LAD: A British Bad Boy Romance Novel (Bad Boys of London Book 1) (12 page)

My favorite London restaurant both impressed my date and myself yet again. Hayley seemed to have a good appetite; Whether the constant food in her mouth was her way of speaking to me less or the suggestion that the food tasted amazing didn’t matter to me. Having her sit there, letting me enjoy her company, made my shriveled heart grow two sizes. After some playful querying and banter, she opened up to me some about her life—
 
Growing up in Southern California about her two friends, Ako and Kristen and their dream trip over here, graduating from University with a degree in theater, her desire to travel, see more the world, her love of Jane Austen. Her story seemed as typical as I’d expected. Again, I had my reasons for hating hearing people’s stories — It never pinpointed who they truly were inside. Hayley had more to her than some run-of-the-mill girl from the beach. She had introspective qualities, quiet qualities, surprising qualities none of them borne from her life or her upbringing but from something more primal inside of her— What made us human, different.
 

“See, you’ve done it again. I’ve somehow done all this talking and you’ve stayed weird and quiet like you do,” she said. Her spoon was toying with the tarte tatin that was ordered for dessert, but I don’t think she could fit another bite in. “Was that part of your plan? Learn more about me but have me still know nothing about you?”

“You know more than most people about me.”

“Like what?” She cocked her head defensively.

“You tell me.”

“I know literally nothing.”

“You do. Quit using literally wrong. How about this— How about for everything you know about me, I tell you one extra thing about me?” She sat up higher in her chair and rubbed her palms together with a wicked smirk, her dimples pressing inward.

“Seriously, no games?”

“No games. I told you the intention of this date was for you to not be scared of me anymore.” I meant what I’d said but hadn’t prepared for this oncoming interrogation. As I looked into her bright eyes, eager with anticipation, I felt safe in telling her truths I hadn’t told anybody else.
 

“You’re a model,” she started.
 

“A model, yeah. But I want to make films in the future. Indie pieces of shit but, I’m into old school cinema.” My first truth.

She dropped her first line of defenses as had I. “That’s cool. You are not a virgin.”

“I am not a virgin in bed, obviously, but I’m a virgin in love.”

“You are the only guy I know who wears black nail polish by choice and not for the purpose of an acting role.”

“I do.” My knee bounced beneath the table. It hated the fact I’d begun opening up. “I thought it made me look tough. I think you might be the one girl with enough balls to tell me otherwise.” We both shared a rare laugh. Our eyes met again then darted away from each other until our sounds of satisfaction dissipated into the gentle baroque tune playing over the loud speakers.

“You live at the Chateau with your Uncle.”

“I do. I despise my lack of independence at my age and have come to resent Eddie after all these years. But…”

Do I dare show her this side of me she believes to not exist? A softness? My ability to feel pain?
 

“But what? C’mon. You owe me a real fact.”
 

“My…Parents were board members of the hotel. They were both hit by a drunk driver.” I chose to pay attention to the illustrated birds on the front of Murakami’s book while I spoke more facts than I needed to. I could hear Hayley’s breath catch slightly. “I was in Spain at the time. Eddie, my dad’s brother and best friend, basically had a mental collapse over it. I went back to help him and aunt out around the hotel doing admin and giving them someone to confide in.”

A pause.

“Y—You’re English,” she said more softly than before.

“Not much to say on that.” I took another deliberate long drag of my fag.

“Born and raised London boy. Many acquaintances, few friends. Many numbers in my phone, none which I could call in crisis.”

Her hand rested upon mine. The champagne had loosened me up too quickly to her.

“You like drinking…A lot.” I put my glass on the table and took the cool fingertips of her right hand in my grip.
 

“Whiskey, bourbon, and I might dabble in the occasional line of coke. Can you accept that about me?”

Hayley batted her long, black lashes and looked toward the inside of the restaurant for security. “I don’t do drugs.”

“I can tell.”

“They scare me.”

“They’re…A distraction. I wouldn’t call what I have a problem, don’t worry.”

She stole back my eyes again. In a lullaby tone, she asked,
 
“Can I ask how old you were?”
 

“No.” I stubbed out my cig and swallowed back some water. My throat had gone dry quickly.

But, to my surprise, when Hayley hadn’t filled the silence with her awkward stuttering, I kept talking. “Fifteen. A fine, over-achieving private school boy. Played rugby, guitar, had a big group of mates around. Still smoked, drank, partied and dabbled in some substances but that’s the culture.” I gave an enthusiastic grin to ease how pissed off I felt with myself for conversating with her like some sackless chump.

“You don’t like who you are.”

“That something you know about me, huh?” She saw me shift in my seat.

“I’m putting it on the table, yeah.”

I folded my arms and slouched back against my chair. “I love myself, babe. How I live my life is how I like to live my life. You’ve read me wrong if you think otherwise.”

“But you said—“

“My parents might be dead, but that doesn’t mean I hate myself. End of discussion.”

“You said yourself you don’t want to live at the hotel—” Our voices notched up to that frequency of bickering we’d used quite often already.

“—The hotel’s entrusted to me, for fuck’s sake. I can live whatever life I want. I’ve got an inheritance worth thirty retirements.”

Hayley managed to find some calm again where I couldn’t. “I’m gonna ask you something else.”

“What?” I absolutely knew what this question was going to be.

“How did you feel when your parents died?” I slammed a fist on the table. The
ching
of cutlery, plates and glasses rung through the room. She had sadness in her eyes but not anger. I’d made a scene. Why was she not mad? I’d lost control of her but I couldn’t look away, or shut my damn mouth it seemed.

“I couldn’t imagine a more debilitating sadness. Happy now?”

