process of being primed to be creative
director and take over for my boss, Val, so she can fill the shoes of the vice
president who is looking to retire in a few years. It’s an incredible
opportunity, and I’ve networked my ass off to get it.

“Well, no shit she’ll lose it on you, Finley!
You’re blowing the opportunity of a lifetime by leaving! You’re lucky she
hasn’t fired you!” Leslie spits out.

“Val’s fine with it. She understands.” I reply
back, “She hired two interns for the fall and is demoting one of the sales
executives to help her out for the next couple months. She said I can do copy
editing and write from here, and she’ll pay me as a freelancer until I come
back.” I pause, “She still thinks I’m coming back. I didn’t have the balls to
tell her I’m not.”

 
Frank looks to Leslie, gauging her
reaction. Leslie’s face is covered in disappointment.
I can’t stand it.

“You’re a fool for leaving that job, Finley,”
she says, shaking her head.

“I can’t fucking stay there,
Lez
!” I croak, a sudden onset of tears filling my eyes. “I
can’t be
that girl
for him anymore.
It was killing me, Leslie!
Killing me
.
I can’t walk around anywhere back in Kansas or Missouri without a baby. You
know what it’s like there!”

Leslie makes
a motion like she’s going to interrupt me, but I don’t give her the chance, “I
can’t give him what he wants, and he won’t want me without it. I know him,
Lez
, I know
us
.
It won’t be
us
anymore without
creating a mini-us. We are wrecked. I refuse to sit there waiting for Brody to
wise up and leave me for somebody more…more…fertile.” I turn my face away and
wipe the tears off my cheeks, quickly. “It was only a matter of time, I’m just
beating him to the punch. I’m not sure it’s even the life I want anyway.”

“Fuck me. Don’t let the old blokes at the bar
see you blubbering, they’ll get all awkward and call a doctor. Brits don’t like
emotions,” Frank says, trying to lighten the mood.

I look back at Leslie and see her eyes welling
with mine.

“Fucking Americans,” Frank whispers under his
breath, looking at the two of us.

Leslie sniffs and reaches her hand across the
table, “I wish I knew how to fix this, Fin. I’m ill-equipped!” she says, her
voice trembling. “This is a lot different from our problems as kids.”

“I know,” I groan, tipping back the remainder
of my beer, savoring the feeling of numbness crawling over my skin.