“Did anyone else know that?”

I attempted a bite of the tarte tatin. I couldn’t do it. I tossed the fork back at the plate and pushed it away from me. “We’re done here. Respectable date over.” It was time to change the subject.
 

“You still scare me,” she said, her voice noticeably shaken.

“Do you understand our little agreement?” I said, ignoring her now.

“No.” She placed her napkin onto the table and pushed her own dessert plate away.
 

I rubbed my face and leaned forward, finding my old self again. “I’m not looking to have a sweet, romantic fling with some tourist. I need you to get that through your head. But, at the same time, I can’t quite resign myself to letting you out of my sight.”

“That wasn’t the agreement. Like I said, I’m still scared of you. I need a few more dates to make up my mind about you.”

“Why are you still afraid?”

“You’re volatile, a dam about to breach. I can’t trust the temper of someone about to crack any second if I don’t tread carefully.”

“Hayley, I don’t do romance. I don’t date. If I were to ‘date’ you then you’d be even more scared of me. Believe me. I function on a night-by-night basis and mostly from the confines of my bedroom so you’ll have the front desk on call should you need to call for help.”

Her face screwed up. “So, my friend was right — You are a serial killer.” I couldn’t tell if she was joking.

“I’m possessive. I’d only end up terrorizing you because once you have me, I don’t let go.” I laughed. The truth sounded so dramatic.
 

“In what way?” she leaned in. Her courage was admirable.

“I would need to know where you were at all times, who you’re with, what you’re doing. Should you do anything that I might disapprove of, it would turn out to be a very bad day for you.”

That scared her.

“You have trust issues.”

“I feel deeper than other people do. I feel harder. I’m overly protective of that which is mine. It wouldn’t be you I didn’t trust but everyone else on this godforsaken planet.”

She rested her head to her fist and traced something into the table cloth. “I want to have a bit of fun with you without getting in too deep. No strings attached. No deeper feelings to be felt. Just a game.”
 

“I see. That keeps you free. And safe from yourself.”

“It keeps you safe,” I said too quickly.

“What if I want to be possessed by you? Or, rather, can’t imagine a more exciting life without you in it anymore?”

I rested my hand upon her leg under the table.

“Follow me like you want to then,” she said with caustic irritability. “Catch me off-guard. Have me thinking you’ll show up any minute to surprise me and woo me off my simple American feet with your stupid game.” That tremendous hungering for her stirred in my belly. I caressed her knee below the table and began to move my fingers gently towards her inner thigh. She rustled in her chair. “If it’s the only way I get to see you.”

“What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Going to the Globe to see a play in the afternoon.” I pressed deeper into her thighs and her fingers curled into the table. “Do you want me to set a tracker on my phone for you, too?” Our eyes played a game of mercy. Her thighs felt warm against my fingertips. My cock pulsated with throbs of longing.

“No.” I enjoyed what her eyes were telling me. “What play?”

“Hamlet.” She let out a moan. “You know it, don’t you? The one with the tragic ending because no one learns the value of forgiveness and letting go.” She glanced over at my book still sitting on the table. “To thine ownself be true, Felix. You’re more than empty, surface-level facts. I wouldn’t put up with your bullshit otherwise.”

This girl had the uncanny ability to read my mind. Either that or the confusion of our bags stood for more than sheer serendipity. The fates had brought her into my world for something more significant.

She left the restaurant and replaced my leather jacket around her shoulders.

See you soon, my precious Hayley, I spoke under my breath.

— 14 —
 

Roaming the London streets at night, in the summer fog, I began to relax again. The dinner had been a touch unnerving with all those questions and chit-chat. I wanted a bed, a bottle of whiskey and a film or girl to distract me.

“No, idiot,” I said to myself. The very fact I considered bringing another strange women home made me tense up again. I couldn’t keep up with these same patterns that only left me empty.

I looked up to that starless sky again. I recalled watching the way that Hayley’s hands moved when she spoke, the way her eyes flickered from the candlelight, her body in that dress, and the tender way she spoke.
 

Captivated by her, she left me no option but to keep going back for more time and time again. I didn’t want under my skin like this but she was there. The last time I let a woman do that, I broke. Would she destroy me even further?

 
What would Hayley be doing later tonight, now she held all my secrets? Who had her this night instead of me? Or had she decided to finish it alone in her bedroom?

I’d grown wild, impatient. My feet picked up in the way of the tube station. Tracking down a girl with no idea as to her whereabouts would prove difficult in a city of millions. But what other choice did I have? I promised myself that this time, I wouldn’t spy. Not tonight. No, tonight I had to tell her about the way she made me feel, how I needed her.

 
She’d no doubt be meeting up with her friends again. The night was still young for them. They may have gone out to supper or another grim club.

I got on the line to Oxford Circus.
 

I had to find her or find her hotel, at least. My conscience debated about my true motive for this tracking. Was it an exciting way to pass an evening, a means to distract myself from further introspection? Or a drive borne of a requirement to have Hayley in my life? I needed to find control again somehow. She had all my cards against her chest and I couldn’t figure out how she might play them to her advantage.
 

The night sky piqued my memory. What had she said after I ordered? She’d mentioned that she’d d given up the best pie to be here. And something else. Tim Minchin. I’d only remember that thanks to Uncle Eddie being a fan. My phone helped me decipher what little info I’d remembered.
 

Harrington’s Pie and Mash, the highest rated pie in the city according to Google, which happened to be right beside the theatre playing Matilda The Musical, a show by none other than Tim Minchin. Musicals started at seven-thirty, usually wrapped up nearing ten o’clock. I had to move quickly.